Katie's Sketchbook - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1976 - 6. Part 4 – Haggling at Soulard, and an Unexpected Surprise

Part 4 – Haggling at Soulard, and an Unexpected Surprise

Scene One: Even a Grizzly

 

In a repeat of her actions from the previous night, Katie ran headlong through her front door and called out in the house for her father.

It had been a long Saturday after all, but in a growing sense of déjà-vu trepidation, Sloan wondered if the snowfall had caused problems. Jay and Miles followed him, and as the three of them un-coated and removed icy shoes, Richardson appeared at the opening leading into the living room.

Sloan stood still, and asked quietly, "Is she...?"

Julia Child appeared behind Richardson shaking her head with false dourness. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, dear boy."

Sloan approached them, knowing a goofy grin akin to one of a delighted youngster was playing on his lips. "What happened?"

"Snowed in," she slowly cheeped. "No flights from Denver to Boston until Monday."

Sloan had an inkling, glanced behind him, and noticed a suitcase on the bottom step of the staircase.

"Yes," Richardson added. "And she lost her hotel room at The Lennox[1]as well."

"Ignominiously booted for a pack of freshly-landed British diplomats, ironically enough, brought in by the last flight to slide into Lambert."[2]

Jay and Miles had finished shedding their winter gear and stood shoulder to shoulder by Sloan, listening.

Richardson appeared queasy as he had to explain: "I'm afraid that's my fault – the store's big launch is Monday, and it has a decidedly British accent."

Jay inquired softly, "Where are you going to stay?"

Katie came bounding down the hallway with three chocolate chip cookies in her hand. "Here!"

The girl proceeded to place one cookie each in the teenage boys' hands.

"She's right," Richardson confirmed. "Katie and I have plenty of room."

"And to not be too much of a burden," Julia said with a sparkling glint from her eye. "I insist on cooking for all of us. It will be wonderful for me to have a proper tour of your venerable old Soulard Market tomorrow as well – I'll make something special."

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Sloan remembered how he'd woken up to fifteen-inches of snow on the ground, but also to slightly clearing skies. Richardson insisted they all spend the night, quoting the old W. C. Field's movie line – complete with a red-nose accent – that it wasn't "a fit night out for man or beast!" So the party set up the boys on the living room sofas, and in the meantime Richardson built a sturdy fire for them to enjoy s'mores, hot chocolate and trade stories. Later on, the host and Julia whipped up a big bowl of spaghetti.

Sunday morning, Richardson had rooked Jay and Miles to help him dig out his car, saying to Julia, Katie and Sloan, "I need to stop by the Schnucks[3] on Broadway for groceries; I'll take the boys with me."

"Fine," Julia had replied, latching onto Katie's arm. "You buy your gross-eries if you must, but I shall snag your charming daughter and partner to escort me through Soulard Market, and we shall buy Food."

He had laughed at the time – as they all had – but now, walking beneath the 1920's iron work trusses of one of the market's four open-air enclosures, the term…the 'partner' term…came back to re-visit Sloan. If he was honest with himself, there was something that sounded right about it; comfortable in the way that simply stated 'I am Richardson's partner,' and that he could apply to himself, if he wanted to.

They neared the door to the central hall, which linked the four outdoor arms with the upscale shops inside. Katie rushed ahead and held the door open for Julia, and Sloan in turn propped it open with a hand high over her head to let the twelve-year-old pass through before him.

Immediately, Julia sighed and clasped her hands together. Sloan thought he knew why; the surprise of freshly baked bread greeted them all toasty and warm-smelling.

They strolled down the central aisle, while Katie informed The French Chef what she could expect to encounter indoors. "There's a spice shop, a couple of bakers, a sausage and pâté maker, a great cheese monger, a wine shop, a seafood seller, a butcher – "

Katie was stopped in her list by a hand; Julia halted them in front of a cheery little shop front with a wreath and electric candle.

"And," concluded Katie triumphantly, "a jam shop."

"Well now," Julia confided to the girl with a secret wink in Sloan's direction. "We'll have to visit each and every one, but for starters, let's pop in here. Does your father like jams and jellies?"

"Oh, yes. But he's like Paddington Bear – he prefers marmalade."

Julia tapped the side of her nose. "Wise man; so do I."

In the conserves shop, Julia strode up to the counter and picked up a jar of imported French jam. She scowled at the undoubtedly 'exorbitant' price and held it down to Katie to see. The girl seconded the older woman's scowl with youthfully pursed lips and headshake.

