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broccoli.
    “I hope you don't mind my coming in this way, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown,” she boomed, as she strode across to the sofa. “I shan't make the room dirty, I've left my boots outside. I'd just like you to look at this broccoli.” She thrust it over the back of the sofa in a belligerent manner, and stuck it under Clarissa's nose.
    “It – er – it looks very nice,” was all Clarissa could think of by way of reply.
    Miss Peake thrust the broccoli under Sir Rowland's nose. “Take a look,” she ordered him.
    Sir Rowland did as he was told, and after surveying the broccoli he pronounced his verdict. “I can't see anything wrong with it,” he declared. But he took the broccoli from her in order to give it a closer investigation.
    “Of course there's nothing wrong with it,” Miss Peake barked at him. “I took another one just like this into the kitchen yesterday, and that woman in the kitchen – ” She broke off to add, by way of parenthesis, “Of course, I don't want to say anything against your servants, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown, though I could say a great deal.” Returning to her main theme, she continued, “But that Mrs. Elgin actually had the nerve to tell me that it was such a poor specimen she wasn't going to cook it. She said something about, 'If you can't do better than that in the kitchen garden, you'd better take up some other job.' I was so angry I could have killed her.”
    Clarissa began to speak, but Miss Peake ploughed on regardless. “Now you know I never want to make trouble,” she insisted, “but I'm not going into that kitchen to be insulted.” After a brief pause for breath, she resumed her tirade. “In future,” she announced, “I shall dump the vegetables outside the back door, and Mrs. Elgin can leave a list there – ”
    Sir Rowland at this point attempted to hand the broccoli back to her, but Miss Peake ignored him, and continued, “She can leave a list there of what is required.” She nodded her head emphatically.
    Neither Clarissa nor Sir Rowland could think of anything to say by way of reply, and just as the gardener opened her mouth to speak again, the telephone rang. “I'll answer it,” she bellowed. She crossed to the phone and lifted the receiver. “Hello – yes,” she barked into the mouthpiece, wiping the top of the table with a corner of her overall as she spoke. “This is Copplestone Court – You want Mrs. Brown? – Yes, she's here.”
    Miss Peake held out the receiver, and Clarissa rose, stubbed out her cigarette, went over to the phone, and took the receiver from her.
    “Hello,” said Clarissa, “This is Mrs. Hailsham-Brown. Hello-hello.” She looked at Miss Peake. “How odd,” she exclaimed. “They seem to have rung off.”
    As Clarissa replaced the receiver, Miss Peake suddenly darted to the console table and set it back against the wall. “Excuse me,” she boomed, “but Mr. Sellon always liked this table flat against the wall.”
    Clarissa surreptitiously pulled a face at Sir Rowland, but hastened nevertheless to assist Miss Peake with the table. “Thank you,” said the gardener. “And,” she added, “you will be careful about marks made with glasses on the furniture, won't you, Mrs. Brown-Hailsham?” Clarissa looked anxiously at the table as the gardener corrected herself. “I'm sorry – I mean Mrs. Hailsham-Brown.” She laughed in a hearty fashion. “Oh well, Brown-Hailsham, Hailsham-Brown,” she continued. “It's really all the same thing, isn't it?”
    “No, it's not, Miss Peake,” Sir Rowland declared, with very distinct enunciation. “After all, a horse chestnut is hardly the same thing as a chestnut horse.”
    While Miss Peake was laughing jovially at this, Hugo entered the room from the hall. “Hello, there,” she greeted him. “I'm getting a regular ticking off. Quite sarcastic, they're being.” Going across to Hugo, she thumped him on the back, and then turned to the others. “Well, good night, all,” she shouted.