Perfect Blend: A Novel (11 page)

“Look, we’re all on edge about this Bean Machine thing. You were thinking of Brian, that’s all. In your shoes I would have done the same thing. Don’t be so hard on yourself. He seemed like such a lovely chap, though. Those brown eyes are like two pots of chocolate pudding.”

“Actually, they’re not brown.”

“They’re not?”

“No. They’re dark gray—almost charcoal.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Chapter 5

DESPITE VICTORIA’S INSISTENCE
that Saturday lunch would be a “potluck, take us as you find us” affair, it turned out to be a sumptuous, meticulously planned three-course feast consisting of onion tart, roast beef, and baguette and butter pudding. Simon greeted everybody in freshly pressed chinos, John Lobb brogues, and a Ralph Lauren shirt. Victoria made her entrance in a baby blue Agnes B shift and had a go at Simon for wearing suede brogues with chinos.

Amy turned up in 501s and flip-flops, bearing a bottle of Chardonnay. Simon thanked her profusely for her contribution, but when they sat down to eat, it was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were two bottles of vintage Châteauneuf-du-Pape on the table. Val and Trevor hadn’t risked dressing down. Val was in a navy Jaeger shirtwaister. Trevor had opted for boho chic: a loose-fitting linen jacket with a mandarin collar over his usual baggy trousers. Trevor presented Victoria with a bottle of his homemade rose-hip liqueur.

“Fabulous,” she said, unable to hide her look of disdain. It was as if the Duchess of Kent had just been handed a corn dog.

Val came loaded with Bendicks Bittermints (By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen), a supermarket coffee and walnut cake, plus drawing books, crayons, and Cadbury Creme Eggs for the children. Victoria accepted her mother’s gifts with good grace, but later on Amy overheard her in the kitchen sounding off to Simon about the way her mother practically force-fed the children sugar and how they would all collapse in diabetic comas before the day was out.

While the grown-ups enjoyed prelunch drinks and nibbles in the living room, Victoria insisted that her children perform their party pieces. Lila needed no persuading. A pretty child who had inherited her mother’s auburn hair and supreme self-confidence, she sat down at the piano and bashed out Scott Joplin with the aplomb of somebody twice her age.

Arthur was less obliging. He was tired and hungry after his morning swimming class and had no interest in reciting Edward Lear. He demonstrated this by throwing himself on the sofa and burying his head in one of the cushions. His mother wasn’t to be defeated. First she tried sweet-talking him. Next came the begging. Then she got cross and refused to take no for an answer. Arthur’s muffled voice kept telling her to go away. By then Val and Amy were exchanging uneasy looks.

Finally Simon stepped in. “Victoria, stop bullying the child. He’s made it clear he’s not in the mood.”

“I’m not bullying him,” she retorted.

“Yes, you are. You bully everybody. Including me. Now just give it a rest.”

Victoria opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. This happened two or three more times, making her look like a goldfish. Finally she was able to form a sentence. “For your information, this is not bullying. It is what’s known as parental encouragement. Not that you’d know much about that.”

“Excuse me?” Simon was too well mannered to raise his voice in public, but he was clearly seething.

“It’s true. You work all hours. You’re never here.”

“I work to pay for all this. I don’t notice you going out and getting a job.”

“The children are my job.”

At that point they both seemed to realize that this was neither the time nor the place to air their grievances. For a few moments nobody spoke.

Val seemed to be groping for something to say. She cleared her throat. “Duncan seemed very nice,” she trilled to Amy. “Very good-looking.”

“Actually, we decided not to see each other anymore.”

“Why on earth not? He’s handsome and clever.”

Amy hesitated. She wasn’t about to reveal what had happened between them, at least not in front of Charlie. “I know, but I could tell we weren’t right.”

“You know what your problem is?” Victoria piped up. “You’re too fussy. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up old, miserable, and alone.”

Amy thanked her for the vote of confidence.

“I don’t know about anybody else,” Val said, her expression overly jolly, “but I’m starving. Why don’t we all move into the dining room.”

“Good idea,” Trevor said, rubbing his hands together. His relief was palpable. Until now, he’d given every impression of not knowing quite where to put himself.

