Mr Doubler Begins Again Read online

  Doubler had no doubt that he gave the impression of an overly anxious host. He felt unqualified to join in with the conversation, yet was eager to impress, which made him a busy but silent bystander. The instinct he had fought with for days was to run and hide, to abandon the whole idea of entertaining strangers at Mirth Farm, but this had been countered by an even greater desire to please Mrs Millwood and to do whatever he could to fill her shoes while she recovered. Now he listened attentively, storing away phrases, looks and asides, and the little currents of tension that zapped among his guests. Doubler was determined to observe and record it all accurately for future dissemination to Mrs Millwood, so while he absorbed it all, he spoke barely a word.

  Two pots of tea had been made, both with Doubler’s special blend. He had thought briefly about making two different types of tea, his own and something more pedestrian, but he reasoned that there was little point in serving something substandard. After all, it had taken him years of painstaking trial and error to create a perfect blend, so if he could contribute to his guests’ education by serving them the best tea available, then they would surely leave more than satisfied.

  Tea had been poured, and cakes had been sliced and enjoyed, with Doubler joining the table for brief moments of inescapable conviviality interrupted by almost constant fetching and carrying, serving, slicing, while all the time acknowledging praise only with a quiet, self-appraising nod of the head. With no fanfare, he’d produced the lemon drizzle cake from the pantry and sliced it the minute he saw the other cakes beginning to disappear.

  Now, with everyone full, the guests had pushed their chairs back a little and were talking not just of the animal shelter but also of other idle gossip that affected them all in one way or another. Doubler knew nothing of these subjects, but he did his very best to memorize the detail where he could. He followed the talk carefully, training his eyes on each speaker, observing their accepted protocols and manners, and studying each one, to prepare himself for his own moment of contribution, whenever it might arrive.

  It arrived shortly after the teacups had been drained and thirds had been refused. The sudden turn of conversation came as a surprise to Doubler, as well as to his guests.

  Mabel had been telling a story that had amused the other guests greatly. It concerned, as far as Doubler could tell, a rather unpopular man from the town who had apparently been passing off shop-bought eggs as home-supplied free range, which he sold on at a premium. Doubler was confused by the hilarity round the table. He was sure they were condemning this neighbour and were appalled by his audacity, but they were laughing openly, which Doubler found baffling. In Doubler’s eyes, if the deed were to be considered serious, it should be met with appropriate gravity.

  While he was dwelling on this and trying to follow the conversation, Derek, roaring with laughter, slammed his palm on the table, saying, ‘If I know Mabel, this will just be the start of it. We’ll begin with the minor offences and she’ll soon be telling us who’s up to serious mischief. Brace yourself, everyone – we’re going to need something a lot stronger than tea!’

  Maxwell quickly agreed with very little trace of amusement. ‘Too early for whisky, mind you. Though whisky is undoubtedly the drink of conversation. Frees the tongue, but rarely in a regrettable manner,’ he said, looking into the bottom of his empty cup as if discerning the future.

  ‘It’s far too early for anything stronger than tea, surely – it’s barely five o’clock!’ said Mabel, looking alarmed by the very thought.

  Maxwell interrupted her protest impatiently. ‘Good God, woman, it’s not a workday. You wait for six o’clock on a workday, or any day you’ve got responsibilities. But on a holiday? Heavens, no. There are some conventions that are adhered to far too rigidly. Back in the day, we’d think nothing of pouring a good bottle of port at midday or mixing an old-fashioned at four. My last CO would pop a cork at breakfast without a by or leave. Earlier you drink the better. Much better to drink when you can still enjoy it, rather than in the last few moments before you fall asleep.’

  Doubler cleared his throat after a short silence. ‘By your leave,’ he said, testing the sound of his voice in his full kitchen.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said the Colonel, who had been quite content with Doubler’s lack of contribution up until this point.

  ‘It’s “without a by your leave”.’ Doubler’s tone was good-natured, but the immediate silence round the table acknowledged the suggestion of confrontation, which in turn made the attendant guests immediately uncomfortable.

