Chapter Fifteen
Island House, Melstead St Mary
October 1962
Isabella
‘Mmm . . . something smells good,’ remarked Isabella as she, together with Stanley and Annelise, entered the gates of hell – otherwise known as the kitchen at Island House, and where Mrs Collings ruled supreme and with a fist of iron.
The formidable woman swung round from the stove, a wooden spoon clenched in her hand. ‘What’s this then?’ she demanded. ‘A deputation in my kitchen?’
Stanley laughed. ‘Only you could hold a wooden spoon and make yourself look dangerously armed.’
‘Is it any wonder I arm myself when you pop up looking more and more like one of those dreadful nitbeaks. Just look at the state of your hair! Any longer and people will think you’re a woman!’
‘I think you mean beatnik, which I’ll take as a compliment. So what culinary delights have you in store for us for lunch?’
‘Cheeky beggar,’ said Mrs Collings. ‘You have chicken and mushroom pie with mashed potatoes and green beans and carrots.’
‘And for dessert?’
‘Apricot tart. Now out of my way so I can get this meal served.’
‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Isabella, stepping forward, ‘we’re here to help.’
‘And who says I need any help?’
‘Hope thought you might like it, seeing as Florence is over at Meadow Lodge getting things ready for the party,’ said Annelise.
‘And taken Beatty the new maid with her,’ said Mrs Collings, disapprovingly.
‘But here we are,’ said Stanley ‘all three of us present and correct, just waiting to do your bidding.’
‘In that case, if you can be trusted not to drop anything, you can make a start by taking these plates through to the dining room. Annelise, you can fill the water jug, it’s over there on the draining board and then put it on the table.’
‘What about me, Mrs Collings?’
She gave Isabella a look as if to say, And what about you? Isabella could become the most famous actress of the day, but this harridan of a woman would still treat her as the naughty teenager who had once secretly stirred salt into the custard Mrs Collings had just made. ‘You can fetch the butter from the pantry,’ she instructed, ‘and add a knob of it to the carrots and beans when I’ve drained them. If you’re sure you won’t make a mess of it.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Isabella said, tempted to tug on her forelock and throw in a curtsey for good measure.
They had the last of the dishes on the table with Mrs Collings fussing over where they should be placed when Edmund arrived back from doing his morning rounds. ‘Any chance of some mustard to go with your delicious pie, Mrs Collings?’ he asked.
She scowled. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Edmund said, with the kind of smile Isabella knew could warm the coldest of hearts. Not for nothing was he known in the village for having the best bedside manner this side of Dr Kildare.
‘Honestly, I swear that woman gets worse,’ muttered Hope, when Mrs Collings had gone. ‘I don’t know why Romily keeps her. She’s not a patch on Mrs Partridge.’
‘You know Romily has a weakness for lame ducks,’ said Edmund.
‘There’s nothing lame about Mrs Collings,’ asserted Hope.
‘It must be difficult for her, knowing she has such a hard act to follow,’ said Annelise.
‘Yes,’ agreed Stanley. ‘Mrs Partridge was like a grandmother to us all.’
As they all did, Isabella had many affectionate memories of the big-hearted woman who had presided over the kitchen here at Island House for as long as she could remember. Sadly, she had died peacefully in her sleep two years ago.
‘Mrs Collings is all right,’ said Edmund, indicating everyone should sit down, ‘her curmudgeonly manner is merely an act. She’s a pussycat really. You just have to know how to handle her.’
Hope rolled her eyes. ‘And you would know all about handling women, wouldn’t you? You have every woman in the village of a certain age at your beck and call.’
‘Not quite every woman,’ replied Edmund lightly. As light as his voice was, Isabella caught the frown on his face. They were quite used to Hope’s occasional bouts of crabbiness, but her remark, along with a couple made last night during dinner, seemed unusually sharp. Perhaps she was working too hard. That was the excuse they all used for Hope when she became tetchy.
Isabella clearly wasn’t alone in thinking Hope had been unnecessarily unkind to Edmund, because the room had gone deathly quiet. It was as if nobody knew what to say. In the awkward silence, Mrs Collings bustled back in with the requested pot of mustard. Edmund thanked her and she huffed her way out again as though she had just been forced to tramp across the Himalayas.
Hope issued another tut, but before she could say anything, Edmund said, ‘It’s lovely to have you girls home for the weekend. We don’t see enough of you these days. Not nearly enough.’
‘Oh, please don’t make me feel any worse than I already feel,’ said Annelise. ‘This term’s just been so busy. I would have come home if I’d been able to.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Edmund, don’t nag the poor girl; you said much the same thing last night. She has her own life to lead in Oxford.’
‘I’m not nagging anyone. I wouldn’t dream of it.’
Once more Isabella saw the frown crease Edmund’s brow. Something was going on. Had Hope and Edmund had a row?
Ignoring her husband, and while they all began helping themselves from the dishes, Hope turned to Stanley. In a classic example of there being no such thing as a free lunch, Hope had invited him to join them so that she could go over some detail or other about the new house.
Observing Stanley across the table, Isabella acknowledged that longer hair suited him, as did the black polo-neck sweater he was wearing. There was a markedly more urbane air about him these days. She wondered if Annelise had noticed it. Possibly not. It was obvious to Isabella that Stanley worshipped the ground Annelise walked on, but Annelise being Annelise, she was completely blind to it.
The conversation around the table had now moved on to America and the Soviets battling it out over Cuba. Isabella took the view that if the world was about to end, she would make damned sure she enjoyed her last days on earth. Trying to lighten the mood again, and interrupting Hope, she asked Stanley if he was taking anyone to the party at Meadow Lodge that evening.