giving entire stage performances-some of his best performances, at that-whilst completely intoxicated. Often, it wasn’t until he collapsed backstage after the final curtain call that his fellow actors realized he had been in the bag the whole time.
Somehow they got through the meal, making inconsequential replies to each other’s small talk and surreptitiously watching Sir Adrian and Violet the while. She sat at the opposite head of the table from Sir Adrian-a blatant indicator of her elevated status, which Lillian, demoted to her left hand, had not failed to notice.
George, on Violet’s right, pointedly refused to engage her in conversation, and, most unusually, made small talk with Sarah about her book. Never retiring on this subject, Sarah warbled forth, relieving George of the task of doing anything more than feigning interest as he shoveled in food.
When Paulo began serving the port and Stilton, Lillian quickly rose to lead the ladies away for coffee in the drawing room, precisely as if she owned the place. Sir Adrian waved her back to her seat. He tapped a spoon against his glass and a hush descended. Turning to Violet, he said, “I think it’s time we broke the news, don’t you, my dear?”
“I think it is well past time, as I’ve told you previously, darling,” she said.
Sir Adrian stood and, raising his glass, beamed at them in turn.
“My happy little family, once they hear the news, will understand all and forgive all. Isn’t that right?”
In unison, they folded their hands politely, no one but George making a move to prepare to raise a glass in toast.
“You’ve all journeyed far to be here and to share my happiness on this day. Do not think your joy in the occasion has gone unnoticed. To have my own flesh and blood in my home to share this moment is… well, it is a happiness beyond description. Without further ado, I ask you all to drink a toast to my wife, Violet, the woman who has made me the happiest man in England.”
“Father, you mean, future wife, don’t you?” said Sarah.
“Trust Sarah to nail it on the head. No, my dear, I do not mean ‘future.’ I mean ‘wife.’ Violet and I were married in Scotland last week, in a small private ceremony at Gretna Green.”
There was a silence in which, suddenly, no glass clinked, no spoon rattled against saucer, no foot shuffled. Even Paulo stood stock still, except for his ears, which Sarah imagined she could see flapping. They all-with the exception of Violet, who looked down at her plate-stared back at him, their mouths rounded into small circles. It was Ruthven who spoke first.
“You don’t mean it,” he said flatly.
“Oh, but I do. We are lawfully man and wife. Violet is your stepmother. It is what I believe Jeff would call a ‘done deal.’”
“Yes, all right, fine, but-Why? Why not tell us?”
“Why not tell you before?” Sir Adrian looked at him. There was a cold glint in her father’s eyes which Sarah, usually perfectly attuned, could not read. “Oh, my dear boy, I think you know perfectly well why not. You would have tried to talk me out of it. Tried to talk me out of marrying the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met in my life. Not that it would have done a bit of good. But I simply did not want to listen to you on this subject.” The “you” was perhaps just that bit too nicely shaded to be polite.
“I did want to tell you all,” said Violet, looking beseechingly around the table. “It’s quite awkward, I realize-”
“And I forbade it,” said Sir Adrian. “Much better this way, I said. And I was right.”
Lillian, meanwhile, whispered furiously to Albert.
“It’s just a stunt, I tell you. He’s pulling a stunt. Like Agatha Christie, when she disappeared.”
“Except that people could actually be bothered to look for Agatha.”
“No, my dear, it’s no stunt,” said Sir Adrian, whose hearing, as Lillian unfortunately had forgotten, was excellent, particularly for the higher ranges at which Lillian excelled.
Sarah and Albert, meanwhile, were telegraphing frenetic glances across the table. Only George looked unperturbed. He’s planning something of his own, thought Ruthven, who caught and accurately read the cat-in- cream expression on his brother’s face.
“I say, Father,” said George. “This is excellent news. Congratulations. Congratulations are due all around. Paulo-” and here he waggled his fingers as if to signal a
Ignoring the frantic appeal in Natasha’s eyes, he stood.
“It gives me great pleasure to announce that Natasha and I are expecting the first addition to the next generation of the Beau-clerk-Fisk line. Sometime in July. A boy.” He lifted his glass to his father. “A boy who shall naturally be named Adrian, in honor of his grandsire.”
He looked around his audience to gauge the reaction, and was not disappointed by the pole-axed stares of his siblings. Violet seemed uncertain what to do with her expression, then, remembering perhaps that babies were supposed to be good news, she beamed a smile down the table at Sir Adrian.
“I say,” George continued. “Isn’t this truly the family occasion we’ve all so longed for? Paulo, I said to fetch some champagne. What’s the matter with you, man?”
Paulo turned to Sir Adrian for direction in this unprecedented situation. There was a silence now that went deeper, if possible, than before.
But Sir Adrian, having like Violet tried on several poses, seemed finally to settle on that of avuncular squire. At least, he pulled back his lips in a fearsome smile and said, “Well, well-well! Another wedding in the works. I must say, George, I am pleased. Well done.”
It may have been the first time George had ever done anything right in his father’s eyes. As he was basking in the unaccustomed glow, a voice shot coolly across the table.
“Oh, no,” said Natasha. “I don’t think so.” She tucked her silken dark hair behind her ears, the better to hear any objections.
Sir Adrian, giving the waiting Paulo the high sign for champagne, said, “You don’t think so what?”
“A wedding is not in the offing. Baby, yes. Wedding, no.”
George, to whom this clearly was news, and whose thoughts had been miles from the altar in any event, flushed an ever-deepening red. He was not used to being rejected before he had even thought of proposing. He especially didn’t like the public style of her rebuff. What woman in her right mind would turn down marriage with George Beauclerk-Fisk?
“Nonsense,” said Sir Adrian gruffly. “A child needs a name. A quiet ceremony is in order to be sure. Perhaps right here, in the conservatory? I’ll have to ask Mrs. Romano. Now, the invitations-”
“I really don’t think-”
“I’ve told you my views. The subject is closed. Now, you could take a leaf from my book, but as Violet can tell you, Scotland doesn’t have a lot to offer this time of year.”
“Far too cold,” agreed Violet.
“Perhaps the Round Church in Cambridge. Quite romantic, but intimate. Do you have a large family, m’dear? I do think a small-”
For his part, Albert could only seem to take in one bad piece of news at a time, and decided to tackle the bad pieces in order of appearance.
“You got us up here on a wild goose chase over this wedding of yours,” he began. “Even for this family, it’s a new low.”
“A wild goose chase?” Sir Adrian’s jowls quivered in mock, hurt outrage. “Surely your joy must be twice as much, to hear the happy event has already transpired. This way you don’t have to come up with a suitable present.”
Albert managed to focus his eyes into a glower. Only by firmly clenching his jaws together could he still the trembling that had set in around his features. Unfortunately, this pressure started off a tic in his right eye. Decades of his father’s indifference had not made betrayal, as he saw this, any less painful.
“I gave up an important meeting for this weekend. With-” (and here he invented wildly)-“with Agnus McGee, the producer.
Just to be here for this momentous non-event. This non-wedding.
At the very least you might not have wasted all our time.”
“Agnus McGee? Really?”
