Second Thyme Around (28 page)
‘Beverley will want the doctor, and I’m not having him disturbed in the night, poor man. Just give me the pills. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning. And you must be exhausted.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’
‘Of course not! I’ve got the bell. I’ll ring if I need you. I’ll be fine now I’ve been to the lav.’
Perdita was woken by Beverley banging on her door. It had taken her a little time to drop off after seeing to Kitty, and so was in the depths of sleep at seven o’clock, an hour later than she usually woke up.
‘I think it’s time you were up, dear,’ called Beverley. ‘I’ve made tea. It’s downstairs. Mrs Anson isn’t well, I’m afraid. The doctor’s on his way.’
Perdita was overcome with guilt. If she’d woken Beverley, or even called the doctor herself, Kitty’s chest infection might not have got so bad. If she hadn’t gone out
she would have been aware of Kitty becoming ill during the evening, and the antibiotics could have been started immediately. The chest infection might not have got a hold.
she would have been aware of Kitty becoming ill during the evening, and the antibiotics could have been started immediately. The chest infection might not have got a hold.
Dr Edwards spent precious minutes reassuring Perdita that Kitty was probably perfectly well at bedtime, and only developed the infection later.
‘Beverley’s very efficient. If she’d been aware that Kitty was ill at bedtime, she would have called me.’
‘I suppose so, but I came back at two o’clock in the morning. I knew she was ill and I just gave her a couple of paracetamol. If I’d called you, or even woken Beverley, the antibiotics could have been started much sooner.’
‘Not much sooner, and you getting her temp down so quickly was a very good thing. Now, I’ll pop in after surgery to see how she’s getting on. Don’t worry about it more than you can help, and for God’s sake don’t feel guilty about going out for an evening. You have to have some time off, Perdita, or you’ll get ill yourself.’
Perdita worked hard on suppressing the guilt, but she knew her low spirits were partly because she’d had such a good time. ‘I’m like a child who got overexcited at a party,’ she muttered, as she cleared a bed ready for autumn sowings. ‘Now I’m having the tears before bedtime. Only it’s after, and there hasn’t been enough sleep in between.’
She rang Lucas. ‘Hi, it’s me. Thank you so much for last night. It was brilliant.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But I’m afraid Kitty’s got a chest infection.’
‘Oh, I am sorry. Is she going to be all right?’
‘The doctor says so. But I thought I’d let you know in case you were going to call this afternoon. She won’t be up to seeing you for long.’
‘I’ll pop over anyway. I’ve got some news for her.’
‘Oh? What?’
‘We’ve got a date for the transmission of the telly programme. A couple of weeks from now.’
‘Really? I thought we’d have to wait ages and ages.’
‘We would, normally, but we were the last programme in a series of one-offs, and they turned us around really fast.’
‘I can’t wait to see it. Or can I? It might be desperately embarrassing.’
‘Not a bit of it. You’ll look lovely, I assure you.’
Kitty’s chest infection got better, but she didn’t seem to improve with it. Her appetite disappeared and she had to be tempted into eating every mouthful. And having stayed in bed for a few days, she no longer railed against it, and seemed reluctant to make the effort to get up. She woke more often in the night – so often that Perdita made up a bed on the floor in Kitty’s room, to save having to drag herself awake and almost fall downstairs. If she was in the room with Kitty, the whole matter could be dealt with much more quickly.
Going to the bathroom in the wheelchair seemed more effort than Kitty was prepared to go to, and more often than not, she had a bed-bath. Perdita and the doctor discussed her prognosis.
‘You’re not going to be able to manage with her like this for long, Perdita. You’re going to have to think about either employing more nurses – and I mean nurses, not just carers – or a home.’
‘It’ll have to be nurses. I won’t let her go into a home.’
‘It’ll cost an absolute fortune. I assume Kitty does have some money, but home care, day and night, could run into thousands.’
Should she voice her concerns about Roger to the doctor? She sighed. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. ‘Not if she doesn’t live very long.’
‘There’s no reason why she shouldn’t go on for months,
even years like this. You, on the other hand, can’t. Not when you’ve got your business to run.’
even years like this. You, on the other hand, can’t. Not when you’ve got your business to run.’
