Massage and Dead Sea Mud Baths, if they were prescribed. Any activities she did want to have a go at, she was of course at liberty to indulge in. And any that she did want to do one day but didn't want to the next (or vice versa), she could do or not do as the whim took her.
Her 'Special Treatment' status would be confirmed by the Brotherton Hall resident medic, Dr Potter.
'But won't he make a fuss about it, Ank?' Mrs Pargeter had asked.
'Good heavens, no, Mrs P!' Ankle-Deep Arkwright had roared with laughter. 'Dr Potter'll sign anything I tell him to.'
Also because of her unspecified medical condition, Mrs Pargeter would not be allowed to eat with the rest of the guests. Instead, her meals would be served in a specially prepared 'Allergy Room' (situated conveniently adjacent to Gaston's kitchen). All she would have to do each evening would be to check through the following day's menu and make her selection (bearing in mind that, because of his Swiss training, almost all Gaston's main dishes came accompanied by rosti , and that the primary ingredient of all his sweets was cream).
Oh yes, and she'd get a wine list each evening to make her selection from that too.
To Mrs Pargeter this all seemed very satisfactory.
As she swanned dreamily along the corridor to her room, she was surprised to see the adjacent door open and Kim Thurrock's face peer anxiously out. Mrs Pargeter felt a moment's guilt for having so completely forgotten her friend.
'Was it all right?' Kim hissed.
'Was what all right?'
'The allergy, of course.'
'Oh.' Mrs Pargeter recovered herself. 'Yes, I think they've probably got the measure of it.'
'That's a relief.'
'Yes. Sorry I couldn't get back earlier. I hope you haven't been too bored . . .'
'Oh no!' Kim Thurrock's eyes gleamed with excitement. 'I've had a wonderful time. They have lectures every evening, you know. And tonight it was – Sue Fisher!'
'Oh,' said Mrs Pargeter, to whom the name carried less immediate import than it clearly did for her friend. 'Sue Fisher?'
'You know, the one who wrote Mind Over Fatty Matter .'
'Oh.' Yes, it did ring a bell now. Indeed, one would have to have been immured as a hermit over the previous two years for the name to set up no tintinnabulation at all. The Mind Over Fatty Matter book and its sequels had taken up permanent residence in the bestsellers' lists; the Mind Over Fatty Matter television series seemed to be screened daily; the Mind Over Fatty Matter videos crowded the shelves of record shops; and one could not walk down a high street in the British Isles without passing a display of Mind Over Fatty Matter leotards, leggings, and exercise bras, or enter a food store without seeing Mind Over Fatty Matter microwave meals and dietary supplements.
All this had made Sue Fisher, the originator of the Mind Over Fatty Matter diet and exercise regime, extremely rich. Like some tropical parasite she had burrowed her way into the national obsession with weight, there to take up residence and feed – though not of course fatten – herself on that collective neurosis.
'Was she interesting?' asked Mrs Pargeter.
'Oh, she was wonderful !' The enthusiasm invested in the word made it clear that only the inconvenient organization of shop opening hours had prevented Kim from rushing out already to stock up with books, videos, leotards, leggings, exercise bras, microwave meals and dietary supplements.
Still, the fact that her friend had had a good time made Mrs Pargeter feel less guilty about the contrasting way in which she had enjoyed her own evening. 'Oh, I'm so pleased, Kim,' she said comfortably. 'Well, I must get to bed.'
'Yes, see you in the dining-room for breakfast . . . though I think it's just hot water and lemon the first day.'
'Ah. Well, actually,' said Mrs Pargeter, 'I won't be having my meals in the dining-room.'
'Why ever not?'
'Erm . . .' She prevaricated. 'Something to do with the allergy.'
'Oh?' Alarm sprang into Kim Thurrock's eyes. 'You