Saturday's dinner made it quite clear which pretend son takes after which pretend parent because Pretend Papa and Seminarian Pretend Son talked of nothing but Anglo-Catholics and Anglo-Catholicism and Anglo-Catholic architects while Polish Pretend Son and I stared at them and willed them to talk about something else.
"Excuse me," I said at last. "This 'Mass' of which you speak. Ahem. Ahem."
"Oh, er, um, yes," said the shamefaced
Then on Sunday, as I dragged B.A. from a party, B.A. was tremendously paternal, saying "Now you chaps needn't leave the party early on our behalf! You can return to the Historical House any time you like!" while I fussed and said "What rubbish! Never heard of such goings-on in my life." Complementarity in action, peeps.
Actually, it turns out that it was only about 11:30 PM, and not 12:30 AM because I forgot that all the clocks in that particular sitting-room are wrong, including the one on the chimney-piece, because I fell dead asleep after B.A.'s stirring rendition of "The Lost Chord." So perhaps I was too premature, and also a bit too tetchy---although that can be blamed on the Romanian śliwowica the Polish Pretend Son kept pouring in my glass.
B.A.'s imitation of Dame Clara is positively haunting.