Читать книгу The Essence of the Thing - Madeleine John St. - Страница 16

‘Is that all you’re having? Just cereal? Don’t you want some eggs and bacon? Goodness! Perhaps you’d like porridge. No? Well, I suppose you know best.’

‘Of course he does. Of course he knows best. Truly to God, Sophie, you’d think he was five years old. Croissants, that’s what he wants. That’s what they eat for breakfast up in London. Croissants, French croissants. Should’ve got some in. What?’

‘Don’t be silly, Hugo. The very idea. Jonathan doesn’t eat croissants. You don’t eat croissants, do you, Jonathan? No, see, he’s having some toast. Have some of that marmalade, darling, it’s from the last lot I made for the WI stall, a bit runny, but you just have to eat it fast before it drips. Oh, but you used to love marmalade! I remember sending it to you at school. Didn’t I? Well, I gave you some to take back with you. I remember. Marmalade. You used to insist on it.’

‘Lot of rubbish.’

‘What?’

‘Lot of rubbish. Here. Listen to this.’

Hugo Finch, JP, began reading from the Telegraph. ‘Senior back-benchers,’ he began, ‘are reported …’ and so it went on: a further chapter in the gruesome, yet frequently hilarious, saga of the island people who had given the planet its common language and virtually all its games. What exactly were they working on now? None could truly say; many were the vain attempts to do so, but the question was beyond the scope of the merely human intelligence. Hugo concluded his reading.

‘Splendid stuff,’ said Jonathan, at the end of his tether. His father stared. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What did you say?’ He looked apoplectic.

‘Splendid,’ said Jonathan. ‘Splendid!’

‘Did you hear that? Did you hear what he said?’

‘Yes, he’s joking, Hugo. He doesn’t mean it.’

‘I’ll tell you what he can do if he does: he can go straight back to London on the next train.’

‘I’ve got a car.’

‘Then bloody go and get into it and drive away, then! Splendid, he says! Splendid! Wants horsewhipping! Croissants! London! Horsewhipping!’ Hugo flapped the newspaper straight with a loud crack and barricaded himself behind it. ‘Croissants!’ he muttered.

‘Excuse me,’ said Jonathan, getting up. He went out into the garden and walked about slowly, happily. It had taken years for him to learn that when they wind you up, the thing to do is wind them right back. Croissants – French croissants! Glorious! Splendid!