Chapter 1.
The moment I wedged my carry-on under the seat and fastened my belt, my ex-husband Professor Percival P. Bramwell folded himself into the aisle seat with the air of a man boarding an ancient trireme under protest. His wife, Mirabella, took the window seat and immediately lifted her phone to the glass. She had already captured an artistic study of the safety card and a close-up of a plastic cup of water. I suspected the wing would soon feature in an entire series.
“I remain greatly displeased,” Percival said. He placed his leather document folder on his lap. “One’s daughter elopes and sends a text after the fact. It’s a travesty of civilised practice.”
I reached into the seat pocket and found a crumpled magazine and a pen that didn’t work. “Poppy didn’t want a fuss,” I said. “She and Oliver are very happy. Besides, it’s kind of them to fly us over and pay for the accommodation at Thorne Castle. All the meals are included.”
Mirabella aimed her phone at a patch of runway and clicked. “Do you think they’ll do a pudding shaped like a castle turret?”
“That isn’t the point,” Percival said. “I fail to see why one should be excluded from one’s child’s nuptials. It offends propriety. It also offends the basic tenets of civic participation. In Athens, even when a local community conducted the most modest rite, a notice was posted.”
I nodded as though an Athenian noticeboard had any bearing on the price of fruit. “Poppy wanted us to enjoy ourselves. Anyway, she’s throwing a belated party in Soggybottom Hollow to make up for things. We will eat dinner at Thorne Castle, sleep in enormous beds, and not discuss democracy with the salad course.”
Mirabella leaned across me to frame Percival’s folded hands in her shot. He moved the document folder out of range with a sniff. “The lighting is perfect,” she said. “Clouds make everything look gentle. Also, I’m very keen on the name Soggybottom Hollow. It sounds like a fairy story.”
Percival barked a laugh that made the seat in front quiver. “Horribly quaint. I can already hear the requisite church bell and the ancient thatch. Next you will tell me they weave baskets and speak in riddles.”
“They make umbrellas,” I said. “It’s their entire reason for existing. Poppy sent me the link to the village website. The Worshipful Guild of Umbrella Makers runs everything. They handcraft them all. Apparently there are ceremonies with ribbons.”
Mirabella took a photo of my hands as I attempted to coax the pen back to life.
Percival sank back with the martyrdom of a man who could quote obscure dates and yet had been forced to miss a wedding. “Guilds were a late medieval phenomenon of no interest whatsoever to the Greek world. Although, if one insisted upon drawing a parallel, there were civic associations of one kind or another. None of which eloped.”
The safety demonstration commenced. Mirabella filmed the buckle as if it were a rare bird. Percival watched the attendant without a comment and then returned to my affront to civic order.
“I published another article on Kleisthenes last month,” he said. “I’m quite certain Poppy hasn’t read it.”
“Possibly because it’s titled something like Reallocation of Deme Membership under Post-Reform Attic Taxation,” I pointed out, rather wisely. “Also because she’s on a honeymoon.”
Mirabella lowered her phone. “She sent a message when they landed. A heart emoji and a photo of a ceiling fresco. I think marriage suits her.”
Percival frowned. “It would suit me if she had remembered that her father possesses a dinner suit.”
“She remembered that her father possesses a dinner suit,” I said. “She simply didn’t need it. Anyway, you’ll have ample opportunity to wear it at Thorne Castle. The itinerary says formal dining is two nights a week. I imagine there will be silver things that require polishing and proper napkins.”
I always felt a small thrill at the exact moment the wheels left the ground. It probably had something to do with the fact I wasn’t the one responsible for keeping a metal cylinder in the sky. Percival gripped the armrests as if determined to contribute to lift. Mirabella filmed a cloud formation that looked, if I squinted, like a very polite rabbit.
“I did a little more reading about Soggybottom Hollow,” I said once we levelled out. “Apparently the Guild inspects every umbrella made in the village. They certify them and keep records in ledgers with special paper. The makers use proper silk and cane. It’s quite serious.”
Percival sniffed. “Typical. Little empires masquerading as craft. I suppose they imagine themselves Florentine. In point of fact, they’re peddling rain sticks.”
“All the better for us,” I said. “We will be dry and well-fed.”
Mirabella clicked into a time-lapse. “I wonder if the Guild robes are flattering,” she said. “You can tell a lot about the soul of a place by its official garments. If they favour velvet, they’re sentimental. If they favour linen, they’re practical. If there are tassels, there’s ceremony.”
Percival adjusted his glasses. “This is what we are reduced to. Linen and tassels. I could have been reading my proofs in the peace of my study.”
“You brought your proofs,” I said. “I saw you slide them into your folder with a flourish. You know you will read them while pretending to dislike this trip.”
He looked almost caught out. “I have a deadline.”
“I won’t disturb you while you contribute to the world’s understanding of boring ancient things,” I said. “But you must promise to look at the umbrellas.”
Percival peered down the aisle as the food trolley began its slow progress. “I can’t imagine why dinner must be served at such an altitude. One’s palate is altered.”
We ate chicken of uncertain origin and squares of chocolate with impenetrable wrappers. Mirabella photographed her dessert, then photographed Percival peeling back foil as if unveiling a statue.
“Magnificent,” she said. “You look like you’re about to announce a reform.”
“There isn’t anything reformist about this,” Percival said. He took a bite and brightened despite himself. “Although the chocolate isn’t wholly without merit.”
When the cabin lights dimmed, Mirabella lowered her window shade the exact amount specified by the attendant and put on an eye mask. Percival opened his folder. I watched a programme about gardens in Cornwall and tried not to think about whether I had left my iron on.
Eventually, the long expanse of flying became the long expanse of landing. Mirabella lifted her window shade again for our descent and captured the wing slicing through clouds. Percival fastened his belt with vigour, then announced that time zones were a ridiculous invention and that any sensible culture would have equal hours across the globe.
I sighed and wondered how long it would take to get to Soggybottom Hollow.