"My good man," Julia called out, setting the expensive jar back in place. "Do you stock locally-made products as well?"

"Why, yes…ma'am…." It seemed the white-haired gentleman's eyes sparked with an awakening to something from a position behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He stood erect, cast aside his neatly folded newspaper section, and took off his glasses. This newly unfiltered glance he cast at Julia looked to Sloan's inspection like the dawn of recognition to Julia's 'celebrity' status. "We have many small-batch, local products. Apple butter?"

"Ummm...?" Julia inquired of Katie, who slowly shook her head.

"Then, madam, how about a grape marmalade from Missouri's vineyard country? It's named for the particular red grape it's made from, a wine varietal named Norton."[4]

A second confirming glance produced a knowing eye-squint and delicate head-nod from Katie.

"May we sample it...?" Julia ventured.

"Of course, madam – say, are you perhaps on TV?"

"Perhaps."

"Yes – Julia Child."

"Guilty as charged!" She laughed uproariously, and startled the rest of the patrons in the confined space; her voice pinged around all the glass jars like a jolly ricochet.

"Yes, ma'am," stuttered the suddenly star-struck shop owner. "Let me get a jar from the back. Just one moment, please."

He left. Katie tugged on the chef's sleeve, telling her, "You are just like Paddington Bear, you know."

Julia played dumb. Her expression drew itself up into a blank stare. "Why, no, I did not know that. Please tell us how we are alike; I would very much like to learn, and I believe so would Sloan." Her glance at the young man confirmed she'd like him to play along as well.

"Yes, Katie, tell Ms. Child and me how she's like Mr. Bear."

Little hands went to her hips before she continued. "Well, he loves to go to Portobello Market in London, he is a tough negotiator with the vendors, and he LOVES marmalade."

Enlightenment lit up Julia's eyes for the twelve-year-old to see. "Well, now that you mention it, I am inordinately fond of marmalade." She laughed and scrunched her face at Sloan. "What do you think, young man? Can I make a halfway passable spectacled bear?"

"If you put your mind to it, I bet you could pull off any role."

"Even a grizzly!" Katie added her two cents with panache.

"Oh my," chuckled Julia. "My husband might agree with you."

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Good to her promise to visit them all, a languorous hour and a half was sufficient to provide a 'pop in' for each of Soulard's many indoor purveyors of tasty comestibles. Loaded down with shopping bags, including one with several jars of the white-haired gentleman's confiture, the small crew wound up at the baker's café table where Sloan and Julia had croissants and coffee, and Katie enjoyed her cocoa and buttered cinnamon toast.

Procuring four baguettes and a 'country loaf,' the party made their way back out to one of the as-yet unexplored sections of open-air market.

As they strode along, looking over all the colorful produce on offer, and meeting bright smiles and rosy cheeks from vendor and shopper alike, Sloan recalled a certain young man who usually set up in this area, one who stocked items Julia might appreciate.

He patted Katie's back, and told her excitedly: "Go ahead and see if the duck boy made it through the snow today."

"Okay!" she said, and ran off.

Julia slipped her arm through Sloan's and they walked on with warming languor.

He felt emboldened to ask her something personal. "I have heard that during the war you worked at the Office of Strategic Services. May I ask you about it?"

"What is it you want to know?" Her tone was not off-putting in the least.

"I guess, it's just that, as the OSS was the immediate predecessor of the CIA – I wonder if spying was part of your real job description."

"Dear boy, my official duties at the OSS were to pore over maps, and to attend…cocktail parties."

She left her final two words dangling to such a pregnant extent that Sloan was forced to glance over at her. The woman's eyes sparkled like Kris Kringle with his magic secret of flight.

"So, I suppose, any stray bit of intelligence overheard at such social gatherings could wind their way back to the Pentagon."

"Well – a secret is a secret, dear boy, at least for as long as it remains unspoken."

Sloan got it. That was her 'enough' about it, so he honored her wish.

"Still," she mused softly. "It did get me rewarded."

"How so?"

"My husband was given some choice appointments after the war, and we got to travel. His posting in Paris is what changed my life with food."

"Yes, I'm glad you did get rewarded, but too bad it could not be directly."

"Direct, indirect – the outcome is the same."

"Still, I guess they do not raise monuments to spies, do they?"

She cleared her throat in an unabashed way. 'Oops,' Sloan thought. 'I pushed it too far.'

