Took afternoon tea with the pair and decided a plate of Welsh scones would be a safe dish. No fear of going wrong with this. People are particular about scones. They can vary from lead to clay. The Welsh don't disappoint.
A cool room on a hot day.
Well worn leather chairs. I found out later how well travelled they were. I sunk into one.
Nobody ever sits in a chair, do they? They are always hanging about the edge looking constipated.
I have been watching you.
Not something one is accustomed to hearing over a cup of tea and pastry.
Of course, I'd been watching the house, too. But I didn't tell them that. Probably didn't have to.
Cups and saucers. Refrained from looking at the underside. Where have I seen this pattern?
Not one but two teapots-his and hers. He favours loose, she's the Bag Lady. It's her little joke which Frederick does not find remotely amusing.
Smoked salmon, pate and a cheese board. Delicious.
You are sleeping better these ...?
A bell went in the kitchen and off he went.
We won't see him again, today. Meringues. She whispered the word.
I think we're all sleeping better these days, no? Everyone says so. Frederick is such a snob about tea. I can't stand it. Give me a bag, any day. He really is the most tiresome little man. I only stay for the cooking.
More scones?
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