Beginning, Next Section
Posted on Friday, 20 February 2004
Autumn, 1987
“You’re back late,” said Anne Darcy, eyeing her husband critically. “A little extra time at the nineteenth hole?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied George Darcy. “And you may want a drink when I tell you the news. Catherine and Lewis are divorcing.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“It’s true, nevertheless,” replied George Darcy. “Lewis told me today as we left the last hole, and then we spent more time than usual at the bar in the clubhouse. He says he’s simply at the end of his tether, and the only solution is to cut the tether.”
“But they seemed so happy!”
“Perhaps they seemed happy, Honey, but underneath, who knows what really goes on in someone’s marriage?”
“Oh, but George, they’re our closest neighbors and such good friends. I can’t believe Catherine didn’t say anything.”
“Are you kidding, Anne? Catherine admit to failure?”
“Hmm, well, there is something in that. And now that you mention it, she has been a little extra perky lately. Compensating, perhaps? But still … this will set the neighborhood grapevine buzzing.”
And it did. The divorce came as a shock to most of the Roseport neighborhood. Catherine deBourgh had been explaining her husband’s recent absence as an extended business trip. This was a believable story, as he had traveled increasingly over the years. But in fact, he had been living in New York City on and off for about a year. His most recent return to Roseport was to serve Catherine with divorce papers.
Lewis deBourgh
Lewis’s side of the divorce was that Catherine was a bossy know-it-all perfectionist. Lewis would be the first to admit that Catherine has been an asset on his way up the corporate ladder at a large engineering firm. She served sumptuous dinners to a succession of his bosses until he reached a height where the situation reversed and he found himself inviting subordinates to dinner. At Hunsford Engineering, an invitation to Rose House became a thing to be coveted. But as time went on, Catherine’s desire to make everything just right became an inability to accept anything less than perfection.
Catherine complained that he didn’t straighten the towels in the bathroom after he dried his hands, and she never gave him credit for not having left the toilet seat up a second time in fifteen years of marriage. She lectured if he took off his jacket and tie before dinner, and she refused to eat in the kitchen. They ate in the dining room, even at breakfast. She hired a series of cook/housekeeper/assistants to help cook and serve at the table, but none had lasted very long. That her endless critiquing wasn’t worth any amount of money was the reason most gave for resigning. In desperation, Lewis decided that one of the assistants had potential, and he paid her extra—combat pay, he called it—to stay on so that he wouldn’t have to listen to his wife’s complaints about interviewing yet another round of domestics. The deal was predicated on the agreement that Catherine would never know about the extra money.
When Catherine started her business, things got worse. She was harried and overworked, but unable to delegate, even to Billie, her long-suffering assistant. Catherine snapped at Lewis over the smallest detail in private, but was sweet as honey in public. She became obsessed with the idea of setting an Example and being Perfect. She took to sewing closed the pockets on her daughter’s school blazers so that the child wouldn’t jam her hands into her pockets, a very unladylike thing to do. Lewis knew that any day now, she’d be screaming “No wire hangers!” and he had to get out before she used her glue gun to make sure his tie was straight.
Catherine deBourgh
Catherine’s side of the divorce was that Lewis didn’t appreciate her. She didn’t come from Money, but she knew it when she saw it. Lewis deBourgh, with his Ivy League degree and expensive car and impeccable tailoring was unmistakably from Money. She charmed him with her witty remarks, impressed him with her gourmet cooking, knitted him a sweater for Christmas after they’d only been dating a month. In short, she showed him that she was perfect wife material. They married and moved to Roseport, Connecticut. She named their home Rose House. She decorated the house herself, and Lewis was ecstatic the day he arrived home from work to discover her renovating a small bedroom to be a nursery.
The pregnancy was difficult, and Catherine was given strict orders to take it easy. She had to cut back on complicated meals so as to stay off her feet. She filled her days by learning every craft conceivable. She learned to stencil, quilt, and make baskets. She mastered additional knitting and embroidery stitches. She sent Lewis out to buy her a glue gun and she crafted to her heart’s content. By the time their daughter, Anne, was born, the shelves in the nursery closet were stocked with sweaters, booties, afghans, and quilts. A colorful mobile hung above the crib. The lamp on the dresser was hand painted and its shade cut and painted to match. Catherine had designed and cut stencils of nursery rhyme characters, and as soon as she recovered from the birth, she was on a ladder stenciling a border on the walls.
Catherine continued to give her famous dinner parties, and soon friends began to ask her advice and beg for recipes. Everyone suspected that she left things out when she gave away a recipe. It never came out as tasty as the original. Still, friends and acquaintances continued to seek her advice, and she became the local guru of entertaining. When Anne started school full time, and Catherine didn’t have to spend as much time driving her daughter to play groups, preschool and such, there was extra time to fill. Catherine fired up the old glue gun and made grapevine wreaths and decorated picture frames and mirrors. She got a soldering iron and taught herself to make leaded glass ornaments for the windows. When her friends asked her where she got the kits for her crafts, she looked at them in astonishment. Kits? Certainly not! Everything was a Catherine original.
She considered going into business making craft kits, but dealing with all sorts of suppliers and marketing the kits sounded like a lot of trouble for a small reward. However, the idea of going into business was appealing. And when she decided that the local public elementary school was too insensitive to Anne’s needs—imagine, making her delicate daughter take gym and play games with the boys!—she planned to pay the hefty tuition bill for the posh private girls’ school herself, since Lewis hadn’t seen anything wrong with the public school system. (His argument that the school system was one of the reasons they’d chosen to live in Roseport fell on deaf ears.)
But what business to attempt? She convinced the local newspaper to pay her a small fee to write a column on entertaining. She sent clipping after clipping to large newspapers, hoping they’d pick up the column, but had no luck. She canceled the subscription to the New York Times after they rejected her column, and decided to try another idea. She would become a party consultant. This kept her happy for about a year, but she found it difficult to work with so many caterers. None of them met her standards, even though the clients were always satisfied. No, thought Catherine, if you want it done right, do it yourself. And so she started a catering business. Thank goodness, she thought, she had finally found an acceptable assistant in Billie Collins. The girl was agreeable and willing to work hard, and with Billie’s help, she would make a triumph of her catering company, Catering by Catherine.
Anne deBourgh
Anne was possibly the last person in Roseport to learn that her parents were divorcing. She was twelve, and had a vague idea that things weren’t going well. But she assumed her mother would fix things. That was what her mother did. Make things Perfect.
Anne’s view of her parents’ marriage was somewhat confused. Even when she was small, she could see that her parents were very different. Her mother was demanding. “Anne, sit up straight; Anne, don’t let your hair fall into your eyes like that; Anne, don’t blow on your cocoa; Anne, don’t chew your fingernails; Anne, you left your teddy bear on the floor this morning, you must take better care of your possessions.” On the other hand, her mother was always right there to come to her defense. The day after Anne and Emma Woodhouse had a fight over whose turn it was at hopscotch, Catherine marched into the school and demanded that they paint more hopscotch outlines on the playground. She even brought in a few designs so that the children would have more variety. The painting was done the next day, and Catherine was there to see that it was done right. (She brought the principal blueberry muffins as a thank-you gift. She merely told the painter that he had done a tolerable job.)
Anne knew that her mother was special in many ways. When it was Anne’s turn to bring in cookies for a class party or a Girl Scout meeting, she always had the best cookies—never, ever store-bought cookies. Emma always brought Oreos. On the way home, Catherine would say, “Poor Emma. No mother, and such an absent-minded father. You know he picks up those things at the last minute on the way to the Scout meeting.” Anne loved Oreos, but would never dare tell her mother that. Mother was the best at everything and she wanted only the best for Anne.
In contrast, Anne’s father was easygoing. After the hopcotch fight, Anne overheard him say, “Catherine, she has to learn to fight her own battles. Kids get over stuff like this quickly. She and Em will be friends again tomorrow.” Anne understood that it wasn’t a matter of him not caring. She was sure that Daddy loved her. He taught her to ride her bicycle, washed her skinned knees the first time she fell, and talked Catherine out of taking the “dangerous” bicycle away from her. Both parents went to her piano recitals, but it was her father who sat by the piano and listened to her practice. It was her father who helped her learn the difficult bits. When Anne nearly threw up before her first recital, her mother was willing to let her go home. (“If her health had permitted her, she would have played beautifully.”) Her father gave her a pep talk and convinced her to go on. After that, her father would always go backstage at recitals and kiss her just before she had to face the terrifying audience. It was her father who consoled her if she missed a note.
