He smiled. ‘Well, take it from me, this guy definitely wants to know more.’
Chapter Fifteen
Island House, Melstead St Mary
October 1962
Isabella
‘Mmm ... something smells good,’ remarked Isabella as she, together with Stanley and Annelise, entered the gates of hell – otherwise known as the kitchen at Island House, and where Mrs Collings ruled supreme and with a fist of iron.
The formidable woman swung round from the stove, a wooden spoon clenched in her hand. ‘What’s this then?’ she demanded. ‘A deputation in my kitchen?’
Stanley laughed. ‘Only you could hold a wooden spoon and make yourself look dangerously armed.’
‘Is it any wonder I arm myself when you pop up looking more and more like one of those dreadfulnitbeaks. Just look at the state of your hair! Any longer and people will think you’re a woman!’
‘I think you meanbeatnik, which I’ll take as a compliment. So what culinary delights have you in store for us for lunch?’
‘Cheeky beggar,’ said Mrs Collings. ‘You have chicken and mushroom pie with mashed potatoes and green beans and carrots.’
‘And for dessert?’
‘Apricot tart. Now out of my way so I can get this meal served.’
‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Isabella, stepping forward, ‘we’re here to help.’
‘And who says I need any help?’
‘Hope thought you might like it, seeing as Florence is over at Meadow Lodge getting things ready for the party,’ said Annelise.
‘And taken Beatty the new maid with her,’ said Mrs Collings, disapprovingly.
‘But here we are,’ said Stanley ‘all three of us present and correct, just waiting to do your bidding.’
‘In that case, if you can be trusted not to drop anything, you can make a start by taking these plates through to the dining room. Annelise, you can fill the water jug, it’s over there on the draining board and then put it on the table.’
‘What about me, Mrs Collings?’
She gave Isabella a look as if to say,And what about you?Isabella could become the most famous actress of the day, but this harridan of a woman would still treat her as the naughty teenager who had once secretly stirred salt into the custard Mrs Collings had just made. ‘You can fetch the butter from the pantry,’ she instructed, ‘and add a knob of it to the carrots and beans when I’ve drained them. If you’re sure you won’t make a mess of it.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Isabella said, tempted to tug on her forelock and throw in a curtsey for good measure.
They had the last of the dishes on the table with Mrs Collings fussing over where they should be placed when Edmund arrived back from doing his morning rounds. ‘Any chance of some mustard to go with your delicious pie, Mrs Collings?’ he asked.
She scowled. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Edmund said, with the kind of smile Isabella knew could warm the coldest of hearts. Not for nothing was he known in the village for having the best bedside manner this side of Dr Kildare.
‘Honestly, I swear that woman gets worse,’ muttered Hope, when Mrs Collings had gone. ‘I don’t know why Romily keeps her. She’s not a patch on Mrs Partridge.’
‘You know Romily has a weakness for lame ducks,’ said Edmund.
‘There’s nothing lame about Mrs Collings,’ asserted Hope.
‘It must be difficult for her, knowing she has such a hard act to follow,’ said Annelise.
‘Yes,’ agreed Stanley. ‘Mrs Partridge was like a grandmother to us all.’
