Country life
United in greed
Leanda de Lisle
can smell fruit on your breath,' Peter announced crossly as he stood over my desk. I get through a lot of apples when I'm working. But they haven't been fermenting in my stomach, I don't wander through the house like a drunken wasp. Since there is not usually any opprobrium attached to a large intake of vitamin c, I think it's Peter who is the nut in this fruitcake.
Unfortunately, my husband has not restricted himself to strange views on fruit. When I got up this morning and slipped on my elastic Russell and Bromley, wedge- heeled ankle boots, he said to me, 'You know, when you shop for clothes you should always ask yourself, "Would Anna Wintour wear this?"' Anna Wintour being that famous country person, 'Nuclear Win- tour', the editor of American Vogue. A woman who is so slim she may well subsist on apples alone. Not something either Peter or I could be accused of.
Peter's appetite is certainly more than healthy. He gets very angry if he's deprived of a substantial share of the family meal. But I must admit I am his main protagonist. It distresses us both that my eldest son regards all food as guilty until proven inno- cent (something that can only be achieved after he has poked, sniffed and even listened to it, since food can, apparently, make terri- fying squelching or even rustling noises, before it has been cooked). We parents are united in our greed and this must explain our identical reaction on discovering that we had been stood up for dinner last night. I've stood up other people, so I bear no grudges about being forgotten. (I stood up Peter on our first date.) But we weren't merely stoical. We were quite thrilled. I had bought a filet of beef, Palma ham and porcini mushrooms in order to make a Naked Chef roast. Peter had acquired cheese from our delicatessen in Market Bosworth. A delicious pudding waited in the fridge. At a quarter to eight with the roast halfway through its cooking time, Peter floated the idea that the couple we had invited might not come. How often did any of us eat out mid-week? It would be very easy for them to forget all about it, in the usual rushed routine of children's bed- times and so forth.
At eight I suggested Peter telephone our friends. He refused point blank on the grounds that they had probably forgotten our date and if we called they would feel obliged to leap into their car and rush over, which would take ages and we wouldn't be able to eat until 'heaven knows when'. I sympathised with this view, but argued that either we rang our friends or we would have to sit about for ages, salivating over our dinner as it spoiled, while we waited until some distant hour when it would become clear that they definitely weren't coming. I couldn't stand that, so I rang them only to discover that they were in London for the night.
Peter and I danced with delight because there was now no reason at all for us not to enjoy our dinner straight away. We sat down to white linen and candlesticks and, if I was not quite as well-dressed as either the table or Anna Wintour, I did at least have some make-up on. There was a good bottle of red wine in front of us, as well as vast quantities of delicious food. It was like a wedding-anniversary dinner. We drank, we laughed and, afterwards, we col- lapsed in front of the television and found a hilarious and charming (or so it seemed) romantic comedy on some Sky movie channel. Today I'm back on the apples. Do you suppose they must come between us?
I like it . . . it's modern.'
Previous page