Daddy didn’t care if everything Anne did was Perfect. “Just do your best, Annie. I know that Em gets better marks in math, but you write the best stories. Nobody can be perfect at everything. Be the best Anne you can be, and that will be good enough for me.” This was what left Anne confused. Mother was perfect at everything. But Daddy said that nobody could be perfect at everything. Mother said that Anne had to be perfect. Daddy said that perfect would be nice, but he’d settle for her doing her best, even if it wasn’t perfect. So which parent was right?
The Divorce
The divorce could have been messy. There was some serious money at stake, most of it Lewis’s. Catherine consulted several lawyers. The prospect of screwing Lewis out of every penny possible was so tempting. But that would require going to court and testifying. The Roseport grapevine could say what it wanted and she would deny it. But once something was said in court it had the stamp of truth on it. Everyone would know that her marriage was a failure. Although she was certain that this failure was not her fault, there was always the chance that Lewis would make it sound like her fault. So she agreed to a private settlement.
Lewis didn’t want a messy divorce, either. He didn’t care about his own personal reputation; he had nothing to hide. He had always resisted those tempting cocktail waitresses during his boring business trips, and now he was glad that he had. And he didn’t care about Catherine’s reputation, either. So what if the world—meaning Roseport—found out that she was an obsessed harpy. She was clever, she was creative, but she wasn’t nice. But he couldn’t do that to Anne. Much as he worried about Anne staying under her mother’s influence, it would be better for Anne to say in the home and school she knew. Better for Anne to have her friends around her.
Knowing that the father was less likely to get custody of a child than the mother, Lewis focused his bargaining on Anne. He would not sue for custody, but he wanted to see her as often as possible, have her with him on school vacations, and have a say in her schooling. As negotiations continued, Lewis felt he was buying his child. The money didn’t matter; he had plenty. But he had only one child and he wanted to keep her from being overwhelmed by her mother. So Catherine got a pot of money and Lewis got access to his daughter, including arranging for Anne to have her own telephone line with NO extensions anywhere else in the house. The bill was to go directly to him. It wasn’t much, but he gained a little privacy for his daughter.
Lewis quietly contacted Billie and explained that the extra pay would not continue. However, he offered a generous bonus if she survived the first post-divorce year with Catherine. Billie decided to stick it out with her employer. The money was good, even without the bonus. And she felt sorry for the kid.
Anne sat on the swing under the rose trellis. She looked out across the lawn and gardens. There were roses everywhere. Pink roses, her mother’s trademark. There were pink roses on her business cards, stationary, even the cocktail napkins she supplied for parties. When I grow up, Anne told herself, I’m gonna plant daisies and sunflowers and yellow tulips and … any other flower that isn’t pink.
She read over the history lesson a second time. Did it matter who won the War of 1812 when the war of the deBourghs had just been fought? She pulled out a pen and started answering the review questions at the end of the lesson. Through the hedge, she could hear voices laughing. Why didn’t he have homework? Anne frowned and concentrated on her homework. Just two more questions and she’d be free.
“Ready? Okay, here it comes. Catch!” William Darcy’s voice carried through the hedge. “Good girl. Can you throw it to me?”
Anne looked up as a small ball popped over the hedge. She put her book down and walked toward the ball, but stopped when she heard a voice behind her.
“Hi, Anne, sorry about that. Georgie’s a bit of a spaz on the throwing part.”
“Give her a break, Will, she’s only five!”
Will picked up the ball and looked at Anne again. “You’re still in your school clothes. Why don’t you get changed and come on over?”
Anne shrugged, “Doing my homework. History. Just did the last question.”
“Then come over. Milk and cookies? Mom bought you-know-whats.”
“I shoulda never told you.”
“I won’t tell on you. Friends don’t snitch!”
William and Anne walked to the gate between their yards and held it open for Anne. She curtseyed and batted her eyelashes, murmuring, “Such a gentleman.” Smirking, Will let the gate go so that it almost hit her backside when it swung shut.
“Anne!” squealed Georgiana Darcy. “Wanna play ball?”
Anne sighed, “Not in my school clothes, Geege.”
“Okay, then come see our new bird feeder Daddy hung up last night.” Georgiana grabbed Anne’s hand and pulled her across the lawn. Will smiled and strolled into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom? Anne’s here. Can we have some milk and no-nos?”
“May we have some milk and no-nos.”
“Okay, so may we?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll take them out to the patio. Go brush off the table and chairs. Everything’s covered with maple seeds this spring.”
When Anne Darcy carried the tray of milk and forbidden chocolate sandwich cookies outside, she saw Georgiana and Anne at the table. Anne had draped her blazer over the back of her chair and stuffed her clip-on tie into the breast pocket, the only pocket Catherine hadn’t sewn shut. Will finished adding seed to the new bird feeder and joined them as his mother set down the tray. He flopped into a chair.
Anne Darcy sighed, “William Darcy, must you sit that way? Look at Anne’s posture.”
“Sorry, Aunt Anne,” said the girl as she sat up even straighter. Although the two families were not related, the children had always addressed the adult neighbors with the courtesy titles of “aunt” and “uncle.”
“No, Sweetie, I wasn’t criticizing you. You always have lovely posture. Sometimes Will sits like a sack of potatoes.”
In that tone of voice that only a fourteen-year-old can manage, Will drawled, “Yes, Mom,” and sat up straight.
Anne Darcy sat down with the children. She smiled at Anne, the only one of the three children who had thought to put her napkin in her lap. It had only been six months since the deBourghs had filed for divorce, and Anne knew that her namesake was unhappy.
“How are you doing, Anne? How’s school?”
“Fine, Aunt Anne.”
“Will has a soccer game on Saturday. Would you like to go to the game with us?”
“Thanks, Aunt Anne, but I’m going to the city this weekend to see Daddy.”
“Well, say hello for us, then. Oh, I hear the phone. Excuse me. Georgie, come inside with me. You’ve had enough cookies for one afternoon.”
“What sort of stuff do you do in the city?” Will asked Anne after his mother had gone into the house.
“Well, this weekend Daddy is buying us bikes so we can ride in the park. We’ve had picnics in the park, and we’ve gone to museums. Did you know there’s an Egyptian temple in the art museum? And we go out for Sunday brunch. Like that.”
“Is it weird?”
“Huh?”
“You know, with your parents in two different places like that?”
“Kinda. But Daddy let me pick out my bedroom furniture and now I’ve got some stuff of my own in the apartment, so it’s a second home, not so strange, you know?”
Through the window, Will could see his mother talking on the telephone. He shook his head and said, “I can’t imagine it. Not having both Mom and Dad here.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I know.”
“You know what the worst part is?”
“No, what?”
“It’s all the people who feel sorry for me.” She made her voice whiny and condescending, “Poor Anne, it must be so awful for you. You poor dear.”
Will grimaced.
“Yeah, it’s awful. And even more awful to be reminded of it all the time. Grownups can be really dense sometimes. Except your parents. They’re cool. Your mom is so good to me. I know she’s concerned, but she doesn’t hover over me like I’m an invalid or an idiot. You’re lucky.”
“I know.”
Anne Darcy walked out of the house and said, “Anne, that was your mother. Time to go home.”
Anne stood up. Anne Darcy gave her son a Look. He scrambled to his feet and removed Anne’s jacket from her chair. Holding it for her he said, “Here.”
“Thanks.” She shrugged into the jacket.
Anne Darcy walked the girl to the gate. When they reached the break in the hedge, she hugged the girl and said, “Don’t forget to put your tie back on. And pick up your books on the way in.”
“Right, thanks. And thanks for the snack.”
“Any time, Sweetie. We’re here if you need us.” Watching Anne deBourgh trudge back to her house, Anne Darcy said a silent prayer of thanks that her family was all together.
Catherine deBourgh sat at her desk in the kitchen, reviewing menus. She sighed and shook her head.
“What is it, Mrs., uh, Catherine?” asked Billie.
