Chapter Text
"I wonder if she's gone yet," sighed Wanda Ventham as she stretched and put down the book she was reading. She looked at her watch. "It's getting rather late, and Benedict has to be on set early tomorrow."
Wanda's husband of 33 years, Timothy Carlton, paused from arranging pink and white hyacinth blooms in a large crystal vase and fixed his wife with a look. "I dare say I think you'll be the very first to know when the interview is over." He chuckled and added, "I wouldn't be in such a hurry. I suspect our son is less than pleased with your…performance."
Wanda huffed as she took off her reading glasses. "I only meant well, Tim. I really don't think Ben will hold a grudge. I was just..."
"Doing what you thought would help him find a wife," finished Timothy.
"She’s got to have connections in London. Surely she knows of someone or someone who knows someone.” Wanda frowned and bit her lower lip. “All I want is for him to find a bird. He doesn't have to marry her. Just someone to make him happy and give us grandchildren!"
"Marriage would be nice," commented Timothy. He pursed his lips and studied his arrangement. "I think some more greenery. What do you think?"
Wanda got off her lounge chair to inspect the arrangement. She moved around a couple of the flowers and stood back to admire it. "Perfect! Your hyacinths are beautiful."
"Like you," Timothy smiled and kissed her gently on top of her head.
They both looked up as the back door to the house suddenly banged opened. Their son, Benedict, strode outside onto the terrace with a scowl on his face.
“Hmm…he looks miffed to me,” muttered Timothy under his breath. “He’s not going to let it go.”
“Did the journalist leave, dear?,” asked Wanda pleasantly.
“Yes, about ten minutes ago,” replied Benedict curtly as he crossed the brick terrace towards them. His light blue eyes looked darker and flashed with annoyance.
“Nice woman. Her choice of wine was splendid,” said Timothy. “Did it go well then?”
Wanda poked her husband to shut up. “I’m going in to make us tea before you have to leave,” she said to Benedict. “I have a special pudding. Banoffee pie. Your favorite,” she added. With that Wanda picked up the vase and started towards the house, confident that she had escaped a confrontation with her son. She was wrong.
Benedict blocked her way. “Mum, I'm leaving tomorrow. We need to talk about what happened upstairs…”
Wanda looked up at him and smiled slightly. “Oh, if you mean about my owl collection, I really…”
“No!” Benedict cut her off angrily. “ Please don’t play coy. I’m talking about your storming into the room to practically plead with that poor woman to find me a..a…bird…as you call it. I’m 32 years old, Mum - a grown man, for Christ’s sake! Do you know how that sounded? Like I can’t find a woman to date - like no one wants me. It made me look pathetic!”
“I don’t see what was wrong with that, Ben,” retorted Wanda. “I only wanted to help you. I figured a writer like her would have lots of connections.”
Benedict ruffled his curly hair, which had been dyed chestnut brown for the Sherlock pilot. He narrowed his eyes at her and raised his voice in exasperation, “You really don’t see what was wrong with that, do you? Dad?” He looked at Timothy for support.
The sound of a ringing phone came from inside. Benedict stepped aside, allowing Wanda to enter the house to answer it. He spread his hands helplessly and looked at his father, who let out the breath he had been holding in relief.
“Why? Why does she do this to me? Can you tell me? When I took her shopping last week she asked the butcher if he had a daughter, for fuck's sake! I’m afraid to go anywhere with her. I can’t even begin to imagine what she does when I’m not around…” Suddenly he broke out into a spot on imitation of Wanda: “Oh, Mr. Jones, you see my son, Benedict, is 32 and doesn’t have a bird. He has a few peculiar habits, but I’m sure he’d make your daughter very, very happy. Let me show you his picture.”
Timothy laughed at Benedict’s imitation of his wife and patted him on the shoulder. “First of all, she literally glows whenever she speaks of you. It takes her a good while to list all your virtues. She can recite every play, radio show and telly program that you’ve done. Then she pulls out an eight by ten glossy of you dressed as Sherlock.”
Benedict grimaced.
“I assure you it’s done with only the best of intent. Your mother loves you very much, Ben. She is aware that we are all getting older. Emily and Jennifer are grown women now, so she’s looking for a new crop of grandbabies to spoil.”
Benedict sighed, “I can’t just go out and get anyone pregnant, Dad. It has to be the right woman. I want someone to be my life partner, not just an incubator for grandchildren.”
“Benedict!” called Wanda. “Your driver's on the phone.”
“I’m going to clean up. I’ll be in soon. Try not to argue with your mother,” said Timothy as he picked up the garden tools.
Benedict shook his head and headed back to the house.
“She’s probably asking my driver if he has a daughter,” he said to himself.