The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1253 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was exhausted when I’d finished trying to get through to Tom and the Aussie nurse told me it was six o’clock. I disappeared not wanting to involve anyone else in my efforts.

She told me that he seemed to have stabilised somewhat, so whatever I’d done was helping and his kidney function seemed to have improved. She also told me that she would be on duty again the next night.

Simon was fast asleep on the back seat of the Cayenne and I woke him up to navigate the London traffic. He looked as bad as I felt when he drove me off in a direction I didn’t recognise.

“Where are we going?” I asked worrying about the children.

“To get a shower and some breakfast, then you’re going to sleep for a bit.”

“But I need to get back to the children.”

“There are two grown up women and a nearly grown up, I think between them they’ll manage, don’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

Suddenly we drove up what seemed like a hill and on to the countryside. I was lost. Then a few moments later he drove in a driveway of which the gates magically opened. Beyond them was a magnificent house with a mature garden, tennis courts and separate garage block, which might have begun life as a stable block. On the driveway was a large Mercedes and a smaller convertible sports model, a SL?

I had a feeling I knew where we were, and it was confirmed a second or two later when Henry stepped out of the door and after hugging and kissing me on the cheek, invited me into his little home.

I was starting to fade rather quickly and he asked the cook to make me up something to eat and drink. She said to Simon, “I expect you’ll have your usual?”

“Natch,” he replied and pointed at me, “Make that two, with tea for my wife.”

“At last we get to see you, Lady Cameron.”

“Sorry, I’m not at my best, Daddy’s in intensive care in Barts and we’ve been there all night.”

“Why don’t you go and shower and breakfast will be ready when you come down?” I couldn’t argue and Simon led me up to the room we were to use. The house was huge, eight bedrooms plus two for servant’s use, each with a bathroom in what had been a dressing room.

Everywhere were signs of wealth and status, paintings of horses and portraits of self-important men and women fighting for space with ornate gilded mirrors, oriental silk fans and various assorted collections of cigarette cards and landscape paintings.

‘Our bedroom’ was huge, twice the size of the one we used in Tom’s house and the bedspread was embroidered silk with matching curtains and even the seats of the chairs and the dressing table stool matched.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Simon pointed at a door and I walked through and that was as big as a bedroom in a modern house. I stripped off and was soon luxuriating in the warm water of a power shower. It invigorated me and for a few minutes I was relaxed and thinking of nothing but the sensual experience of the warm water.

“There’s a robe on the door, use it.” I dried off and donned the towelling robe while he appeared in the bedroom with a pile of clothing.

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s Stella’s, she left it here a year or two ago, something should fit.” I fiddled about not sure about the underwear. “That’s all new,” he said seeing my hesitation.

I slipped on some panties and was about to re use my bra when I couldn’t find it. Realising what I was doing he said, “I’ve taken your dirty stuff for cook to wash for you, it’ll be dry and aired by this evening.”

“I could have washed it and hung over the shower rail.”

“She wants to help and she likes you?”

“How d’you know?”

“She said so.”

“She doesn’t know me,” I said almost in exasperation.

“She saw the film you made.”

“Yeah, but that’s only one part of me.”

“I did try to tell her about the tyrant in knickers but she took your side against me.”

“Sounds like she’s a sound judge of character.” I smirked.

“I’m going to shower, find something that doesn’t look too awful.”

“This is all classic Stella, but I doubt the bra will fit, I’m bigger than her now.”

“Bighead, I brought one of Monica’s too.” He disappeared into the bathroom and I heard water running. When I looked, Monica seemed to be the same bra size that I was. I tried it on and it fitted with some minor adjustments of the straps. Again it was brand new–don’t these people wear something twice?

I found some trousers and pulled them on and they fitted well enough, red silk material, I matched it with a white vee necked silky top which fitted very well, although it hid the ivory bra underneath.

After donning a pair of knee high stockings, I slipped my shoes back on. So far they were the only parts of my clothing I’d arrived in. I’d used someone else’s deodorant, soap, shampoo and clothing. I combed my drying hair into a ponytail as Simon emerged from the shower. He towelled himself dry and dressed in presumably the clothing he’d left here–he did visit every so often.

Minutes later we were seated in the morning room, looking out over the garden and tucking into two huge cooked breakfasts. Henry sat with us and had a coffee then excused himself, as someone in the family had to work to support ‘this lot’, he motioned to the house around him.

“Where’s Monica,” I asked Simon.

“In France, she’s been buying properties there–prices are falling there, she renovates them and sells them to Brits and Germans mainly, although the odd Russian is buying them too.”

“Don’t they ever see each other?”

“Oh yeah, Dad flies out there now and again or she comes home, but it’s like we used to be, their work keeps them apart.”

“Hers sounds more romantic than his,” I said buttering some toast.

“She knows her real estate, and she does turn in a reasonable profit, enough to pay for their own place.”

“What here?”

“No, in France, down in the Midi.”

“How many properties does he own?”

“About six: this, Stanebury, the Midi, Minorca–he’s got a lovely villa near Cuitadella, an apartment in New York and a small place in the Hebrides.”

“How the other half live,” then I realised I was being hypocritical, I had two houses already and Tom had promised me his when he died.

“Other half, you are the other half now–it’s about time you got used to it.”

“Yeah, your other half,” I beamed at him.

He gave me a scornful look then smirked. “Whatever I say you manage to twist or turn round to mean something completely different.”

“Well, I have a different viewpoint and I’m just enlarging yours.”

“See, you’ve done it again.”

“No, you see me as a threat somehow, I haven’t changed anything except the way you see things.”

“More tea?” in came the cook, Mrs Jameson, with a fresh pot of Lady Grey.

“Thank you, Mrs Jameson, but I can’t eat another thing, not without popping these trousers.” I was full to the gunnels.

“Why, Lady Catherine, you’ve hardly eaten a thing.”

“I have so, two eggs, all the bacon, a sausage, some tomatoes and mushrooms.”

“And half a loaf of toast,” added Simon.

“Have another piece of toast, the marmalade’s homemade,” she insisted.

“I couldn’t honestly.” Though I did agree to another cup of my favourite tea.

“I loved your dormouse film, one of the best I’ve seen, Lady Catherine.”

I blushed and thanked her, I wanted to ask her to call me Cathy, but I suspect it wouldn’t have gone down too well, spreading insurrection. I also suspected she’d have thanked me and carried on as she was. However, I insisted on calling her by her name whereas Simon and Henry called her, ‘cook’. I’d never make an aristocrat–too much of an egalitarian.