The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1239 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Tom arrived with his friend’s wife, Lady Diana Dawes–an elegant woman who was presumably younger than his friend. She looked to be in her late fifties but it turned out nature had been kind to her and she was actually mid sixties.

He brought her into the house, each of them carrying a moderate sized suitcase. “This is my daughter, Di, Lady Catherine Cameron, but we all call her Cathy, Cathy, this Lady Diana Dawes, otherwise known as Di.”

I held out my hand, “Delighted to meet you,” I said and added, “Is it okay with you if we drop the prefixes–I’m plain Cathy.”

“I’m delighted to meet you, thank you for putting me up at such short notice, I’m Di and you are anything but plain, m’dear, you’re positively beautiful and charming with it.”

I blushed and nodded, “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” I asked.

“A good old fashioned cup of tea, would be most welcome, but d’you mind if I change first? I’d like to get out of these shoes, they’re killing me.” She was wearing a suit with a polo necked jumper underneath, and fairly high heeled court shoes, which matched the shade of the suit almost perfectly.

“Of course, I’ll show you up to it.” I took her bag and Simon arrived to take the other off Tom after I’d introduced them.

She was quite taken with Julie’s bedroom, which is a bit hyper-girly, white lace patterned wallpaper, frilly floral curtains, a brass bedstead with frilly, lacy bedding to match the curtains, a pink deep pile carpet, and opposite the mirror a picture of the pop group, Take That.

Di, recognised the picture and said she liked the band and their music and was glad Robbie Williams was back with them although the rivalry with Gary was obviously a problem. I was dumbstruck, I’d heard of the band, some of my students had been fans and I knew Julie was for obvious reasons, but who the hell is Gary Barlow? I didn’t know him from Adam–Ant or otherwise.

She bent my ear for the next few minutes while I helped her hang up her clothes, some of which was really nice gear. She was apparently a partner in a dress shop, and although she didn’t have much direct input nowadays, she was still interested. I asked where her shop was and she replied, “Bond Street.” Only about the most expensive shopping area in London unless you include Jermyn Street. Lots of the area is owned by the Duke of Westminster, who is one of the richest commoners in the country.

It always struck me as self-contradictory that you could have a title, be an aristocrat and still remain a commoner. Apparently, one needs royal haemoglobin to be any other, so good old me, is still common despite me title, like.

“Wait until Julie learns you’re a Take That fan.”

“Why what’ll she do, scream I’m too old?”

“On the contrary, she’ll think you’re brill.”

“Brill no, an old trout yes–“ she laughed and I admit I smiled broadly at her. She had a good sense of humour. “Of course I like Take That, my alma mater is Manchester, where’s yours, somewhere posh like Oxbridge, I expect.”

“Sussex, neither clever nor wealthy enough for Oxbridge. Can’t say it bothers me.”

“Tom was singing your praises.”

“I hope not literally, once he starts on ‘Donald where's your troosers?’ I know it’s time to get him to bed.”

“No he wasn’t actually singing, but he was telling me how you and your children have changed his life.”

“Yes, he doesn’t have a moment’s peace and quiet now.”

“He loves that part of it. You didn’t know his daughter, did you?”

“No, sadly, but I hear she was very gifted.”

“Indeed, despite the early problems over her gender identity, eventually Tom and Celia dealt with it and Cameron became Catherine and she didn’t look back. You remind me of her a little, but you’re more beautiful and more natural looking. She was also a bit uncomfortable in company–she was an academic first and last, and a social animal very much second. Still that’s all water under the bridge now, and I have yet to meet your teenage daughter or your other children. How many do you have?”

“Not including the baby, six.”

“Goodness, teenage to baby–quite a range–boys and girls, I take it.”

“One boy, five girls.”

“Goodness, a netball team.”

“I’m more into cycling than netball.”

“Ah yes, Tom said ages ago that you’d help beat Southampton in a bike race.”

“Yes, that was about the only time I’ve ridden competitively here.”

“Did you at Sussex?”

“Only some time trials–I wasn’t very good.”

“I’m sure you were, you don’t look like the type to do anything in half measures.”

“Um–I’m not sure I’d agree with you, anyway, if you’d like to change, I’ll get some tea organised.”

“You are so sweet, Cathy, I hope all your children take after their mother.”

“I’ll see you downstairs, the bathroom is through there if you need it, the white towels are yours.”

I left her to change and went down to a throng of faces, “Where is Wady Dawes?” asked Mima.

“Changing, she’ll be down soon enough, now I don’t want you pestering her–remember her husband is being held by bandits in India, so she must be very worried, and some horrible person has ransacked her home, which is why she’s staying here.”

“We’ll look after her, an’ protect her,” asserted Trish.

“She might prefer it if you kept out of her way.”

Trish pouted and folded her arms muttering, “Snot fair.” But then it never is with Trish. She sloped off to play with her computer.

Julie came down from her attic room, “She’s gonna take me to see, Take That, she knows them all.”

“Oh, so you don’t feel so badly about loaning your bedroom out?”

“Nah, I was only grumbling ‘cos you expect it of me.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you do it.”

“She knows Robbie Williams–absolutely brill, or what?”

“Personally, I don’t have an opinion on Take That or Robbie Williams, certainly not one I’d share with you.”

“You’re such an old fuddy, Mummy.”

“I am not, I enjoy music too, you know?”

“Yeah, by dead composers.”

“Not all of it.”

“Okay, who d’you like who’s alive today–Cliff bloody Richard, I expect.”

“Um, Maddie Peyroux.”

“Who’s she, I mean someone big in this country.”

“Um, okay, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Michael Jackson...”

“They’re all dead or has beens, Mummy, try someone who’s a bit more with it.”

“I’m sorry, Julie, but those groups are amongst the greats of rock music and they can still outperform your constipated group of nonentities.”

“I s’pose you still like Elvis?”

“He actually had a very nice voice and could sing a bit although I can’t say I was a fan exactly.”

“Oh I was, he had the most beautiful eyes,” said a new voice.

“Oh children, this is Lady Diana, Lady Diana, this is Julie, whom I gather you’ve already met, this is Danny, Billie, Livvie and Mima. Trish is here somewhere and the baby is sleeping.”

“You really liked Elvis?” asked Julie looking greatly disappointed.

“Oh yes, when I was young, he was the hottest thing around.”

“What better than Take That, an’ Robbie?”

“I suspect he could teach them a thing or two about singing, they didn’t call him the King for nothing.”

“What about the Beatles?” challenged Julie as if they were comparable.

“I had a real soft spot for them, especially after I met Paul McCartney.”

“You met Paul McCartney?” gasped Julie.

“Oh yes, they did a gig at Manchester University, I met them all, but he was the one I slept with...”

I thought Julie was going to have a stroke for a moment, mind you I had to say my heart quickened. This Diana Dawes was quite a gal.