Her Master’s Wedding-4
1888 Words
I keep watching, surreptitiously of course.
The soup, a Vichyssoise, is delicious, and after a doubtful moment, while she sniffs then tastes, true to form, Charlotte spoons it up with relish, right to the last drop. Her dish emptied, she tears a chunk from a roll, swiping around her plate, then gulping the bread down in large economical bites as she polishes away the last smear of soup.
After a moment the conversation lulls and she glances up. Everyone is looking at her, watching the performance. Veronica wears a faint sneer.
Charlotte flushes, looking around at the assembly, and then to James who eye-points the remains of the roll in her hand. With a guilty look, she drops it on her side plate.
“You know,” I comment, reaching for the basket of bread. “I’ve often thought….” I take a roll and break off a piece, wiping it into my own bowl. “…. That when we become wealthy, we shouldn’t lose sight of some of the core values that got us here. And one of those is not wasting good food.”
I break off another piece, polishing the enamel with it. “This is, after all, a charity dinner, isn’t it, for the homeless. We should be seen to practice the values we claim to espouse.”
Chatter bursts out, abrupt and noisy.
“Quite right.”
“Yes, just so.”
Suddenly, the basket of rolls is empty and I drop wink to Charlotte.
*****
Charlotte’s attention becomes distracted, Veronica probing the detail of the wedding; outfits, choice of church, how many bridesmaids, dresses….
How much it’s all costing….
James leans close, speaking in a low voice. “Thanks for that. Charlotte would have been mortified. One of the things I know she was taught on that farm was that you don’t waste food. That it’s bad-mannered not to clear your plate. Between that and starving as a kid, she never….”
I brush it off. “Forget it. I asked you to bring her so she could get used to this kind of thing.”
He arches brows. “Really? Should I read something into that?”
I prevaricate. “She was worried about the wedding reception, about knowing how to behave at a formal occasion. This is good practice for her.”
He nods, chewing his food thoughtfully.
In for a penny….
“As a matter of fact, there’s something else I wanted to run by you.” I glance across to check Charlotte’s attention is elsewhere. It is. She’s listening politely to Veronica….
…. winding her table-napkin in her hands, knuckles turning white….
Good practice….
“Go on,” says James.
“You mentioned to me some while ago that you’d caught her hacking our security system.”
“Ah-ha. Along with whatever else caught her interest.”
“Did you make any attempt to stop her?”
“No, not after you said you were happy for her to see what was going on.”
“Good. So…. We can assume that she’s probably continuing along those lines?”
James sucks at his teeth, then delicately picks a sliver from between with a fingernail. After a long pause, he says, “I don’t know. I didn’t think to check. But I can if you want me to?”
“Not necessarily. That’s not what I’m thinking.”
He scratches his forehead. “What then?”
“Not now, but later, when she’s had more training, what do you think of the idea of Charlotte as Head of Security?”
James fork drops, landing with a clatter on his plate. He glances around. “Sorry, folks. Clumsy of me.” Then he turns back to me. “Are you serious?”
“Perfectly serious. You don't like the idea?”
“Ummm, I didn't say that.” He ponders. “In fact, as I think on it…. she'd be a natural for the job.”
I pursue the point. “I know I can trust her. And she has the kind of devious mind and the sheer tenacity that a job like that needs. Not to mention the motivation.”
“To be suspicious on our behalf?”
“Exactly.”
James chews at a lip, turning the thought over. “She wanted to be an engineer.”
“Do the two conflict? I don't see why they should.”
He glances Charlotte’s way, then back at me. “No, they wouldn’t conflict at all. One set of skills would boost the other.” He stares at the tablecloth. “Michael won't like it.”
“You're her Dom.”
“Yes, but not exclusively. Look, suppose we keep this on the table for the long-term and meanwhile, I can…. guide her along appropriate paths.”
“Agreed,” I say. “And if she's permitted to pursue the interest, you'll know what she's up to.”
He huffs. “True.”
*****
The fish course is next.
Charlotte leans forward over the table to Elizabeth. “Which is the fish knife?” she hisses. “I thought I knew what it looked like.”
I glance down at my cutlery.
Oh, God….
They’re serving oysters….
Wonder if she’s ever eaten one?
James exchanges a glance with me, rubbing at his chin.
The plate is set before Charlotte. She stares, then her eyes roll up to watch Elizabeth.
In fact, I know that my wife does not care for oysters, but this time, she makes a show of how to eat one tidily. Squeezing on a little lemon juice, she flicks the flesh clear of the shell with the tiny fork, then tips it back into her mouth.
Which moron set the menu for this meal?
Charlotte watches keenly. Still with an uncertain look, she squeezes lemon juice over one of the shellfish on her plate, then jerks back. “It moved!”
James murmurs something to her.
“They're alive?” Her eyes are wide. “They’re alive and we eat them like that?”
“That’s how it’s done, Charlotte. It’s the only way to be sure they’re fresh.”
“But…. I just saw it flinch when I put on the lemon juice. It’s… it’s like a chemical burn on the poor thing….”
She has the attention of the whole table by now. Brows furrow at her words and some of the dishes are pushed away.
A mutter from one side. “Never thought of it like that.”
