Family Ties by Celia Buckmaster

Author:Celia Buckmaster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2020-06-20T00:00:00+00:00

Mrs. Rockaby stood with her back to the window, watching her guests come in. She was terribly disappointed when Mrs. Hardinger, who came first, the men having waited, didn’t even say “Oh!” when she saw the spread; she just said, “Er, where shall I sit?”

“Show her, Donald,” Mrs. Rockaby said.

“What a wonderful cake!” Amy said. But somehow it came too late—it wasn’t the same thing.

“You don’t mean to say you made it?” Amy said.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Rockaby said. “Do all sit down. Come along. Anywhere!”

“No, not there,” Mr. Rockaby said to Mr. Swan, “here.”

He put Mr. Swan next to Lavinia as had been arranged. This meant uprooting George, who had already sat down.

“Careful, George!” Amy said. He was taking the table-cloth with him. There wasn’t much room.

“Frightfully sorry,” George said. Amy rearranged things.

“Donald, for goodness’ sake!” Mrs. Rockaby said.

“But, my dear, you said . . .”

“What on earth does it matter where people sit? It’s all quite informal,” Mrs. Rockaby said.

Mrs. Rockaby sat down herself. The big teapot, the silver one which they didn’t generally use, was too full of tea. She spilt tea all over the table-cloth.

“Oh dear!” Mr. Swan said. “Let me help. Shall I get something to mop it up?”

“No, no, no,” Mrs. Rockaby said.

Mr. Rockaby produced a handkerchief, surreptitiously. It wasn’t very clean.

“Look, George has one,” Amy said.

“My dear, don’t make such a fuss! We’ve got more than one table-cloth,” Mrs. Rockaby said.

No one spoke, so she said sharply, “Lavinia, hand round the sandwiches.”

“Well, how’s the Law these days?” Mr. Rockaby asked George, who sat next to him. He didn’t know George at all well, but remembered now he was a solicitor by profession.

“Oh, all right,” George said.

“I suppose you have slack times like everyone else,” Mr. Rockaby said, “or are there always crimes going on? One wouldn’t think so in the country.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” George said, “not much. Just the usual, you know.”

“What? Contested wills? That sort of thing? And I suppose people getting had up for trespassing, and so on.”

George said, “Yes, yes.” And there was a long silence.

“But trespassing by itself is no crime. Or so I believe?” Mr. Swan said. “Strange how we don’t know our own laws.”

“It’s all rather involved,” George said, “you see . . .”

“My husband, you know, is much more interested in butterflies,” Amy said.

Mrs. Rockaby helped pass the scones round her end. “Oh, really?” she said, “that’s interesting.”

“But about this trespassing,” Mr. Swan said. “Now, if I build a fence round my property . . .”

“A scone?”

“No, thanks. Now if I build a fence . . .”

“Have one of my langues de chat then?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. Thank you so much. Now, Mr. Monsoon, if . . .”

“Honestly, George wouldn’t know,” Amy said. “Honestly not. Do you know what he does all day? Writes books on butterflies!”

“Really?” Mr. Rockaby said, “so you write, do you? I do too, you know. In a small way.”

“Donald dear, pass the langues du chat round, will you?”

“Isn’t it langues de chat?” Mrs.

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