To their side they heard a polite cough inducing a frenzy of hiding of scribbled designs, magazine cuttings and scraps of material from the muddle that covered the dining table as four heads turned in his direction.
"Now stop it, don't be silly" came the lilting voice high up from her place standing on a chair, overseeing the flurry below her. "Such a hare-brained idea that Peter, or Freddie, will spill any secrets of my newspaper dress!"
A series of giggles followed as the commotion died down even though Peter felt immediately wary as though he was walking straight into a scene from a certain Scottish play or at best into the depths of a Lioness' den. As Cynthia helped Shelagh down from her chair where she had been measuring her skirt, Chummy immediately forgot the paper pattern in front of her and noticed her small son, awake but resting his head on his father's shoulder.
"Is he alright?" she asked.
"Perfectly fine. He was just after some attention" he said walking across to the table, having not been asleep anyway but hearing his son mithering to himself in his cot at the foot of their bed. "I'm more concerned with the fact that its five past midnight and you are still down here."
"Five past..?" Chummy remarked, scanning the room for the carriage clock on the mantelpiece to find it was closer to ten past.
"Oh, I am sorry. I thought it was earlier than that" she stated, a hand gently caressing the bare leg that was dangling out of the striped turquoise blanket he had wrapped their son in.
"I'm not complaining", he said, addressing her as though there was nobody else in the room, "but you need to rest Camilla."
"I just need to finish this sleeve" she said, gently tapping the paper in front of her as her family stood by her side.
"No Chummy" Shelagh said. "We haven't even set a date yet, so there is no rushing on my dress. Go up".
"We will clear up" Jenny chipped in, already having started on the tidying up mission, carefully folding the patterns and designs that had so far been created between them all.
Chummy pushed away the scissors and looked to the group mouthing a 'thank you' to them before gingerly standing up, still far too protective of her scar and walked away.
As she sat, with the chaos around her slowly finding order, Shelagh perused the final design that they had decided upon. It was a copy from a magazine but after days of deliberations between the Nuns and Nurses when they had all stood in the kitchen, Fred suddenly appeared and announced that the 'one on the left' was far less of a fuss and suited Shelagh best.
Young Fred, who had been yawning repeatedly on his mother's shoulder at being forced to partake in discussions regarding lace and silk, fell asleep in approval too.
Shelagh had found her dress.