Chapter 4
“Cara, … this room is out-of-this-world … and so spacious. My few outfits look sort of forlorn hanging in the middle of the wardrobe. I’ll have to go shopping. How beautifully everything is coordinated. Who did the decorating?”
“I believe Margaret is responsible. She has an eye for making things beautiful.”
“Green, yellow and white … it is so cozy … feels like a cottage within a castle.” Daisy stroked the lace curtains and smoothed her hands across the bed linens. “It is wonderfully warm in here and in the bathroom. Where do I get the coal for the fire?”
“You don’t … Sally does … it’s her job.” Cara led Daisy through the door. “You are probably tired … we won’t keep you up long but we must go down to the lounge for a short while.”
“Have you been visiting long, Cara?”
“Donal and I arrived three weeks ago, although we were here the whole month of December. We’ve been asked to stay the summer and I accepted. There are so many entertainments … sights to see in London … our village in Scotland is a pretty place but not very exciting.”
“It’s too bad there are not a passel of kids running around here … it look like it would be a great home for raising children.” Daisy caught a glimpse of two magnificent rooms off the entry hall.
“Fortunately Donal prefers playing alone … he is used to it. My brother-in-law lives in London with his two sons who are twenty and twenty-two. I am expected to see them often.”
....
Daisy awoke hearing soft scraping noises. Catching her breath … she released it slowly as she remembered where she was. Sitting up and peering over the mounded coverlet, her eyes followed a shaft of light that poured through the window over the thick pastel green carpet, making a pale blue trail across a large expanse of dark blue rump, which was the backside of Sally who was busy building up the fire to warm her room.
“Sorry, Miss, dinna mean to wake you … the fire will warm you in a tick.”
Daisy laid back upon her downy pillows. One morning I’m freezing in a tiny room feeding coins into a cranky radiator … next morning a coal fire lit by a maid is coming to a roar in a beautiful bedroom where I’m lying abed wondering when I should stir myself to bathe and dress for breakfast. And ... I’m not dreaming.
Standing at the bottom of the staircase, Daisy felt a bit lost. She knew which doors opened into the lounge and library, but hadn’t been introduced to any of the other first floor rooms. Then she heard voices behind a door down the hall across from the library. She tentatively knocked and it opened.
“Good morning, Daisy. I’m sorry … the door should have been left open for you. Come in … breakfast is on the sideboard … help yourself.” Duff escorted her to a long sideboard laid with tea, coffee, juice, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs, tiny sardine-like fish heaped on a dish, toast, rolls, scones and condiments galore.
Choosing juice, toast, scrambled eggs and a slice of bacon, she sat across from her host. Alistair was at the head of the table and Margaret Gregor in the chair to his right. Her mouth was pursed and her cheeks flushed. Daisy had evidently interrupted a family confab.
“What time do we begin, sirs?” She asked acknowledging both of her hosts.
Duff looked up from the pile of little fishes on his plate, “After breakfast and a second cup of coffee … sound alright?”
“Yes, of course … in the library?”
“Yes … Father and I share the large desk … we had Morris move in a smaller desk we borrowed from another room for you to use. It’s one of those pull-down things.”
Margaret Gregor spoke up. “A Queen Anne Secretary … it is quite valuable. You must be careful.”
“Yes, Maam, I will be very careful. Last night when I was admiring the guest room, Mrs. McNally told me you are the person responsible for the interior decorating throughout Hill Manse. Every room I’ve seen is magnificent. You have an enviable talent, Miss Gregor.”
“Thank you, Miss Landis. It has taken quite a long time AND … every cent spent has been worth it.” She sniffed emphatically and with Rosemary’s voice ringing in her ears, she continued. “I’m quite curious about the sort of people who train to play in orchestras in America. Has any of their musical education taken place in reputable conservatories?”
