Gosh. She sounded as if she was ancient. Yet she couldn’t be all that old. Seventy perhaps?
‘Is that Mrs Marshall? Mrs Frieda Marshall?’
‘Yes,’ she replied in the same wobbly voice. ‘Who’s this? You’re not Georgia.’
Ruby realised that Georgia’s name must have come up on the caller ID. She was, after all, using the house phone.
‘No. I’m Ruby. Sebastian’s new housekeeper. Georgia was called away to a family emergency and I’m standing in until she gets back.’
Frieda gasped. ‘A family emergency? What kind of family emergency?’
Ruby explained the situation, all the while amazed that Sebastian hadn’t thought to tell his mother what had happened.
‘Poor Georgia,’ the woman murmured. ‘And poor Sebastian. He’ll be lost without her. Who’s going to organise his firm’s Christmas party? It’s not long till Christmas.’
‘That’s all under control,’ Ruby informed her, thankful that it was. ‘Georgia booked the caterers in advance and all I have to do is make sure the house is clean.’
It took Ruby a good five minutes to worm out of Frieda what she would like for her birthday dinner. What she wanted—she said rather sheepishly—was rissoles.
‘Rissoles?’ Ruby echoed, thoroughly taken aback.
‘Yes. Beef rissoles,’ Frieda said eagerly. ‘And mashed potatoes. Lovely creamy mashed potatoes. The cook here is all right but her mashed potatoes are always lumpy.’
‘I make good creamy mashed potatoes,’ Ruby told her with a catch in her throat. It had been one of the foods her mother had been able to manage when she was on chemo. Ruby closed her eyes for a long moment before blinking them open again.
‘And what about dessert?’ she went on. ‘Any favourites there?’
‘I really shouldn’t eat dessert. I’ve put on a few pounds lately.’
‘But you must have dessert. It’s your birthday. Come on, Mrs Marshall, it’s your special day. You deserve a treat.’
‘Oh,’ the old lady said with a happy sigh. ‘What a lovely thing to say. All right, then,’ she went on, sounding less trembly now. ‘I adore lemon meringue pie and I haven’t had one in years. Do you think you could buy one somewhere?’
‘Buy one? I suppose I could try, but I’d prefer to make one fresh.’ Ruby was confident she could find a recipe on the Internet.
‘Are you sure? I know they’re a bit fiddly to make. My mother used to make them when I was a girl and she always complained.’
‘I’m a good cook, Mrs Marshall. I’ll cope.’
‘You are kind. And do call me Frieda.’
‘Thank you. Much better than Mrs Marshall. Now, what time do you like to eat, Frieda?’
‘Not too late. I get tired.’
‘Would you rather have lunch?’
‘No. I like the idea of dinner.’
‘Okay. What say I get Sebastian to pick you up at five-thirty? You can have a pre-dinner drink with your son, then dinner will be ready at six-thirty. How’s that?’
‘Sounds perfect. But you might have to buy some sherry for my pre-dinner drink. Sebastian won’t have any. He never has any.’
‘I’ll get some in. What kind of sherry? Dry, sweet or cream?’
‘Cream.’
‘And what would you like to drink with your dinner?’
Frieda hesitated before answering. ‘Er...could you buy a bottle of spumante? Sebastian won’t have any of that in the house, either.’
No, he wouldn’t. Ruby could see by his cellar that he was a bit of a wine snob, like most wealthy men. They looked down their noses at drinks like spumante.
‘Any particular brand?’ she asked.
‘No. Any bottle will do. They all taste the same, don’t they?’
Ruby knew this wasn’t true and decided to buy the most expensive.
‘Can you think of anything else you might like, Frieda?’
‘No, not really. I’ve already given you a lot of work. But thank you so much.’
‘My pleasure. I’ll see you Saturday, then.’
‘Saturday. Yes. Oh, how exiting. I’ll have to go and tell the girls. Bye, love. And thank you again.’
Ruby stood still for a long moment after she clicked off. Love. She’d called her love, which had been her mother’s favourite endearment.
Oh, dear...
Ruby forcibly straightened her shoulders then went to pick up her tablet to look up recipes for lemon meringue pie. The rissoles she could manage with her eyes closed—her brothers adored rissoles—but the pie might have to have a dry run on Friday because she wanted everything to be perfect for Frieda, and not just because she was Sebastian’s mother, but because it was her birthday. And everyone deserved to be spoiled on their birthday.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RUBY WAS IN the fresh vegetable aisle of the supermarket when her phone rang. Her heart jumped when she saw the caller identity. Jumped, then raced.
‘Sebastian,’ she answered with creditable cool. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi to you too. I’ve just had a call from my mother. She said you rang and asked her what she’d like to eat on Saturday night.’
‘Yes, I did. Is there a problem with that?’
‘No, of course not. She was very complimentary about you. Said she prefers you to Georgia.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’
‘What about you?’ Ruby asked cheekily before she could think better of it. ‘Do you prefer me to Georgia?’
His hesitation gave her the answer to her stupid question. Or it did until he sighed.
‘You both have different qualities, Ruby. Georgia certainly never cooked my mother a birthday dinner. As I said last night, you’re a very kind person.’
Ruby was glad he couldn’t see her blush this time. Or the way his compliment affected her.
‘She’s sweet, your mum. By the way, how old is she?’
‘Seventy-three. Why do you ask?’
‘She sounded fragile,’ she said. Or she had, at first.
‘That’s a bit of an act,’ Sebastian said. ‘She’s as healthy as a horse.’
‘I see. Still, I did wonder why she wasn’t living with you. It’s not as though you don’t have the room.’