Etiquette

Q. I treat myself to a manicure every ten days. It’s a 30-minute appointment and the girl I use is always fully booked. I turned up — punctual as always — for my appointment this week to be told that the client before me had been stuck in traffic and so my manicurist was ‘running late’. It turned out to be a wait of 12 minutes and she ended up giving me rather a rushed job. I looked at my watch when I left, and saw that she had made up her lost time at my expense and I felt short-changed. This isn’t the first time it has happened. Mary,

Q. A long-standing artist friend, whose work now commands high prices, has sent me out of the blue a present of one of her paintings. She clearly didn’t realise after all these years that, although I have always been immensely fond of her, I have never been a fan of her work. I am grateful and will keep it in my attic but wouldn’t dream of selling it while she is still alive. My friend now lives abroad but is the sort of person who might suddenly turn up in London with no warning and drop in without ringing first. I would hate to hurt her feelings by not having

Q. My cleaner is industrious and trustworthy but she doesn’t have many people to talk to and evidently looks forward to her shifts as social occasions. She loves having a captive audience (my brother and I are currently WFH) and her conversation consists mainly of complaints, so it’s never a fun chat. It’s generally a bit of a downer and lending a sympathetic ear is becoming rather exhausting. I always end up going for a walk during her shift, even though it doesn’t suit me. It has taken me so long to find a half-decent cleaner that I don’t want to let her go. Mary, what should I do? —

Q. I live alone, happily and remotely, but many miles from my immediate family. My son’s wife has very kindly taken it on herself to telephone every day to check on my wellbeing. Apparently she feels that, by so doing, she is giving me the chance to have ‘a chat’. I am grateful, of course, but my problem is that she talks for at least ten minutes each time and, unfortunately, what she has to say is not exactly scintillating. I am concerned that if this goes on, she will start to worry that I find her boring, so can you think of a tactful way in which I can

From Lady Antonia Fraser Q. I enjoy getting readers’ letters, but there is one category I am at a loss how to deal with. These are from readers who inform me that in another life, another incarnation, they were one of my historical characters, their present lives being generally very different. Most striking was the vicar’s wife who wrote to me after reading my King Charles II: ‘I am now the hard-working wife of a clergyman but in another life I was that naughty minx Nell Gwyn.’ Occasionally there has been aggression: ‘How dare you write about my wife, Mary Queen of Scots?’ signed ‘formerly Lord Darnley’. A great many

Q. I will shortly be attending a major social gathering in London at which I can look forward to seeing some dear old friends and speaking to them in person for the first time in many months. Therein lies the problem. I will probably not be able to speak to these key people. I can anticipate that, just when I am properly engaging with someone who is normally too busy to talk on the telephone, and with whom I have a lot of ground to cover, a ‘person from Porlock’ will hove into view and bring our intimate chat to a halt. Mary, my question is: how, without being rude,

Q. During lockdown I made good friends with a neighbour who I would never have met otherwise. This man lives so close that he now regularly comes to informal dinners at our house. Unfortunately he has a habit of ‘double dipping’ his used fork into jars of redcurrant jelly, mustard, whatever — even though I always supply saucers and teaspoons. It means I have to throw away half-full jars when he has left. How can I stop this without drawing attention to his table manners and making him feel too shy to come again? I want to introduce this adorable man to other friends but feel I can’t while he

Q. An acquaintance suggested organising a celebratory dinner in honour of some mutual friends. He asked my husband and me, along with the other proposed guests, if we would all contribute towards the cost. The evening, in the private room of a top London restaurant, was a huge success and, as agreed, the organiser paid the bill and later sent us all emails with his bank account details to reimburse him. We have now heard that the friends in whose honour the dinner was held are under the impression that the party was paid for solely by the organiser and have been singing his praises ever since. I am not

Q. I have recently become a widow. Since my son is away at university, I had the idea of charging a modest rate to informally rent out his bedroom to friends and friends of friends who happen to need a bed in the city for a night. I include dinner and breakfast in the rate but can still make a much-needed profit. My problem is that some charming friends of friends have booked in twice and want to make it a regular thing, but they insist on taking me out for a slap-up dinner at a smart restaurant in lieu of the small payment. I don’t think they are remotely

Q. I never lie about my age but I try not to think — or talk — about it. Now an old school friend, who has been living abroad for many years, has just come back to the UK and is planning to move here permanently. Unlike me, she is letting her hair go grey. Admirable though her authenticity may be, when virtually all the women from her old circle have highlights or full colour she, known to be roughly our age, but three-quarters grey, shows the rest of us up. At a recent wedding, more than one of us was quietly, but tactlessly told, as though it were a