Daisy was ready. She wiped her mouth, folded her napkin and looked directly at her hostess. “Many have … violinists and flutist in particular. Pianists come out of homes and churches, mainly. It is amazing how many talented women play the piano. There are musical education classes taught in universities … horns and winds often come out of the colleges. I learned to play the drums at the University of Nebraska. If you are interested as to the class of people who play in orchestras, they vary. Some come from wealthy families in the East, immigrants in New York City, cattle ranches and farming families in the Midwest, rich plantations and poor cotton farms from the South, guitar and bass playing cowgirls come from the West. If you meant moral fiber, that also varies. In our summer orchestra, as an example, there is an uptight harpist who is an elitist and believes she is a social register above the rest of us because her family is wealthy. There is a conservatory trained violinist, two trumpeters and a bass player who smoke marijuana and drink liquor. The rest of us are just ordinary women … secretaries, store clerks, Denise is a dressmaker … let’s see, Ellie’s a bus driver from Queens, Magna a nurse out of Chicago and then there is me … a high school English teacher. In our free time we crochet, read, write, chat, swim, and play croquet, tennis and badminton and wouldn’t think of smoking weed or drinking whisky. We are mostly God-fearing women who love to play music with other well-trained musicians.”
“Does that answer your question, daughter?” Alistair asked pushing his chair away from the table and pouring himself more coffee. “Daisy, would you like some coffee?” She nodded.
Margaret said, “I suppose so … such a simple question … I hardly expected so involved an explanation. Women in America behave in a rather free-thinking manner.”
“Only a modest portion of the female population in America is particularly open-minded. Most women there are just as eager as men to suppress the spirits of their more laissez-faire sisters.”
“Ah-hum” … Duff cleared his throat. “Let’s take our coffee into the library and get started before Daisy lectures us on Modern Thought in the Twentieth Century.”
Daisy laughed. “And, don’t think I couldn’t do it.”
----
“Well, how did your first day go, Daisy?”
“Richard … how nice of you to call. I can’t even begin to tell you over the phone … I wouldn’t want to be overheard”, she whispered.
“That sounds dire. According to the BBC weather forecast, tomorrow is going to be a bright sunshiny day. Come with me to the British Museum and various galleries scattered about. Saturday is a day for leisurely sightseeing and a picnic.”
“Possibly in the afternoon. Will you call me in the morning? I don’t want to take advantage of my employers.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Sleep well.”
----
“Good morning, Daisy. It looks as if we are the early risers this morning. The others should be down shortly.” Duff sat down with his breakfast plate filled with eggs, sausages, rolls and a heap of those slimy looking fish.
“Duff … what kind of fish is that on your plate … sardines … herring?”
“They’re called ‘kippers’ … brined and smoked herring. Quite a treat, don’t you know … give them a try.”
“Not this morning … maybe when I get a bit braver.”
“About this afternoon, Daisy … thought you’d like to go sightseeing. It is supposed to be a fine day. Mrs. McNally and I would be happy to take you about.”
“Why, thank you. As a matter of fact, Richard called last night and asked me to go to the British Museum with him this afternoon if I wasn’t working, of course.”
“Fine, fine idea. You’ll enjoy it very much. Have you plans for tomorrow afternoon?”
“Sunday … actually, yes. I’m to have tea with friends. Basil, he works at the Times with Richard, and his wife, Cathy invited me. I have a gift for their baby boy.”
“Well, then … you do have a busy social life. I’ll tell you what … Hamlet’s having a run at the Old Globe … would you like to see it? Richard Burton is playing the lead.”
“Oh, I’d love it. When would we go?”
“If I remember correctly, Cara and her brother-in-law, Angus McNally have tickets for Wednesday night. I’ll see what can be done and let you know … alright?”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.” Daisy’s mind was whirling … wondering what she would wear.
I’d better go shopping. Hopefully Monday afternoon will be dry. I’ll have to ask where the closest bus stop is around here.
Duff told Daisy there was no bus stop close by and she was to make use of a car and chauffer whenever she needed to go somewhere.
“We have two perfectly well running automobiles sitting in the garage … they need to be used. Victor spends most of his time wiping, polishing or greasing one or the other of them … driving someone somewhere in the Bentley would make his day. If you drive, you are welcome to use the Mini.”
