Hake on Spinach and environs had several rather grand properties within its confines, not least of which was Lamprey Manse. Of a slightly later vintage than Hake Hall it nevertheless exuded a certain grandeur but of a slightly more compact, red brick variety.
In the dining room of Lamprey Manse Sonia Baddesley-Fanshawe consumed her third cup of coffee at the dining table which was strewn with delicately fragranced petals from her rather over-ambitious floral centre. Now certain that her husband Trevor was safely off the premises to work, as through the French windows she watched his green Aston Martin round the curve of the drive, she arose lazily and strolled, mule heels clicking across the Flemish-style black and white floor tiles in the hall, into the kitchen.
The kitchen was fitted out with hand-crafted cabinetry imported exclusively from Mexico by a city business contact (Trevor’s choice, Sonia preferred clinical white) but it did offer, she conceded, useful storage space and gave a sort of non-functional warmth to the room. She took out of one of the custom-built spice drawers a wallet of special ‘tobacco’ and papers and proceeded to prepare her first and eagerly anticipated cigarette of the day. She jumped nervously at the noise of the mail dropping to the mat in the hall then cursed as she gathered up her spilt ‘tobacco’ from the floor. Jupiter, their labrador, made an energetic entrance through the open kitchen door having bidden his master farewell and plunged his muzzle into the exciting-smelling stuff.
“Oh get out of it, leave it, you tiresome beast,” she said feebly. Sonia knew she had no control over the wilful black hound and now he had dribbled in her tobacco, she was forced to throw what he had not eaten into the bin, secreting it within a discarded cereal box. Having finally constructed a cigarette, her next problem was ignition of same. She frantically searched kitchen drawers for matches, with Jupiter skilfully contriving to stand in her way at every turn. In sheer exasperation she landed a light kick to his rump with her muled foot but in the process parted company with the slipper which described a graceful arc and came to rest beside the range cooker right in the coal scuttle (a mere antique prop which nevertheless proved rather useful as a repository for rubbish). Sonia limped to the hob with a newspaper spill which she had torn furiously from the discarded Times left on the side by the door and lit her mis-shapen cigarette very inexpertly from the flaming paper. The conflagration was such that she was obliged to drop the spill into the coal scuttle and before she realised what she had done, her nostrils were greeted with an acrid burning smell as the fur on her mule began to singe. Sonia’s need for the cigarette was greater than her desire to save her mule and she stood in the open kitchen doorway in her silk dressing gown, leaning against the frame and gazing across the sunny lawns to the twinkling water in the swimming pool beyond, as she lazily dragged on her cigarette and contentment percolated through her veins.
Her reverie was sharply interrupted by the shrill noise of the smoke detector activating in the hall.
“Oh for Chris’sake,” she muttered venomously as she kicked off her remaining mule and padded furiously into the hall with the newspaper to dispel the fumes. Having silenced the dreadful thing, she turned and was greeted with the unexpected sight of Jupiter wandering unsteadily towards her.
“What on earth......,” she began but then the awful realization seized her. The dog had eaten her special tobacco and was clearly now feeling the effects. “You dopey dog,” she said before being seized with paroxysms of hilarity. She sat on the floor with him with her arms round his neck as he made feeble attempts to lick her affectionately.
Sonia left Jupiter dozing while she had a shower and dressed for the day. She had been invited to join a ladies’ lunch at the Mal de Mer, a happening new restaurant which had recently opened in Mackerel, so it had to be something chic. She finally decided upon a fitted cream linen dress with a cropped burnt orange jacket. Sonia’s self image rendered her blissfully unaware of the unsuitable length of her garments, even with the evidence plainly displayed in the full length mirror before her. She would wear gold strappy sandals, thus painted her toenails orange to match the jacket, then decided she should paint her fingernails too. By the time all this had been achieved and she had her hair just right and her make up applied (perhaps a little too much mascara, but she was not blessed with long eyelashes), and she had whitened her teeth, she just had time for a pre-prandial gin and tonic whilst waiting for her taxi to arrive. Jupiter was still sleeping but she supposed he would be alright when he awoke.
Sonia sipped her gin and tonic with the ice cubes tinkling delightfully in the glass as she sat by the dining table waiting to catch sight of the taxi. It was clearly going to be a very warm day and she began to wonder whether her outfit was entirely appropriate, and linen did crease so easily. Would she have time to change? She ran upstairs, threw the jacket on the bed, wriggled out of her dress which landed, and stayed, on the floor and sorted frantically through her wardrobe. A very revealing tight white tee-shirt and violet silk culottes seemed a winning combination, but it was a pity that she had no time to repolish her nails. Sonia scooped up her bag and door keys as the taxi arrived and walked jauntily out of the stained-glass front door. Jupiter was still asleep, but she called to him anyway, “‘Bye old thing, I’ll see you later.”
Next we'll be visiting the Mal de Mer with Sonia