On Friday morning, at 6:13, Lucy Angkatell opened her big blue eyes, and a new day began.Immediately, as usual, she was wide awake and began to think about the questions that had sprung from her incredibly active mind.She felt an urgent need to discuss with others, so she thought of her young cousin Mickey Hardcastle, a young man who had just arrived at the Fantasy Manor last night.Mrs. Angkatell slipped out of bed quickly, and after throwing a casual dress over her still elegant shoulders, she came to Mickey's room.She was a very active woman, and, as was her custom, she had begun the conversation in her head, and had used her fertile imagination to devise an answer for Mickey.

This conversation was actively going on in Mrs. Angkatell's head when she pushed open Mitch's door. "Then, my dear, you must agree that there will be trouble this weekend!" "Huh? Wow!" Mitch muttered indistinctly, and quickly woke up from the sweet dream. Mrs Angercartel went to the window, swiftly opened the shutters, and drew the curtains, letting in the pale light of the September dawn. "Bird!" She looked out through the windowpane with great enthusiasm. "How sweet." "what?" "Oh, the weather won't be a problem anyway. Looks like it's cleared up and it's going to be a fine day. If someone's messing around in the house, it's going to make things worse, sure you'll agree with me Yes. Perhaps, like the round game last year, I will never forgive myself for poor Gerda's sake. I said afterwards to Henry that this was my worst thought--we Had to invite her. Of course, because it would be very rude to invite John without her, but it does make things difficult--worst of all, she is so pretty--sometimes it does It is strange that anyone who is as beautiful as Gerda lacks intelligence. I do not think it fair if this is what people call the principle of compensation."

"What are you talking about, Lucy?" "This weekend, dear, who's coming tomorrow, I've been thinking about it all night, and it's deeply troubled. It's a relief for me to discuss it with you, Mitch. You're always so Smart, so sophisticated." "Lucy," Mitch said sharply, "do you know what time it is?" "Not sure, dear. I never ask, you know." "It's a quarter past six." "Oh, dear!" cried Mrs Angkatell, without a trace of remorse in her tone. Mitch watched her sternly.How crazy, how incredible Lucy is!Mitch thought to himself, I don't know why we put up with her!

But even if she said it to herself in her heart, she knew the answer.Lucy Angkatell smiled as Mickey looked at her.Mitch sensed that preternatural, pervasive charm that Lucy had had all her life, and which had not faded from her even now, when she was past sixty.Because of this, people all over the world, foreign leaders, military staff officers, and government officials, endure all kinds of inconvenience, annoyance and confusion.It's the childlike excitement and joy in her behavior that defuses criticism.All Lucy had to do was open her big blue eyes, spread her frail hands, and mutter, "Oh! I'm so sorry..." All dissatisfaction disappeared.

"My dear," said Mrs Angkatell, "I'm really sorry. You should have told me!" "I'm telling you now—but it's too late! I'm fully awake." "I'm sorry! But you'll help me, won't you?" "About this weekend? What's going on? Any questions?" Mrs Angkatell sat down by Mitch's bed.It's not like some other person sitting by your bed, Mitch thought, it's as unreal as a fairy stopping here for a while. Mrs. Angkatell spread her white, waving hands in a lovely, helpless gesture. "All the misfits are coming — the misfits are going to come together, I mean — not in person. They're all fascinating in fact."

"Who's coming?" Mitch lifted his strong arms and brushed his thick hair from his forehead.The unreal goodness was gone. "Well, John and Gerda. I mean, John's a lovely person—attractive. As for poor Gerda—well, I mean, we all have to be nice to her. Very, very friendly." Driven by a vague, instinctive revolt, Mitch said: "Oh come on, she's not as bad as you say." "Oh dear, she's so pathetic. Those eyes. She never seems to understand a word people say." "She doesn't understand," Mitch said, "what you're saying--but I don't blame her. Your head, Lucy, is spinning too fast, taking too many leaps to keep up with your conversation. All the links between things have been omitted by you."

"Like a monkey," said Mrs Angkatell vaguely. "Who's coming but the Crystals? Henrietta, I suppose?" Mrs Angkatell smiled. "Yes—I really think she's a tower of strength. She's always been. You know, Henrietta is really kind—not at all domineering. She'll give poor Gerda a lot Helped. Last year she was amazing. We played some doggerel word games and when we had finished and read the results, suddenly poor Gerda hadn't started. She couldn't even figure it out What's with these games. It sucks, doesn't it, Mitch?" "Why people come here and hang out with the Angkatells, I don't understand," Mitch said. "What about the brainwork, the round games, and, what about your unique way of talking?" , Lucy."

"Oh, dear, we'll try—it must be an abomination to poor Gerda. I've often thought she could be elsewhere if she had a little courage—yet Well, the poor man is still there, looking, bewildered and - rather - depressed, you know. And John is so impatient. I can't think of a way to get things right again - —That's when I felt so grateful to Henrietta. She turned to Gerda and asked her about the faded lettuce green on her—looking so cheap, like at a junk sale Bought it. Dear - Gerda glowed immediately, as if she had knitted it herself, Henrietta asked her pattern, Gerda looked so happy and proud. This is what I call Henri Etta, she can do things like this all the time. It's a skill."