"He's here; he's here!" Katie called from about thirty feet ahead of them.

Rejoined with the girl, they went up to the young man behind his table; he looked not much older than Jay or Miles. He had half a dozen dressed chickens and four ducks laying out for hungry perusal.

"No turkeys?" Julia asked him with smiling bemusement.

"I'll bring some starting next Sunday."

Sloan explained, "This young man rears all his barnyard fowl himself."

"Marvelous! Pekings?" Julia picked up one of the ducks.

"Yes. Aren't you…aren’t you...?" the boy stuttered.

She looked up from her inspection, and said without the least bit of affectation, "How do you do? I'm Julia Child. And you are doing good work, young man. Very good work."

"May I have your autograph?"

"Naturally. Do you have a pen?" As the teen rooted around the sides of his money drawer, Julia turned to Katie. "Have we found our main course?"

"I think so," she said sagaciously.

Sloan fished out a ten-dollar bill.

The teen boy pressed a scrap of paper and a pen towards The French Chef, who set her poultry down in return.

The man from Ohio gave the money to the boy, saying, "We'll take two, please."

"And Sloan," advised Julia as she wrote, "make sure you come to this young man to get your Christmas turkey as well...."

The boy blushed.

"Yes – I'm sure we will."

Julia's expression took on new warmth, and her gentle hand latching onto Sloan's forearm puzzled him a moment…. Puzzled until he realized he had said 'we.'

Two plump ducks, whose skin was white as snow, got slipped into plastic sleeves, and then a paper groceries sack got snapped open and filled.

The smiling youth handed Sloan the bag, while Julia turned over her personally inscribed message and autograph.

"Thank you. Come again."

"We will, young man," said Julia. "We will."

Once they stepped away, Julia slightly bent towards Katie's head and inquired, "What do you say to Canard à l'orange?"

"I say, à la Yummy!"

"Smart girl. Do you recall the citrus vendor on the other side of the market?"

"I do."

Julia fished out a dollar bill and gave it to the young lady. "Are you amenable to running back there?"

"Of course."

"Good. Get us four of the fattest, brightest-colored oranges you can find. All right? We'll wait for you inside, by the spice shop."

"Okay!" And the girl was off!

Julia and Sloan exchanged a contented glance, and the young man extended his arm for her to take once more.

They strolled slowly back to the elegant, Italian Renaissance-style building.

"You're very generous to cook for us."

"Pshaw. I cook because I love it. It's my heart and soul, and I never mind showing it."

Sloan was silent – perhaps his 'heart and soul' was a bit too guarded, and Julia sensed that.

She continued, "Katie is a very special girl."

"I most certainly agree."

"I tried not to laugh too noticeably when she insisted her father make his mud pie."

Sloan chuckled, remembering the awkward moment. He then reassured her, "Well, it has a funny name, but I can assure you it's quite tasty."

"Yes, I'm sure it is. I just hope no one is ever intimidated to cook for me."

"It's nice that we have this chance to talk."

"I agree, Sloan. Katie is a remarkable young lady."

"I know. I suspect she reminds you of yourself at that age."

Julia laughed, drawing the attention of a few passersby. "How did you know?!"

She gripped his arm tighter, as if seeking greater warmth – or, as if physically inviting him to stay calm. She continued in a softer voice, "Anyway, she's been seeking my counsel on a matter or two – personal matters, dear boy."

"Oh?"

"Yes, she mentioned you being reserved with commitment to Richardson."

Sloan was stunned. His dismayed reaction manifested itself as a halt in his progress.

Julia rounded the man to stand in front of him. "Sloan, if you feel comfortable asking me about my wartime 'activity,' then I feel I can be allowed some nosy interloping when it comes to Katie."

Sloan cracked a smile, for who on this winter wonderland adventure to Soulard Market could resist the charms of Julia Child?

He threaded his free hand through her arm. "Well, and what advice did you give Katie to help me decide?"

They began walking again, Julia taking her time with an answer. "I told her that we adults suffer from occasional bouts of indecision – moments where what we think we want, like 'freedom,' 'independence,' and so forth, can't quite be seen as the abstract notions that they are. I told her to be patient. I told her that she was doing good to push you."

"You did, did you?"

"Yes – I most surely did. And since you seem to have a great deal of my personal biography set to heart, do you know that I was in a similar situation?"

"No – I… What is it you are referring to?"

