Page 66 of Lessons in Life

A waiter was hovering, obviously desperate to get everyone seated and orders taken. The restaurant was busy and, having worked at Graphite, I offered a smile of sympathy in his direction.

‘Right, right, come along, let’s order.’ Sir Roland was in an effusive mood. ‘Jemima, my darling, come and sit next to your old dad and tell me where you’ve been working and which part of the world you’re heading off to next.’

‘If she’d stayed at Carrington’s, she wouldn’t be heading off anywhere but back to London.’ Gillian sniffed. ‘Mind you, if that were the case, we wouldn’t have needed to be dragged halfway up the country to have lunch.’

‘You wouldn’t have come up to see me, Mum?’ Fabian smiled, but I knew he was put out.

‘Oh, you’ll be back in London very soon, Fabian.’ Gillian arched an eyebrow in his direction. ‘Once you’ve got over this ridiculous idea of finding yourself. Of leaving your vocation.’

‘I’m not convinced law was ever my vo?—’

‘But of course it was. You were a superb defence barrister. You’re a Carrington. All Carringtons go into the business of issuing justice.’

‘Er, and I’m not a Carrington, then, Ma?’ Jemima arched her own eyebrow, but didn’t appear overly upset.

‘Oh, you, Jemima!’ Gillian tutted. ‘You always were contrary. Always determined to do your own thing with no thought for the firm. But Fabian…’ Gillian flashed me a look of dislike ‘…was well on his way, after being one of the youngest barristers in London, to be made KC. And now, to give it all up, to?—’

‘OK, I’m going to have the crispy Arlington egg,’ Roland interrupted loudly. ‘There’s a new head chef here, I believe?’

Fabian nodded gratefully in his father’s direction, obviously glad to get Gillian off his back. ‘A new culinary lead I believe is the term these days, Dad.’ He scanned the menu and I knew he was taking it all in, excited by the innovative dishes. ‘Celeriac, I think,’ he went on.

‘Celeriac?’ Claudia looked mystified. ‘I thought the new culinary lead was someone called Celino?’

‘Celeriac, my darling, is a knob celery…’ Julius tutted.

Only one knob at this table, I thought, grinning to myself.

‘…and on the starter menu.’ Julius gave Claudia a look. ‘With pickled mushrooms and coriander yoghurt. I’ll join you, Fabian.’

‘Pressing of rabbit, I think,’ Gillian barked, not looking up from the menu.

‘Ooh, no, not rabbit!’ I spoke before I could stop myself.

‘You have something against rabbits, Robyn?’ Gillian stared in my direction.

‘Well, not per se: I actually love rabbits; I just don’t want to eat one.’ I found myself going red as everyone, including the waiter, turned in my direction. ‘We have Roger at home, you see. You know, it would be a bit like eating Boris.’

‘The ex-prime minister?’ The young waiter, unable not to, joined in the conversation. ‘Blimey. You’d have a mouthful there!’

‘The dog.’ Fabian laughed. ‘And Roger is the house rabbit.’

‘You have a house rabbit?’ Gillian stared at me. ‘Hopping around the kitchen?’

‘And the sitting room. If he’s feeling particularly put out with Mum or my sister, Sorrel, he’s not averse to hopping up the stairs to mark his territory on our beds.’

‘Goodness. How… hownorthern.’

‘Whippets and coal in t’bath, Robyn?’ Bruce grinned in my direction.

‘Aye, lad,’ I said, straight-faced, enjoying the banter. ‘The bath…’ I emphasised the flattened vowel ‘…in front o’ t’fire every Friday night. Whether we need it or not.’

The waiter – Marcus, according to his name tag – finally managed to take everyone’s order for starters and mains before moving to clear the one remaining place setting of its cutlery and glasses.

‘Please, would you leave it?’ Gillian instructed, laying a hand on Marcus’s arm.

‘Oh, there’s someone still to come?’ Marcus appeared worried, glancing up at the large antique clock on the far wall.

‘If they can make it.’ She smiled. ‘They might just join us for dessert.’

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