It was accompanied by buttered soldiers of brown bread neatly arranged on his side plate, standing to attention as he waited patiently for Millicent. In the Pluke household it was bad manners to begin a meal before everyone was seated. Millicent, who insisted on preparing Montague’s meals, was finalizing her own breakfast in the kitchen, but within minutes she joined him. Her tray bore a bowl of milky porridge, a peeled orange and a handful of fresh grapes. The teapot and milk were on the table as she smiled her usual greeting, unloaded her tray and settled down. It was time for Montague to begin his feast. With his knife, he decapitated the egg with practised precision, scooped out the juicy bit from the detached cap and swallowed it. Leaving the empty cap to one side, he tackled the rest of the egg, which Millicent had boiled to perfection. A Millicent Pluke home-boiled egg was a treat above all others. ‘Is the egg to your liking?’ she asked.
