‘And a box of chocolates,’ said Tommy.
‘Oh, that’s very kind of you I’m sure. She’ll be very pleased Would you like to come up now?’
Tommy and Tuppence rose and followed Miss Packard from the room. She led them up the broad staircase. As they passed one of the rooms in the passage upstairs, it opened suddenly and a little woman about five foot high trotted out, calling in a loud shrill voice, ‘I want my cocoa. I want my cocoa.
Where’s Nurse Jane? I want my cocoa.’
A woman in a nurse’s uniform popped out of the next door and said, ‘There, there, dear, it’s all right. You’ve had your cocoa. You had it twenty minutes ago.’
‘No I didn’t, Nurse. It’s not true. I haven’t had my cocoa.
I’m thirsty.’
‘Well, you shall have another cup if you like.’
‘I can’t have another when I haven’t had one.’
They passed on and Miss Packard, after giving a brief rap on a door at the end of the passage, opened it and passed in.
‘Here you are, Miss Fanshawe,’ she said brightly. ‘Here’s your nephew come to see you. Isn’t that nice?’
In a bed near the window an elderly lady sat up abruptly on her raised pillows. She had iron grey hair, a thin wrinkled face with a large, high-bridged nose and a general air of disappro-bation.
Tommy advanced.
‘Hullo, Aunt Ada,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
Aunt Ada paid no attention to him, but addressed Miss Packard angrily.
‘I don’t know what you mean by showing gentlemen into a lady’s bedroom,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t have been thought proper at all in my young days! Telling me he’s my nephew indeed!
Who is he? A plumber or the electrician?’
‘Now, now, that’s not very nice,’ said Miss Packard mildly.
‘I’m your nephew, Thomas Beresford,’ said Tommy. He advanced the box of chocolates. ‘I’ve brought you a box of chocolates.’
‘You can’t get round me that way,’ said Aunt Ada. ‘I know your kind. Say anything, you will. Who’s this woman?’ She eyed Mrs Beresford with an air of distaste.
‘I’m Prudence,’ said Mrs Beresford. ‘Your niece, Prudence.’
‘What a ridiculous name,’ said Aunt Ada. ‘Sounds like a parlourmaid. My Great-uncle Mathew had a parlourmaid called Comfort and the housemaid was called Rejoice-inthe-Lord.
Methodist she was. But my Great-aunt Fanny soon put a stop to that. Told her she was going to be called Rebecca as long as she was in her house.’ ‘I brought you a few roses,’ said Tuppence.
‘I don’t care for flowers in a sick-room. Use up all the oxygen.’ ‘I’ll put them in a vase for you,’ said Miss Packard.
‘You won’t do anything of the kind. You ought to have learnt by now that I know my own mind.’ ‘You seem in fine form, Aunt Ada,’ said Mr Beresford.
‘Fighting fit, I should say.’ ‘I can take your measure all right. What d’you mean by saying that you’re my nephew? What did you say your name was? Thomas?’ ‘Yes. Thomas or Tommy.’ ‘Never heard of you,’ said Aunt Ada. ‘I only had one nephew and he was called William. Killed in the last war. Good thing, too. He’d have gone to the bad if he’d lived. I’m tired,’ said Aunt Ada, leaning back on her pillows and turning her head towards Miss Packard. ‘Take ’em away. You shouldn’t let strangers in to see me.’ ‘I thought a nice little visit might cheer you up,’ said Miss Packard unperturbed.
Aunt Ada uttered a deep bass sound of ribald mirth.
‘All right’ said Tuppence cheerfully. ‘We’ll go away again.
I’ll leave the roses. You might change your mind about them.
Come on, Tommy,’ said Tuppence. She turned towards the door.
‘Well, goodbye, Aunt Ada. I’m sorry you don’t remember me.’ Aunt Ada was silent until Tuppence had gone out of the door with Miss Packard and Tommy followed her.
‘Come back, you, said Aunt Ada, raising her voice. ‘I know you perfectly. You’re Thomas. Red-haired you used to be.
Carrots, that’s the colour your hair was. Come back. I’ll talk to you. I don’t want the woman. No good her pretending she’s your wife. I know better. Shouldn’t bring that type of woman in here. Come and sit down here in this chair and tell me about your dear mother. You go away,’ added Aunt Ada as a kind of postscript, waving her hand towards TUppence who was hesitating in the doorway.