The assistant was still having trouble calling her employer by her first name. It wasn’t that the elder woman sought familiarity from her assistant. It was, rather, an attempt to minimize use of her husband’s name. Catherine would not change her name back to her maiden name, as she thought it best that she and her daughter have the same last name, even if it was also the name of that Rotten Ingrate. So when people addressed the proprietress of Catering by Catherine as “Mrs. deBourgh” she would coo, “Please, call me Catherine.” When George Darcy related this story to his friend, Lewis replied by quoting Shakespeare in a commanding voice, “They call me Katherine that do speak of me.” *
Not receiving an answer, Billie tried again, “Is something wrong?”
“Hamburgers and hot dogs. How prosaic.”
“But it is for the Fourth of July. It’s traditional.”
“Hmph! It merely shows lack of imagination. I try and try to suggest updated ideas, but people always seem to want the banal.”
“But your salads are very creative. The potato salad with mustard seed and—”
“Yes, yes, that’s true.” Catherine looked up to see her daughter in the hallway. “Anne!”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Where are you going?”
“Swimming. Remember, you said I could go with the Darcys.”
Nodding, Catherine said, “Yes, so I did. Come here.” Catherine held out her hand and Anne gave her the tote bag she had been carrying.
“Sunscreen, hat, sunglasses. Where’s your swimsuit?”
“Under my shorts and T-shirt.”
“And are you planning to go home wet?”
“No, Mother. I’ll shower and change at the club.”
“What’s this?”
“A book.”
“I know that, young lady! But where are the classics I bought for you?”
“But Mother, they’re big and clunky and they’ll get wet and then they’ll be wrecked.”
“Don’t say ‘wreck,’ you make it sound like a car crash. Ruined is what you meant. And they won’t be ruined if you take proper care of them. I won’t have you seen in public with some trashy paperback.”
“It isn’t trash, Mother. All the kids read the Goosebumps books!”
“Billie!” commanded Catherine, “Go to the library and retrieve, hmm, let’s see, yes, Huckleberry Finn. That’s a better choice. And get rid of that tacky paperback.”
Billie took the book from her employer’s outstretched hand and left the room. Anne picked up her tote bag and walked to the back door to wait for the approved reading material.
“Here you go, Anne,” said Billie, dropping the book into the tote bag. She walked out the door, saying to Catherine, “I’ll just dump this thing in the trash.”
Once out of sight of the kitchen windows, Billie opened and closed the trash can with a convincing bang. She handed the paperback to Anne, whispering, “Remember to leave this with the Darcys.” Poor kid, thought Billie as she watched the girl walk toward the gate in the hedge.
Back in the kitchen, Catherine had set out containers of strawberries and blueberries for Billie to clean and rinse. Billie set to work while Catherine prepared the batter for sponge cakes. While the cakes baked, Catherine reviewed her lists and supervised Billie toasting almonds and making vanilla custard.
When they had finished, four cakes sat on the kitchen counter. On top they were all the same—whipped cream covered with blueberries and strawberries to look like an American flag. Inside, the cakes were different, each with its own filling between the layers. The Knightly’s cake had strawberries, the Smythe’s cake had blueberries and strawberries, the Watson’s cake had only whipped cream, and the Elton’s cake had sherry-flavored custard and toasted almonds for filling. The sponge cake had also been sprinkled with sherry.
Catherine shook her head at the last cake. “Make it like trifle,” Augusta Elton had said. “Mr. E loves trifle.” Catherine had been about to point out that the flag cake was supposed to be a cake, not a trifle, but then she remembered a recipe for a trifle cake. Trifle cake sounded just perfect to Mrs. Elton, and Catherine was pleased with herself for not mentioning that one of the traditional names for this cake was “tipsy parson.” Given Mr. Elton’s profession as a minister, it would not have been a wise thing to say.
*From “Taming of the Shrew”
One of the things Catherine deBourgh had purchased with her divorce settlement was a top-of-the-line computer. She used every spare minute to enter recipes into a data base which was cross-referenced by course, ingredients, the name of the clients for whom it had been prepared, and the date when it had been mentioned, if she had described it in her column.
Every recipe was printed out after it had been entered, and it was Billie’s job to proofread. One day, when Billie was filing the proofed and corrected recipes, she remarked, “You know, Catherine, You have so many recipes, there could be a cookbook in this.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t give away all my recipes! Then anyone could have my food without hiring me to cater.’
“But think of all the people who do not have the advantage of living near Roseport. Think of the people in Chicago or California who’ll never have the chance to taste your wonderful cooking.”
“Well, that is true. But I am concerned about the impact on my catering business.”
“Since you were so smart to cross-reference your files by client, pull up the recipes that almost everyone has already tasted. You could save your newest recipes and just put the ones everyone has had in the book.”
“I’ll think about it,” Catherine replied in a voice that said the matter was closed. The idea of being a published author was certainly appealing, but Catherine remembered the many rejections she’d received when she had tried to expand the audience for her newspaper column. She didn’t relish the thought of going through anything like that again. Anyway, the catering business was keeping her busy. And she had a new client!
George Darcy’s law practice was extensive, but he still accepted new clients. His newest was Frank Wickham, who had recently moved to Roseport. The Wickhams wanted to have a housewarming party, and George had recommended Catering by Catherine.
Mimi Wickham wasn’t interested in decorating or cooking if she had to do any of the work. Her husband had made a fortune brokering a successful inventor’s stock IPO, and she was enjoying spending the money as fast as it came in. When Catherine arrived at the house to discuss the party, she was shocked at the amount of clutter all over the place. Mimi Wickham bought every “collectible” knickknack ever produced by the Franklin Mint and its competitors. Tchotchke heaven, Catherine told Billie later.
Mimi was eager to show off with gourmet food, so she accepted all of Catherine’s suggestions. Most clients had some ideas of their own, but Mimi just said she wanted impressive food. Deviled quail’s eggs would be “adorable,” caviar “yummy.”
In the midst of their discussion, the Wickham’s son, Geoff, arrived home from school.
“How was school, darling?” asked Mimi.
“School sucks. I mean, who wants to read boring literature. Hawthorne sucks! Borrrrring!”
“Which book is it, Geoff?” asked his mother.
“Seven something, Seven Capers, I think.”
“Gables? The House of the Seven Gables?” asked Catherine. Geoff nodded. “Oh, that’s a classic of American Literature. It’s in most curricula. Every American student should read the great American authors. I assume you’ve already read Twain and—”
“Nah,” Geoff interrupted her. “I hate reading. Maybe there’s a movie I can watch instead of reading the books. “Mom, go out tomorrow and find the movie and maybe a Cliffs Notes.”
“Of course, Geoff.”
Geoff pushed his hair out of his eyes and clomped out of the room. Hideous child! thought Catherine, but she merely smiled and returned to discussing the party.
Will Darcy sat on the deck, trying to finish reading Lord Jim. He sighed as he estimated the number of pages left to read. Man, shoot me if I ever try to read Conrad again. The book was slow going, and making it worse was the sound of girlish laughter coming over the hedge. Will tried to see who Anne’s guest was, but Catherine had let her hedges grow tall to spite the neighbor on the other side because he had tried to stop her kitchen expansion the year before. Catherine decided that she would pretend that Mr. Lambrianos didn’t exist, and she was accomplishing this by growing her hedges higher.
Will continued to persevere, but he stopped when he heard a familiar name.
“Oh! I have to tell you what I heard from Jane Fairfax,” squealed Anne.
“Oh, her. I don’t care for her. If pressed, I just say she dresses well.”
Aha, thought Will. It’s Emma Woodhouse. Only Em would say something like that. Curious about Jane Fairfax, Will closed the book and headed toward the gate. He wanted to ask Jane to the Junior Prom, but wasn’t sure if she had a date already. Maybe Anne or Em would know.
“So,” Anne continued, “Do you want to hear what Jane had to say or not?”
“Sure, tell me.”
“Well—”
“Hi!”
“Will! What are you doing?”
“I was trying to read, buy there are these silly girls laughing, and I can’t concentrate.”
“We are not silly!” cried Emma.
“So, how do you know Jane Fairfax?” asked Will, trying to sound casual.
“She takes piano lessons from the same teacher I do,” said Anne. “She has the hour after me, and sometimes we talk while Mrs. Keyes takes a coffee break between lessons.”
“Oh.”
“You probably know about this Will, since it happened in your school. Jane told me because we know the Wickhams. Mr. Wickham is Mother’s broker.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Jane says that Geoff was suspended from school for cornering a girl in a hallway and trying to kiss her.”
“Jane?” Will was horrified at the thought.