She opened her mouth to say that the business could go hang, but didn’t. Some of her customers – Ronnie and Lucas – would probably come back to her if she took time off while Kitty was so ill. But what about the others? They’d find other suppliers, do without the more specialist salads she provided, and she’d be less financially viable than ever.
‘I don’t know what to do. I wish I had someone I could ask.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘My parents don’t understand Kitty. My mother would have her in a home before you could say Jack Robinson, and I don’t think I could cope with them coming over here, looking into Kitty’s affairs, and then insisting we sell all her furniture to raise money.’ She looked at the doctor. ‘Of course, I’d sell anything to keep Kitty going – it’s not that I’m overly attached to her possessions – but my parents, my mother particularly, does tend to rush in.’
‘Kitty wouldn’t mind if you looked at her papers. You could ask her solicitor.’
‘So I could.’ That might be the answer. If she knew what was in Kitty’s will, she could prepare herself.
‘Did you ever arrange enduring power of attorney, like I suggested?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘I know it’s silly, but at the moment Kitty still has all her wits. I don’t want to treat her like a dependent relative, incapable of making her own decisions.’
‘That’s very admirable, Perdita, and I’m sure Kitty appreciates your discretion, but Kitty could have another stroke tomorrow, be unable to speak, or write, or communicate in any way. What are you going to do then?’
‘Whatever I have to, I suppose.’
‘You won’t be able to access her money, you know.
You’d have to go to the Court of Protection for permission. She could be a millionaire, and have to moulder away in a mental hospital for months, before you could get permission to put her somewhere more comfortable. Or, you could put her in a good home and pay for it yourself. Do you have lots of money?’
You’d have to go to the Court of Protection for permission. She could be a millionaire, and have to moulder away in a mental hospital for months, before you could get permission to put her somewhere more comfortable. Or, you could put her in a good home and pay for it yourself. Do you have lots of money?’
‘No.’
‘Then sort out the enduring power of attorney. I’m sorry to be so harsh, Perdita, especially at a time like this, but really, you have to face facts.’
Perdita did get as far as finding out who Kitty’s solicitor was but he was on holiday. As she didn’t want to speak to anyone else about Kitty’s affairs, it still wasn’t organised before the television programme was broadcast.
The morning it was due to be shown, Roger rang. He wanted to check what time the programme was so he could see it with Kitty. When Perdita got the message she bit back a cry of rage and frustration and sighed instead. There was no point in wishing she and Kitty could just watch the programme on their own because they couldn’t. Not amount of hysterics would alter that.
Thomas was the carer at the time, which was somewhat of a relief. If Roger’s attentions went too far and she had to scream, Thomas could probably man-handle Roger if it came to it. Beverley had done two weeks, and although she was pure gold, and an excellent nurse, she got on Perdita’s nerves, rather. Perdita suspected she got on Kitty’s too, but Kitty wouldn’t confess it. At one time they would have shared a few catty moments of, ‘if she says “upsy-daisy” again, I’ll scream!’ But Kitty complained less the iller she became. She was sinking into herself, perfectly lucid, polite and charming to her visitors, yet somehow, diminished.
But the thought of seeing the television programme she had heard so much about cheered her immensely. She
greeted Roger quite warmly, told him where to sit, and then turned to Thomas. ‘Be a kind man and go and look in the cellar and root about for some champagne. We drank some of it when the film crew came, but there should be some left. Put a couple of bottles in the freezer, we’ll have them while we watch the show.’
greeted Roger quite warmly, told him where to sit, and then turned to Thomas. ‘Be a kind man and go and look in the cellar and root about for some champagne. We drank some of it when the film crew came, but there should be some left. Put a couple of bottles in the freezer, we’ll have them while we watch the show.’
Perdita saw Roger dispatched to the wrong end of an uncomfortable settee and wondered if it was just coincidence that Kitty had consigned him to a seat in a draught, or if she had her own doubts about her long-lost nephew.
They all sat together in Kitty’s room, Kitty’s bed and the television arranged so everyone could see. Thomas distributed glasses of champagne and packets of crisps, and they settled back to watch.
