A Rather Charming Invitation (24 page)

Summer on the Riviera was in full swing now, and the famed flower markets and food stalls in Antibes and Nice were in their glory, just bursting with incredibly wonderful earthly delights for our suppers—plump juicy tomatoes, purple and white eggplant, green and yellow zucchini, and fruit so succulent and flavorful that they perfumed the entire house—white peaches, red cherries, giant red and green grapes, sweet yellow pears, and bunches of tiny delicate purple champagne grapes that were so perfect with a plate of cheese.

And flowers, flowers everywhere, in each room, filling the house with fragrance. We planted a few more blossoming shrubs, and Leonora’s gardener gave us some potted citrus trees from their greenhouse, to place on the patio. Celeste threw herself into sprucing up the kitchen garden at the side of the house, and now it was fragrant with basil, oregano, thyme, marjoram, parsley, and bay. Even the bees were giddy with delight. The sun shone hot and bright, the air was alive with birdsong, and the night breezes were a sigh of satisfaction, punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl.

There was never a moment when I didn’t silently bless Great-Aunt Penelope for bestowing this lovely villa on us. Moving from room to room, I once again felt her presence, as if she couldn’t resist just another good party. One day in particular, after Erik had a piano delivered, he sat down to test it out, and played a couple of 1930s tunes he knew; and when I heard the ghostly music wafting through the house, out the windows, past fluttering curtains, I was certain that we had Aunt Pen’s blessings. I could almost hear her say, “Well done, ducky!”

So, I could be forgiven for feeling optimistic, and, as inspection day dawned, I was buoyed up with enough confidence to face down anybody, even Grandmother Margery. Honorine, however, was as pale and nervous as if she’d been cramming for a final exam. Tim moaned that his jitters were far, far worse than an opening night when he’d “trod the boards” in his early and ill-fated attempts to be an actor.

I even caught Aunt Sheila standing outside in the driveway, covertly smoking a cigarette; and the gardener’s dog hiding in the wine cellar, where I found him peering out anxiously from under a rack of bottles. Rollo helped move chairs, and he fussed with the glasses on the buffet table, mopping his brow every now and then, as if this were the most physical labor he’d done in his entire life.

By noon, David, Oncle Philippe, Tante Leonora and Honorine finished the last details of hanging the tapestry in the drawing room. Now they stepped outside on the patio, to catch their breath. That left me alone with the tapestry in the cool shady room. Occasionally, the wind would stir the trees outside, and the changing light caused some of the silver and gold threads to glint and gleam. Today, the images in the tapestry seemed benign, calm and balanced; and the slumbering couple’s dreams were just that—life’s illusions, a set of passing vignettes that came and went like the wind’s sighs across the flower fields. There was something sweet and consoling and yet exhilarating about it, as if the tapestry was telling me to move ahead fearlessly into this new realm.

Erik and Guy came out of the dining room now, and lingered on the threshold of the drawing room as Guy held out his pocket watch, waiting for the mantel clock to strike the half- hour.
Ting-tong-tong-Ting, Tong-ting-ting-Tong!

“Beautiful,” Erik said approvingly, smiling at me. “When was it made?”

“Oh, I can tell you the exact year,” Guy replied. “See, right here in the chronogram? It says it was made in 1725.”

I heard a car coming up the gravel driveway. Everyone else heard it, too, and there was a sudden rush as people assembled expectantly in the circular foyer. I went outside, pausing on the front stoop, feeling the heady sunshine of the day. The fountain sparkled invitingly.

Uncle Giles was driving a rented Bentley, but when it stopped, another man got out of the back seat and hurried around the car to open the front passenger door for Grandmother Margery. She emerged, in a pink and white chiffon frock, with a long pink silk scarf around her neck, resplendent and queenly, as her little narrow ankles and feet in their pink high-heeled sandals touched down delicately and tentatively, like a flamingo.

“Lovely place!” Giles called out to us, glancing appreciatively at the villa. He looked like one of those pale Englishmen who spends so much time in offices that they emerge into sunny climes blinking, like groundhogs. He ambled toward us now, and introduced the other man in their entourage as Hilary, Margery’s personal decorator—and definitely someone she hadn’t told us about. Hilary wore pale green linen trousers, a green-and-white striped shirt, and bone-colored loafers with no socks. He had longish blond hair, parted in the center and pulled into a short ponytail, and wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Hmmm,” Hilary murmured noncommittally, gazing about appraisingly.