“No, although he had been pestering Jane, asking her out. But she says she has a boyfriend who’s away at boarding school.”
“Who?”
“The boyfriend? I don’t know.”
“Oh.” To hide his disappointment, Will steered the conversation in another direction, “Who was the girl? I heard that Geoff was in trouble about a girl, and I heard he tried to do more than just kiss her. But nobody knew who the girl is.”
“Marianne Dashwood, a freshman.”
“Poor kid,” said Will. “I think she has an older sister. There’s an Elinor Dashwood in the senior class. She’s very smart, in the running for valedictorian.”
Anne nodded, “Yeah, that’s probably her sister. Jane said that Marianne’s sister went to the principal with her.”
“Did Jane say how long Geoff would be suspended?”
“A week. He’s supposed to stay at home and do his work there, but Mother says that the way Mrs. Wickham spoils Geoff, he’ll probably get to go to the beach instead.”
“Did your mother really tell you that?” asked Emma.
“No. I heard her talking to Billie about it. Mother found out because she was delivering some food when the principal called Mrs. Wickham. Mother does a lot of cooking for the Wickhams. Billie says Mother is Mrs. Wickham’s meals on wheels!”
“Anne!” Will Darcy burst through the gate waving a small card. “I got it! Oh, hi, Aunt Catherine, where’s Anne?”
“She is in the house practicing for her piano recital.”
“Is it okay if I go in? I’ll just take a minute.”
“Very well, but remember that she needs to practice. I want her performance to be flawless.”
“Okay, just one minute.” Will ran into the house. “Anne! Guess what?”
The sound of Chopin stopped. “What?”
“Look!” He held out the card.
“Not the best picture I’ve ever seen of you.”
“Anne! But look what it is!”
“Omigod! It’s a driver’s license. You passed your test! Congrats, Will!”
“Thanks, Anne. Dad says he’ll buy me a car, but nothing flashy or fast.”
“I heard Geoff Wickham got a ’Vette,” said Anne.
“Can you believe it? Suspended twice this year, and his parents buy him a ’Vette. And he doesn’t even have to do anything to get it. I only get the car if I work for Dad this summer.”
“Doing what?”
“Making copies, running errands. Delivering papers to clients.”
“Did Clarence Darrow start out that way?”
“Funny, Anne. Wait until I’m a famous lawyer, and then we’ll see who’s laughing. I better go. Your mother said you have to practice.”
“Yeah, recital coming up.”
“Is your dad going to be there?”
“No. It’s my first one without him. He has to be out of town and he couldn’t reschedule it. Em has promised to hold my hand backstage.”
“That’s nice of her. You’d better get back to your practicing.”
Will left Anne at her piano and went outside.
“Hey, Aunt Catherine! Look, I got my license.”
“Very good, William. Be sure to drive carefully. There are far too many irresponsible drivers out there. You have to be alert at all times.”
“Yes, Aunt Catherine. I’ll be careful.”
“And mind the speed limits.”
“Yes, Aunt Catherine.”
“And have the car serviced properly. Don’t go ignoring the oil and such.”
“I’ll remember, Aunt Catherine.”
When Will returned home, he found his mother pulling out plates from the china cabinet in the dining room.
“Are we having company?”
“No. Catherine wants to borrow some plates to take pictures of food.”
“Doesn’t she have lots of plates?”
“Lots yes, but all the same. She wants a variety of plates so that the presentations of the food differ. It’s for pictures to go into a new brochure for her business.”
Posted on Tuesday, 24 February 2004
December 1991
Anne Darcy jumped at the sound of a door slamming and something heaving hitting the floor in the foyer.
“Will? Is that you? What’s wrong? And don’t swear like that in front of your sister.”
“Stupid sonofa—arrrrgh!”
Anne set down her books gently and said, “Hi, Aunt Anne. Will’s mad because somebody dinged his car in the student parking lot. He just saw it now when he opened the door for me.”
“Coward didn’t even leave a note.” Will bit his tongue to stop himself from swearing in front of Georgiana. Instead he kicked at his heavy backpack on the floor.
“How bad is it?” asked his mother?
“Not so bad, really,” replied Anne. “Someone was probably in a hurry and swung the door wide.”
“But I just waxed it, and it looked so good.”
“Can I help you fix it?” asked Georgiana.
As usual, his sister’s earnest sweetness broke Will’s bad mood. “No, Georgie,” he sighed as he hugged her. “We can’t fix it ourselves, and it’s too small to be worth the cost of going to a body shop. I guess I’ll have to live with it.”
Anne Darcy looked at her son critically. He was becoming a perfectionist. President of the Honor Society, Captain of the basketball team, “ruby” level on the debating team, straight-A student, every parent’s dream. And quite probably about to become even better.
“Well,” she said, “I have something that will make a bad day either much better or much worse.” She held up the envelope that had arrived registered mail that afternoon.
Will looked at the return address and grabbed the envelope. Then he froze.
“Open it!” cried Anne. “You’ve been worrying about it all week. Every morning you say you hope it will arrive today. And now it has. Geege and I will catch you if you faint.”
Will took the letter into the living room and sat on the floor. He took a deep breath and slit open the envelope and removed the letter.
“Yesssssssss!” he cried, flopping onto his back and kicking his legs as he waved the paper in the air. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesssssss!”
“What does it say?” asked his mother.
“I don’t know, but the first word is ‘Congratulations’ so it has to be good news! C’m’ere, you,” said Will, grabbing his sister and pulling her down on his lap for a hug. “Remember when you licked the stamps for that big envelope? You brought me luck, Georgie, I got into Yale!”
“Oh, Will, that’s so wonderful! I’m proud of you!”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said as he got up and hugged his mother, who took the letter and began to read it. Then he and Anne exchanged high-fives.
“Congrats, Will. Now you can slack off!”
“No he certainly cannot, Anne. The ‘fine print’ reminds us that he has to maintain his academic standing or he could lose his place there.”
“I know, I was just kidding. Anyhow, Will slacking off is like my mother using paper plates!”
To celebrate his good news, Will was invited to go into New York with Anne for a weekend with Lewis deBourgh. Because everyone was feeling benevolent, Georgie was allowed to accompany them.
They found facing seats on the train and Will stowed the overnight bags in the overhead rack. Georgiana sat by the window and talked incessantly about the towns that sped by. She didn’t care that Will and Anne weren’t listening. She was on her way to a big-city adventure.
“I bet this is the first weekend you haven’t planned on doing homework, isn’t it?” asked Anne.
“You caught me, I’m slacking off!”
“No, I bet you did it all last night.”
“Yeah, most of it. The rest I’ll do Monday morning during Honor Society meeting.”
“I hope Em and I get into the Honor Society so we can get a day off from gym whenever we want.”
“What is it about girls and gym? There’s always one of them begging me to call a meeting on Monday morning so they don’t have to take gym.”
“Uh-huh, ‘one of them’ mostly being Jane Fairfax, who doesn’t want to break a nail or hurt her piano-playing fingers. Plus, Monday is clean clothing day. If you forgot your clean gym shorts, you get demerits. And any day you don’t have to run around and get all sweaty is a good day.”
“I guess. Anyhow, it’s just luck that the only period when there’s no senior honors or AP class is first period when all the seniors have gym.”
“Are we there yet?” asked Georgiana when the train stopped.
“No, Geege, this is just a stop to pick up more passengers,” said Anne.
“Oh.”
“Be patient, we’ll be there soon enough,” laughed Will. “Hey, Anne, what was in your bag that made it so heavy? Not books, I hope. Not when I’m slacking off.”
“Not books. Jam. For Daddy.”
“Some of your mother’s jam? She gave you jam to take to your father, the—uh…”
“The Ingrate? Yes, I know she says that. And no, she doesn’t know about it. Billie helped me swipe a few jars. Mother is too busy this time of year to keep count, plus it’s marmalade weekend, so the shelves will get rearranged a bit.”
The train moved into a tunnel and Anne nudged Georgiana, “Soon, Geege. We’re almost there.”
Lewis deBourgh met them on the platform, hugged the girls, and shook hands with Will. They took their bags to the taxi rank, where his secretary, Mrs. Jenkins, was waiting for them. He introduced the Darcy children to her, handed her some money and left her with the luggage.
“Come on, kids, let’s go window shopping. Mrs. Jenkins will take the bags to my apartment.” Turning back to his secretary he added, “And no going back to the office. You have the rest of the afternoon off!”