  ‘Don’t think so, old man. Nautical term. Think I’d know.’ The Colonel drained his empty teacup for dramatic effect.

  ‘It’s not a nautical term. It’s Medieval English, and the phrase is most definitely “without a by your leave”. It’s a common mistake.’

  ‘Heavens,’ mumbled Paula, made anxious by the will of the Colonel being challenged. In her book, Maxwell tended to be right. She swerved the conversation back to the previous one. ‘If I drank in the daytime, I would soon be flat on my back. Can’t imagine it.’ She cast around the table for approval while doing a very good job of looking like she was prepared to imagine it if they were.

  ‘There are plenty of drinks that seem to me perfectly acceptable to drink in the day,’ said Doubler from the far end of the table, unaware of any potential hostility he might have evoked.

  ‘What would you recommend?’ This was from the Colonel and was widely regarded by the other guests as a ceasefire. They all looked to Doubler for a similarly conciliatory response.

  Doubler, often completely incapable of reading the subtleties of conversational interplay, had correctly deduced from the Colonel’s immediately attentive repositioning that Maxwell might well expect Doubler to pour him a drink, so Doubler thought very carefully before he spoke.

  ‘I find half a pint of cider goes particularly well with a working lunch. A farmer’s lunch, mind you, or a potato grower’s lunch at any rate. Not, perhaps, an office lunch.’

  ‘And what about five past five? What then would you recommend?’ There was challenge in the question, but Doubler was preparing to answer it literally.

  ‘Gin and tonic. Gin and tonic goes rather well with tea. Surprisingly well with cake.’

  The Colonel smiled broadly and the others relaxed. ‘What an excellent idea, old man! Thank you. But you surprise me. I certainly wouldn’t have had you down as a G and T man.’

  ‘Oh, I know quite a lot about the subject.’ Doubler raised his eyebrows and, nodding, looked at all of his guests, pleased that he had found such sure footing after a conversation that had been, for the most part, bewildering.

  But as soon as he’d spoken the words, Doubler sensed an exchange of glances between his guests and was quite sure he could detect the lightest suggestion of a smirk on Maxwell’s lips. He felt embarrassed but was entirely unsure why. He stood and began the process of washing up, turning his back on his guests and wondering whether they thought him a fool.

  ‘Go on, then, tell us what you know,’ urged Maxwell.

  Doubler turned to face them, a little pink-cheeked. They were all looking at him expectantly, a single smile shared among them. He had been right: they were mocking him.

  ‘Why are you mocking me?’ he asked, his genuine curiosity outweighing his anxiety. After all, these were not his friends. He had not invested anything of himself in these relationships other than a little baking, and once they had left, he never need see them again.

  ‘Oh now, you’re being a little sensitive. “Mocking” is a rather strong word. Gracie warned us that you are a bit of an expert on food and that you have some rather strong opinions on quite a lot of subjects.’

  ‘Did she? Do I? I have certainly never claimed to be an expert on food. I am an expert on very few subjects. Though I might consider myself a leading expert on potatoes. And I know something of the subjects I have studied carefully, but I’d say those subjects are rather limited. I know much about a few things, and almost n
othing about almost everything else. I know about bread, because I have spent a lifetime working with it. I know about cheese, but only the English ones. Similarly, I know about English apples. And I know a very great deal about gin.’

  This might have been a little more than he intended to say on the subject and to claim expertise in this area was potentially dangerous, but the ego is a difficult beast to tame, even if you’ve kept it suppressed for much of your life. Doubler had found himself challenged not just by these people round his kitchen table but by the absent Mrs Millwood, who had potentially spoken quite uncharitably about him. Something complicated happened in his mind and he quickly found himself keen not only to give a good account of himself but to win them over entirely.

  The Colonel was amused by the intensity of Doubler’s conviction. ‘You do, do you?’

  ‘Yes, I know a vast amount.’

  ‘Well, come on – share your knowledge and let’s make it a practical interrogation, shall we? Perhaps you should pour us a little something and let’s see what you know about the subject.’