I saw Margery glance alertly at him, and she, too, said, “Hmmm,” and in that moment it was clear that, although nothing had been decided yet, Hilary would hold more sway over her opinion than anyone else. The group came inside, chattering excitedly and animatedly, but I had a moment of panic as Jeremy introduced Hilary to Erik. I feared they were bound to clash, since Erik and Tim had worked like dogs to do a spectacular job of decorating the villa. And indeed, Hilary and Erik now warily circled each other, like two extremely opinionated tigers.

Meanwhile, Tante Leonora and Oncle Philippe had been standing calmly in the foyer, waiting to greet our English guests. I watched Leonora quickly size up Margery; I guess I knew my French relative well enough by now to see that she diplomatically decided, in that instant, not to immediately go head-to-head with Jeremy’s grandmother. Margery wore her queen-on-the-reception-line smile. It was as if both matriarchs were determined not to be the first one who lost her cool. This, at least, was hopeful.

Aunt Sheila and Guy had been loyally on hand all day, but at the first sight of Margery’s arrival, they tactfully retreated to the kitchen to oversee Celeste, who was arranging refreshments on platters; thereby ensuring that Guy’s presence would not immediately irritate Margery.

Now I went boldly up to Jeremy’s grandmother, and said with my best smile, “Margery, please come with me, we’d love to show you around.”

“Attagirl,” I heard Erik mutter under his breath.

I let Honorine conduct the tour, and she was well-prepared, giving Margery a brief history of the place, explaining that it was built in the 1920s. We began by inviting everyone into the dining room, where Rollo’s champagne glasses were all laid out, along with Aunt Sheila’s good china and silverware, and my mother’s antique linen tablecloth and napkins, which she’d shipped over to me, and some fantastic gold candlesticks courtesy of Erik. Since Jeremy and I had only just begun to carefully furnish the villa with a few choice pieces of furniture, Erik had borrowed whatever antiques he could from his European friends who “owed” him. They harmonized very well, providing extra seating for our wedding guests.

Honorine explained that, after the wedding ceremony, the food would be laid out in a buffet in the dining salon, and tables would be set up, both inside here, and out on the lawn in tents. Margery followed silently, revealing nothing. Hilary had opened a little notepad on which to jot his thoughts as we moved across the room, compiling suggestions, which actually weren’t bad.

“I know of a marvellous gilt-framed mirror that would work in here quite nicely,” he said, glancing at Margery as if they’d discussed this previously. “Possibly a wedding gift?”

“Yes,” she murmured, “we talked about that, and I can see that it will help here.”

So. She had spoken, at last. Was this a good sign? Or, was her comment Insult #1? At least they were discussing practical matters, which would seem to indicate that they were seriously considering going along with it. Jeremy squeezed my hand encouragingly. But when a severe, queenly look returned to Margery’s face, I began to imagine the possibility of her going through all Hilary’s pleasant suggestions, only to turn round and say, in the end, “Alas, no.”

Honorine was now leading them upstairs, to show them the guest rooms where they would sleep tonight. “It’s smaller than I expected,” Margery said to Giles, glancing around the bedrooms as we moved through them. (Insult #2.) “What if our guests want to stay in France overnight?” she asked.

But Jeremy was ready for this issue. “We’ve made an arrangement with a terrific boutique hotel nearby, for any guests who want to stay. The hotel’s chefs and kitchen are preparing the wedding feast, which Penny’s father will supervise. He is a superb, professional chef.”

Margery pursed her lips and looked at Hilary, who made a few more notes.
Just go ahead, I dare you,
I found myself thinking, feeling suddenly pugnacious.

“As we have arranged for transportation from the train station, parking should not be a problem,” Honorine volunteered as we all went back downstairs.

It was time to inspect the garden in the back, with its patio, pool, and potted plants; and borders of beautiful hydrangea, rhododendron and climbing jasmine, culminating at the far end of the lawn, with a view of the sparkling Mediterranean Sea. A few obliging yachts and sailboats drifted dreamily by, thereby perfecting the picture. The sun, it seemed, had specially draped the water with a golden veil, and the blue sky had only a few puffy white clouds that floated like heavenly boats.

