you’ll have to be thinking about the fittings soon with the wedding only five weeks away?’
‘Yes, indeed. I’ve made an appointment with Fortman and Bittlestone next week. The dresses should be ready to try on by then.’
‘You’re not getting them made locally, then?’ asked Minna, repressing a pang for Mrs Bunford, who had been glimpsed in her front parlour night after night, pouring over copies of Bride magazine.
‘Definitely not,’ said Muriel, casting a glance at the dowager’s chiffon. Nothing, Minna noted, escaped those peacock-blue eyes. ‘I never see why a country wedding should be shoddy, do you?’
‘No … no, of course not.’ She changed the subject. ‘Rupert will have told you about the ball I am giving at Heslop for you. I’m asking people for the twenty-fifth so as to give you a couple of days’ rest before the wedding. It’s rather short notice, but almost everyone seems to have accepted. Fortunately, the victory celebrations will be over by then.’
Muriel seemed to be hesitating. Then, ‘I was wondering, is the ball to be in fancy dress?’ she asked.
‘I hadn’t thought of it as such,’ said Minna. ‘You know what it’s like getting men to dress up. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it just happens that I have a particularly beautiful costume - a perfect replica of the one the Pompadour wore to the Silver Ball at Versailles. I had it made for a charity gala which was cancelled. So, naturally, if there was a chance to wear it I would be very pleased.’
Minna’s heart sank. The thought of getting her dear old Harry to dress up as a pirate or a cavalier was too painful to contemplate. To get Lord Byrne into his tails was bad enough, and Tom wasn’t much better. And most of the invitations had been issued: she’d have to make innumerable telephone calls. Then she looked at the lovely creature who was going to save Mersham and make Rupert happy and said, ‘Well, I don’t see why not. I’m sure people will collaborate if they know it’s your wish. You can’t imagine how much goodwill you’ve collected in the neighbourhood.’
Thank you.’ Having gained her point, Muriel was ready to turn her attention to something that had been puzzling her and, as Tom Byrne came to join his stepmother and be introduced to Muriel, she said: ‘Tell me, those people over there, by the window - who are they?’
Minna’s face creased into a smile. ‘Oh, those are the Rabinoyitches. Have you not met them yet? They’re great friends of the Westerholmes and of ours. When old Mrs Rabinovitch was alive they used to employ Ollie as their Shabbath Goy.’
‘So they are Jewish. I thought they must be.’
‘Oh, yes, very much so and proud of it. Leo came from Poland quite penniless and made a fortune in the rag trade. He’s got some marvellous stories, you must get him to tell you.’
Rupert had crossed the room to talk to the vicar and so it was in a confidential tone that Muriel said, ‘And they are really intimate friends? They visit here quite frequently?’
‘Is there any reason why they shouldn’t?’ broke in Tom Byrne.
Minna looked anxiously at her stepson. On all other matters Tom was easy-going and courteous, but on this particular subject…
Muriel, however, realized she had gone too far. ‘No, of course not. I just thought they might be embarrassed over dietary problems and so on.’ She laughed charmingly. ‘I wouldn’t like to make a mistake and offer them pork!’
‘They’re not strictly orthodox any more,’ said Minna, ‘though they kept the festivals for Leo’s mother while she lived. In any case,’ she went on, striving for lightness, ‘Proom knows everyone’s foibles. It isn’t Mersham they’ll envy you for after your marriage, Muriel - it isn’t even Rupert - it’s Proom!’
And as though on cue, Proom himself appeared in the double doorway and announced that supper was served.
- - - -*
The guests had eaten, the covers had been removed and now, in
‘Yes, indeed. I’ve made an appointment with Fortman and Bittlestone next week. The dresses should be ready to try on by then.’
‘You’re not getting them made locally, then?’ asked Minna, repressing a pang for Mrs Bunford, who had been glimpsed in her front parlour night after night, pouring over copies of Bride magazine.
‘Definitely not,’ said Muriel, casting a glance at the dowager’s chiffon. Nothing, Minna noted, escaped those peacock-blue eyes. ‘I never see why a country wedding should be shoddy, do you?’
‘No … no, of course not.’ She changed the subject. ‘Rupert will have told you about the ball I am giving at Heslop for you. I’m asking people for the twenty-fifth so as to give you a couple of days’ rest before the wedding. It’s rather short notice, but almost everyone seems to have accepted. Fortunately, the victory celebrations will be over by then.’
Muriel seemed to be hesitating. Then, ‘I was wondering, is the ball to be in fancy dress?’ she asked.
‘I hadn’t thought of it as such,’ said Minna. ‘You know what it’s like getting men to dress up. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it just happens that I have a particularly beautiful costume - a perfect replica of the one the Pompadour wore to the Silver Ball at Versailles. I had it made for a charity gala which was cancelled. So, naturally, if there was a chance to wear it I would be very pleased.’
Minna’s heart sank. The thought of getting her dear old Harry to dress up as a pirate or a cavalier was too painful to contemplate. To get Lord Byrne into his tails was bad enough, and Tom wasn’t much better. And most of the invitations had been issued: she’d have to make innumerable telephone calls. Then she looked at the lovely creature who was going to save Mersham and make Rupert happy and said, ‘Well, I don’t see why not. I’m sure people will collaborate if they know it’s your wish. You can’t imagine how much goodwill you’ve collected in the neighbourhood.’
Thank you.’ Having gained her point, Muriel was ready to turn her attention to something that had been puzzling her and, as Tom Byrne came to join his stepmother and be introduced to Muriel, she said: ‘Tell me, those people over there, by the window - who are they?’
Minna’s face creased into a smile. ‘Oh, those are the Rabinoyitches. Have you not met them yet? They’re great friends of the Westerholmes and of ours. When old Mrs Rabinovitch was alive they used to employ Ollie as their Shabbath Goy.’
‘So they are Jewish. I thought they must be.’
‘Oh, yes, very much so and proud of it. Leo came from Poland quite penniless and made a fortune in the rag trade. He’s got some marvellous stories, you must get him to tell you.’
Rupert had crossed the room to talk to the vicar and so it was in a confidential tone that Muriel said, ‘And they are really intimate friends? They visit here quite frequently?’
‘Is there any reason why they shouldn’t?’ broke in Tom Byrne.
Minna looked anxiously at her stepson. On all other matters Tom was easy-going and courteous, but on this particular subject…
Muriel, however, realized she had gone too far. ‘No, of course not. I just thought they might be embarrassed over dietary problems and so on.’ She laughed charmingly. ‘I wouldn’t like to make a mistake and offer them pork!’
‘They’re not strictly orthodox any more,’ said Minna, ‘though they kept the festivals for Leo’s mother while she lived. In any case,’ she went on, striving for lightness, ‘Proom knows everyone’s foibles. It isn’t Mersham they’ll envy you for after your marriage, Muriel - it isn’t even Rupert - it’s Proom!’
And as though on cue, Proom himself appeared in the double doorway and announced that supper was served.
- - - -*
The guests had eaten, the covers had been removed and now, in
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