At Last Read Free

delighted it was you!” That’s my spiritual practice, and you’re welcome to adopt it and put it into your hilarious “spiritual tool box”.’
    ‘Your friend is absolutely priceless,’ said Annette, seeing Patrick approaching. ‘What he doesn’t realize is that we live in a loving universe. And it loves you too, Nick,’ she assured Nicholas, resting her hand on his recoiling shoulder.
    ‘I’ve quoted Bibesco before,’ snapped Nicholas, ‘and I’ll quote him again: “To a man of the world, the universe is a suburb”.’
    ‘Oh, he’s got an answer to everything, hasn’t he?’ said Annette. ‘I expect he’ll joke his way into heaven. St. Peter loves a witty man.’
    ‘Does he?’ said Nicholas, surprisingly appeased. ‘That’s the best thing I’ve heard yet about that bungling social secretary. As if the Supreme Being would consent to spend eternity surrounded by a lot of nuns and paupers and par-boiled missionaries, having his lovely concerts ruined by the rattle of spiritual tool boxes and the screams of the faithful, boasting about their crucifixions! What a relief that an enlightened command has finally reached the concierge at the Pearly Gates: “For Heaven’s sake, send Me a conversationalist!”’
    Annette looked at Nicholas with humorous reproach.
    ‘Ah,’ he said, nodding at Patrick, ‘I never thought I’d be so grateful to see your impossible aunt.’ He lifted his stick and waved it at Nancy. She stood in the doorway looking exhausted by her own haughtiness, as if her raised eyebrows might not be able to stand the strain much longer.
    ‘Help!’ she said to Nicholas. ‘Who are these peculiar people?’
    ‘Zealots, Moonies, witch-doctors, would-be terrorists, every variety of religious lunatic,’ explained Nicholas, offering Nancy his arm. ‘Avoid eye contact, stick close to me and you may live to tell the tale.’
    Nancy flared up when she saw Patrick. ‘Of all the days not to have the funeral,’ she said.
    ‘Why?’ he asked, confused.
    ‘It’s Prince Charles’s wedding. The only other people who might have come will be at Windsor.’
    ‘I’m sure you’d be there as well, if you’d been invited,’ said Patrick. ‘Don’t hesitate to nip down with a Union Jack and a cardboard periscope if you think you’d find it more entertaining.’
    ‘When I think how we were brought up,’ wailed Nancy, ‘it’s too ridiculous to think what my sister did with…’ She was lost for words.
    ‘The golden address book,’ purred Nicholas, gripping his walking stick more tightly as she sagged against him.
    ‘Yes,’ said Nancy, ‘the golden address book.’

2
     
    Nancy watched her infuriating nephew drift towards his mother’s coffin. Patrick would never understand the fabulous way that she and Eleanor had been brought up. Eleanor had stupidly rebelled against it, whereas it had been ripped from Nancy’s prayerfully clasped hands.
    ‘The golden address book,’ she sighed again, locking arms with Nicholas. ‘I mean, for example, Mummy only ever had one car accident in her entire life, but even then, when she was hanging upside down in the buckled metal, she had the Infanta of Spain dangling next to her.’
    ‘That’s very in-depth, I must say,’ said Nicholas. ‘A car accident can get one tangled up with all sorts of obscure people. Picture the commotion at the College of Heralds if a drop of one’s blood landed on the dashboard of a lorry and mingled with the bodily fluids of the brute whose head had been dashed against the steering wheel.’
    ‘Do you always have to be so facetious?’ snapped Nancy.
    ‘I do my best,’ said Nicholas. ‘But you can’t pretend that your mother was a fan of the common man. Didn’t she buy the entire village street that ran along the boundary wall of the Pavillon Colombe, in order to demolish it and expand the garden? How many houses was that?’
    ‘Twenty-seven,’ said Nancy, cheering up. ‘They weren’t all demolished. Some