First of all came some of the sort of classical music which Perdita loved, and music buffs despised, then the credits, and finally, a long shot of Perdita’s cottage. It looked more fairy tale than ever, and she could see why they had been determined to use it. Even she, who knew about the damp patches, felt it was a little gem.
Then up came the titles:
A Gourmet and a Gardener.
A Gourmet and a Gardener.
‘I had no idea they were going to call it that,’ said Perdita. ‘How embarrassing!’
‘Shush, dear. Have some more champagne.’
Kitty was sitting up in bed, concentrating hard, more attentive than she had been for a long time. Thomas was clutching a can of lager, preferring that to champagne. Roger, perched uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, didn’t comment. Perdita decided to stop being embarrassed, and just enjoy the show.
It was magical. Her house, full of collectables which didn’t belong to her, shone with a gloss it had never had in real life. Her kitchen looked compact and bijou, rather than cramped and overcrowded. And Lucas looked sensational.
When Perdita had told him that he’d have to beat women off with a stick, she hadn’t realised how photogenic he would turn out to be. He not only looked extremely handsome, but charming, too. His smouldering bad temper was punctuated with dazzling smiles. No wonder all the female crew had idolised him.
Lucas gave a short spiel about what he was going to cook, and then Perdita watched herself come in through her own back door – except it wasn’t herself, or her back door, it was this dreamy, girl-woman, and her back door was the entrance to a quaint old cottage, bursting with character and charm. How did they know it was all going to look so wonderful on television? How did they make it look so wonderful?
‘I look quite pretty, don’t I?’ she said, sipping champagne, staring at the screen.
But it was when they started to speak to each other that the show really took off. They sparkled and sparred, responding to each other’s off-hand remarks, throwing out challenges. And the food looked just as wonderful. Everything he cooked, or appeared to cook, shone with the same brilliance. Her vegetables were fresh and pretty and appetising.
‘Wow,’ said Thomas, when the show was over. ‘I think you girls should have another glass of champagne.’
‘It was marvellous, darling. You look so beautiful and Lucas looks so handsome. You really are a lovely couple.’
‘Yes, they are, or were,’ said Roger, producing something from his pocket. ‘Look what I found.’ He laughed. ‘I wonder if I could sell it to the tabloids and make my fortune.’
His laugh implied he was joking, but he gave Perdita a leer which told her he wasn’t.
‘What have you got there, dear?’ asked Kitty innocently.
‘It’s a picture of Perdita and Lucas, outside a register office – proof that they were once married. It might cause
quite a scandal if I let that cat out of the bag, mightn’t it?’ Again he laughed, but this time it didn’t look as if he was joking.
quite a scandal if I let that cat out of the bag, mightn’t it?’ Again he laughed, but this time it didn’t look as if he was joking.
Thomas said nothing. Perdita tensed. She no longer cared who knew about her marriage – it was an irrelevance – but she didn’t want Kitty to be exposed to a lot of unpleasantness, which if Roger got in touch with the papers, she would be.
‘Show me,’ demanded Kitty.
Roger handed over the picture. ‘Mmm,’ Kitty said thoughtfully. ‘You were a pretty girl then, but much better-looking now. Thank you, Roger, I enjoyed seeing that again. Where did you find the picture?’
Roger was a little thrown by this reaction. He’d expected a scene and hadn’t had one. ‘Oh, in the attic, in a box marked “Perdita”.’
‘And what made you want to go up to the attic? Did you have business there?’
‘Perhaps he went up to look at the sunset,’ suggested Perdita, a little drily.
‘That was it. I met Perdita on the same errand.’ He smirked at her, implying an assignation. ‘And I found some other interesting things too.’ He plucked the photograph from off the bed and tucked it back into his wallet.
Perdita, who was watching his every move, noticed, as he dealt with the photograph, a business card with the name of Kitty’s solicitors on it.
He saw her spot it and gave her a glance which encouraged her to think the worst.
‘Now, Roger, dear,’ said Kitty, still in that same calm, nannyish tone, ‘I think you’d better go now. I’m really quite tired. Thomas, would you be so kind as to show Roger out?’
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