Jemma’s Version
We’re all amicably gathered for afternoon tea.
I still don’t understand why they send tons of food from the kitchens if we can’t eat it.
Seriously! I’m standing in front of a lavishly laden table: sandwiches, canapés, tarts, pastries, cinnamon rolls, brioche bread, but no one can touch them.
I reached out for a muffin once, and Delphina almost set the dogs on me.
The food is there to be looked at as a decoration, or, as she says, in case someone important arrived.
Sure, there are so many people coming and going here at Denby, that we rival a mortuary.
Anyway, the lavish buffet doesn’t attract me, today. My stomach’s been closed since I knew my parents received the eviction notice.
The last time I heard from them on the phone, they left me saying ‘We’ll sort this, don’t worry’, but I am worried, and how.
“You’ve been stirring your tea for a good twenty minutes. Don’t you like it?” Says Ashford.
I get back from a sort of trance. “No, it’s perfect… I just…”
“Don’t you want it? Would you like to order something else?” He urges me.
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
Delphina puts her cup on the saucer noisily and, pointing her right index finger up in the air, indicating nothing, she asks: “What’s that?”
“What, mother?”
“That distant rumble. Can’t you hear it?”
We raise our ears, bearing with the old bat’s first signs of dementia.
“It’s coming from outside, there’s someone in the driveway.”
In fact, now I can hear a crackling silencer. And a transmission which grinds at every gear shift.
“What the hell is that thing?” Delphina asks, horrified, as she looks out of the bay window.
Intrigued, I join my mother-in-law at the windowsill.
“That pedlars’ wreck coming towards our house!”
Delphina starts ringing the annoying bell she uses to summon the servants. Lance arrives, with his typical composure.
“Lance, gather the servants, lock all the doors and windows and call security! Some gypsies are coming!” Delphina’s face is a mask of terror.
The incoming wreck is nothing more than my parents’ old melon coloured California van, and I can see the Tibetan wind chimes swinging from the rear view mirror. “My mum and dad! It’s them!”
And I rush out of the room.
Lance opens the door to let me out; the van stops right in front of the white marble staircase with a massive puff of black smoke.
The door opens and my mother emerges, wrapped in her violet sari.
“Mum!” I shout, running towards her and diving into her hair, a cloud of patchouli.
“Since we’re now homeless, we thought we could come and visit you.”
My dad comes towards us and joins our hug. “There’s so much space around here! We can camp somewhere without bothering anyone!”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, there are hundreds of empty rooms in this manor. It will be great to have you here. Good morning, Mr and Mrs Pears!” Ashford appears at the door, with his hands in his pockets and the air of the calmest person in the world. “Are you here for a visit?”
“Due to unforseen circumstances, our home is now a pile of rubble, so we thought that it was a great opportunity to resume travelling. We decided to leave from here, but not before having paid a visit to our little girl!” My mother announces cheerfully.
“What a wonderful idea,” Ashford agrees.
“But we don’t want to keep them too long, do we? They must have a list of beautiful places to see!” Delphina says, from the front door.
“Well, I… I thought…” I hesitate, not knowing what to say.
“What my mother is saying is that she’s very happy to see you again, and that she would like you to be our guests until you decide to leave. Denby Hall is your home.”
“Ashford, are you crazy?!” Delphina mutters through clenched teeth.
I’m quite surprised by Ashford’s composure; I thought I would have to engage in a battle to the death with him in order to defend my right to spend time with my parents.
“Seriously?” I ask, bewildered.
“They are my in-laws, I can’t deny them a short stay to visit my wife.” Ashford doesn’t blink an eye. “Lance will escort them to their accommodation. There are some comfortable and quiet apartments that overlook the lake in the gallery of the west wing.”
Of course, he’s always true to himself: in his kind proposal I understand that my parents can stay, but away from anyone who can see them, hear them or bump into them.
“Ashford you’re so sweet!” My mother chirps, then she enters through the front door and greets Delphina. “Namasté.”
My father greets her with a nod of his head, whistling Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones.
“Margaret,” barks my mother-in-law. “My smelling salts!”