Kelly Harte - Spitting Feathers

But I was still stuck on the first bit of what he’d said. ‘What do you mean, you can’t leave?’

‘I can’t leave because I too have an important appointment with Mrs Audesley,’ he answered lightly.

I was so busy feeling defensive and foolish at the way he put so much emphasis on the word ‘important’, as if he was making fun of me, that my confusion didn’t kick in for a moment. Then, when he spoke again, it hit me big time.

‘And I also happen to live here.’

I felt a bit queasy then, as I glanced over the railing to the gardener’s flat in the basement.

‘Oh,’ I said, trying to make amends with a silly smile as the penny dropped, ‘you must be the gardener, then.’ He wasn’t what I’d imagined at all. I’d being expecting an elderly retainer type, with a cap and dentures.

He looked amused at my discomfort. ‘And I guessed who you were when I saw you sitting on the wall.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s precisely three o’clock,’ he added coolly now, ‘and our Mrs Audesley sets great store by punctuality.’

‘Ah,’ Mrs Audesley declared when she opened the door, ‘so the two of you have already met. Excellent.’

In fact we hadn’t actually got as far as exchanging names, but she’d referred to him as Chris the day before, and I assumed she’d mentioned my name to him. I was feeling uncomfortable because of our small misunderstanding, and it wasn’t helped by the ease Chris and his employer obviously felt in one another’s company. I also noted that Mrs A didn’t seem to mind in the least about his untidy appearance.

‘How are the travel plans going?’ he asked casually as we followed the lady of the house into the opulent sitting room.

‘Not bad,’ she replied. ‘Marcus has arranged most things. It’s just a matter of packing, really, though one needs so much for so many weeks away from home,’ she added with a wistful sigh. She indicated that we should take a seat and then turned her attention on me. ‘I’ve checked your references and everything seems to be in order.’

I nodded demurely and waited for her to continue. Chris had taken the seat next to me on the sofa and Mrs A remained on her feet, just as she had the day before. She was wearing an expensive-looking ensemble in beige today, with a single row of no doubt real pearls around her well-pre-served neck. I’d taken to looking at women’s necks of late. The last time I saw my mother I’d noticed that hers was looking rather scraggy, a bit turkeyfied, and if I took after her—as I already feared I might in the genes department—that was presumably another undesirable physical feature I had to look forward to in about twenty-five years.

‘I’m making a list of dos and don’ts regarding Sir Galahad,’ Mrs A went on, ‘which I’ll have ready for you on Saturday afternoon.’

‘Is that when you’re leaving?’ Chris wanted to know.

‘Yes. A taxi will be arriving for me at four p.m., by which time I trust that Tao will be settled in.’

‘I thought I’d get here around midday,’ I said. ‘If that’s okay with you.’

I didn’t hear Mrs A’s reply because at that moment an almighty squawk let rip from the adjoining room. Knowing looks were exchanged between the two other people in the room with me, and while I looked on blankly Chris got up.

‘Come on, old feller,’ I heard him say as he opened the door and went inside. When he reappeared Sir Galahad was perched importantly on his shoulder. Until he saw me, that is, at which point he squawked again, flapped his wings, and took off in my direction. He landed safely on the top of my head and immediately enquired whether I’d like ‘one lump or two.’

‘We haven’t even poured out the tea yet,’ said Chris, who was now standing next to a side table on which was arranged a formal looking tray of tea things. ‘Shall I pour, Adrienne?’ he asked his employer, and I was struck again by his easy familiarity with the dowager duchess, and the fact that he used her first name.

Mrs A nodded and finally sat in a chair at right angles to me.

‘He’s been very excited at the prospect of seeing you again,’ she told me, which seemed a little bit far-fetched, but I didn’t think it would be wise to say so.

‘That screech was his welcome cry when he heard you speak,’ Chris chimed in. ‘I used to get it, but he takes me for granted these days.’

He brought tea over for Mrs Audesley and me, served in fine bone china cups—with saucers, of course—and placed them between us on a wine table. Meanwhile, Sir Galahad was gently plucking my hair, and purring like a contented cat. I reached up and ruffled his throat feathers a little, and he announced in the fondest of terms that my mother was sired by a German shepherd.

‘Sir Galahad!’ Mrs Audesley bellowed severely, and the bird instantly flopped down onto my shoulder. He extended his head round to my face and tut-tutted at me, as if I was the one with the foul mouth.

‘I’m sorry about that, Tao,’ his owner said, ‘but I think I warned you that his language can be a little spicy at times. I think he does it for attention now. You’re a naughty little show-off,’ she said, wagging her finger at the bird indulgently.

‘Adrienne blames her wayward nephew,’ Chris said as he took his place next to me again. ‘But I’ve heard him say things that couldn’t possibly have come from Jerome.’ He looked accusingly in Mrs Audesley’s direction, and she gave in with the tiniest hint of a grin.

‘My husband was a little deaf, and I’m afraid I used to say things under my breath which Sir Galahad later repeated.’

‘Silly old fart!’ Sir Galahad piped in, as if he understood what she was saying all too well and was obliging us with a small demonstration.

Mrs Audesley chuckled fondly at this, and then glanced at the portrait of her husband. ‘He was a lot older than I was, and I’m afraid he could be very difficult at times. I was tempted to poison his pink gin on several occasions,’ she said lightly, ‘but I released my emotions with the occasional whispered insult.’

Just then the bird started making a noise that sounded as if he was imitating someone being strangled, and I glanced at Mrs Audesley questioningly. She was looking at the bird with surprise, as if this was a new one on her as well. I turned to Chris, and as he mirrored her expression the noise suddenly changed to a cough and I felt something land on my lap. A small ball of I wasn’t sure what. I picked it up and examined it more closely. It looked like a tightly compressed orb of seeds and vegetable matter, and a quick sniff confirmed my suspicions. The strange object had come from within the bird. Luckily I am not particularly squeamish, so I held it up to the bird and thanked him for the presentation.

At which point Mrs Audesley let out a sigh. ‘If there was any doubt about his affection for you,’ she began mysteriously, ‘then there is no longer.’

Still none the wiser, I frowned at Chris.

‘I should be offended,’ he said wryly. ‘It’s a regurgitation. They only do it for those that they love, and I’m afraid he’s never done it for me.’

‘That’s because you’re a man,’ Mrs Audesley said soothingly. ‘It’s clearly something he saves for the women in his life—although until now it’s only been me.’ She glanced at me sadly, but without resentment. ‘And I have to admit he hasn’t performed for me in quite a long time.’

The bird appeared to be listening intently, and whether or not he understood—and I was sure, of course, that he couldn’t—he lifted his wings and took off towards his mistress where, on the top of her perfectly coiffured head, he announced, ‘Here is the shipping forecast,’ in a perfectly enunciated BBC accent.