He led the group to Fifth Avenue and down a few blocks where they stood in line to see the windows at Lord and Taylor. The theme was scenes from Peter Pan. Georgiana was transfixed as she watched the figures move through the scenes. Anne hummed along with the songs from the show.
As they walked up Fifth Avenue, Lewis asked, “Did you like the windows, Georgie?”
“Yes! It was so cool, the way Peter flew and everything.”
“Did you know it’s from a play?”
“Really?”
“Would you like to see it?”
“Can I?” she squeaked.
“How about tonight?”
Georgie jumped up and down delightedly and Anne hugged her father.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
Lewis smiled at Will over his daughter’s head and said, “You’d probably prefer something more mature, but I had to consider Georgie’s age level.”
“That’s fine, Uncle Lewis, really. A weekend in the city is a great present, no matter what we do.”
By the time Lewis put them on the train on Sunday evening, Will and Anne were tired and Georgiana was exhausted. They had managed to squeeze in as many Christmas activities as they could—skating under the big tree at Rockafeller Center, exploring floors and floors of toys at FAO Schwartz, brunch at a restaurant with a view, and buying and decorating an apartment-sized tree for Lewis’s apartment.
Georgie fell asleep the minute the train pulled out of Grand Central Station. She snuggled against Will and he put his arm around her protectively.
“Someone looks worn out,” said the conductor as she took their tickets.
Will nodded solemnly, “Hung over. And at her age!”
Anne giggled, “That wasn’t nice! Poor thing really is pooped. I’m tired, too. I’ll sleep like a log tonight.”
“Didn’t you sleep okay last night?”
“Yeah, I slept fine. It’s funny, but I don’t always sleep well the night I get home. I know Rose House is home, but Dad’s apartment is home, too. I guess you never completely get used to it.”
“I suppose. I can’t imagine it.” Will looked down at Georgie, “Makes me realize what a good family I have.”
“I don’t mean to complain. I’ve learned to look at it like the zoo.”
“The zoo?”
“Yeah. I think giraffes are really neat. And it would be fun to have one as a pet. But I know I never will. And I know my parents will never be together again. You learn to live with disappointment. Well, maybe you don’t have to.”
“You make it sound like I have a charmed life.”
“Compared to a lot of others, you do. My parents split, Em’s mother died when she was little.” Anne shrugged, “Like that.”
“Poor Anne?”
“No, you know I don’t mean it that way! I’m used to things the way they are. I just wish Mom wouldn’t nag me so much. And when I try to tell her that Dad doesn’t get on my back like that all the time, she just says that he doesn’t care. But I know he loves me, and I hate it when she says he doesn’t.”
Will reached across and took Anne’s hand, “Listen, Anne. Any time your mother makes you crazy, you can come over to our house. Tell her I’m helping you with your homework or something.”
“She’ll think it’s a date.”
“That’s her problem. Just know that there’s always a no-no cookie waiting for you.”
“You sound like a Motel 6 commercial,” Anne giggled and then drawled, “We’ll leave an Oreo out for ya.”
Lewis finished tidying the apartment and thought how quiet it was after the three young people left. During the weekend, Lewis had observed Will and his daughter. Catherine kept telling him how inseparable they were, and what a lovely couple they made. But Lewis noticed that Anne teased Will about a girl called Jane and he made Anne blush by mentioning someone called Richard. Making a mental note to find out more about this Richard, Lewis decided that Anne and Will saw each other as buddies, almost siblings, which pleased him greatly. Always sorry that Anne was an only child, he was grateful that the family next door had made her an honorary sister.
“Hi, I’m home! It smells good in here!” Anne hung up her coat, put her books on the steps, and walked into the kitchen. “Mmm, chocolate!”
“Hello, Anne,” said her mother. “How was school?”
“It was okay, same-ol’, same-ol’.”
“Honestly, Anne, you must be able to say something better than that! You know that I do not care for slang. Perhaps I should not have allowed you go to the public high school.”
Billie thought a diversion was in order. “Look what you got today,” she said, pointing a chocolate-covered finger toward a bouquet of red roses and white carnations.
“For me? Really? Valentine’s Day isn’t until tomorrow.” Anne raced over to the flowers and inhaled the scent. “They’re so nice! I wonder who they’re from?” She opened the card and read, “To my special valentine, love, Daddy.”
Catherine frowned as her daughter carried the bouquet up to her bedroom. “I had hoped they would be from William. Still, he may be waiting until tomorrow.”
Don’t hold your breath, thought Billie as she rolled brandy-laced chocolate truffles in chopped pecans.
“Have you finished?” asked Catherine.
“Just about. I’m doing the brandy truffles now, the orange ones are in a container, and the coffee ones are on that plate over there. Shall I box them up today?”
“Yes. Use the small pink boxes and the red candy papers. Each box should hold six nicely.” Catherine scowled over the plate of coffee truffles coated in cocoa. “A few of these could use a bit more cocoa, Billie. It wouldn’t do to have a sparse coating. Take care of that before you box the order for the Knightlys.”
“Yes, Catherine. Coffee truffles for the Knightlys, orange for the Kruckshanks, and brandy for the Eltons. I noticed that Reverend Elton ordered coq au vin for the main course. Does he know that the alcohol cooks off?”
Catherine sighed, “Now, Billie, you shouldn’t gossip about our clients. I offered quiche, coq au vin, and lamb noisettes for main courses because they could be cooked easily. The whole point of the ‘Valentines Dinner for Two’ plan was to allow couples to have a lovely dinner without servers in the way and without a great deal of fuss in the kitchen.”
“It was wonderfully clever, Catherine, especially the tie-in with hints on a no-hassle dinner in your column last week. So many customers have ordered these dinners!” Billie’s praise was interrupted by the telephone.
“Catering by Catherine,” said the proprietress crisply. “How can I help you?”
“Mrs. deBourgh, it’s Jason from Angel’s Liquors. Just wanted to let you know that nine of your customers have ordered the wines you asked me to have on hold for you. I thought you said there were ten who would probably call.”
“Yes, I do have ten dinners planned. Do you have your list?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everyone has been in to see the recommendations except Mrs. Wickham.”
Catherine sighed. Mimi was the least organized person she had ever met. “I’m sure she’ll be in tomorrow. I did tell everyone that you had been very kind to hold my suggested wines for them, and that you wanted to be able to release the hold today. I’m afraid Mrs. Wickham isn’t very good with deadlines. Could you hold her bottles until tomorrow?”
“Sure, no problem, just checking in and making sure there aren’t any changes. We really appreciate your patronage, ma’am.”
“And I appreciate your assistance in selecting wines. Good afternoon, Jason.”
“Bye, ma’am.”
Billie shook her head, “That woman is an airhead. It’s no wonder her son runs wild the way he does.”
The next morning, Anne waited at the door, watching for Will’s car. He pulled up in front of the house and beeped the horn gently.
“Mom! I’m going!” called Anne.
“Really, Anne, such shouting is not ladylike. And I’m disappointed in William, not coming to the door properly.”
“It’s okay, Mom, it isn’t a date, just a ride to school. See you later.”
Anne walked sedately to the car, just in case her mother was watching. She waved goodbye as she got into the car.
“Hi, Will, Happy Valentines Day.” She dug in her book bag. “I have some of Mom’s truffles. Just orange and coffee. She wouldn’t let me have any of the brandy ones. And if I find out you re-gifted these to Jane or some other girl, you’ll never get another one in your life.”
“Would I do that? Here’s a valentine from Georgie.”
Anne opened the card. “Aww, it’s cute. I’ll take her a few of my flowers this afternoon. Daddy sent me a nice bouquet yesterday. Mom hoped they were from you. She just doesn’t get it.”
“So you aren’t disappointed I didn’t get you flowers and a mushy valentine?”
“Nope. If you want to get me something for Valentines Day, what I really, really, really want is a date with Richard. He's on the basketball team, and you're the captain. Please? He is so cute!”
William Darcy, golden boy, turned down for the prom! Life sucks! he thought as he walked down the hall to the office. A summons to the Assistant Principal frightened most students, but Will figured it was routine Honor Society business, since Mr. Shao was also the advisor to the Honor Society.
“Will!” A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. “I forgot to ask you. Could we have a meeting tomorrow morning?”
