Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

through the lych-gate. “You look like you belong there,” she-said.
He smiled at her. “It certainly feels that way.”
“Well …” She made a graceless gesture in the general direction of Daly City. “Mouse is off in the wild blue yonder.” It sounded as lame as the gesture must have looked.
Simon pointed to the brass plaque in the garden. “Is this his lover?”
She nodded.
“His ashes?”
Another nod.
He shook his head slowly. “No wonder he wanted to get away.”
She couldn’t bear to think about Jon just now. “Simon … let me know if I can … you know … help with anything.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been a great help already.”
“Well, hey … no problem …” She was backing toward the door, she realized, like some awkward teenager.
“Do you have a moment?” he asked, leaning toward her slightly.
“Sure.”
“Wonderful. Come sit, then.”
She joined him on the bench. “You’re lucky,” she said. “You’re getting some of our sunshine. The poor Queen missed it completely.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “I’m sure this irony isn’t lost on Her Majesty.”
She laughed uneasily. What did he mean by that? That the Queen had personal knowledge of his escapade? That she was envious of irresponsibility? “Is the Queen a nice person?” she asked.
A deep chuckle. “The Queen is a lovely person.”
“Have you ever actually talked to her?”
“Oh … four or five times at the most.”
“She doesn’t seem to smile very much.”
He shrugged. “Smiling is her job. When smiling is one’s job, one is very circumspect about the way one doles it out. Otherwise, it means nothing.”
“That’s very well put,” she said.
Another half-lidded smile. “It’s our regulation answer.”
“Do you have to be … like … a lord or something to be an officer on the Britannia?” “Not at all.”
“Are you, though?”
His laughter was hearty but not malicious. “You Americans just jump right in there, don’t you?”
She was enough of a Californian to resent being called an American. “Well, I think it’s only natural to wonder if …” Her search for the right words proved futile. She was pumping him, and it showed.
Simon leaped gallantly into the silence. “The only titled member of my immediate family is my aunt, my mother’s sister, a grotty old duchess by marriage who wears waders and messes about in boats.”
“The Queen does that,” she put in.
“Not with this duchess, I assure you.”
She laughed without knowing exactly why. “And your mother and father?”
“They’re both dead,” he replied evenly.
“Oh, I’m …”
“My mother was an actress in the West End. My father was a barrister who moved from Leeds to London after he met my mother. What about yours?”
She was thrown for an instant. “Oh … well, my father runs an electrical shop, and my mother is a housewife. They live in Cleveland.” She reminded herself of a contestant on Family Feud.
“Cleveland … Indiana, is it?”
“Ohio.”
He nodded. “They must be very proud of you.”
“I guess they are,” she said. “They don’t see me on TV, of course, since I’m … you know … local. But I send them copies of TV Guide when I’m in it. That sort of thing. Your parents must’ve been young when they died.”
“Mmm. Very. I was still at Cambridge.” He anticipated her next question, looking faintly amused by her curiosity. “It was an automobile accident. On the M-One. Do you know the M-One?”
“A highway, right?”
“Right.”
“Was your mother a good actress?”
He seemed to like that question. “As a matter of fact, I’ve wondered about that lately. I thought she was marvelous at the time. She was funny, And very beautiful.”
“That makes sense,” she said.
He passed over the ambiguous compliment. “When I was fourteen, she introduced me to Diana Rigg backstage at the Haymarket. I thought that was the loveliest thing any mother could do for her son.”
“I can see how you would,” she smiled.
A long silence followed, during which she remembered the joint in her purse. “I almost forgot,” she told Simon. “You haven’t sampled the Queen Mother yet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She giggled, holding up the joint. “Mrs. Madrigal’s primo homegrown.”
“Ah.”
She lit the joint, took a toke, and handed it to him. “I rolled a couple for the trip to the airport. Mouse was feeling no pain when he took off.”
He didn’t respond, holding the smoke in his lungs.
She