The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1527 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We entered through the back door through the lobby and into the kitchen which smelt of fresh baked bread–Jenny having done as I asked her. “Oh wow, this place is bigger than my whole bedsit.”

“I should hope so, it has eight bedrooms.”

“No the kitchen.” She stood at the door and peered at the kitchen. “It’s huge.”

“We do tend to eat in here unless we’re entertaining.”

“Oh crikey, an Aga, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I don’t know, why doesn’t it surprise you?”

“Well, it’s so you, Lady Cameron, with your pearls and twinsets, an Aga was sort of de rigeur.”

“This house isn’t actually mine, it belongs to my prof, who is also my adoptive father.”

“Not the one you did the trousers for?”

“No, that was my natural father–when he died, Professor Agnew, or Tom as I expect he’ll tell you to call him–sort of unofficially adopted me. He lost his daughter in a car accident about twenty years ago and his wife had multiple sclerosis and died soon after of a broken heart.”

“Oh, poor man.”

“He invited me to come and stay with him, I was studying a masters at the time and it was a better option than the bedsit I was in.”

“He didn’t fancy you then?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s seventy, and he’s a delightful old chap. I love him to bits and so do the children, talking of which,” Puddin’ came into the kitchen and looked straight at Caroline.

“Anniecaffy,” she said and put her arms up to be picked up and hugged. After we’d hugged she looked across at Caroline. “Ugg ugg,” she said.

“What’s her name?” Caroline asked very quietly.

“Puddin’ is what we call her, though her name is actually Desireé. Oh, she wants a hug.”

I passed her over to Caroline who dropped her handbag and awkwardly grasped Stella’s little tyke. Puddin’ insisted on kissing Caroline on the cheek and struggled to be put down on the floor. “You silly bugger,” she said and walked away leaving me in need of a wee at the look on Caroline’s face.

“Pud, where are you, you little monster–oh, who are you?” I heard Stella’s voice in the kitchen.

“Um–I’m Caroline, how d’ya do?”

“Ah, Cathy’s friend, of course, where is she? Cathy, where are you?” I heard her shout as I pulled the flush and washed my hands. “I’m Stella, the little one’s mine, Cathy is my sister in law.” I entered the kitchen to see Caroline nodding.

“She dashed off towards the dining room if you’re Puddin’ hunting?”

“You could have introduced me,” Stella said reprovingly.

“I heard you both manage without me, Puddin’ has Caroline summed up nicely,” I smirked.

“Oh? What did she say this time?”

“Silly bugger,” I repeated.

“Well yes, if she knows you, she must be or will be soon. Welcome to the mad house, Caroline. If you’re not crazy you soon will be–what’s it usually take?” she looked at me and I shrugged. “Two weeks, give or take a few days.”

The bread machine pinged and I went and removed the loaf, covering it with a cloth as I put it on the rack. “Let me just get the soup started and I’ll show you round.”

She asked if she could help and I gave her some vegetables to scrub and chop while I retrieved the stock jug from the fridge and poured some in a large pot. I added some garlic and the onion which Caroline had chopped and began heating it.

While she peeled carrots, I started on the mushrooms–they were closed cap, so I just washed and sliced them and added them to the pot, which was now singing on the hot plate of the Aga. We chopped the carrots and some leeks I’d washed, some celeriac and some chopped cooked chicken I’d had defrosting in the fridge. In a few minutes, the pot was bilin’ as Tom wid say, and I showed Caroline round the rest of the house after we dumped her bags in her room.

“It’s like a castle,” said as we wandered over the new wing.

“Um–no, there’s one of those up in Scotland, at Stanebury.”

“You’re winding me up?”

I pointed at an aerial photo hanging on the wall in Simon’s study. “That’s Stanebury Castle.”

“Bloody hell–who are these people?”

“My pa-in-law is the Viscount Stanebury, one of the richest families in Britain. They are majority shareholders in High St Banks, and also Cameron’s Investment Bank. They’re worth more than the Queen, although she does have a lot of art works and property about the country.”

“I don’t know if I can cope with this, Cathy. I mean I knew you were married to some lord or other, but not with this level of wealth–it blows me away, it really does. I mean my parents have an Aga, or they did the last time I saw them.”

“Which was when?”

“Two or three years ago–once I got too girlified for them, they asked me to stay away.”

“Pity–but at least they’re still alive?”

“As far as I know.”

“Where there’s life there’s hope.”

“That would be nice to believe, but I don’t hold out much hope.”

“Well once you’ve settled in here, we’ll see how the land lies.”

“You’d be wasting your time.”

“We’ll see. Right get yourself unpacked, I’m going to rescue my soup and slice some bread, the others will be there by then.”

“Others?” she asked nervously.

“Yes, Simon and Jenny–I must assume they’re out shopping, as his car’s not here, and as the bread was baking, Jenny must have been here.”

“Do I look alright?”

“Yeah, if you didn’t, Stella would have said something, she didn’t, ergo you must be okay.”

“Really? She’d have said something?”

“Oh yeah, we met after she hit me off my bike in a thunderstorm.”

“What?”

“No, Watts, I was Cathy Watts, remember?”

She shook her head giving me an expression that suggested she was talking with a madwoman; she’ll fit in given a few more weeks, especially as we bought the bed from Procrustes.

“Go and unpack, I can smell my soup,” I dashed down the stairs and ran into the kitchen nearly bouncing off Simon who had two bags of shopping in his arms.

“Jenny suggested we needed a few things, so we went to get them.”

“Did you get more milk?”

“Yes, two six pinters.”

“Oh good. Caroline is upstairs unpacking, I need to stir my...”

“Cauldron?” suggested Simon.

“Er–yeah, howd’ya guess?”

He shrugged as best he could still holding all the shopping.

I tasted the soup, “Needs more salt and eye of newt–you didn’t get any perchance?”

“Nah, they sold the last lot to the Home Secretary, apparently she’s cooking up a storm.”

“You know her favourite radio show?”

“Waterboarding Karaoke?”

“Good but no, it’s Migration Watch.”

He chuckled, “Very good, now where d’ya want this lot?”

“Shove it up by the fridge, I’ll sort it in a mo–um–where’s Jenny?”

“Gone to get her hair done–obviously feels threatened by the new help.”

“She shouldn’t have any worries there,” I replied, as a nervous cough came from behind me. Oops–what have I said now?

I spun round and Caroline was standing in the doorway.

“Si, this is Caroline our new helper.”

“Oh hello, don’t stand out there–I’m Simon, Cathy’s better half,” he reached out and shook her hand.

“Right the soup is done, Si, can you slice some bread and leave a bit for Jenny? And don’t eat it all before it gets to the table.” I began ladling the hot fluid into soup bowls.

“Moi?”

“Oui, tu.”

“Okay, I’ll leave her two.”

“Eh?” I called behind me.

“You said leave her two, slices I presume.”

“Don’t take any notice of them, mad as hatters,” said Stella walking into the kitchen with Puddin’. “She wasn’t in the dining room.”

“Oh, where was she then?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder.

“Half way up the chimney in the sitting room.”

“I hope she had a brush with her.” I turned round with the first two bowls of soup and Caroline was standing there with an expression of total bewilderment–and the girls aren’t home yet.