A Little of What You Fancy [antikvár]

Most mornings, especially in spring and summer, when the liquid chorus of dawn bird song often roused him as early as four o'clock. Pop Larkin was awake some time before Ma, a circumstance that afforded him the silent pleasure of drinking in the sight of her warm dark head cradled in tranquillity on the pillow and even, sometimes, if the night had been exceptionally warm, of gazing on the olive amplitude of her expansive bust, its naked slumbering curves swelling and slipping from the lace fringe of her flowery chiffon nightgown. While Ma still slept Pop almost invariably went downstairs in his pyjamas and brewed a pot of strong fresh tea. The exceptions to this occurred on the very warmest of summer mornings, when Pop was inspired to think that Ma, perhaps, would prefer champagne. Ma was exceptionally fond of champagne, more especially before breakfast. On some occasions Pop was moved to go even further than mere champagne and concoct a cool but potent mixture of about equal parts of brandy and champagne, preferably pink, with a dash of angostura bitters and a slice of orange. This was the perfick stiffener to start the day on. In particular the pink-ness seemed always to have a highly stimulating effect on Ma and as he came back upstairs with bottles, glasses and orange, the glasses already frostily sugared. Pop always hoped that Ma, perhaps, would be in the mood. Very often Ma was. 'Drop o' champagne. Ma?' On a humid morning in early July the voices of wood pigeons liquidly calling to each other across the meadows had, in Pop's ears, a sultry, sensual sound. 'Plain or cocktail?' ' Better make it a cocktail while you're about it.*