Jane Fairfax, cool and confident smiled at Will. She had just turned down his invitation to the prom and NOW she was asking a favor? All those eyelash-batting requests to duck gym had been granted, and then she wouldn’t go to the prom with him. Em was right, the nicest thing he could think of to say about Jane was that she dressed well.
“No. I’m on my way to Mr. Shao right now, and I’ll bet he’s going to ask why we’ve had so many meetings.”
“Oh, but Will, I’m sure you could—”
“Yeah, right. How about I tell him ‘You see, Jane Fairfax hates gym, so we have lots of meetings.’ Maybe your boyfriend from Greenwich can write you a note to get out of gym.”
Will left Jane pouting and twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. He took a few deep breaths, and calmer, he entered the office.
Mr. Shao’s secretary waved and said, “Hi, Will, go on in.”
“Good morning, Mr. Shao.”
“Good morning, Will. Have a seat. You’re number one on the Honor Society list for history tutors, since you have the highest average in AP History. So I’m asking you to take on another student to tutor.”
“Oh, okay. Pete doesn’t need much help now, so I should be able to find a time for someone else. I guess I can’t say no.”
“Not really, since the tutoring program was your idea. And a good one, too. This is a student who has let his history grade slip, and so he’s in danger of not passing. As you know, US History is a requirement for graduation.”
“Yes.”
“Here’s his name and number. His mother requested a student tutor, so he’ll be expecting you to call. Thanks, Will. And here’s a pass to get back to second period.” Mr. Shao handed Will two slips of paper.
“Thanks, Mr. Shao. See you.” Will stuffed the papers into his pocket and returned to class. When he handed his French teacher the pass, he got a look at the name on the slip and groaned.
“Guillaume, et vous mal?’ asked the teacher.
“Huh? Uh, non, je suis tres bien, merci.” Merde! thought Will, Turned down for the prom and now expected to tutor that slime Geoff Wickham. Life sucks!
As Will walked into the lunch room, he saw Geoff walking out.
“Geoff.”
“What?”
“We have to set up a time for me to tutor you.”
“Huh?”
“Honor Society tutoring? US History? You need a tutor?”
“Not you. Supposed to be blondie over there.” Geoff nodded over his shoulder.
“Jane?”
“Yeah, right, Jane.”
“No, Mr. Shao asked me to do it.”
“Oh, man!”
You can say that again, thought Will. “Yeah, well, I’m your tutor, unless you want to ask Mr. Shao to change things.”
Geoff snorted, “Oh, right, like I’m goin’ to Shao and sayin’ I don’t want Mr. Valedictorian-knows-everything-about-history-Darcy to tutor me. Nothing good ever happens to me in that gas bag’s office.”
“So, what time is good for you? I thought we could use the library after school.”
“The library? No way. I got stuff to do right after school. Um, 4:30 at my place.”
“Okay, Geoff, see you then. And remember your book.” Will turned away before Geoff could answer. Why didn’t I tell Mr. Shao I was too busy? Why didn’t I suggest Jane? She isn’t nearly as good at history as I am, but it would serve her right to have to deal with Geoff. The well dressed Ice Queen and the Slob. What a combination.
Will arrived at the Wickham home promptly at 4:30. Mimi Wickham greeted him warmly and showed him to Geoff’s room. Will thought that he didn’t really need any help finding it. The pounding of heavy metal made it perfectly obvious which room was Geoff’s.
As Will entered the room, Geoff slammed a drawer shut and pulled out a cigarette. “Smoke?” he asked, holding out the pack.
“No. I don’t smoke. And could you not? It really bothers me.”
George swore and shook the match he’d been holding.
“And turn off the music.”
“Anything else, Grandma?” Geoff sneered as he picked up the remote for the stereo.
“No, that’s all,” said Will. “Do you have recent tests we can go over? Sometimes that helps. Or we could go over your notes. Where’s your notebook?”
“Okay, okay, you did the nice tutor thing. Now just give me the homework and let’s get it over with.”
“What?”
“Come on, man. Just give me the freakin’ homework. Schools’ been out for an hour and a half. You must have done tonight’s homework by now.”
“We don’t have the same homework, Geoff. We’re in different courses with different books. Where’s your book?”
Geoff shrugged.
“Did Mr. Mantler give you homework for tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it?”
“Who gives a **** anyhow? You’re supposed to do it.”
“Geoff, I’m not here to do your homework for you.”
“Why not?”
“Because a tutor is not someone who does your homework for you. A tutor is someone who HELPS you study.”
“Oh, puhleeze. Get real.”
Will got up, “Fine with me, Geoff. Be a senior two consecutive years.”
On the way out, Will told Mrs. Wickham that Geoff would be better off with an adult tutor.
Three days later, Will entered the lunch room as Geoff was leaving.
“Darcy, hey thanks, man!” said Geoff loudly. “I think I aced the test. Couldn’t do it without your help!” He elbowed Will in the ribs and walked away laughing.
Pete, a basketball player who had also been tutored by Will, walked by and said, “What did you do for him that you didn’t do for me?”
“Gave up on him, that’s what. I don’t get this. I was planning to talk to Mr. Shao about it, but he wasn’t available this morning. I told Mrs. Wickham that Geoff didn’t want me to tutor him and it would be better to get an adult.”
“Wickham’s a jerk. He probably just wanted to embarrass you after you told his doting mommy that you wouldn’t tutor him.”
“I guess.”
Later that day, when Will was summoned to the office from English class, his departure was accompanied by frenzied whispering in the last row.
“Mr. Shao? You want to see me?”
“Yes, I do. Sit down, Will. I want to hear your version of what happened with Geoff Wickham.”
Will sighed and recounted the tale of his recalcitrant classmate, ending with an apology, “So you see, sir, I tried, but he just wanted someone to do his homework. I thought his mother was going to hire an adult, a teacher. Someone Geoff wouldn’t try to manipulate.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“What about the test?”
“Test?”
“The unit test.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Shao, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Several marginal students, Geoff Wickham among them, did exceptionally well on the test Mr. Mantler just gave. Geoff is bragging to his friends that he got you to steal it for him.”
“WHAT?”
“He denies it, of course, but I have to ask you, since the rumor is all over the school.”
“Well, it’s not true!”
“Mr. Mantler did discover that he was short one copy not long after you were in his classroom yesterday afternoon. And a custodian found a copy on the floor in one of the lavatories. Your phone number was on the back of it.”
“I was in Mr. Mantler’s room to talk about my term paper. There were folders on the desk, but I didn’t look at what was in them. And I didn’t take anything.”
Mr. Shao looked at Will appraisingly. He could hardly believe this honor student would do such a thing, but he had to consider all sides of the situation. Finally Will spoke.
“Does Mr. Mantler think I stole the test?”
“No. But he has no alternative explanation for its disappearance.”
“So what happens now? Am I suspended?”
“No.”
“But you think I did it. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“I don’t know who did what. Will, I have to be like a judge here, and keep an open mind until we sort out all the facts. I wanted to hear your side of this, not accuse you of anything.”
Will shrugged, “Yeah, sure.”
“Go back to class. I’ll continue to look into this.”
Will looked at the clock. History. Great. “I can’t go into History now. Not with everyone thinking what I know they’re thinking. I’d rather be suspended.”
“You don’t mean that. You don’t want a suspension on your record. There’s the bell. Go back to class.”
As Will walked down the hall, he felt as if every student were staring at him. He was seriously thinking about ditching the rest of the day, but he decided to hold his head up as if nothing had happened. Just outside his history classroom, Anne passed him a note and ran to make it to her English class before the bell. He sat down and opened the note. Anne had written, ‘Geoff’s story is crap and all your friends know it. Hang in there!’ She and Emma had both signed the note.
Just as the bell rang, Richard Fitzwilliam slid into his seat behind Will and whispered. “Wickham is garbage, nobody with a brain believes this.”
Catherine deBourgh surveyed the dining room with satisfaction. She was pleased with the improvements she’d helped Mimi make in her home. The poor woman would never have much taste or sense, but at least she had the money to buy tasteful things. She just needed a little guidance. And Catherine was pleased to offer guidance and advice aplenty.
She had convinced Mimi to get rid of the overwhelmingly bright drapes in the dining room and replace them with very full white sheer curtains. Catherine had also convinced Mimi to invest in a top-quality damask tablecloth. Catherine often supplied linens for dinner parties, but Mimi’s table was unusually wide, and the standard cloths Catherine had on hand didn’t fit it properly. This was an important dinner for Frank Wickham’s best clients. The market was a little sluggish. Frank hoped the dinner would help him hang onto his clients.