"She drove the trouble away," Mitch said slowly. "Yes, and she knows what to say." "Ah," said Mitch, "but it's more complicated than you're saying. You know, Lucy, Henrietta did knit a jumper like that!" "Oh, my God," said Mrs. Angkatell, becoming serious, "are you wearing it?" "Wear it. Henrietta always does what she does." "Is it very ugly?" "No. It looks good on Henrietta." "Oh, of course it does. That's the difference between Henrietta and Gerda. Henrietta is so good at everything she does and always ends up right. She's good at almost everything, just Like everything is like her profession. I bet, Mitch, if anyone can help us get through this weekend, it will be Henrietta. She will treat Gerda with kindness and make Henry happy , will also put John in a good temper, and I'm sure she will be the most helpful person to David."

"David Angkatel?" "Yes. He's just come back from Oxford--Cambridge, maybe. Boys are very difficult at that age--especially when they're well-educated. Davy has brains. One expects them to wait until they're old enough." When they are older, they have so much wisdom. In fact, they are always so restless, biting their nails, and looking so flawed, and sometimes they have a larynx, and they either keep silent or shout , always full of contradictions. On this point, as I said, I still trust Henrietta. She is very strategic and always asks the right questions. As a female sculptor, they will respect her, Not least because she's never sculpted animals or children, but rather avant-garde things like the eccentric metal and plaster contraption shown at her new artist gallery last year. It looks more like a Heath Robinson step stool. It's called Rising Minds - or something like that. It's the kind of thing that can affect a boy like David... I personally think That's pretty stupid stuff."

"Dear Lucy!" "But I think some of Henrietta's works are quite cute, such as "The Low-hanging Locust Tree"." "Henrietta's a bit of a genius, I think. She's still a very sweet and likable person," Mitch said. Mrs Angercartel got up and moved to the window again.She played absently with the cords of the curtains. "Why are there acorns on the curtains, weird?" she muttered. "Don't get too far, Lucy. You're here to talk about the weekend, and I don't understand why you're so anxious. What's the trouble if you're doing your best?" "Well, there is one thing, Edward is coming." "Oh, Edward." Mitch was silent for a while after saying the name. Then she asked softly: "Why are you inviting Edward this weekend?" "Yes, he wanted to come himself. He wired to ask if we could invite him. You know what Edward is. So sensitive. If we had telegraphed back 'No,' he might never have come." Mitch nodded. Yes, she thought, and Edward's face came into sharp focus for a moment, and it was a very lovely face.A face with Lucy's illusory charm, gentle, indifferent, ironic... "Dear Edward," said Lucy, echoing the thoughts in Mitch's head. She continued impatiently: "If only Henrietta had made up her mind to marry him. She really liked him, and I knew that. If they'd ever been here on a weekend without the Crystals... in fact , John Crystal always has the most unfortunate influence on Edward. John and Edward are two extremes, do you understand what I mean?" Mitch nodded again. "I can't put off the invitation to the Crystals because this weekend is already planned. But I do feel, Mitch, that everything is going to be troublesome, that David is going to be glaring and biting his nails, and I'm going to try not to make Geer Da feels out of place, John is so enthusiastic and Edward is so depressed—” "The ingredients in the pudding aren't what one would hope for," Mickey whispered. Lucy smiled at her. "Sometimes," she said thoughtfully, "it's very simple. I've invited the detective to dinner this Sunday. It's going to surprise everybody, don't you think?" "detective?" “He looked like an egg,” Mrs. Angkatell said. “He was in Baghdad on some things, and John was the High Commissioner. Maybe after that, we invited him to dinner with some of the other staff. I remember him wearing a white canvas suit with a pink flower in the buttonhole and black patent leather shoes. I don't remember much about it because I never thought it was a very big deal for someone to kill anyone. Funny thing. I mean, once a person dies, the cause of death doesn't seem to matter much, and it seems silly to make a fuss about it..." "But do you have any case here, Lucy?" "Oh, no, dear, he lives in a tacky farmhouse. It's sunny, with pipes all over the place, and a horribly designed garden. Londoners like that sort of thing. A woman actress lives in another, I'm sure. They won't be here long." Mrs. Angkatell was walking aimlessly up and down the room. "I can assure you it makes them happy. Mitch, dear, you've been so helpful to me." , you are so kind." "I don't think I'm very helpful to you." "Oh, isn't it?" Lucy Angkatel looked surprised, "Then, you should sleep well now and don't get up to eat breakfast. When you get up, you must groom as naturally as you used to." "Natural touch-ups?" Mickey looked surprised. "What? Oh!" She laughed. "I see! You're wicked, Lucy. Maybe I'll fix you." Mrs Angkatell went out laughing.As she passed the open bathroom door, she caught sight of the kettle and the gas stove. People liked tea, she knew it - Mickey wouldn't be called for hours.She can make some tea for Mickey.She put the kettle on the stove and continued down the corridor. She stopped at her husband's door and turned the handle.But Sir Henry Anglecartel, an able administrator, did not wish to be disturbed in his morning sleep.The door is locked. Mrs Angkatell went back to her room.Standing in front of the open window, looking out for a while, yawned.She went back to bed, pressed her head against the pillow, and fell asleep like a child two minutes later. In the bathroom, the water in the kettle boiled and continued to boil... "Another small jug is scrapped, Mr. Gjeon," said the maid Simmons. The butler, Gjeon, shook his gray-haired head resignedly. He took the burnt kettle from Simmons.Headed to the pantry and pulled a new jug from the bottom of the cupboard where he had stored half a dozen. "Here you are, Miss Simmons. The lady will never know." "Does Madam do this kind of thing often?" Simmons asked. Gazeon sighed. "Madame," he said, "is kind and forgetful, if you understand what I mean. But in this house," he went on, "I take care of everything, and keep the madame out of trouble as much as possible. or worry."