[ Benedict, occupying himself by peeling a satsuma, just shakes his head when she indirectly asks him for the time. ]

It's only just gone eight. And we're recovering from a transatlantic flight, I wouldn't worry about being tardy today of all days.

[ Setting the little segments of orange back on the tray within her reach, he then sets himself to making himself a cup of coffee. Most days he prefers tea, but first thing in the morning seems a decent enough time for coffee, and he knows the quality of the brew that his aunt keeps stocked in the kitchens is worth straying a little bit outside of his comfort zone. ]