‘I think you will find I know more about chess than any antiques expert,’ Rob blusters. ‘To settle it, I’ll take a photo on my phone and text it to my good friend, Sir Richard Simms, and he will confirm that I am correct.’
I mentally add ‘completely arrogant know-it-all’ to the ever-growing list of unpleasant qualities I’m compiling for Rob. He’s just too much and always manages to rub people up the wrong way with his supercilious tone and ridiculous pomposity.
Having ascended the grand staircase, we’re shown into a lovely drawing room with a piano and beautifully ornate furniture. Tea things are laid out and I can picture fine ladies or perhaps an admiring gentleman or two seated on the elegant sofa while enjoying a fine performance on the piano by a truly accomplished woman.
The room guide is a very enthusiastic and inspirational young American woman who has an impressive knowledge of the room and its contents. She’s lovely and I’m really enjoying chatting with her but this visit with Rob is a bit like taking an untrained toddler out to a historical house which is not very child friendly. He can’t seem to understand the concept of not touching things, even though there are signs everywhere. He’s also not in the least interested in any of the amazing paintings or incredible pieces of furniture which adorn each room. To keep him quiet and from annoying any more room stewards, I find myself rushing round the house tour faster than I would have liked, due to sheer embarrassment.
Though quite a large residence, it was only Henry Sandford’s town house, not his country estate, so it doesn’t take us that long to complete our tour. I would have liked to view the kitchens but Rob seems in a hurry to go and have lunch. I don’t bother reminding him that the whole point of our date was to visit the house, not lunch, but I don’t bother as I hope I will never have to go out with him again, like ever.
Before we visit the shop, which I’m excited about, I have to say, because I love Jane Austen paraphernalia, we spot a little museum room. The information on gout is interesting as I’ve read about so many characters who suffered from it. I stand there pondering how awful that something so simple could have caused so much suffering, but I guess that’s the case with many illnesses in the past. I’m lost in thought when I suddenly realise Rob has disappeared again. Honestly, this guy is a nightmare. Looking around, I discover him transfixed by the section on gambling.
‘This is amazing!’ he exclaims. ‘I’m definitely joining the agency’s Gaming Nights.’
‘Great idea,’ I reply. ‘Look, I’m going to the souvenir shop, okay?’
Rob doesn’t reply or seem to notice me go, he’s so involved in the rules of play. I know you don’t want your date hanging on your every word, but ideally some notice would be good. Although in Rob’s case, I conclude no attention is definitely preferable.
The gift shop is great and I have to make a real effort not to buy loads of souvenirs emblazoned with ‘Keep Calm and Read Jane Austen’.
It is still a gorgeous day when I thank Mrs Rowley and leave No.1 Royal Crescent.
‘Have you lost Mr Bright?’ she asks in a concerned manner.
‘Yes, thank goodness!’ I reply with feeling, and escape into the beautiful sunshine.
Chapter 11
‘Please get on and eat. The food’s getting cold!’ my mum exclaims, exasperated. She always says that at family meals and everyone always ignores her, continuing to chat and faff about.
‘At least there’s plenty to eat if Chloe and Kian aren’t coming,’ Ben mumbles, chomping his way through a crispy roast potato he’s managed to swipe off the edge of the roasting dish without Mum noticing.
‘Ben, that’s not very nice, is it? I’m sure we all wish Chloe were here with us, and Kian too really.’ Mum deftly dollops out huge portions of succulent roast beef and crunchy Yorkshire puddings.
Ben snorts but is temporarily distracted, making sure Becky, his latest conquest, has enough food on her plate. ‘No, honestly, Ben,’ she protests, holding her hand over the dish to stop him piling it any higher. ‘We don’t really eat roast at home.’
‘Not eat roast?’ chips in my dad, who’s already started and managed to drip gravy down his smartest shirt. ‘That can’t be right, best part of the week, Sunday roast!’
For once, I’ve come home for Sunday lunch as a treat. I try not to most of the time as the train fare is expensive but it’s just so tempting, my mum cooks the most amazing roasts ever and makes all the trimmings herself rather than buying them ready done. It’s also lovely to catch up with everyone, though I must admit, there’s pretty much always a drama of some kind or other and I end up trying to smooth things over because I’m the youngest.
This time it had erupted just before lunch as Chloe has been on the phone explaining rather awkwardly to Mum that she can’t come because Kian thinks she spends too much time with her family. Apparently we all make him feel uncomfortable. I can’t imagine we make anyone feel awkward, my mum and dad are really warm and welcoming, Mum even does a favourite birthday meal for both Kian and whoever is Ben’s current girlfriend, so they don’t feel left out. But like I said, Kian is a complete b.
My mum had come off the phone upset and flustered, especially as Chloe’s call had been right at the point when the potatoes were at a critical moment of roasting. Mum always says timing is everything with a roast and she has certainly got it off to a fine art.
As we sit and enjoy the delicious food, I feel fed up with Kian yet again. For years it has been our family tradition to meet up every Sunday or at least when we can. Obviously, while I was at uni I couldn’t very easily, and having moved to London makes it less often than we’d like but this makes our get-togethers even more precious. We’ve always been a close family until my two siblings married people who didn’t want to fit in. Why can’t they just get along with everyone?
In fact, it almost puts me off finding my own Mr Right, perhaps I’m best off staying single. I imagine Rob Bright meeting my family for the first time and I nearly choke on a parsnip.
I miss Chloe’s cheerful banter throughout lunch, especially as Ben and Becky spend most of their time whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, which makes me feel sick.
As soon as they’ve finished eating, they retreat to Ben’s room, much to Mum’s discomfort. If Chloe were here, we would have had a laugh about it.
As I’m upstairs grabbing another wiping up cloth, the sound of Mum and Dad’s raised voices floats up to me.
‘You need to talk to him about it, Phillip. It’s terribly bad manners,’ my mum says stridently.
‘I don’t see what I can say at his age. He’s a grown man. It’s not up to me to tell him what he can and can’t do.’
‘You have to tell him it’s our house and he can’t just do that in his room. Besides, isn’t she someone else’s girlfriend?’
‘Probably, but it’s not really any of our business.’
‘It jolly well is when it’s our house, and it’s immoral anyway. You always side with him, male chauvinists, the pair of you.’
I hear my dad’s murmured reply and return down the stairs.