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witticasterLaurence-and-Tharkay-have-kids!AU. LAURENCE JUST WANTS HIS DAUGHTER TO BE HAPPY, OKAY. And Jane lols.
Jane answered the telephone with her usual brisk, "Yes?" It was slightly more terse than usual; while she had grown accustomed to discussing matters of importance (which calls at this hour generally were) before her morning coffee, she didn't care to do so and felt little need to pretend otherwise.
"Hello, Jane," came the voice of, of all people, William Laurence. Apparently hearing the brusqueness of her tone, or perhaps feeling similarly, he dispensed with the usual inquiries as to her welfare and came to the point. "...Do you know how to plait hair in the French fashion?"
She laughed aloud. "Of all the--Laurence, you mean a French plait? Why the devil do you need one?"
"Marthy's refusing to have her hair done up any other way," he replied, sounding beleaguered. "At this rate, we're going to be late for nursery school."
"You're aware that you've more hair than Emily and I put together?" It was too amusing a predicament to resist every available jape. "She grew up wearing a bob for a reason. Surely you can tie a few sailors' knots in there and tell her it's the very latest the Frogs've come up with."
A pause. Then, tentatively, "What do French plaits look like?" From the muffled shouts and sounds of general chaos bleeding in under Laurence's voice, it sounded as though nothing less than the genuine article was going to do.
Jane puffed out a small breath. "Hold on a moment, Laurence." Pressing the receiver to her chest, she called, "Emily!"
"What, Mum?" She hopped into the kitchen, lacing up one of her trainers as she did.
"Can you French plait hair?"
Emily raised an eyebrow and started on the other shoe. "I can try, I guess--why?"
Jane nodded curtly and brought the phone back up to her ear. "If it's that vital to her general welfare, we'll be by in ten minutes."
Jane answered the telephone with her usual brisk, "Yes?" It was slightly more terse than usual; while she had grown accustomed to discussing matters of importance (which calls at this hour generally were) before her morning coffee, she didn't care to do so and felt little need to pretend otherwise.
"Hello, Jane," came the voice of, of all people, William Laurence. Apparently hearing the brusqueness of her tone, or perhaps feeling similarly, he dispensed with the usual inquiries as to her welfare and came to the point. "...Do you know how to plait hair in the French fashion?"
She laughed aloud. "Of all the--Laurence, you mean a French plait? Why the devil do you need one?"
"Marthy's refusing to have her hair done up any other way," he replied, sounding beleaguered. "At this rate, we're going to be late for nursery school."
"You're aware that you've more hair than Emily and I put together?" It was too amusing a predicament to resist every available jape. "She grew up wearing a bob for a reason. Surely you can tie a few sailors' knots in there and tell her it's the very latest the Frogs've come up with."
A pause. Then, tentatively, "What do French plaits look like?" From the muffled shouts and sounds of general chaos bleeding in under Laurence's voice, it sounded as though nothing less than the genuine article was going to do.
Jane puffed out a small breath. "Hold on a moment, Laurence." Pressing the receiver to her chest, she called, "Emily!"
"What, Mum?" She hopped into the kitchen, lacing up one of her trainers as she did.
"Can you French plait hair?"
Emily raised an eyebrow and started on the other shoe. "I can try, I guess--why?"
Jane nodded curtly and brought the phone back up to her ear. "If it's that vital to her general welfare, we'll be by in ten minutes."
