Edith Ball relaxed in her soft-backed chair on set. Malcolm Bletherington, her assistant, brought her cheese and crackers. “Here you are Miss Frost, your lunch.” He brought over a foldable table too, which he opened up and placed next to where she sat under the elm tree. He placed the plate on the table. “Would you like a drink? Some water perhaps?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr Bletherington. Water would be lovely.” Edith lifted one of the crackers when she heard the stitching begin to tear in the fabric on her seat. Part of the back fell away as she leant against it. Malcom swiftly grabbed Edith’s arms, saving her from falling backwards, but crumbling the cracker at the same time. “Thank you again, Mr Bletherington. My apologies for the crumbs.”
Vivian Pearce came running over from the other side of the set, having seen the incident occur. “Miss Frost! Miss Frost! Oh deary me, Miss Frost! Are you alright? Are you hurt?” she gushed.
“I’m fine Miss Pearce. Stop fussing! Thank you for your concern.” Edith stood and looked at the now backless chair, the fabric hanging from one of the metal frames.
“Let me get you another chair, Miss Frost. The one with five stars is available. That really should be your chair.” Vivian fussed, and in fussing made a hash of folding the broken chair. “Ooh!” she said in frustration.
“Step to one side, Miss Pearce. Allow me.” Edith folded the chair with ease, whilst looking over at Malcolm who stood open-mouthed. She rolled her eyes, and helped herself to another cracker. “Oh, Miss Pearce. I only need one star. I am only one star.”
“Yes, Miss Frost. I’ll look for another chair with one star. Of course, Miss Frost. I should have realised. Would you like something to eat as well?” Vivian continued to fuss as she took the chair from Edith, who elegantly gestured to the plate on the table. “Of course, Miss Frost.” Vivian added, and promptly ran across the grass banks of the lakeside toward the tents that had been set up in the field on the other side of the lane. Watching her trot away caused Edith to look into the almost midday sun, and she looked back to Malcolm blinking rapidly.
“It is getting warm now, Miss Frost, isn’t it?” Malcolm decided not to focus on Edith’s temporary blindness. “Would you like a parasol or something?”
“Mr Bletherington,” Edith smiled, “not you too. Please, no fussing.”
“Very well, Miss Frost.” he gushed, with a bow. He stepped backwards a little as Vivian came running back over the grass carrying another chair and a plate of cheese and crackers.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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