Kippers, kedgeree, kidneys – what a sturdy sound all these good breakfast dishes had. Not that he wanted any of them this morning. He had slept well, entirely oblivious of the thunderstorms that Edith told him somewhat reproachfully had kept her sleepless all night. Edith was already up, and had awoken him with her cries of woe when she drew back the heavy plush curtains to discover grey skies and drizzle. Would it clear in time for the band concert this afternoon? This was her main anxiety. Should she don her heavier serge walking dress or be optimistic and wear the foulard she had planned? She eyed its mauve folds wistfully. ‘Which do you think, Egbert?’ she enquired dolefully, uncomfortably aware that the draught coming in the window did not bode well for the foulard. ‘A nice fresh herring,’ he murmured, turning over and going back to sleep. ‘Oh Egbert,’ she snorted, banging the door behind her as she departed for the bathroom. Rose enjoyed having breakfast at Ramsgate.