On top of that, Frank was hoping to do a little personal damage control. Geoff had been expelled for organizing the theft of a history test. Cassie Smith, high as a kite on the drugs she had bought with the money Geoff had paid her, told several people that she had stolen the history test. William Darcy had been cleared and Geoff was in deeper trouble than he’d ever been in before. Frank was concerned that a personal blight like that might make his customers wonder if he was as untrustworthy as his son.
Catherine lit the candles and listened to the hum of conversation in the living room. The house certainly was quiet now that Geoff had been packed off to a private boarding school to finish his senior year. The word around town was that Frank had made a sizeable “donation” to the school in return for a guarantee of graduation and every effort to find SOME college that would accept Geoff.
Catherine checked her watch. The first course was ready to be served. She looked toward the living room, waiting to catch Mimi’s eye. Mimi was telling several women how excited they were that such a wonderful school finally had an opening, and wasn’t Geoff lucky to have such an opportunity. When she paused for breath, Mimi saw Catherine in the dining room, pointing to her watch. Mimi nodded and began to shepherd her guests into the dining room.
Catherine disappeared into the kitchen and her hired servers began to serve the soup course, chilled blueberry soup. From the kitchen, she could hear oohs and ahs as people complimented Mimi on the soup.
One woman asked Mimi how long the blueberries had to be cooked. Mimi giggled and said, “I have no idea, I’m just hopeless in the kitchen. I have the most wonderful caterer. I’d be lost without her!”
“Well, I would love the recipe for this.”
“Oh, I don’t think she gives out recipes, but maybe as a favor she might. I’ll see what I can do.”
The servers cleared the soup and returned with the main course, rack of lamb.
“One of my favorites!” declared Gilbert Hurst, a heavy-set man with a booming voice. Hurst was making a name for himself in the publishing industry. “Gilbert Hurst,” he would say when he introduced himself, “H-u-r-s-t. No relation to those California Hearsts!”
Seeing Hurst attack his meal with gusto, Mimi excused herself and went into the kitchen. “Oh, Catherine, it’s going so well! Do you have any extra lamb? I’m sure at least one of the guests would like more.”
“Yes, I do, I always over prepare. I would suggest splitting the servings for seconds.”
“Oh, good idea. Thank you.”
“Mimi, remember the bell. Ring for a server if you need anything.”
“Oh,” she giggled, “The bell. Right.” And she returned to the table. When Hurst finished his lamb, she offered seconds. Hurst took her up on the offer right away, as did the one non-client guest, the Reverend Mr. Elton.
Setting down his empty wine glass and awaiting a refill, he said, “Oh, Mimi, I would dearly love some more lamb. My Augusta doesn’t make rack of lamb. Of course, she makes excellent leg of lamb.” He patted his wife’s hand.
“I would never flatter myself,” said Augusta Elton smoothly. “But my friends do say I have a way with a leg of lamb.”
“Yes,” said Hurst, “Leg of lamb is nice, but rack of lamb is something special. And I like this wine sauce. Nice alternative to the mint jelly, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I prefer the mint jelly,” said Mimi. “My caterer makes her own. She has mint in her herb garden.” She started to get up, then remembered the bell. As she reached for it, one of the servers approached her.
“Mrs. Wickham, do you need anything?”
“Yes, could you get the mint jelly jar from the kitchen?”
“The jar? But Catherine never—”
“I’m not going to serve from it. I want to show my guests Catherine’s label.”
The server trotted off to the kitchen. Catherine was torn between being scandalized at a jar being placed on the dining room table and being pleased at getting the attention of wealthy guests. In the end, thoughts of expanding her business won out, and she gave the server one of her new brochures, as well.
The jar was inspected, and Hurst noticed that the label had the same rose on it as the place card in front of him.
“Yes, Catherine loves pink roses. The pink rose has become her signature.”
Hurst looked at the glossy brochure with its photos of elegantly plated meals.
“You know,” said his wife Louisa, “Those pictures are prettier than some of the ones I’ve seen in cookbooks.”
“Hmm,” said Mr. Hurst, pocketing the brochure.
When the jar was returned to the kitchen without the brochure, Catherine asked the server what happened to the brochure.
“The fat guy who had seconds took it.”
“Good. Make sure Mrs. Wickham knows that we have extra servings of dessert in case any guests want seconds.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
One server carried out the lemon meringue pie while another carried carafes of coffee. Once dessert was served, they returned to the kitchen. The servers finished off the leftover lamb and potatoes, and had just washed their hands when they heard the rustle of people getting up from the table.
From the kitchen, Catherine could hear Mimi say, “You just go on into the living room. I’ll be right there.”
The servers got up to clear the table as Mimi entered the kitchen, cooing, “Oh, oh, it was splendid! Everyone was so impressed with it all.”
“Indeed I was!” said Mr. Hurst, who had followed Mimi to the kitchen. “I just had to meet the cook.”
Catherine stood up and smoothed her impossibly clean apron, “Hello, I’m Catherine deBourgh of Catering by Catherine.”
Mr. Hurst shook her hand and introduced himself, “Hurst. Gilbert Hurst. H-u-r-s-t, not those California Hearsts.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hurst. I’m delighted that you enjoyed dinner.”
“Very much. I just may be calling you!” And with a wink, he left the kitchen.
Two days after the dinner party, Mr. Hurst called Catherine. She was expecting a booking for a dinner party. She was astonished at what he really wanted.
“A cookbook?”
“Yes! My publishing company is expanding into the how-to line. We have some good authors lined up for home improvement stuff—building a new deck, putting in a brick patio, refurbishing a bathroom, and so on. But we don’t have an author for the, ah, distaff side, if you get my meaning.”
“I’m flattered that you’re interested in me.”
“Tell you what, you let me know what day you can whip up lunch for the two of us, and we can talk it over, discuss money and schedule and all that messy stuff.”
“Let me check my calendar.” Catherine consulted her schedule and chose a day. Mr. Hurst agreed and within two weeks, Catherine was taking a contract to George Darcy for review.
George pointed out that the contract stipulated promotional appearances, and that could mean a book tour that would take her away from Catering by Catherine. Catherine said that she understood, and was willing to work out her schedule somehow.
“Well then,” George said, “The money looks good. They’re giving you a decent advance. And you do understand that you won’t be paid any royalty until your accrued royalties pay back the publisher for your advance?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Then good luck, Catherine. I’m sure you’ll do very well with this.”
Posted on Tuesday, 2 March 2004
June 1992
“Turn around,” said Catherine, eyeing her daughter critically. “I still think the pink satin dress I showed you would have been better. I should never have permitted your father to buy your dress. I knew he’d send you out with some secretary.”
“Mom! We’ve been through this before. He did not send his secretary with me. He went shopping with m himself. We—” Anne stopped before she could say ‘we had a really good time.’ Instead, she said, “We spent several hours shopping. He was helpful choosing a color. Pale pink is too washed-out for my coloring.” And I hate pink! she added silently.
“Nonsense! It makes you look delicate and lady-like. Pastel dresses are better for young women.”
“These are the nineties, Mom! I’m sorry to tell you this, but the lady-like look is definitely out of style. You should have seen some of the dresses Daddy wouldn’t even let me consider.” Anne smiled, remembering the dresses she had threatened to try on just to make her father nervous.
“And remember, let me answer the door. You must walk down the stairs slowly and make a good impression.”
“Mom, he has seen me before, you know.”
“Anne, this is a special occasion and it calls for special behavior. I certainly hope that you will remember your manners.”
Anne’s phone rang, saving her from having to answer.
“Hello?”
“Oh, good, you’re still there. I was afraid I might have missed you.”
“Hi, Daddy!”
“Are you all dressed? Does your mother still hate the dress?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Butterflies?”
“No, well, just a few. Excited butterflies, not scared.”
“That’s my girl. You have a wonderful time.”
“I will, Daddy. Oops! The doorbell rang. He’s here! Bye!”
In the house next door, Anne Darcy straightened her son’s bow tie and sniffed, “Look at you! When did my baby grow up?”
“Mom! You’ve been here the whole time. Weren’t you paying attention?”
His teasing got her off her sentimental track. “Don’t get smart with me William Darcy. You may look like a movie star in your tux, but I’m still your mother.”