For some reason, Arthur chose that moment to take his face out of the cushion and announce that he was prepared to perform, after all. He stood on the sofa and proceeded to recite—word perfect—the first two verses of “The Owl and the Pussycat.” Val managed to focus on Arthur, smiling and urging him on while at the same time cuddling Charlie on her lap. After everybody had applauded Arthur, Val asked Charlie if he had a poem he would like to recite.

Amy knew this was her mother’s way of making sure Charlie was included, but he wasn’t used to performing in front of people and she suspected he might get shy and embarrassed.

“Mum, best leave it. Charlie’s never—”

“Wass recite?” Charlie broke in.

“Say aloud, dummy.” It was Lila. She was sitting in an armchair, legs draped over one arm like a truculent teenager.

“Lila!” Simon was glaring at his daughter. “How dare you speak to Charlie like that? Apologize at once.”

“You don’t have to shout at her,” Victoria came at him.

“Sorree,” Lila said to Charlie, rolling her eyes. “Look, if you’ve got nothing to recite, then do your elbow thing. You haven’t done it in ages, and it scares Grandma.”

“Don’t you dare!” Val said to Charlie. “You know I can’t bear to look.”

“Akshully, I do have something,” Charlie announced, not without pride. “It’s a song.”

“You have?” Amy said, assuming it was something he’d learned at school.

Charlie nodded.

“Okay, darling, off you go,” Val said, lifting him off her lap and onto the floor. “Deep breath …”

Charlie puffed out his chest. There was a long pause, followed by a little voice: “Like a vir-ir-ir-irgin, touched for the very first time. Like a vir-ir-ir-irgin …”

Amy slapped her hand to her mouth. The other adults immediately got the giggles—all except Victoria, who looked like she was sucking on a lemon.

“Charlie, darling,” Victoria said through a rictus smile, “I think that’s enough.” She turned on Amy. “Do you really think that is the kind of music a six-year-old should be exposed to?”

“It comes right at the end of the
Shrek
movie,” Amy said. “It’s his favorite film. I’m not going to stop him from watching it because of one song.”

“I know what a virgin is,” Lila piped up.

Victoria winced.

“Omigod,” Simon groaned.

“It’s when you don’t have a boyfriend … like Auntie Amy.”

“Lila!” It was Simon again.

Amy reached out and touched her brother-in-law’s arm. “Leave it,” she whispered. “Let’s just go and eat.”

VICTORIA DISHED
up while Amy served. Val took charge of the children, mopping up juice spillages and urging them to “eat up” and “sit nicely.” Meanwhile, Simon asked Trevor about shamanism and listened far too intently in that patronizing, “you are the most important person in the room” kind of way so typical of posh Oxbridge types. Trevor seemed wise to the tactic, though, and niftily turned the conversation to cricket—England was about to beat Australia in the Ashes.

At one point Arthur started pinching Charlie, and Val told him to “stop that at once or you won’t get any pudding.” Despite Arthur having turned red with guilt, Victoria turned on her mother, accusing her of not investigating what had gone on and insisting that Arthur wouldn’t have pinched Charlie without provocation. Val was by no means a shrinking violet, but she found her daughter’s bossy domineering manner hard to deal with and like most people rarely stood up to her. Today was no exception. She made no attempt to come back at Victoria. Trevor looked at Val. Seeing her distress, he put down his knife and fork and opened his mouth to speak. Val instantly grabbed his arm and shook her head at him. Amy watched as Trevor stood down. He was a gentle soul, but it was clear that he wasn’t finding it easy to watch Val being attacked and undermined.

Meanwhile, Simon turned on Victoria. “Actually, I was watching the boys, and Charlie did nothing to provoke Arthur. You had no right to attack Val. She was only trying to help.”

Victoria had the decency to say sorry to her mother, but her tone was less than heartfelt. “I just don’t see why Arthur always gets the blame for everything.”

“He gets the blame,” Simon retorted, “because nine times out of ten he’s in the bloody wrong.” Simon looked at his son. “Now say sorry to Charlie or you will go to your room.” Arthur mumbled an apology. Only Amy heard Lila call her brother a wuss.

