Putting her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown as she walked towards the kitchen, she could already smell the pungent aroma of fresh coffee, with a hint of chicory. “Good morning.” Priscilla held up a coffeepot. “Luckily, I came prepared; I brought coffee from home, which was just as well, because like a poor old lady, when I looked there, your cupboard was bare.” They sat together in front of the gas fire, one at either end of the sofa. “You’ve a busy day ahead then,” said Priscilla, sipping her coffee, steam rising from the hot liquid. “Probably more, well, intense than busy would be a better way to put it. Not as full as some days, but more intense.” “Right. I see.” Priscilla sipped again. “And what about you and James?” Maisie sighed. “I think we could best be described as going through a somewhat uneven tear, rather than a clean cut, in terms of parting.