Q. We have had some rather rich Argentines to stay. No one was able to come in to help before or during their visit so I was exhausted looking after them, making their beds, cooking, quietly washing up etc. Consequently, when I went into their room and found they had left a £250 tip for my cleaner (who had done nothing), I decided I would keep the lion’s share. I left £20 for the cleaner, which she was absolutely thrilled with. Now my husband, to whom I had not confessed, tells me she asked him for the Argentines’ address so she could write to thank them for the £20. There

Q. A very old friend has rented a holiday house and invited my husband and me to stay. The property happens to belong to another friend so we have stayed there in the past and know it’s fairly stupendous with cook, garden, pool, sea and mountains etc. It now goes for a massive rent which, fortunately, our other friend, who has done very well in business, can more than afford to pay. She knows my husband and I no longer have the money we used to and she definitely does not want us to contribute. Our problem is that among the other guests will be a couple who, while not

Last week, walking into a branch of Waterstones in south London, I made way (or so I thought) for a pixie-faced man in Lycra who was theatrically hauling his bike into the shop. It seemed a bit of a liberty, but these days cyclists are godly folk who can do anything they like, especially in the eco-obsessed puritan commonwealths south of the river. Then a querulous voice piped up behind me. ‘Excuse me! You just pushed past me and my bike.’ I think it was the ‘and my bike’ that did it. Pixie Face headed for Waterstones’ mandatory display of anti-racist memoirs, bleating about ‘manners’ while caressing his affronted vehicle.

Q. My beloved wife has been studying Chinese metaphysics for 18 months. Our house and garden have been badly neglected as a result — as have her husband, and nine-year-old daughter! She claims she needs the mental stimulation, but how can we detach her from her obsession? —F.O., Dorset A. You could outwit your wife by developing your own obsession: namely how she can monetise her new interest by giving lessons to acquaintances and neighbours with intellectual pretensions and time on their hands. There are always plenty of empty heads ready to be filled and the study of Chinese metaphysics could easily fit the bill — ‘bill’ being the operative

Q. I live in a row of town houses with a communal strip of garden in front. Three of the eight houses leave their gardens in a mess. These are not poor people — a dentist, a lawyer and a dermatologist — but they seem to lack any sense of community duty. If they had any notion of the eyesore the front of their houses presents, they could hire a garden service. It is galling that I have to clean up their gardens myself or leave the mess. How should I get them to clean up their act? — D.W., Toronto A. The problem may be linked to lethargy rather

Q. The other night, while hosting a house party, I was one of only three people still chatting by the fire after midnight. I reasoned that if I said goodnight, the one remaining guest, who was still very much enjoying talking to my wife, would feel this was a cue for her to go to bed too. Consequently I made a French exit. The next morning, my wife told me that my having slipped off without saying anything meant that the two of them had been waiting in uncertainty for me to come back, and had stayed up for around half an hour more than they would have done if

Q. We have old friends who live in the northern hinterlands and have a property in Provence where they normally spend each summer. On their journey down through England they make a stopover with us. We’re always pleased to have them, but not their ill-trained dogs, which always cause some damage. Since our friends couldn’t go last year, they are determined, despite France being on the amber list, to travel later in July and are angling to stay with us. While we’d be glad to see them, we’ve had enough of their dogs (they now have three) and won’t tolerate them any more. I did consider booking the dogs into

Q. Last night I went to dinner with people I had never met before. Because the host was a friend of my mother, I had to move next to her on a small sofa to send a photo home. We were then left in an awkward situation where we were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder for the rest of the evening. How could I have migrated away without seeming rude, Mary? — R.H., London SW1 A. You might have escaped by asking your host to join you in looking more closely at, for example, a painting which intrigued you and gradually enlisted the views of others while you marvelled. Soon you would have

Q. At a lunch party, I was getting on so well with someone I had not met before. She knew my work (I’m a designer) and loves it — so much so that she suggested I contact friends of hers who own a design company and are looking to fill a post. I told her that, coincidentally, I had just been for an interview at that very company but, despite shared aesthetic sensibilities, had not (inexplicably to my mind) been offered the job. At this point my interlocutor cried: ‘Oh, how ridiculous. You would have been perfect. I had forgotten what terrible snobs they are.’ Mary, I am still asking