Val said the baguette and butter pudding should be ready. “Why don’t I get it out of the oven.”

Trevor said he would help her dish up. As they left the room, Amy heard her mother thanking Trevor for being prepared to take on Victoria. “Phil would never have spoken up for me,” she said. It was true. Phil’s confidence and sharp wit meant he never had any trouble telling his daughter to get back in her box and stop being such a madam. He couldn’t understand why Val found it hard to challenge her older daughter and had little sympathy for her.

“I held my tongue once because you asked me to,” Trevor said. “Don’t expect me to do it again.”

Amy looked on as her mother gave Trevor’s arm a squeeze.

SIMON OPENED “A
rather special dessert wine.” As the adults knocked it back along with Victoria’s sumptuous baguette and butter pudding, the atmosphere lifted.

After lunch Simon and Trevor watched the children while the women went upstairs so that Victoria could show off her much ballyhooed en suite bathroom.

Amy sat on the dark mahogany toilet lid, desperate to undo the top button of her jeans. She’d eaten far too much.

“I have to admit that I did hover over the bidet,” Victoria said, nodding toward the piece of newly installed reproduction nineteenth-century sanitaryware. “I know they’re terribly petit bourgeois, but I was won over by this article I read in
The Times
, which said the French have the lowest rate of yeast infection in the world.”

Val said she was suddenly picturing Nicolas Sarkozy striding to a bidet and tending to his undercarriage. Amy started laughing. Victoria stiffened. A moment later she was pointing out the hand-painted rosebuds decorating the rim of the bidet. Val said she thought they were ever so sweet. Soon she was turning her attention to the lavatory with its overhead cistern and long chain. “Ooh, look. There are tiny rosebuds on the chain handle, too.”

“And around the inside of the bath.” Victoria beamed. She went over to the rolltop iron bath with its claw feet. This had been positioned bang in the middle of the steeple-ceilinged bathroom. “The suite is a limited edition reproduction of one they had installed at Sandringham for Edward VII.”

“Must have cost a fortune,” Val said, stroking one of the chunky brass bath taps.

Victoria gave a self-conscious flick of her impossibly shiny auburn hair. “Well, Simon is a senior partner now.”

Val seemed to be summoning up the courage to speak. “Darling,” she said eventually, “I don’t want to interfere, and feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but is everything all right between you and Simon?”

“Of course,” Victoria retorted. “Why on earth shouldn’t it be?”

“C’mon, take it easy,” Amy said to her sister, careful to keep her voice steady and soothing. “Mum was only asking.” Then she heard herself say, “Why can’t you ever give her a break?”

Victoria turned on her. “Amy, do not start. I said I was sorry for the way I overreacted downstairs.”

“I’m not starting. All I said was—”

“Come on, your sister has apologized,” Val said to Amy. “I know she didn’t mean what she said. Now, let that be an end to it.”

“Fine,” Amy said, cross with her sister for snapping at Val and frustrated with Val for always wanting to keep the peace. Amy turned back to her sister. “So you and Simon really are okay?”

“I admit we’ve been a bit tetchy lately, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Amy wasn’t convinced. “I’d say you were a bit more than tetchy. You both seemed pretty rattled down there.”

“God, will the two of you get off my case? Simon’s been working all hours these past few months. I’ve had builders crawling all over the place ever since we moved in, and it’s finally gotten to me. We need a break, that’s all, and then we’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will,” Val said. Whether she meant it or was merely eager to placate her daughter, Amy couldn’t tell.

“By the way,” Val said to both daughters, “I bit the bullet and phoned your father.” Emotions had been so fraught since the split that they hadn’t spoken other than to discuss finances and whether they should formalize the separation by getting divorced. So far they hadn’t come to a decision on the matter. “We actually managed to have a reasonably civilized conversation.”

“Good for you, Mum,” Amy said. “One of you had to make the first move. So are you two planning on being friends now?”

“I think things might be heading that way.” Val smiled. “By the way, has he told you about his floozy?” She was chuckling.

“I wasn’t sure if you knew,” Victoria said.