Tongue in Cheek [antikvár]

Prologue Diana Henriques threw a huge apple log onto the roaring fire in the library, stepping back as it let out a hissing haze of sparks and sweet-smelling smoke. Watching as the orange tongues started to lick their way around the new tinder, she crouched down and selected the longest poker from the fire irons to prod at the log. Angrily, she stabbed and poked until the fire raged high above the grate, consuming the log totally. Then, as she thrust the poker hard into the heart of the fire to move the apple log back and make space for another, the hooked metal end snagged on it and hooked it out of the grate. It jumped clean through the air, landing beyond the flagstone hearth and rolling furiously towards her. Letting out a squeal of alarm, Diana tried to leap out of the way but fell over on her high heeled boots and sprawled inches from the burning missile. 'Silly girl!' Housekeeper Gladys Gates, who had been bustling past the door with a tray of vol au vents, set her salver down on the reading desk and snatched up the long tongs to put the log back into the fire. She then stamped on the singed hearthrug and helped Diana to her feet. 'You might have come of age, my girl, but you're not too old to be told off for playing with fire,' she tutted, gathering her tray again. 'Now come along and talk to your guests in the Blue Drawing Room. Mr and Mrs Belling have gone to a lot of effort for you this evening.' Diana poked her tongue out at the starched white cotton back as she trailed after Gladys. She doubted most of the guests would even know who she was.