Daisy was waiting in front of the house when Richard came for her on Saturday afternoon.
“So anxious, are you, Daisy … to see the sights of London you couldn’t wait for me to ring the front bell?” Richard walked around the car to open the door for her.
“I need a big, big favor, Richard.” She didn’t move to get into the Topo. She stood with her gloved hands clutching her purse, her bottom lip held between her teeth.
“This doesn’t bode well, my girl. Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong. I need some practice time, that’s all. I’ve had a driver’s license and have driven an Oldsmobile for over ten years and Duff has offered to let me drive his Mini, but I need some practice driving on the wrong side of the road.”
A cold hand clutched at his heart. “Oh, gawd, Daisy … I’ve never been in a car with a woman driving.”
“For heaven’s sake … be a man! I am a terribly good driver.”
“Well, I am being a man, actually. And that’s an oxymoron … terribly good … and you an English teacher.”
“Richard!”
“Alright … go ahead … get behind the wheel. I doubt my Topo’s gear box shifts like your Oldsmobile and, by the way, it’s you Yanks who drive on the wrong side, my girl.” His voice lowered to a softer growl, “I suppose it’s my moral and civic duty to prevent the deaths of innocent British citizens, if possible, and … I believe this would be considered hazardous duty.”
“Oh hush! Don’t make me more nervous than I am already.”
----
Richard couldn’t make it to Basil’s for tea on Sunday. A “rugger” game was being played, which he had forgotten about. Daisy assumed he had to cover the match for the paper but Basil said no … Ned had that assignment. Richard liked both the teams and wanted to see the outcome.
Daisy told Cathy, “Driving on the left side of the road is like learning a different language … I have to keep translating each movement I’m suppose to make. It’ll take a few more practice runs to have it feel ‘right’ … moving forward on the left.”
“I don’t think I could drive on either side of the road.” Cathy passed the baby over to her husband in order to pour the tea. “Autos scare me to death. I’m glad we can’t afford to own one.”
“Someday, darling, we’ll both learn … you’ll see. It’ll be as natural as riding a bicycle … right, Daisy?”
“Yes, I suppose it is. Cathy, I need to go shopping tomorrow afternoon. I’ve been invited to attend Hamlet at the Globe Theater Wednesday night and have no evening clothes. Where should I go first?”
“Tell you what … I’ll get Mum to stay with Errol and we’ll make a day of it. What do you say to that?”
“I say … thank you … thank you!
----
“Richard Burton was wonderful; not that I have ever seen any other live Shakespearean actor to compare him with.” Daisy rolled the beef roast in seasoned flour and put it in the sizzling grease coating the bottom of the roasting pot. “I’ve turned the heat up in order to sear the roast on all sides. Later we’ll add some hot broth before turning it down to cook slowly. In my cookbook at home it says searing keeps the juices from running out. The vegetables need to be added later … they don’t take as long to cook as the meat does.”
“I appreciate this, dear. There is no reason in the world why I cannot learn to fix a simple meal. Shall we cut up the vegetables now?” asked Mrs. Hamblin.
“Certainly … but we’ll put the root vegetables in water, cover them ‘til we’re ready. They’ll keep fresher that way. Let’s do custard for your dessert. Where’s your cookery book?”
While the roast was roasting and the custard was baking, Daisy and Mrs. Hamblin went over dress pattern instructions.
“The evening dress I bought cost more than I should have paid. But it’s beautiful and will serve me well for a long time. Now I need a couple of day outfits … at home I always sewed my own clothes and there’s an old Vickers I can use at the Manse.”
“What a clever girl you are. Oh, these designs are lovely. I like the peplum on this jacket … very chic … as they say.”
Richard walked in on this domestic scene. “Putting a few miles on the Mini, I see. Hello, Daisy.”
“Hello, yourself … I need all the practice I can get driving ‘wrong’.” Daisy grinned and winked at him before turning back to Mrs. Hamblin. “Be sure to put the vegetables and the rest of the stock into the pot in about half an hour … oh, and the herbs, too. You’ll know when the vegetables are done by inserting a knife through the potatoes. The custard should come out about now and be cool enough to eat later. Enjoy your supper … I’ve got to scoot.”
