to the second team this year – a solid effort” and so on. And then there had been three years at a college which gave her a vague, unspecified qualification. This qualification had so far produced no proper job, and she had moved from temporary post to temporary post, none of which seemed to suit her.
Both Sasha and Todd thought that marriage was the only solution.
“We can’t support her indefinitely,” said Todd to his wife.
“Somebody else is going to have to take on the burden.”
“She’s not a burden,” said Sasha. “All she’s doing is looking for herself.”
“She should be looking for a husband,” retorted Todd.
“Possibly,” said Sasha. “But then, it’s not easy these days. These young men one meets don’t seem to be thinking of marriage.”
Todd shook his head. “Yet marriages take place. Look at the back of
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Nice fellows in their kilts getting married in places like Stirling and Balfron.”
Sasha sighed. What her husband said was true. Such a world existed – it had certainly existed in their time – but their own daughter seemed not to be part of it. Was there anything wrong with her, she wondered. There had been no signs of anything like that – no
Now, in the tea-room at Jenners, scene, over so many years, of such rich exchanges of gossip, Sasha fixed Lizzie with the maternal gaze to which her daughter was so accustomed.
“You’re looking thin,” Sasha said. “You’re not on one of those faddish diets, are you? Really, the damage those people do! Doctor what’s-his-name, and people like that. I’m not suggesting that one should over-eat, but one wants to have something to cover one’s poor skeleton.”
She pushed the plate of iced cakes over the table towards her daughter.
Lizzie pushed them away. “No thanks. And I don’t think I’m looking particularly thin. In fact, I’d say I’m about the right weight for my height.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow. Lizzie was flat-chested in her view, and a judicious coating of plumpness might help in that respect.
But of course she could never raise the issue with her daughter, just as she could say nothing about the dowdy clothes and the lack of make-up.
Taking a cake, Sasha cut it in half. Marzipan: her favourite.
Battenberg cakes were hard to beat, particularly when dissected along the squares; she had little time for chocolate cake – sticky, amorphous, and over-sweet substance that it was.
“You know,” she said, discreetly licking at her fingers, “you could do rather more with yourself than you do. I’m not being 100
critical, of course. Not at all. I just think that if you paid a little bit more attention to your clothes . . .”
“And my face,” interjected Lizzie. “Maybe I should do something about my face.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your face,” said Sasha. “I said nothing about your face. You have a very nice face. I’ve got nothing against your face.”
“In fact,” said Lizzie, “people say that I look quite like you.
In the face, that is.”
Sasha picked up the second half of her cake and examined it closely. “Do they?” she said. “Well, isn’t that nice? Not that I see it myself, but perhaps others do. Surprising, though.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” said Lizzie.
Sasha laughed lightly. “Now,” she said, “that’s enough about faces. I’ve got something much more important to talk to you about.”
“Something important?” asked Lizzie. There was doubt in her voice: what was important to her mother was usually rather unimportant to her.
“Very,” said Sasha, glancing about her, as if those at neighbouring tables might eavesdrop on some great disclosure. “You will have heard that the ball is coming up. Soon.”
“The ball?”
“You know,” said Sasha. “The Conservative ball. The South Edinburgh Conservative Ball.”
Lizzie looked bored. “Oh, that one. That’s nice. You’ll be going, I take it. I hope that you enjoy yourselves.”
“We shall,” said Sasha, firmly. “And we’d very much appreciate it if you would come in our party. Both Daddy and I. We’d both appreciate it. Very much.” She fixed her daughter with a stare as she spoke. A message was being communicated.
