The warm spell disappeared yesterday and dark, rainless clouds replaced the blue sky.
Yesterday was another day in the garden. The novelty has worn off. I am fed up with weeds. My mother in law, Eve, used to say that she found the process therapeutic. I can’t say that I do. But I like the end result. The roses are starting to bloom in their own garden, which is now weed-free in their honour. The hard work was worth it the end.
It was the same with having children for me. I was rubbish at having them – conceiving and carrying – but I baked nice ones in the end.

I was prescribed bed rest in the first trimester for both children, after I threatened to lose both of them at this critical stage.

In the case of Anna, I was at work when I realised that I was losing her. Geoff was abroad on business in Copenhagen, Denmark, and I was home alone. I rang my obstetrician and he said to go to Harley Street for a scan. I rang Nicky St John at Sothebys; she worked in the Bond Street store. She said she would leave work and meet me for the scan. I later found out she just walked out of the office when she hung up. Then I told my boss in one breath that I was having a baby and may be losing a baby. I was distraught. I then jumped in a black cab.

It was my turn to go into the room where I would find out if I was still pregnant. I lay on the examination table with my heart beating out of my chest. Nicky was holding my hand as the radiographer looked to see if my baby was still viable. After a few seconds she said, “I can see a heartbeat.” Nicky burst out crying and squeezed my hand. She is Anna’s godmother.

Same thing happened with Hugo. I had to tell my boss the same tale. Had to go through the same ordeal of the scan.

When I was eight months pregnant with him we moved to a much larger house in the Abbeville Village, Clapham. (It was where my love for interior design blossomed – more on that later.) I unpacked the kitchen on the first day and, whoosh, my waters broke. Off to St Thomas’s hospital where Mr Ferguson, my consultant, was ready to carry out an emergency caesarean. Both children were breech. Anna was 9lbs 3ozs and I am a slip of a woman!!!

I was taken straight to theatre. Mr Ferguson was all kitted up, with his wellies on! There was a paediatric team ready to go once Hugo was born, in case of problems. (I knew I was having a boy from the scan.) Mr Ferguson explained that when a baby is born at eight months, the lungs can be compromised. Geoff made it just as the epidural was being inserted, with minutes to spare. I shall never forget the look of complete delight on Mr Ferguson’s face when he pulled Hugo out of my tummy. His words: “Nothing to worry about. He’s fully cooked.” He was over 8lbs at 8 months. The tension in the room broke and there were congratulations all around.

I now had two children – healthy and safe – plus a lovely new home. The house needed a lot of work. The roof was leaking and there was damp in places. Some of the windows were rotten. But it had a wonderful bone structure. I was young and energetic. I was up to the challenge.

 

Today I am still at the Old Rectory.