“You cook the meal then leave … that doesn’t bode good. Why don’t you stay?”
“Actually … your mother is cooking the meal … I supervised. Richard … I’d like to talk to you about the Gregor’s, your best friends.” She realized she sounded wheedling but stayed the course. “They really need your help. The present manuscript is terrible and is badly in need of professional help … help I don’t have enough writing experience to give … but, you do. Please think about lending a hand. I really have to go … Duff needs the Mini. Thank you for a fun afternoon, Mrs. Hamblin. Goodbye.” Daisy kissed Mrs. Hamblin on the cheek. On her way through the door, she squeezed Richard’s arm and said, “Please, Richard, help us!”
“That girl is a force to be reckoned with. What makes her think I can save the book if the material is dimmer than a spent candle?”
“Darling … for me, cricket and rugby are extremely dull to watch … mainly because I don’t care about them. But, I do enjoy your write-ups in the paper. Your excitement and enjoyment of the games comes across allowing your readers to enjoy them, too. If you could incorporate the passion and interest Duff and Alistair feel toward the predicament of Veterans, I’m sure it would make a big difference to the manuscript.”
“The problem is, Mum, I don’t feel the passion they do and I would have to in order to make any difference.”
“Well, you must tell Daisy, Richard. Otherwise she may count on you coming to their rescue.”
“I’ll call her this evening.”
“Hello … Richard, thanks for calling so soon … will you be able to help us? I see … no, I haven’t suggested to anyone that you could rescue them. That’s understandable … you’d know best about that … of course, I’m disappointed. We’ll do the best we can. Thank you for letting me know … goodnight.”
Tears sprang to the fore but Daisy fought them back. I shouldn’t have counted on him doing it. He’s right … you have to care about a thing in order to get others to care. There must be someone, though. I’ll talk to Agnes. If she can’t think of anyone, I call Basil.
----
Duff insisted that he and Daisy be chauffeured to the Times Building. He reckoned the weather was unreliable and thought better of letting her go out in the Mini. All through the night and most of the morning rain drummed relentlessly upon the city but was now gradually letting up.
“The meeting should last no more than an hour. We’ll pick you up … don’t go looking for a bus to ride!” Ordered Duff.
Fortunately, Richard was off to some sports venue when Daisy poked her head into the anti-room next to the archives.
Agnes listened to her plea for help. “I need an experienced writer, Agnes … one that is compassionate toward veterans or people in general that are deprived of their legal and moral rights. There must be someone here who can do more than write about sports or crimes or society news.”
“Of course … but they’re busy. They are off working their assignments just like Basil and Richard.” Agnes wilted at the disappointment on Daisy’s face. “Let me look in the newsroom and see whose there that might agree to help you.”
In less than ten minutes Agnes returned with a tall lanky fellow with a thick head of blond hair brushed back from his forehead and a friendly smile on his out of the ordinary face. He wasn’t old by any means, but he had a deep crease on each side of his nose and mouth that grew deeper when he smiled.
Daisy watched him approach and smiled, too. When he was a kid, his mother had probably called them dimples. I’ll bet he hated that!
“Daisy … this is Jackson Portchier. Jackson, meet Daisy Landis. I told him what you needed and he’d like to hear about the project.”
Holding out her hand, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Portchier. I’m so glad to meet you. At present, I’m working for Misters Alistair and Duff Gregor. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
His hand enclosed hers and a soft Virginia drawl formed a reply. “Miss Landis, so happy to make your acquaintance. I’m more than ready for my second cup of coffee and I’d be honored if you’d join me. Would you mind if we stepped two doors down the road?”
Daisy felt a warm sizzle bloom around her chest and trickle down to lower realms. She immediately rationalized her visceral response. I’m just tickled to meet another American ... a little homesick, that’s all.
