The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1771 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“You obviously know Professor Herbert, then?” I asked Mary.

She blushed before answering, “Shall we say, I wasn’t as immune to his charms are you obviously were.”

“I don’t think he noticed me when I was an undergrad, but he certainly made a play when I did a talk there last year.”

“You did a talk there?” she looked slightly bemused.

“Yeah, I talked about dormice.”

“Oh my giddy aunt, you’re the one who made the film on dormice, aren’t you?”

I blushed and shrugged.

“I didn’t recognise you, that was a lovely piece, the camera work was exquisite and you performed well in front of the camera–gave every man who saw it a bulge in the wotsits.” She smirked as I blushed even deeper than before. “Hang on, you’re titled, aren’t you?”

“My husband is, I’m just the pleb who married him.”

“Nonsense, you need to make use of your name–the film and your title should help promote ecology and conservation all over the country. Come and do a talk here, I’m sure the students would turn out to see you.”

“I’m pretty busy with the mammal survey and the family.”

“How many kids have you got, then?”

“Officially five, but I’ve also sort of acquired a couple of adolescents who seem to call me mother as well.”

“Seven, jeez, no wonder you’re busy, an you’ve kept your figure–I’m impressed.”

“D’you have children?” I asked knowing she didn’t.

“I had ovarian cancer at age twenty one. I’d just got a BSc and it devastated me. I knew something was up, my periods were all over the place and finally, I got the doctor to do something about it. He did some blood tests and something caused him to play on a hunch–he got me a scan and something showed up–I was with the consultant a week later and he operated the following week–I had a bilateral oophorectomy, which said goodbye to any maternal ambitions I might have had. Then, it left me a career to concentrate upon and I think I’ve done quite well.”

“I’ve seen some of your papers, the one on the importance of fungi to the ecology of woodlands was excellent.”

“Thank you, was that you writing about dormice in Mammal Review?”

“Yeah, they’ve had that for over a year, but because they did one on dormice the month before I submitted it, they held it over.”

“So, Cathy Watts is Lady Cameron?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Don’t be afraid of anything, my dear, be bold, fortune is supposed to favour it. Right let’s eat–oh, I wonder how well young Trish is getting on with her puzzle.”

As Mary mentioned her name, so the brain with a child attached, entered the room. “Thank you, Dr Quantock, I quite enjoyed that, the mathematics was hard but I got round it eventually.”

“That was advanced calculus,” Mary whispered to me.

“I really liked the question about Quantum, though I’m not sure if I answered it right, and the one about Paris was really easy, we saw the end of the Tour de France there last year and Mummy and Daddy went again this year, didn’t you, Mummy?”

“So you’ve been to Paris, then, Trish?”

“Yes, Dr Quantock, I just told you that.” I cringed, Trish does not suffer fools gladly, even ones with PhDs.

“That’s telling me, would you care for some dinner?”

“Yes please, Dr Quantock, may I wash my hands?”

“Of course you may,” she showed ‘Einstein’ to the cloakroom.

Dinner was very tasty, although I have to say, I do a better pasta bake, though I don’t have an infrared oven, which seemed to cook it in no time at all.

“So what does your husband do–run the family estate?”

“Um, no, his father has one up in Scotland.”

“We have a castle in Scotland too,” Trish said smugly.

“Goodness,” I suspect the surprise was genuine from Mary. “You don’t have one down here then?”

“No, of course not, we live in a house with Gramps.” Trish was still a bit curt with our hostess.

“Gramps the owner of the castle?” asked Mary.

“No, Gramps the professor.”

“Ah, sorry, you have two grandfathers, of course you do.”

Trish looked at me and rolled her eyes. Patience is not her forte.

“Yes, Grandpa Tom, and Grandpa Henry,” Trish explained. “Grandpa Tom, is the professor.”

“And Henry is presumably the one with the castle?” deduced Mary.

“So what does your daddy do if he doesn’t run the castle?”

“He works for High St Bank,” I offered hoping Trish wouldn’t drop me in it.

“I presume he’s some sort of executive or director?” Mary was good at guessing games.

I nodded but Trish had to produce chapter and verse. “It’s Grandpa’s bank.”

“So your granddad banks there?”

“No, he owns it,” she said in exasperation and sighed.

“Oh my goodness, those Camerons–the High St Bank, Camerons?”

“Yes, weren’t you listening?” Trish almost snarled at her.

“You’re married to a multi-millionaire and you work?”

“Yes, I like my job.”

“I don’t think I would, be too busy spending his money,” she smiled.

“He’s always telling Mummy off for spending his money,” Trish said and I blushed.

“He’s not tight with money, is he?” Mary addressed me.

“No, Trish is only seeing part of the picture, Simon is actually very generous and keeps us all very comfortably.”

“I should hope so,” Mary considered.

I glanced at the anniversary clock on her mantle shelf, “Goodness, is that the time?”

“Oh, it’s getting late, look why don’t you spend the night–I’ve got plenty of space and could lend you a nightdress.”

I wasn’t terribly enthused with staying but the thought of driving back so late wasn’t much of a choice either.

“Let’s stay, Mummy.”

“What are you going to wear?” I asked Trish. I knew I had a spare pair of knickers for her, I always carry some, but night wear–that was something else.

“My niece left some stuff here, I’ll look through it, I’m sure there’s something that would fit Trish. Let’s clear up and I’ll go and look–oh, you can have a glass of wine now, if you’re not driving.” She went out to the kitchen and produced a bottle of white wine, “Would you open it while I find Trish something to wear?”

They went off and I uncorked the wine–I couldn’t remember the last time I’d opened a bottle, that was usually Simon or Tom’s job–I mean, why keep a dog and bark? The wine was a Chablis, so I knew I’d like it and it might help me to sleep–I never do in a strange room the first night.

I poured out two glasses and reflected on the day. Here we were in Cambridge having been told we’d be needed here–only I wasn’t needed, Trish was, whom I‘d been told to bring with me. She sorted out the computer problem while I looked on.

I didn’t really want to stay overnight but the fact that the clock seemed to have galloped round to ten o’clock, almost made me feel I was meant to stay here. I wasn’t sure I liked the way things were happening–I mean, what the hell is going on? Is there another reason I’m here–the real reason?