She sighed and latched on more vehemently. "As a young woman, back in the dark days, my options for remaining independent were few. The war came and gave me a chance to run away, so I did."

"Run away from what?"

"Why, from my fiancé, of course. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not sure how I felt about him, but I'm sure he felt even less for me. He was a Chandler boy – of the Los Angeles Times Chandlers. Mind you – and he and I were groomed to be partnered by our parents." She suddenly chuckled. "Thank God the war came! I could plausibly leave him after I took the Civil Service test to go into the OSS. So, I can intimately relate to your desire to run away."

"Who says I want to run away? I simply – "

"That I know, or suspect, your feelings for Katie's father and his situation make you give pause, will probably not surprise you. What will, is that the young lady also knows you are considering leaving Famous-Barr."

They walked on for a few paces in strained silence.

Julia suddenly inhaled and looked around the marketplace as if seeing it for the first wonderful time. "I love it here, Sloan. I treasure these seemingly insignificant moments. It was like this for me, the constant uncertainty of war, and of being directly in harm's way that made me come out on the other side of the war appreciating the ordinary things like never before. Simple things like spending time with children, strolling a farmers' market with a handsome young man – and for me especially – food. Cooking is my great boundary and constraint, and it is my personal portal to absolute freedom. You see, dear boy, sometimes we must be attached to something to be free in the real sense, otherwise we never come to realize exactly who we are. If I had not met Paul, I never would have found my portal, and I would not be happy."

"And what about children? I don’t think you and your husband have any."

Sloan felt her grip his arm just a bit tighter: deflection, maybe a way to mask some sadness.

"That's not for want of trying, dear boy. I believe you can see all the joy Ms. Orlean brings into her father's everyday existence."

"Yes. It's true."

A sagacious tone crept into the older woman's voice. If Sloan closed his eyes, and imagined Julia were a girl again, he'd swear they were one and the same person. "And how lucky you are to be invited to partake of the same ordinary joy that Richardson feels. That is, if you want it."

Sloan inhaled, but the pair approached the door to the inside shops in silence. Just as he reached for the handle, her hand came out and gripped his. " It's none of my business whether you go from or stay at the same store with him, but if you do leave, make sure it's because you are going to someplace, and not because you are running away from anything – or, from anyone."

 

 

 

---

 

Part 4 – Haggling at Soulard, and an Unexpected Surprise

Scene Two: My Hand from my Glove

 

Richardson and Sloan were finally 'alone' on the sofa. They indulged in a little post-dinner languor while Julia, Jay, Miles and Katie had splayed themselves on the floor like the spokes of a wheel with a Scrabble board at their hub. The two men watched, sat with flanks nearly touching and dropped in and out of the 'kids' discussion. The intermediary periods were lost in silent glances at one another, or in a few softly uttered words – the kind that required an intimate to lean the head closer to the speaker's lips. They were already holding hands, and exploratory fingertips sought out and found tender divots to massage at the top of palms, and even wrists.

They both turned, catching the tail end of Jay calling Miles a 'chocolate fiend.'

"Me?" the accused boy said. "Who was it told me to buy his mom chocolate before I even met her? And, who bought who chocolate the first time he came over?" Miles looked around smugly in his triumph, but no one else had a clue, so he got only blank stares in return. In a last-ditch attempt, his gaze appealed pleadingly to his cousin.

"I'm not getting involved in this one," said Sloan. "'Cause the whole family already knows you won't turn down a good piece of chocolate."

Jay gave Sloan a sly thumbs-up, then grinned mischievously at his boyfriend. "All I know, my love, is that you want to go back to Stix, Baer & Fuller for more chocolate to take home, for 'others.'"

Katie got upset. "You sillies! You'll have to try FB chocolate before you decide anything."

"No problem there." Jay poked his boyfriend. "Mikey's is a bottomless pit when it comes to that stuff; he's the Cookie Monster of chocolate: 'Feed me, feed me – "

Miles cut him off with a sharp, but loving jab to the side, which only made Jay giggle and say, "Quit it."

Sloan saw Jay lean in to give 'Mikey' a kiss, but the dark-haired boy started to turn away until the blond raised a hand to the necklace at his throat. Miles smiled and leaned in to accept the kiss without any further ado.

"Well, anyway," piped up Richardson. "That's good news. I can use a chocoholic, as Katie insisted I make my Mississippi Mud Pie for Julia Child, of all people."

The girl in question raised up her head from the game, and flickered a ladylike tongue at her pater.