“That would be fine, Mr. Portchier … my umbrella, at the entry there, is poised and ready for a walk. But, before I explain the Veteran project to you, sir, I must know what a gentleman from the southern region of the U.S. is doing working at the London Times.”
“Would you care for anything to dunk in your coffee, Miss Landis?”
“No thank you. Now, please … indulge my curiosity.”
Dipping a sugary confection into his scalding brew, he began. “I was applying to attend the University of Virginia when Hitler started messing with the Jews and Europe in general. So, in 1940 I came to England to join the RAF instead. I learned to fly a small plane when I was sixteen … thought my pilot experience would give me an edge … officer status, at least. It did not.” He smiled, took a bite of his cookie, swallowed and continued. “But, there were enough American volunteers in Britain to form a special unit called the Eagle Squadron. That’s where I served as a combat pilot and was one of the lucky ones to come out of the war physically unscathed. I don’t believe that any soldier could not be negatively affected to some degree … in mind and spirit if not in body. In the fall of ’42, our squadron was transferred to the U.S. Army Air force. I went back home in ‘45, attended University and then looked about for a job that would keep me up-to-date with the changes happening in the world. I became a reporter for The Virginian-Pilot, which went well for awhile. I wanted to see England again, so three years ago I flew across the Atlantic and got a job at the Times … been here ever since. Now, Maam, may I inquire why you came to London?”
To give him her full attention, Daisy had propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the backs of her hands. Now she leaned back and told him about being a high school teacher in Omaha, her working holiday for the Leader Press and the job with the Gregor’s.
“What they are trying to do is bring much needed attention to the veteran’s on-going needs medically, psychologically, financially, socially and morally … the work is tremendously worthwhile. But, I must confess, the material they’ve gleaned is dry and statistical … not on an emotional level at all. I have the skills to type, edit and do interviews but Duff Gregor and his father, Alistair Gregor, feel it is inappropriate for a woman to speak to these self-conscious and conservative vets and these two dear men don’t know how to conduct interviews.” Daisy leaned toward him again, intent on conveying the necessity of a professional writer’s help. “Mr. Portchier, if you have the time and inclination, does this project interest you?”
“As a matter of fact it does, Miss Landis. I’ve had some experience writing biographies. I would like to examine the material … talk to the Gregor’s before weighing in, though”
“Oh … you are wonderful to consider doing this and, of course, you will be paid a salary. Mr. Gregor … ‘the younger’ … will be picking me up any minute now. Shall we go back to the office?”
After introductions and explanations, Duff arranged for Jackson Portchier to come to Hill Manse the following afternoon to look over the documentation and stay for tea.
That same evening, Daisy was in her room stitching the seams of a moss green gabardine skirt on the sewing machine. Margaret said she was free to use it as they no longer kept a dressmaker on staff. Cara tapped on her door.
“Come in.”
“Hope I’m not interrupting … but obviously I am. My goodness, these fabrics are lovely … I like the shadow stripe on this one.”
“That one’s going to be a summer dress with cap sleeves. Come in ... sit over here … careful of the pins. Haven’t seen you for a day or two … been busy?”
“I’ve been constantly on the move and now I need to settle down and talk to an objective party … a woman … and I’ve chosen you.”
“I couldn’t be more pleased, Cara. How can I help?”
“Give me some handwork to do … umm; this color goes especially well with your hair and complexion. Let me see … I think I must start back a ways for things to make any sense.” Cara took a needle, some silk thread and the blouse to be hemmed and began.
“My husband, Douglas, came home from the war suffering from what was called shell-shock. His symptoms, at the time, appeared quite mild, therefore, he felt able to take over the running of the estate with the help of his older brother, Angus. Angus didn’t want the responsibility of the land, farms and tenant holdings … he was a solicitor and having stayed to help Douglas for a year, decided to moved his family to London and start his own practice. It may have been the constant worry of estate operations that wore on Douglas or the mental deterioration due to his break-down during the war … whatever the cause, when I was three months pregnant with Donal, he shot himself. Our neighbor found him in the duck blind at the far end of our property that edged the pond on a miserably gray autumn morning.” Cara paused to knot and snip the silk and rethread the needle.
