Free The Good Plain Cook by Bethan Roberts

said Laura. ‘Tell Lillian I’ll see her some other time. I can’t face her prissiness just now. And I promised
     to meet Humphrey in Petersfield at three. Got to keep the husband happy.’
    She scooped up her riding hat and jacket from the top of the dresser. ‘Don’t go snaring any helpless men while I’m gone,’
     she said to Geenie.
    Ellen watched her stride through the French windows and out into the garden, and – for just a second – wished she could straddle
     the back of Laura’s horse and ride off over the Downs with her.
    Bobbie cleared her throat. ‘She’ll be here most imminently , Mrs Steinberg—’
    ‘All right, all right.’ Ellen touched her hair, scraped back her chair and straightened her jacket. ‘You stay put, Flossy.’
    ‘Why can’t I come?’
    ‘I think I’ll deal with this myself, darling.’
    ‘I want to come.’
    Ellen sighed. She bent down to look her daughter in the face. ‘I’ll bring her through in a minute, then we can all go home
     together. It’ll only be a minute.’
    . . . .
    ‘This is—’ Ellen stopped and stared.
    She’d opened the door to the dining room with Diana in tow, only to find her daughter standing against the French windows,
     holding Laura’s cig end. Geenie was leaning her head back on the glass and trailing the fingers of one hand across her stomach.
    The new girl stepped from behind Ellen. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Diana.’
    ‘I am a helpless blonde, darling,’ declared Geenie, and she lifted the cig to her mouth and sucked, closing her eyes.
    Ellen looked from one girl to the other, then burst out laughing. Diana smiled, showing a gap between her front teeth, and
     Geenie blew out a big breath.
    . . . .
    On the way home, Diana was quiet. She was even prettier than Ellen had expected. Her black hair shone like wet stone, and
     her eyelashes were as thick as a doll’s. Ellen chattered as much as she could, occasionally looking over her shoulder for
     a response, but the girl just stared out of the car window.
    ‘You’ll love our cottage, Diana, I’m sure of it. It was a damp heap of ugliness when we first came, wasn’t it, Geenie? Now
     it’s quite the palace. Albeit a small one. And very modern, too.’
    They’d been in the cottage for less than a year, and already Crane and Arthur had dug new flower beds in the garden, knocked
     kitchen and scullery into one room, installed the chugging electricity generator and built the writing studio. Sometimes she
     felt all Crane wanted was to demolish the entire cottage and start again. But, she reasoned, it was better to let him get
     on with it. Let him knock down all the old stuff, if that’s what he wanted. Much better to forget the past. Hadn’t that been
     what she’d wished for, when they’d moved to Harting after James’s death? She hadn’t let Crane loose on the library, though.
     That was her place. It was where she worked every day, typing up James’s letters. She’d collected enough now for a whole book.
     It was important work, and she wanted it finished by the end of the summer.
    Ellen glanced over her shoulder again. Diana hooked her dark hair behind one ear and carried on staring out of the window.
    Geenie was just as bad. After her little cigarette show, she was now sitting on the other side of the back seat, gazing at
     her knees.
    ‘Your daddy’s done wonders,’ Ellen continued. ‘He’s really transformed the place. It’s our country idyll, isn’t it, Geenie?
     He’s very clever with his hands.’
    ‘I know,’ Diana said, but still she didn’t look round. For some reason, she reminded Ellen of Josephine Baker: perhaps it
     was those smooth cheeks and lively eyes. She could see Diana easily controlling a pair of cheetahs whilst dancing an exotic
     number.
    ‘My mother says houses are his forte,’ added Diana.
    ‘And writing, darling, your daddy’s a very clever writer, isn’t he?’
    ‘But houses are his forte,’ Diana insisted.
    ‘What’s