On Filial Duties
I'm not very keen on driving up to the Great House. Mother will undoubtedly notice my tan the second I step into the salon and greet her. She will smile, raise her brows, ask me to sit down. Depending on the time of day, she'll then offer me tea or a glass of sherry, politely inquire where I've been.
Not that I care much about the ritual as such. But to any keen observer it surely must be one of those signs which give away this grand, silvern lady and I are actually related. Mother's eye for detail is as sharp as mine, her imagination quite active. Both of us have made it a rule to never let our individual suspicions interfere with social interaction.
Safer that way.
One must guard oneself well, after all. Or otherwise one might catch something rather distasteful. Too foolish, too vulgar, too selfish not to restrict the narrative to the few things that the other might want to hear.
Eventually.
"I've just returned from a cruise through the Mediterranean, mother. Spring in southern France was quite lovely. You should have seen all those apple orchards, in full bloom, white and happy as clouds."
Maybe, I'll ad a sentence or two about the excavation sites that I've been to. She's always been interested in ancient history, the works of the classics. Hesiod, Herodotus, Thucydides. For some reason never Sophocles, though.
Not a word, not a syllable about Mayweather or invaluable last minute sailing lesson I received from a most patient Greek coast guard.
Hopefully she'll like the little bronze sculpture I bought her.
"Happy belated birthday, mother. I promise, I'll make up for not being there on the actual day by behaving myself as good as I can."
Not that I care much about the ritual as such. But to any keen observer it surely must be one of those signs which give away this grand, silvern lady and I are actually related. Mother's eye for detail is as sharp as mine, her imagination quite active. Both of us have made it a rule to never let our individual suspicions interfere with social interaction.
Safer that way.
One must guard oneself well, after all. Or otherwise one might catch something rather distasteful. Too foolish, too vulgar, too selfish not to restrict the narrative to the few things that the other might want to hear.
Eventually.
"I've just returned from a cruise through the Mediterranean, mother. Spring in southern France was quite lovely. You should have seen all those apple orchards, in full bloom, white and happy as clouds."
Maybe, I'll ad a sentence or two about the excavation sites that I've been to. She's always been interested in ancient history, the works of the classics. Hesiod, Herodotus, Thucydides. For some reason never Sophocles, though.
Not a word, not a syllable about Mayweather or invaluable last minute sailing lesson I received from a most patient Greek coast guard.
Hopefully she'll like the little bronze sculpture I bought her.
"Happy belated birthday, mother. I promise, I'll make up for not being there on the actual day by behaving myself as good as I can."