“Chemical attack.… She’s right though….”
The waiter’s glance is frosty as he removes Charlotte’s plate, then the others, most of the contents untouched.
*****
Fortunately, Charlotte enjoys the sorbet which follows, and a salad can hold few surprises. The vegetable terrine is excellent and presents no problems. But when the main course arrives….
Oh my God….
And I know what’s coming. Next to me, James groans quietly.
Charlotte peers at her dish, then up at the waiter. Her eyes pass between me and Elizabeth, then at James. She sucks at her lips. “Um, it’s raw.”
“Steak tartare is meant to be raw, Charlotte,” says James, his voice level. “Why don’t you try it….”
*****
The evening over, we leave, Elizabeth and Charlotte chatting, James by me. His voice low. “Do we call that a win?”
“I think we just call it a first. Who’s setting the menu for your reception dinner?”
“I am. Perhaps I’ll reconsider my plans.”
“I’d keep it simple if I were you.”
“I’ll hang on to that thought.”
Elizabeth is struggling to keep her face straight. “Did you enjoy that, Charlotte?”
Charlotte sniffs. “Next time give the food direct to the homeless and the needy. Better still, give ‘em the cash.”
She has a point….
*****
Chapter Twelve - James – The Vows
Charlotte sits cross-legged on the rug by the hearth, the fire glowing warm. Although, in theory, we’re well into Spring and the sun is bright, the day is crisp and cold here on our mountain, as Winter shrugs its last over the heights.
Michael carries in an armful of logs. “Plenty to keep us going.”
In fact, I rather think he enjoys chopping the firewood. I’ve seen Charlotte watching him sometimes, surreptitiously, when she thinks he doesn’t notice. Stripped to the waist for the work in even the coldest weather, from the female point of view, I imagine he makes an engaging sight.
She’s working through catalogues and brochures for invitations, stationery, flowers and dresses. There seem to be more every time I look, and Beth keeps producing more to add to the stack.
“What have you chosen for the vows?” I ask. “Please tell me that you’re not promising to ‘Love, Honour and Obey’. None of us would believe it for a minute.”
She has the grace to blush. “Er, no. I don’t think that would be a good idea, would it? I shall promise to Love, Honour and Cherish’.”
“How about the part where you promise to ‘forsake all others…’” chuckles Michael.
Charlotte’s jaw drops. My gut clenches and Michael’s expression twists to dismay. “Hey, it was a joke….” He looks between us, palms raised. “Really. It was just a joke.”
But Charlotte’s eyes travel to mine, then his, and back again as she chews at her lip.
*****
Chapter Thirteen - Beth – Michael’s Help
As I step out of the elevator and into the reception area, Michael is there. Hands behind his head, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, he sits staring into space, humming tunelessly.
“Waiting for someone?”
His eyes flick to me. “Hi, Beth,” he smiles. “Yeah, Charlotte’s running late.” He stands, reaching for the box I’m carrying. “Here let me take that for you.”
“Thanks.” Gratefully, I pass it to him, then shake the blood back into my aching hands before brushing myself down of dust and cobwebs.
“Heavy,” he comments, lifting it with no apparent effort. “Where do you want it?”
“In the conference room, please. Just put it down in the corner.”
Michael deposits the box, gritty with the dirt of years, on the expensive carpet of my husband’s meeting room, then swipes hands together with the logic that argues you can clean off one against the other. “Any more like that?”
“I have a carload of the stuff and more where that came from. But don't bother. Ross is bringing it up.”
He eyes the carton. “What on earth is it?”
“A lifetime’s worth of collected junk. I don't think Uncle Albert ever threw anything away, and he made me executor to his will. I'm lumped with going through it all.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“You have no idea. I’ve been quickly through his house. He could barely move in there. He went a bit odd as he grew older, and I don’t think he’s thrown out a newspaper or a jam jar in the last ten years. There are cupboards full of hoarded food and sugar and even toilet rolls….”
“Saving for a rainy day?”
“I think so, yes. He didn’t have much and what he did have, he wouldn’t let go of.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve emptied half the box onto the conference table and a further eight like it are stacked in the corner. And I know that I have several more carloads to come.
“Will that be all, Mrs Haswell?” asks Ross, picking crawlers from his jacket. Michael reaches out and flicks a particularly long-legged example from the back of his collar.
“For today, yes thanks. Then, whenever it fits in, Ross, just pick up the rest of it. There's no hurry. It's going to take a while to go through what's here already.”
Michael is on his phone, a hand covering the other ear. “Oh, right? So how long d’you reckon? Okay. I'll see you later. No, it's no problem. I didn't have any plans.”
He surveys the avalanche of yellowed paper on the desktop. “Can I help at all?”
With something like despair, I contemplate the task ahead of me. “I don't like to ask, Michael.”
“What, with all the help you've been giving us with the wedding? Don't be silly. I'm happy to help. Unless it's private family stuff of course?”
I pick up a random handful of paper, scanning it. “Well, these are eighteen years old bank statements. I think any shock-horror value ran out a while ago. If you’re happy to volunteer, then I'm happy to say yes.”
He pulls out a chair. “Where do we start?”
- Writer