Sloan used his free hand to pat his belly, nudging in closer to Richardson. "That was without a doubt the best duck I've ever eaten."

Julia responded, only barely withdrawing her attention from the game, "It was all because that duck was stupendously fresh. If I lived here, I'd practically haunt that market."

Jay muttered, "Hmmm, stupendous…" and fiddled with his letter tiles.

Katie reengaged Julia's original statement. "Spending all day in the farmers' market? Even more similarities between you and Paddington Bear." She rotated her attention back to Sloan and her father. "He loves Portobello Market in London, you know."

Sloan chuckled, gripping Richardson's hand just a bit harder. "I do know; in point of fact, a wise little someone informed me of that very piece of information earlier today."

Sloan felt Richardson grip go spasmodic, like he was laughing, so he turned to see at least the eyes of the older man were doing just that, if not his lips.

"Yes," Miles mumbled. "But do either market have enough marmalade to keep both Julia and Paddington happy?"

"Oh, we shall see that they do," confirmed The French Chef. "For if they fail in their sweet obligation, I shall open my own marmalade stand right next to theirs."

As the 'young people' continued to chat about Paddington Bear, and play Scrabble, Richardson disengaged his fingers with Sloan to raise his arm. It resettled across the younger man's shoulders and drew him in closer to Richardson's chest. Sloan could almost hear the other man's heartbeat now.

Richardson asked tenderly: "And, how was your day?"

Sloan flashed eyebrows, trying to conceal his grin. "In a word?"

"Yes."

"Magical."

"Good." He drew him in and kissed Sloan on the forehead.

Sloan chuckled. "Treating me like a child?"

"Oh no. Not you."

The intensely happy green of Richardson's eyes at that precise moment worked an unexpected change in Sloan's mood. It pulled him in emotionally like a lasso, for the unspoken notion that Sloan's mere presence could make Richardson this happy was rewarding all by itself – but nevertheless, a small voice continued to ask, '…But, what about you? Do you think you're really ready for this...?'

As so often when Sloan was confronted by Richardson's changing moods and eye color, the music he had heard the first time he witnessed the shift from a troubled hazel to a settled emerald whispered its lyrics to him in disjointed fragments like a falling backdrop to his conscious thoughts.

 

'…feel like I'm hinged on a fear,

but my hope still lingers…'

 

"Richardson, I…" His glance fell briefly on Katie.

"What is it, Sloan." The other man drew him in closer.

"It must have been so frightening to nearly lose Katie in court. That wasn't the right thing for your parents to do."

 

'…like your caress on my fingers…'

 

Richardson was taken aback. Sloan witnessed a brief mental calculation occurring as the older man tried to work out what exactly was on Sloan's mind.

"Luckily, the judge agreed with you, so I have Katie, and all's well that ends well."

 

'…this magic I know…

the second you'll go…'

 

"Was it hard to come out to her?"

"Katie? No, she…let's just say, she made it easy."

Sloan watched Richardson's eye color deepen, and he played with the older man's hand to let him know it was 'safe' to tell him, if he wanted to. "She was five at the time, right?"

"Yes." After a pause, Richardson continued with new strength. "When I came home that night, the day the court dismissed my parents' action to take her from me, I was exhausted. I thanked the babysitter, paid her and sent her home. Then I went to sit by her bed." Richardson laughed, ironically, with a misty-eyed glance at his daughter playing Scrabble so near. "I guess I was a bad father, for my crying woke her up. I hugged her, explaining that nothing was going to keep us apart ever again.

"She tried to soothe me, and at that moment, like under the greatest duress that simply surrenders to a deep desire to just drop all the bullshit, I told her. I told her I loved her, but that 'Daddy loves boys, and sometimes boys and boys, or girls and girls, can build a happy family too.'

"'What about Mommy?' she had asked.

"I told her, 'I loved your mommy very much; you do not have to wonder about that, Katie. And as she loved you very much too, she'd want us to be happy – '

"'And to be happy, you need to find a guy to love?'

"'Yes, Katie. I need to find someone to love who loves me just as I am.'

"'Okay. I want you to be happy, Daddy.'

"'I love you, daughter. I know he'll love you too – whoever he is. So let's you and I agree, he has to love you too, or it's no deal, ok?'

"'Okay, Daddy. Deal.'"

Richardson finished his recollection with a tear falling unchecked down his cheek.

