"I'd rather not be accosted in regards to missing ferrets," Penelope quipped as she went to the cupboard to pull out two red wine glasses. She poured liberally, perhaps a bit more into her own, and passed it over to Terence. At least now she would not be tempted to throw anything at his head. It would be a terrible waste of good wine and the stains would be horrible to remove.
"I'm not sure one exists," she murmured, sitting in the chair across from the couch, legs crossed. Her dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice sat on the bar nearby forgotten. She was going to read it tonight and listen to Bach while drinking wine. She was going to be very civilized in her shut in life. Now Terence was here.
Bother.
"Are you taking a holiday in Britain for long?" Penelope inquired. "One would think you'd still be in Poland for the Cup."