France’, ‘The Taste of Spain’, ‘The Taste of Italy’, etc.). The chef Gaston reverted to his real name of ‘Nitty’ Wilson and was in seventh heaven.
The Weekend Breaks became very popular amongst food snobs, who relished the exclusivity of Brotherton Hall. Competition developed amongst them to see who could be first to extract a single word from the Gastronomic Centre’s incredibly standoffish maitre d’hotel. This contest continued for years without anybody realizing that Stan the Stapler was dumb.
Ankle-Deep Arkwright was very insistent that Mrs Pargeter should come regularly to Brotherton Hall and try out each new theme and, when other commitments permitted, she was happy to oblige.
Jack the Knife also offered her the full range of his professional services, but these, with her customary charm, she declined.
The Friday after the unmasking of Julian Embridge, Mrs Pargeter witnessed another happy reunion.
The little house in Catford was full of Kim and small girls and poodles and Mrs Moore and all the cream cakes that Mrs Moore had made for the great homecoming, but it was even fuller of Thicko Thurrock.
Mrs Pargeter had forgotten how huge he was, and indeed how much the little house had missed the reassurance of his bulk. As one of the girls ushered her in, Thicko grinned from his armchair, where he sat with his arms round Kim.
‘Sorry not to get up, Mrs P. Got a lot of cuddling to catch up on.’
And he grinned at his wife with such devotion that Mrs Pargeter’s heart gave a little sob. ‘Looking great, isn’t she?’ he said proudly as his hands wandered over Kim’s familiar contours. ‘T’riffic. Needs to put a bit of weight on, mind. Been pining for me, hasn’t she? Still, soon fatten her up, won’t we, eh? Come on, Mother, you give Mrs P. a glass of the old bubbly. And a bit of that cake, eh?’
‘Nice to be home then, Thicko?’ asked Mrs Pargeter as she subsided into a chair, quickly to be engulfed by small girls and poodles.
‘I’ll say. Nice to see everyone.’ He gave his wife a hug. ‘Ooh, I missed ya, Kim.’ His hand traced the curve of her bottom. ‘You know, it’s really nice having a wife with the best bum in the business.’
Kim Thurrock giggled with delight and coyly avoided Mrs Pargeter’s eye.
Later, as the champagne flowed, Mrs Pargeter needed to go up to the bathroom. On the floor were Kim’s scales.
With a grin at her reflection in the mirror, Mrs Pargeter kicked off her shoes and stepped on to the platform. She looked at the dial.
Eleven stone four pounds.
‘Yes, that’s about right,’ said Mrs Pargeter comfortably.
