"I thought she was a very sweet girl. Slightly unusual, I'll grant you that, but very nice. A bit severe and possibly shy at heart, but still most pleasant. Not so sure about her family background though. She didn't say much about that did she? For all we know she_"
"Mother," Colin interrupted, "She is just a friend. Please stop postulating theories and, and, and..."
"And?"
"And anticipating developments that may never happen. Yes, that's what I meant."
"Oh. Very well then." Colin's mother Enid sat down and nursed her cup of tea, visibly deflated. She really did like the girl he had brought unexpectedly to dinner the previous night. She has been courteous and well-mannered. She seemed unpretentious and perfectly suited for her son, she thought.
"Does she frequent the races?" she asked.
"Does she what?" Colin had been busy rifling through his mother's cupboards for a pack of biscuits. He knew she always kept a spare packet of chocolate digestives somewhere. He stopped and turned to face her.
"The races. Does she frequent the races? You know, Ascot, Epsom, Cheltenham_"
"Mother, for crying out loud, whatever gave you that impression? She hardly seems like a horsey type, does she? Just because she is well spoken is no indication of the social circles she frequents. I really don't think it matters either, do you?"
"No, no," Enid sipped her tea cautiously. "I just thought it would be nice for you to establish yourself amongst that crowd, it would be most appropriate given your work now with Sir Percy and all the doors it could open in your career, and_"
"Mother. How many times are we going to have this conversation? I respect your views but I am not interested in rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi, much less anyone with vague royal connections. Sir Percy is merely a means to an end, a job, nothing else. There, I've said it now. And I apologise if you are disappointed. I really have no interest in pretending to be something I am not."
Colin looked at his mother. He recognised she was a quaint character, that she moved in circles with her close-knit group of friends, playing bridge every Tuesday, going to the bingo parlour on Thursday, and taking turns to host book club meetings once a month. It was a lonely life otherwise, or so he believed, with noone else to share things with. Not since his father disappeared anyway. He pondered for the umpteenth time where the bastard might be now.
"Colin."
His mother was looking at him, smiling, eyes pleading for a comfortable answer.
"So you are absolutely sure this Sally does not frequent the races?"
Colin rolled his eyes. Jesus wept, he thought.
"No mother, definitely not. I can assure you..." He paused suddenly, a fragment of conversation crossing his mind.
Enid watched him expectantly.
"Actually mama, she does frequent the races, I've just remembered."
"Oh splendid! We can have an excursion all together next week! What fun!" She clapped her hands for added effect.
"But not that kind of races, I'm afraid. Dog races. On the track, but with dogs."
He looked at his mother. She wore the same stunned expression as when she broke her beloved Silver Jubilee china cup and saucer.
"Oh," was all she managed to say.
"Mother," Colin interrupted, "She is just a friend. Please stop postulating theories and, and, and..."
"And?"
"And anticipating developments that may never happen. Yes, that's what I meant."
"Oh. Very well then." Colin's mother Enid sat down and nursed her cup of tea, visibly deflated. She really did like the girl he had brought unexpectedly to dinner the previous night. She has been courteous and well-mannered. She seemed unpretentious and perfectly suited for her son, she thought.
"Does she frequent the races?" she asked.
"Does she what?" Colin had been busy rifling through his mother's cupboards for a pack of biscuits. He knew she always kept a spare packet of chocolate digestives somewhere. He stopped and turned to face her.
"The races. Does she frequent the races? You know, Ascot, Epsom, Cheltenham_"
"Mother, for crying out loud, whatever gave you that impression? She hardly seems like a horsey type, does she? Just because she is well spoken is no indication of the social circles she frequents. I really don't think it matters either, do you?"
"No, no," Enid sipped her tea cautiously. "I just thought it would be nice for you to establish yourself amongst that crowd, it would be most appropriate given your work now with Sir Percy and all the doors it could open in your career, and_"
"Mother. How many times are we going to have this conversation? I respect your views but I am not interested in rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi, much less anyone with vague royal connections. Sir Percy is merely a means to an end, a job, nothing else. There, I've said it now. And I apologise if you are disappointed. I really have no interest in pretending to be something I am not."
Colin looked at his mother. He recognised she was a quaint character, that she moved in circles with her close-knit group of friends, playing bridge every Tuesday, going to the bingo parlour on Thursday, and taking turns to host book club meetings once a month. It was a lonely life otherwise, or so he believed, with noone else to share things with. Not since his father disappeared anyway. He pondered for the umpteenth time where the bastard might be now.
"Colin."
His mother was looking at him, smiling, eyes pleading for a comfortable answer.
"So you are absolutely sure this Sally does not frequent the races?"
Colin rolled his eyes. Jesus wept, he thought.
"No mother, definitely not. I can assure you..." He paused suddenly, a fragment of conversation crossing his mind.
Enid watched him expectantly.
"Actually mama, she does frequent the races, I've just remembered."
"Oh splendid! We can have an excursion all together next week! What fun!" She clapped her hands for added effect.
"But not that kind of races, I'm afraid. Dog races. On the track, but with dogs."
He looked at his mother. She wore the same stunned expression as when she broke her beloved Silver Jubilee china cup and saucer.
"Oh," was all she managed to say.