  Doubler, without saying another word, left the kitchen to go into the pantry. Much to the surprise of his guests, he shut himself into the small room, leaving them looking at the closed door and listening to the effort being made by Doubler on their behalf. Inside the pantry, Doubler had pulled on the light switch in the corner and was now shifting some bags of flour away from the floor to allow access to a heavy wooden trapdoor beneath him. He hadn’t closed the door for privacy but for practicality, as he needed to rest the trapdoor on the closed door to the kitchen. He was very conscious that he was drawing considerable additional mystique and intrigue to something he should really have downplayed.

  Nevertheless, he had committed to showing off, so he clambered down the wooden steps and, guided by pinholes of fading light from an airbrick at ground level, made his way to the shelves in the furthermost corner, passing rows and rows of neatly stacked unlabelled glass bottles. Once he’d found what he was looking for, he returned with his prize.

  Part of him regretted being so bold, but it was too late now, and having claimed expertise, he felt certain that he needed to back up his claim with hard evidence. Once he’d closed the trapdoor, he felt in the wire rack for a firm lemon and helped himself to a large bottle of tonic that had stayed nicely cool on the stone floor. Leaving the pantry, he passed his guests, his head held high knowing that they were observing him both carefully and silently.

  He fetched a jug of ice from the freezer and laid down all the components on the table in front of him, like a surgeon laying out his tools in preparation for a particularly tricky procedure.

  ‘Tradition,’ he said confidently, in a voice that would have been very familiar to Mrs Millwood, ‘is overrated in the matter of gin. Because gin undoubtedly is evolving and the multifarious ways of serving it have advanced hugely our understanding of the spirit and the pleasure we can take from it.

  ‘I am, however, not going to overwhelm you. I expect you’re all very familiar with the G and T, the ice and a slice. And that is what I shall prepare for you because I want you to notice the gin, not the accompaniments. Some gins lend themselves to this classic treatment. But it is very possible to tease out the flavour of a gin by the addition of other flavours. I am not a gin pedant – in fact, I would go as far as to consider myself more liberal than most.’

  While Doubler spoke, he cut the lemon into thin slices, allowing the scent of citrus to fill the room.

  ‘All gin makers use a mix of botanicals to flavour their spirit. We all know and love juniper berries, and this is, of course, the flavour that we associate with the spirit. Indeed, it is essential to qualify as a London dry gin, as I’m sure you all know. But, depending on the distillery, you might find notes of any number of spices, herbs, plants or other flavourings – for example, coriander, angelica, orange peel, lemon peel, cardamom, orris, cinnamon, nutmeg, cassia bark, almond, liquorice or cubeb. When you’re mixing a drink yourself, it is advisable to accentuate the flavour of the botanicals that have been used to craft it, so a gin that has used rose and cucumber to enhance its flavour might well benefit from the addition of a slice of cucumber or a couple of freshly picked rose petals. If there are no citrus notes at all, you should steer clear of lemon or lime.’

  ‘Well, I never!’ exclaimed Maxwell, who had spent a lifetime travelling the world and drinking in clubs and pubs with both rulers and rogues but was certain he had never heard of anything so outlandish.

  Paula and Mabel were both staring at Doubler open-mouthed, as if he were speaking another language.

  Doubler was enjoying this moment of controlling his audience. He continued; his voice was measured and calm. ‘Others, particularly from the more delicately nuanced end of the botanical spectrum, might benefit from a sprig of rosemary or fennel. There is a degree to which you can experiment, try flavours with flavours, but then there are, of course, some basic rules that must be adhered to.’

  Doubler adopted an even more serious tone, as he was getting close to pouring his guests their drink. ‘This gin we are about to drink is terribly good. The addition of lemon is not there to mask the flavour or indeed to add a flavour, but the citrus will introduce a welcome layer of complexity and the palate will enjoy the interplay. In an inferior gin, of course, the lemon is essential because it becomes the flavour.’

