Lucasta sat down in one of the armchairs near the fire.
“My legs won’t let me stand too long my knees you know so creaky and old I sometimes wonder at the Divinity letting us go through all this decay and falling off quite horrid sometimes really though I don’t know whether Canon Green would approve of my sentiments dear man.”
Esmé sat cross-legged on the floor on her right, Keith followed suit on her left. Graeme and Eleanor took the sofa and Jason leant negligently against the mantelpiece.
“Will you go for a while to live in France after you’ve graduated, my dear?” Lucasta’s glance at Esmé was direct.
“I’d love to. It always seemed magical to me. That’s why I studied French.”
“Oh my dear so different and so elegant but they treat cats badly poor things all these starving creatures slinking about with all their ribs showing I used to feel so sorry for them when I went there but such a beautiful country and somehow so much grander than England the countryside I mean though not Scotland which is very impressive and almost wild sometimes which I always loved when I used to go and visit Lillibet at …” She stopped, and cast a look of mute apology to Jason.
“Lillibet?” asked Esmé, puzzled, feeling that she ought to know who all these people were, and feeling inadequate as she often did.
“Yes well the Queen you know whom I’ve known for years.” There was no boastfulness about it; on the contrary, almost a shamed regret that she had to mention it. And a lack of blether which was quite revealing. Jason was staring at his grandmother, his brow creased.