June offers, “you make her coffee.” Then, in a whisper, “What will you put in it that she doesn’t like?”
“How’s about Strychnine?” Charlotte replies with another giggle.
“No, silly I’m serious. Even if we had any that would show up on a post-mortem. How’s about too much milk, or not enough milk?”
“What about lukewarm water instead of re-boiling the kettle? We haven’t done that for a while.”
“No! She’ll catch on when she can’t hear it whistling.”
“Okay,” Charlotte draws the word out, “I’ll stir in a very small amount of sugar because we know she doesn’t like any at all.”
“But only add a small amount so it tastes a bit off but isn’t that obvious. And I’ll overfill the cup.”
Charlotte is no more star struck on her own mum’s behaviour than June is.
Together the girls make a good team as they enjoy being with Charlotte’s Dad and baiting Zelda.
Zelda being German had not sat right with Edward. After all, he did bomb the crap out of her country and killed thousands of Germans.
In bed after their first night, Edward’s husky voice wavered when he confessed, “I dropped my bombs, Zelda, and watched Dresden erupt in flames beneath me; flames a thousand feet high, temperatures of over a thousand degrees, even the air was on fire, the roads melting, rivers and canals boiling. I saw it burning to the ground.”
“An entire city, Edvard.”
“Not one combatant among them. Women, old men, and children numbered over 100,000 people dead that night.”
“Der is no doubt in my mind dat if die Allies had lost the war, Dresden should have been declared a war crime, Edvard.”
“You’re right. To my mind that deed turned Bomber Command into a byword for slaughter. I felt ashamed, which was why under target in my log book I wrote only three words; women and children.”
“That vas very clever of you, Edvard.”
“Clever?”
“Vell, if de Allies had lost de var dan Germans could have exonerated you.”
“I never thought of that. But I did check my RAF logbook before proposing marriage to you, just to ensure I wasn’t over Hamburg the night your house was bombed.”
Unfortunately for Edward, his parents, Roger’s grandparents, were too ensconced, too brainwashed by the British establishment, to accept Zelda. His own mother had said, “Bloody shame you didn’t bomb the house with the German cow still in it.”
Family wise that was the beginning of their big family split. He could see that now, but even so, then as now, he felt helpless to do anything about it.
After his hotel business venture failed, with son in tow, he secured a lease on another hotel, and in Zelda’s name. Creative accounting at a high cost helped him with that, but now he and Zelda, married by convenience, are as united as any two people could be. Together there is some financial future. Apart? Well, that is an entirely different story.
Edward likes long walks and good books, Zelda prefers to party. Where Edward is introspective and brooding by nature, Zelda tends to move at lightning speed and let the chess pieces fall where they may.
Zelda’s daughter Charlotte is proving easier to get on with than his own flesh and blood.
Edward relights his pipe. Zelda’s smoke joins his. Both seemingly hang from a single cloud of cigarette smoke. He continues puffing rhythmically.
“Your pipe reeks of burning leaves and vet dog, Edvard.”
Don’t sugar coat it, Zelda. Give it to him straight! thinks June.
Edward refuses to rise to the bait, instead he ponders as he puffs.
“Roger mustered well after the death of his Mum, I’ll give him that much,” Edward tells Zelda, “he did everything I required of him.”
“Ja ja, fiddle faddle,” Zelda exclaims. She blames Roger and his wife Sue for the failure of The Harewood Hotel. If they had been decent and appreciated all she had done for them, she and Edward would not be where they are now.
“Give him his dues, Zelda, it was remarkable he found a hotel I could buy without any money. That in itself was a master stroke.”
“Vee all vorked, Edvard.”
It is well known to the whole family that Zelda did nothing. She mostly upset staff with her Teutonic attitude and avoided front of house contact with customers by hiding in the office with Edward.
“Nevertheless, Zelda, I do feel that after I went bankrupt, Roger and my own parents should have been a lot more understanding of my plight.”
“Roger vas a director mit you, Edvard; he should not have got off scot free. It vas you who vent bankrupt, Edvard. Roger hasn’t suffered as you ‘ave.”
Edward nods slowly.
Zelda continues. “Den dere is Roger’s wife, Sue, mit deir two offspring from that union — Jayne and James.”
“I don’t fancy much being a grandfather,” Edward glares at Zelda, “not any more than you wanted to be a Granny.”
“Edvard,” Zelda’s firm voice has all the warning signs.
“Sorry, Sweetheart, I meant Nanny,” Edward smiles inwardly at his dig.
Zelda works normal shop hours at a local office while Edward manages a small chain of sex shops requiring his presence at odd hours. Edward detests his job and all the people associated with it.
Edward cannot help but think about the highlight of this week’s news.
“Word is Roger, Sue and their two children are migrating to Australia as participants in a ten pound assisted passage scheme.”
“I feel no anguish at their departure from the UK, Zelda. Those in charge here are only sponging toadies ready to receive any favour and give nothing in return.”
“Ve are to be left behind mit a rising pile of debts,” Zelda adds crushing out her cigarette and lighting another.
Zelda needs to relax. Talking about Roger and Sue has left a foul taste in her mouth.
She runs her bath and lays in it with one leg hooked over the other. She knows that they are good legs. The hot water takes the chill off her bones. With trembling hands, she reaches out to light a cigarette, and smokes it with her nerves all a-jangle.
The bathroom is dark; she likes it that way. Edward will stay away from her. She has a lot of thinking to do. Their finances are in poor shape. Edward is not a stayer in any job, probably never has been, even when Alice was alive. Zelda enjoyed her relatively high life at both hotels, but that was too short-lived. Now a new variable into the mix. This recent news of Roger, his wife Sue, and their two rug rats going down under to Australia. Good riddance, she thinks. Her face turns into what is loosely considered a smile as the bathwater finally works its magic.
Her thoughts are interrupted when Edward appears in the doorway dressed in a smart yachting jacket, white turtleneck and beige slacks. He steps over the threshold hesitantly, like a well-trained dog that knows better.
“Zelda, I’ll have to leave for work soon, Sweetheart.”
She ignores him.
“Zelda, Sweetheart.”
When she speaks, her strident tone is not one of warmth and sweetness. “Vhat do you van’t, Edvard?”
He smiles thinly, “Would you like to cook, or should I get some fish and chips, take-away?”
“Cook! Mein Gott. I’ve not long finished vork Edvard and you vant me to, to, to prepare a