The following morning began as most mornings did at the breakfast table. Robert looked up from his cup and made a face when Leslie and Edward joined him.
“I just can’t get used to this horrible stuff.” He was talking about the coffee, or what passed for it during wartime.
A noise sounding a lot like the rattling of cutlery, plates, and cups from the kitchen preceded Miss Grim’s entrance. She set down two steaming plates of food, unrecognizable and strange looking, in front of the two latecomers and, from under her arm, pulled a copy of the Daily Express, which she dropped unceremoniously on the table in front of her employer. Then off she went, clearly ticked.
“Seems we’ve overstayed our welcome.” Leslie reached across the table for part of the paper. “Thinks she’s being put upon having