George Darcy appeared in the doorway. “Smile!” When Anne and Will turned to face him, he took a picture.
“Come on, Dad! Not too many pictures, please?”
“You’d better get going if you’re going to pick up Paula and get her here before the party starts. I’m sure her parents will want pictures of the two of you.”
“I’m ready. See you in a bit.”
When Will gave up on the notion of getting Jane Fairfax to go to the prom with him, he decided to ask Paula Mason. His lab partner for three consecutive science courses, Paula was a girl who was more friend than “girlfriend.” Paula wanted to be a doctor, and had no intention of cultivating a serious relationship that might interfere with her studies. Whenever Will was between girlfriends, he dated Paula.
True to form, the Masons took pictures of the couple and complimented Will on how handsome he was and how nice Paula’s flowers were. Then the couple excused themselves to get back to the Darcy home for the pre-prom party.
In the car, Paula sighed, “My mother cried.”
“Mine only sniffled. Why is sending your kid to the prom such a rite of passage for a parent? I suppose you got the speech about a lawyer and a doctor being a good combination?”
“No. You’re confusing my mother with Anne’s. My parents are delighted that I’m in no hurry to look for True Love.” Paula grinned as she patted her heart.
“That’s what you say now. Just wait, Paula, you’ll see some guy and fall head over heels, bam! Like that. Just remember to invite me to the wedding so I can say I told you so.”
“Not gonna happen, Will. When I was getting my hair done this afternoon—”
“It looks nice. Sorry, I should have said that sooner.”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments. Will. When I was there, some of the girls were almost hysterical with worry that everything had to go just right. This is nice, going with a friend. No stress, no expectations.”
“I know what you mean.”
“So you’re okay that you’re not going with Jane?”
“Oh, geeze, Paula!”
“Will, I know I’m not your first choice. You can’t sit hunched over a force table in the physics lab with someone and not know their innermost secrets! Anyhow, the whole senior class knows the list of guys who’ve asked her out. I think she does it just to maintain a mystique.”
Will pulled into his driveway and another car pulled in behind him.
“Richard and Anne are here. Thanks for agreeing to double with them, Paula.”
“Glad to oblige. It kept you from having to ask Anne and get her mother all worked up. How’d you get Richard to ask her?”
“He has dated so many girls, he didn’t know which of them to ask. Didn’t want to single out any one of them, you know? So I suggested he ask someone out of the blue.”
“That someone being Anne.”
Will walked around the car and opened the door. He helped Paula out of the car and Anne and Richard caught up with them. The two girls giggled and complimented each other as they walked toward the house. Richard tugged at his collar.
“My father says his tux is comfortable. How come this feels like a noose?” Richard complained.
“It’s all in the tailoring. My father says rentals are supposed to be uncomfortable to make you want to buy one of your own. You may as well get used to discomfort, Cadet Fitzwilliam. I’ll bet the uniform is worse.”
“Mrs. deBourgh was disappointed that I’m not wearing my dress uniform. Poor Anne was embarrassed and tried to explain that I haven’t started at the Point yet. Anne’s mother is a trip.”
“Don’t I know it. She has probably run across the yard, so she’ll be in there, waiting for us.”
Both Catherine and George were waiting, cameras in hand. The couples posed for several pictures, and then Catherine asked for a picture of Anne with Will.
“Stand up straight, Anne, dear. William, stand a bit closer. That’s good. Smile! Perhaps I should take one more just in case.”
“No, Mom, that’s enough,” said Anne. “The other guests will be here any minute, and you promised.”
“Very well, I’ll go check on Billie.”
After her mother had left for the kitchen, Anne sighed, “Sorry, guys. She promised she’d stay out of the way once the party started.”
“It’s okay, Anne,” said Paula. “It was nice of your mother to offer to cater the party. And kind of you to host it, Mrs. Darcy.”
“My pleasure, Paula. I’m enjoying seeing all of you so dressed up. I’m used to seeing the boys dressed in faded jeans and slouching on the patio furniture.”
Paula laughed, “That sounds like how we see them a lot of the time.”
Anne Darcy managed to find a moment alone with her namesake. “You look lovely, Anne. I’ll send copies of your pictures to your father. He gave you good advice on the dress.”
“I suppose Mom told you about the pink satin?”
“Yes she did. I’m glad you won this one. Come to think of it, you’ve become quite adept at getting your way without confronting your mother.”
“Moi?” asked Anne innocently.
“Oh, go flutter those eyelashes at your date!”
The pre-prom party was a success, combining Will’s friends from the basketball team with his friends from the Honor Society and other activities. His debate partner, George Knightly had brought Emma Woodhouse, making Anne and Em the only two sophomores going to the Senior Prom. Toward the end of the party, limos started lining up outside, and couples found their cars and headed to the prom.
Will’s table at the prom was made up of the five senior starters on the basketball team and their dates. Only one couple, Steve and Suzanne, had been together for any length of time. The rest were just friends, and by the time dinner was served, everyone at their table had danced with everyone else’s date.
“What a great party,” said Emma. “Isn’t this nice, George? Much better than that table over there. Some of those couples are hanging all over each other.”
“I thought you liked to see a good match, Em,” teased George.
“But it’s like Noah’s Ark over there. All two-by-two.”
“Speaking of two-by-two,” said Paula cattily, “We finally get a look at dear Jane Fairfax’s beau.”
“Not bad,” said Em. “He’s rather good-looking, I suppose. And she does dress well.”
Anne coughed.
“You all right?” asked Richard.
Anne nodded and sipped her water. “Sorry. Em! Don’t make me laugh when I’m swallowing!” Seeing Richard’s confusion, she added, “That’s the only nice thing Em ever says about Jane.”
“Meow!” said Steve.
“Oh, come on,” said Paula. “Show of hands. How many of you guys have asked Jane out and got turned down?”
“Paula!” hissed Will.
“Okay, I take back the question. But I think one of you should ask her to dance and see what she says.”
Across the room, Jane Fairfax’s date, Frank Churchill, had a comment on just about everyone. The pale blonde (Anne) was too skinny, the brunette (Paula) was too chubby, the chatterbox (Em) was too short for the boys she was dancing with. It was pretty sad that the members of basketball team at that table obviously didn’t have steady girlfriends, so they had to dance with each other’s dates as well as their own.
Anne sighed as she danced with Will. She smiled up and said, “Thanks, Will. I appreciate you setting me up with Richard.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Oh, yes! It’s so nice, and so many of the seniors have been friendly, even though I don’t know a lot of them very well. And Richard, well…” her voice trailed off in a sigh.
“Anne, don’t get your hopes up. Remember, he’s off to the Point in the fall. Plus, well,” Will paused to gather his thoughts and then continued, “I like Richard, he’s almost like a brother, well, no, say a cousin. And I know that he’s—”
“Love-em-and-leave-em Fitzwilliam? I know. I’m just enjoying the evening.”
Will smiled down at her, “You sure you’re not a senior? You certainly are grown-up tonight!”
Richard, sitting out a dance for once, decided things were getting boring. He spotted Jane on her way back to her table from a trip to the ladies’ room, so he walked across the dance floor and intercepted her.
“Hi, Jane, dance?” he said, as he took her in his arms.
“Richard!”
“You look lovely tonight,” he said smoothly, noticing the fumes rising from her date’s ears. “You always dress so well. But Anne’s a better dancer. Have a nice evening.”
Richard turned and left Jane on the dance floor. His slight was noticed by a few couples, but then everyone’s attention shifted to a figure weaving in and out of the couples. He was wearing cut-off jeans and a Hawaiian-print shirt.
Will was still dancing with Anne when Geoff Wickham, prom-crasher, tapped on his shoulder.
“May I cut in?” he slurred.
“I don’t think so, Geoff.” Will glanced around to see if the chaperones had caught sight of Geoff yet. Mr. Shao was scanning the couples, but didn’t seem to know where Geoff was.
“Come on, let me dance with Catherine’s little treasure. She finally got you to take out her little girl, huh?”
“No, Geoff, I’m Anne’s date.” Richard materialized behind George. “Go sit down, Anne.”
Soon Geoff was surrounded by the basketball team. All dancing stopped. If the students had been hoping for a brawl, they were disappointed. The five basketball players slowly walked as a group toward the door, where Mr. Shao met them with a security guard.
“Bye, Geoff,” called Richard. “Lovely to dance with you.”