my croissant, allocating this meeting a ‘B plus’ in my mind. When I get back to the office I’ll write my report, and tell Mrs Kendrick about the clash. And find thirty appropriate handbags to give away.
Maybe I’ll try the V & A shop.
‘So!’ says Susie with a weird, sudden brightness as the bill arrives. ‘How are your children? I haven’t heard about them for ages. Have you got a photo? Can I see?’
‘Oh,’ I say, a bit surprised. ‘They’re fine, thanks.’
I glance down the bill and hand my card to the waiter.
‘It must be so cute, having twins!’ Susie is babbling. ‘I’d love to have twins – you know, one day. Of course I’d have to find a man first …’
I’m half listening to her and trying to find a picture of the girls on my phone, but something’s bugging me … And suddenly I have it. How much was that bill? I mean, I know this is Claridge’s, but even so …
‘Could I see that bill again?’ I say to the waiter. I take it back and read down the list.
Coffee. Yes.
Pastries. Obviously.
Coffee gateau costing fifty pounds? What?
‘Oh,’ says Susie in a weird voice. ‘Oh. I meant to … um …’
I slowly lift my head. She’s staring at me defiantly, her cheeks getting pinker and pinker. But I still don’t understand what’s going on, until another waiter approaches, holding a huge patisserie box tied up with ribbons and hands it to Susie.
‘Your cake, madam.’
I stare at it, speechless.
No way.
She’s ordered herself a cake and put it on our bill? At bloody Claridge’s?
The nerve. The absolute, copper-bottomed nerve. That’s why she started babbling: she was trying to distract me from looking at the bill. And it nearly worked.
My smile is still fixed on my face. I feel slightly surreal. But I don’t hesitate for a moment. Six years of working for Mrs Kendrick has taught me exactly how to proceed. I punch in my PIN and beam at Susie as the waiter gives me the receipt.
‘It was so lovely to catch up with you,’ I say as charmingly as I can. ‘And we’ll see you at the launch of Fabulous Fans, then.’
‘Right.’ Susie looks discomfited. She eyes the cake, then looks up warily. ‘So, about this cake … they put it on your bill, I don’t know why!’ She gives an unconvincing stab at laughter.
‘But of course!’ I say, as though astonished she’s even bringing it up; as though buying fifty-quid coffee cakes for people is what we do all the time. ‘I wouldn’t hear of anything else! It’s absolutely our treat. Enjoy it.’
As I head out of Claridge’s, I’m seething with fury. We’re a charity! A bloody charity! But as I arrive back at Willoughby House, twenty minutes later, I’ve simmered down. I can almost see the funny side. And the plus is that Susie definitely owes us one now.
I pause at the front door, put on my velvet hairband and slick my lips with pink lipstick. Then I head into the spacious tiled hall, which is staffed by two of our volunteers, Isobel and Nina. They’re chatting away as I enter, so I just lift a hand in greeting, and head up to the office on the top floor.
We have a lot of volunteers – women of a certain age, mainly. They sit in the house and drink tea and chat and occasionally look up to tell visitors about the items on display. Some have been volunteering for years, and they’re all great friends and this is basically their social life. In fact sometimes the house gets so full of volunteers, we have to send some home, because there’s no room for visitors.
Most of them hang out in the drawing room, which has the famous painting by Gainsborough in it and the amazing golden stained-glass window. But my favourite room is the library, which is stuffed full of old books and diaries written by family members, in old scratchy copperplate. It’s barely been changed over the years, so it’s like walking back in time when you go in, with glass-cased bookshelves and the original gas-lamp fittings. There’s also a basement, which has the old servants’ kitchen, preserved just as it was, with ancient pans and a long table and a terrifying-looking range. I love it, and sometimes go downstairs and just sit there, imagining what it was like to be the cook in a house like this. I once even suggested we have an exhibition of the