“Ahhhh,” Uncle Giles could not resist saying appreciatively.

Honorine explained that music and dancing could take place on the patio. Margery and Hilary said nothing, walking back and forth, up and down the patio, and across the lawn again . . .

I mean, honestly. Who could go into Great- Aunt Penelope’s beautiful garden, right up to the hedges, as Margery was doing now, and peer over at that spectacular view of the sea and the rising cliffs on the other side of the coast, only to squint as if finding it difficult to make up her mind?

Tim whispered to me, “Oh my God, she’s going to nix it, and I’ll just scream the place down if she does.”

“Don’t scream,” Erik advised. “We’ll just toss her over the cliffs.”

I looked back at the villa and saw, through the long dining room windows, which had been flung open now, that Guy and Aunt Sheila were quietly helping Celeste lay out the luncheon in the dining room. Guy was carrying buckets of ice for the good chablis we’d brought up from the cellar. Aunt Sheila, glancing briefly out the window before vanishing from sight, had a wary look on her face, as if she, more than anyone else, knew just how difficult her mother could be.

When I saw Margery turn to look back appraisingly at the villa, my heart sank, and I did what no hostess should ever do once the party has started: I suddenly saw my nice sweet home through the eyes of an unimpressed stranger. I began to wonder, very humbly, how this must compare to the sorts of weddings that Margery and her friends attended—at the great rooms in stately homes, in dining halls of Scottish castles, and the gardens of palatial estates. Perhaps I should have accepted Leonora’s offer of the château, which would have been beyond the reproach of someone like Hilary.

Honorine, still taking her role as tour guide very seriously, announced, “The wedding ceremony itself will take place in the drawing room. Please follow me now.”

We had reached the final leg of the tour: the presentation of the
pièce de résistance
, the tapestry. The drawing room shone, with its polished floor and sparkling windows. Honorine had gotten Venetia to go through her scrapbook for more photos and clippings of herself as a ballerina, and we’d put them into vintage frames in the drawing room, next to framed pictures of Great- Aunt Penelope and her cabaret partner performing in this very room. Hilary studied these closely.

David stepped forward now, explaining about the origin of the tapestry, and how it had been found by Venetia. Margery glided right up to it, and she adjusted her spectacles to take a closer look. What was she doing, counting up how many gold and silver threads it had?

I stole a glance at my French relatives, who looked so eager, so expectant, so proud. I made a fervent wish that, if Margery was going to submarine the whole project, she wouldn’t come right out and say it wasn’t good enough for her guests, and publicly hurt the pride of these lovely people. She could at least wait to tell me later, and spare the others. That would only be polite. Margery’s lips parted, as if she were on the verge of speaking. But then, someone else spoke first.

“Splendid!” Hilary pronounced, unable to contain himself another minute. “This is a most excellent, unique tapestry!” He turned to Leonora, looking newly respectful. “
C’est magnifique!
” he proclaimed, not giving a hoot what Margery thought. “And I
love
the ballerina and the Auntie photographs. I suggest we put them in the dining room, they lend a fantastic aura to the whole place, so dramatic and stylish. This will be a delightful wedding, what with the great party on the train, and then this incredible tapestry. People who’ve attended it will speak about it for years to come, and won’t everyone be jealous who
wasn’t
there!”

Erik gasped with delight. I couldn’t even look at Jeremy, for fear I’d burst into uncontrollable giggles. Under the circumstances, Margery played the only card she could.

“Excellent!” she agreed. “I applaud your good taste, Leonora.”

Not me and my good taste, of course. Oh, well.

Margery politely insisted on a few face-saving additions that she would provide—some china serving dishes, for instance, and the mirror Hilary had mentioned. Then, right before my eyes, the two formidable
grandes dames
joined forces, as Leonora, ever one to take advantage of an opportunity, clasped Margery’s hand briefly, with an utterly charming smile, and spoke to her in lilting, encouraging tones. Margery’s face was wreathed in enchanting smiles, too, as if she’d been challenged to rise to full wattage, and was now determinedly on board to make the event a great success to all her friends. I could see that both ladies were extremely skilled at being dazzling hostesses . . . when they wanted to be.