  Doubler wasn’t sure if he had his audience with him, but they were mercifully silent as he filled tall glasses to the brim with ice and poured a double measure of gin over each, filling the glass to the top with tonic. ‘Use plenty of ice. The more ice you use, the more slowly it will melt. You don’t want to dilute the drink with water. Disaster.’

  He passed a drink to each guest, swilling each a little as he handed them over. ‘We’ll drink them long, shall we? It better befits an afternoon tea. This gin is good enough to drink neat and is excellent sipped from a very cold glass after dinner. I’d heartily recommend it, but, in the meantime, cheers.’

  Doubler raised his glass and took a long slug, allowing the flavours to dance on his tongue and shutting his eyes in order to let his mouth alone make the assessment.

  Derek was the first to respond. He, too, closed his eyes and allowed the flavours to reveal themselves. ‘Well, I must say that’s rather good. Not quite what I’m used to, mind, but I’d say that was very good indeed. More . . .’

  ‘Floral,’ offered Mabel tentatively.

  ‘Yes, exactly and . . .’

  ‘Herbal?’ suggested Paula, taking a second hearty swig.

  ‘Mmmm. And . . .’

  ‘Complicated?’ piped up Olive, looking for affirmation round the table.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the Colonel. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’

  Mabel sipped hers self-consciously, looking for other flavours she felt ill equipped to detect but very much enjoying the surge of cold alcohol after the hot tea and rich cake.

  Paula continued to gulp at hers greedily and was clearly delighted by it. ‘Strong, is it?’

  ‘Forty per cent. A good strong gin. About right for a drink that is in all probability going to be diluted.’

  Maxwell was rejuvenated by his drink but also felt that he might have lost a small amount of control during this unexpected turn of events. He steered the conversation swiftly towards a subject he knew rather more about. ‘So, I must say I find it rather surprising that gin is one of your topics. If you feel this strongly about gin, then I expect your views on whisky are very forceful indeed. Water or no water?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Doubler said, examining his gin carefully.

  ‘Good God, man, everyone cares. Wars have been fought over less.’

  Doubler looked up at the Colonel. ‘Well, of course I care how I drink it, but I don’t care how you drink it. Whisky is a uniquely personal drink. I doubt it even tastes the same to me as it tastes to you, so how could I possibly begin to prescribe a right or wrong way? Add some water, don’t add some water,
I really don’t mind.’

  ‘But what about you? How do you take yours?’

  ‘Highlands, never lowlands. Equal measures of peat and smoke. Single malt, not blended. No water. No ice. Crystal glass.’ Doubler drained his gin, pleased with the account he’d given of himself.

  Maxwell roared with laughter and took another generous slug of his own drink. He genially swilled the half-glass of liquid round the ice, enjoying the sound. ‘Rather perfect afternoon drink, I have to agree.’

  Doubler felt proud that he’d held his own and that they all seemed to be appreciating the gin. ‘Oh yes, quite definitely. Winter or summer. After food or before food, but ideally never with food. You want to be able to really explore the notes.’

  Doubler looked deeply into his glass and took another sip, aware he now held his audience. ‘The interesting thing about gin is that the flavour is never accidental. It’s not so much about a good year or a bad year. The basics of any gin are essentially the same. Though it helps if you begin with a decent vodka, of course.’

  ‘Vodka?’ Paula squealed and looked at her glass in horror, as if to say that while she might condone the occasional afternoon gin and tonic, vodka was simply out of the question.

  ‘Of course! Gin is merely flavoured alcohol.’ Doubler was enjoying enormously the many pairs of eyes fixed upon him. ‘Vodka is the obvious choice as a base spirit for gin because it is produced in very great quantity and to varying degrees of quality, so it is commercially cost-effective to use it. Anyone can make gin by simply buying a bottle of vodka and then adding their own botanicals.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Maxwell, contemplating his own drink with renewed respect.

  ‘This is very basic knowledge. But there are many different schools of thought beyond this. I believe, quite strongly, that in order to make an exceptional gin, the quality of the vodka is of paramount importance. The better the vodka, the better the gin.’