 

'…you might see you're drawing me here…'

 

"Richardson, I just wish it were fairer – that guys like us didn't have to fight for every little advancement we get. How long will it take us...?"

"Your radical days in Columbus, huh? But, it's a good question. What's certain is, things are progressing, and that's what matters."

 

'…won't you say how awesomely near…'

 

Sloan scoffed sadly, "No one at Famous has the balls yet to have a Pride bumper sticker on their car."

"A rainbow flag..? Well, maybe, maybe not – but it is a progressive company, and things are changing."

 

'…could I travel this wonderland by myself…'

 

Sloan pushed himself back, disengaging their physical contact. He also felt a firmer resolve settle onto his visage. His moment of truth frightened him.

 

'…never knowing my hand from my glove…'

 

"I have an offer to move on from FB."

Richardson was stunned; to Sloan's eyes, it looked like the older man was heartbroken.

 

'…I'm too misty, and too much in – '

 

Sloan suddenly halted the lyrics in his head; he had to, or it might drive him insane.

The doorbell rang.

All of them went out into the hallway.

When Richardson opened the door, the porch light showed a deliveryman walking hurriedly away through the snow back to his truck.

Glancing down to his feet, he saw the enormous cube of a cardboard box. Richardson wrestled it inside, placing it on the hall floor between him and the others so he could close the wintertime out.

"What is it?" Katie asked.

"I don’t know," said Richardson, picking off a letter taped to the top with his name and address on it.

As he lifted the envelope to inspect it closer, Richardson was vaguely aware of Katie kneeling down by the side of the container and starting to undo the packing tape.

The return address portion made his heart sink, for right below the Royal Coat of Arms of the United Kingdom was printed: 'Consulate General of Great Britain, Saint Louis, Missouri.'

While he opened it and read the details in shock, Katie's motion of pulling something from the box caused Julia to mildly exclaim, "Oh my…."

He glanced over and saw his daughter parading around the hall with an oversized yellow Sou'wester fisherman's hat on her head. It covered most of her face.

Richardson bent at the knees and tugged on a portion of buff-colored fur in the box; up came Paddington's head.

Sloan, seeing the rising dread on Richardson's face, asked, "What on earth has happened?"

Richardson held the letter in one hand and the bear face in the other, explaining, "The weather has stranded the Paddington Bear actor in New York. He won't be able to get here in time either." Panic rose in his voice, "The whole Christmas season is pinned on this event – I could lose my position!"

Katie stopped her circumambulation, and slowly raised her cap. She regarded her overstressed father with blinking, large and concerned green eyes.

Jay broke the tension by poking Sloan with his elbow. "How's your Peruvian/British accent?"

Sloan, far from thinking it funny, immediately wanted to comfort Richardson. His heart was breaking for him – he said, "Let's see that costume. I'll do it, if I can."

Richardson set the head behind him and laid the letter on top. The others stepped aside so Sloan could get right up to the box, however, when he picked out the rest of the costume, it was clearly made for a much taller person.

Sloan took the shoulders of the fur and held it against him, riding up a pinch here and there to try and make it work.

As he was failing at that, Richardson reexamined the letter, and read out loud for all to hear: "P.S. This costume was made for a six-foot, two-inch tall man."

"Oh," Sloan said defeatedly, letting the costume fur fall to waist level.

There was silence.

Julia cleared her throat and nudged Katie.

The clever girl got the intent immediately, and intoned to the assemblage through a broad grin, "Six-foot-two-inch-tall man…or…woman."

"Katie!" Richardson gasped, sounding truly shocked.

The girl, taking support from a further nudge and smile from Julia continue to lay out the rationale. "Come on, Dad. Everybody knows The French Chef and Paddington Bear are both natural-born hagglers, and produce connoisseurs, AND both share a love of marmalade! It's a perfect fit! It's like fate or something!"

Richardson went slack jawed. "I can't ask – "

Julia's ringingly calm voice cut him off, gently. "Understood, but I can volunteer."

Into the protracted length of silence, Katie was the first to read relief on her father's face and reacted by pulling down her rain cap again and chanting: "I'm Paddington Bear – I'm from deepest, darkest Peru…."

As Jay and Miles laughed and started to play tag with her, Julia told Richardson and Sloan, "I suggest we have a costume fitting in a few minutes, but for now, I smell the coffee is ready, so let's cut into that decadent Mississippi Mud Pie of yours. I'm sure it will be memorably delicious."