To Elaine it was a fancy traditional English picnic as the Bellocs used to enjoy. Shame about the lack of the Serpentine and Hyde Park, but a little of imagination (and a touch of Will and Power and the late bloomer roses wouldn’t wilt). A squared patterned red blanket on the floor, a basket filled with sandwiches, scones and fruit tarts next to a cold jar of lemonade and several bottles of Janneau Armagnac.
Her uncle had certain fondness for that wine.
The girl stood near the duck pond, feeding them crumbs of bread while she waited for her family to arrive. She turned immediately when her Grandmother-father-parent arrived, still favouring the female gender. Yahweh got more motherly and approachable like that, she had noticed. While they had had their misunderstandings, she returned the kiss with an embrace.
“My mum used to think so, well, Mrs. Belloc - except for the wine, she wouldn’t approve,” she answered with a sheepish smile. “Mm, yes. I made the weather less cold here, so they would stay.” She passed her a few crumbs of bread. “The food is just a bonus.”