“Oh, my Lord”, Daisy whispered … “what a terrible, terrible thing to have happened to you.” She had stopped basting the peplum onto the ivory jacket and leaned back in her chair and watched Cara weave the needle in and out of the soft silky aqua material.
Cara continued, “The land was parceled out, the farms sold and I kept the estate house on five acres of woodland. The profits were shared equally between Angus and me, as Douglas’ widow and Donal’s trustee.”
Cara looked up and smiled weakly. “My maiden name was Gregor … I’m a third or forth cousin to Duff … not sure which. Duff’s Grandfather was an old fashion gentleman. He sorted his property and finances according to male entailment laws… but he went even further than that. In order to ensure that a blood-male Gregor be left the Gregor legacy, his will stated that the oldest male in the family must marry by age thirty-five and have a male child by age forty or the legacy goes to the next Gregor male in the family linage. In this family, that heir is my son Donal. You see, Duff has few relatives and his sisters have no children. If Duff does not marry before December tenth of this year, Hill Manse and the Gregor wealth transfers to Donal … or me, as his guardian, until Donal turns twenty-five.”
“Oh, lordy, Cara … lordy, lordy!”
Chuckling, Cara looked up again. “You might say that. The thing is, Daisy … I’m in love with a man I have known and admired for a long time. I know he loves me, too. He asked me to marry him and I have accepted but we have not told his family yet. The engagement is a recent development.”
Putting down the needle and the blouse, Cara said, “Now comes the sticky part. Since I’ve been in Town, my brother-in-law, who lost his wife a year and a half ago, has been very proprietary of my time. Angus and his two sons, William and James, have taken me to very expensive restaurants twice for High Tea. Several times Angus has asked me to dinner and insisted on escorting me to see Hamlet the night you and Duff joined us. Tonight, he asked me to marry him. I had no idea he had such intentions. Since my current engagement has not been announced, I hesitated to reveal them to Angus. But I had to, in order to stave off further embarrassment. I refused to tell him my fiancée’s name, though.
“How did he take that news?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. To be perfectly honest, Daisy, he was appalled and very angry. He considers me a ‘brainless female whom he should have taken in hand months ago’.”
“My goodness … have you told your fiancé any of this?”
“Not yet … he is out for the evening … won’t be back until eleven.”
Daisy blinked … a flash of sure knowledge sparked in her brain. “Cara McNally … you’re in love with Duff Gregor!”
“Oh, Daisy, hush … please!”
“I won’t say a word. Cara … I’m so excited! You and Duff … I think it’s wonderful!” Daisy jumped out of her chair, knelt in front of Cara and hugged her.
But it wasn’t long before the ramifications of Cara’s marriage to Duff slowly dawned on Daisy and her skepticism regarding the way of matters male in the Gregor will, asserted itself.
She plopped down on the carpet at Cara’s feet and said, “I don’t mean to throw cold water on this romantic occasion but …”
“I know what you’re going to say my little ‘feminist’ friend. Duff comes out as king in charge and I am left to subjugate my independent soul. That was one of Duff’s first points when he said I should wait and marry him after the first of the year. That way I would be trustee for the ‘heir apparent’, Donal … the moneyed head of the household. I told him, ‘no’ … but that I anticipated great things from him. We sat down and wrote out an agreement that keeps my Scottish holdings plus a generous sum from the Gregor fortune in my name with Duff as trustee should I die before him. Also, I am first trustee should he die before me regarding the Gregor estate. Donal will be the ‘oldest son’ even if we should have another child. Duff is a fair, generous man … and I believe he will be a good husband and father.”
“When will you be married?”
“That will be decided when our engagement is announced. Hopefully it will happen soon.”
“Does Angus McNally know about the ‘Gregor’ will and Donal’s possible inheritance?”
Cara frowned, “This is Gregor family business … but I’m sure he knows. Another thing … Margaret has always run Hill Manse. She hoped Duff would marry a young thing she and Rosemary could manage. She’s never considered me as a possible candidate … figures a thirty-six year old widow may be too old to bear children. Our engagement will upset her considerably, I’m afraid. She has no place to be other than here and I plan to be mistress of my home … here and in Scotland. We will spend the school term in London and the summers in Scotland. Duff will commute back and forth as necessary. There is an airport in Aberdeen.”
Daisy stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “Well … Margaret can run the Manse and her father when you’re in Scotland. Maybe she’ll take long vacations in the winter and spring months in France or Italy or maybe America. You’ll work it out.”
Cara smiled … “Thanks, Daisy … for listening and being happy for me … even though for a few minutes it was ‘conditional’. By the way, speaking of romance … you are aware that Richard cares for you, very much.”
“A gal knows when a guy is kind of soft on her. He may be having second thoughts by now, though … my opinionated, willful behavior may have put me on the back burner. It’s been my experience that it doesn’t take long for that to happen.”
Cara picked up the blouse and started stitching again. “I doubt that. What I want to know … what are your feelings for him?”
“I like him … he’s sweet, considerate, entertaining, smart, talented … and, well … because I like him, I’m disappointed in him. I expect too much of people, Cara. Two probable bridegrooms have dumped me, through no fault of my own, mind you. I’m guarded and wary of men in general and build pedestals too high for the ones I let get close.”
“What has he done to disappoint you?”
“He won’t use his considerable writing talent to help Duff and Mr. Gregor with the Veteran’s project. He says he doesn’t have enough ‘passion’ for it to do a good job. How does he know? … He hasn’t even tried!”
“Daisy … Richard Hamblin is touted as the best sports writer in the business just for the reason you have stated. He has an abiding passion for games and for those who play them well.” She paused a second and then continued. “Would you expect a portrait painter to expend his talent painting flowers on china plates?”
“You’re right … you’re right! I’m not being fair to Richard. I’m looking for a knight in shining armor that can slay dragons at the drop of a hat. Why do I expect so much of others when I’m so terribly flawed myself.”
“Daisy, dear … you are not terribly flawed … you have expectations of yourself that may be unattainable, too.”
Laying down the blouse Cara said, “The hem is finished! Alistair told me, due to your diligence, a writer is coming tomorrow to discuss the project. Who is he and where did you find him?”
“His name is Jackson Portchier and he’s from a small town in Virginia … a fellow American who sounds like Ashley Wilkes in Gone with the Wind. You know,
soft and soulful as opposed to the gritty derisive Rhett Butler. He writes a column for the London Times as well as biographies. Agnes from the archive division found him for me. He looks to be in his early thirties ... very smart and awfully good looking in a ‘cowboy’ kind of way.”
Cara laughed. “Life grows more interesting by the day ... poor Richard.”
...
Richard slammed through the kitchen door and tossed his briefcase onto the pine table just barely missing a row of clean glass tumblers.
“She found someone to do it! The Virginian took it on ... more power to him. She’s the most persistent, single-minded, maddening too tall female I’ve ever met.”
“Are you speaking of Daisy, darling?”
“Who else? What other female do we know feels it’s her sworn duty to make things right in the world as soon as possible. You want to economize ... learn to cook and grow vegetables ... so ... Daisy is teaching you to cook and buys you seed packets for a vegetable patch. She terrifies the London population nearly everyday zooming around in Duff’s Mimi going to the BL, the U.K. Veteran’s Society and here to visit you. She wants a journalist to rescue the Gregor’s so she asks Agnes to find her one that can do more than write about sports ... a not very subtle jab at me, you’ll notice.”
“You’re exaggerating, Richard. By the way, we are having ‘hash’ for tea and I made it without any assistance from Daisy, too.”
“Hash. How can something called ‘hash’ possibly be a dish you would serve your only son?”
“It is what was left-over from last night’s tea chopped up and muddled together with brown sauce in a pan and heated again. I didn’t even have to use a receipt to make it.”
“Mum ... you are joking?”
“Of course not, dear. It is a very popular and economic dish in America. Daisy assured me it is quite tasty.”
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