tracing windows, doors and chimneys with black marker pen on cardboard boxes.
‘The Palace Box, with the drawbridge.’
‘Oh, the Palace Box.’ Jasmine linked her arm through her sister’s. The houses had been ramshackle indeed. Sometimes she wrote in emphatic capitals, ‘Eve’s House’ above the doors – which ranged from tiny portals to serious entrances. Older and more competent, she honed her building skills, hacking away at the boxes with scissors (carefully blunted by Lara) to construct doorways and rooms. She devoted hours to painting roofs and doorknobs and – often – a window-box with bright red flowers.
Arm in arm, they progressed from the Jacobeans to the Georgians.
A blue and white pot of hyacinths had been set on a walnut table that formed part of the Georgian
mise en scène
.Blunt green spikes nosed through the bulb fibre and the outlines of the flower bells could be seen unfurling inside their green cradle. The notes supplied by the museum pasted on the wall above them read: ‘An increasingly popular plant in the eighteenth century, hyacinths were probably brought to England in the 1560s and, like the tulip, their bulbs commanded considerable prices. A contemporary herbalist wrote: “The Perfumers use is very much, but it is no use in Physick. It often raises the Vapours in Women.”’
I bet it did, Jasmine thought, and moved away. She had never lost her dislike of the hyacinth and its heavy, cloying scent.
Fixed to the wall were the curator’s notes: ‘During this period, the family still tended to be larger than those of today. As with earlier periods, anyone who lived under a family’s roof thought of themselves as part of the household. If well to do, a “family” might include stepchildren, orphans, spinsters and widows as well as servants …’
‘Over here, Jas,’ said Eve, and beckoned. She was standing by a walnut-cased clock, dated 1783, into whose handsome Roman face was incorporated a date dial. ‘There’s one just like it at Andrew’s parents’. One day, Andrew will inherit it. It has to be treated with extreme care.’
‘Lovely.’
Shockingly, Eve seemed to crumple. ‘What have I got myself into, Jas?’
‘Wedding nerves?’
‘Yes and no.’
Jasmine looked into her sister’s troubled face and tried to work out what was going on. ‘This isn’t about the stupid tiff over the wedding date, is it?’
Eve gripped Jasmine’s hand painfully hard. ‘No. No.’
‘Is it Andrew’s parents?’
Eve shrugged. ‘God,
no
.’ She managed a funny little smile. ‘I hate ’em, though.’
‘Andrew, then? You need more time? You haven’t known him that long.’
‘A year. People have got married after twenty-four hours and made it work. Anyway, he’s the one.’
She knew she should say,
If you have a moment’s hesitation, call it off.
Instead she offered, ‘Nerves and doubts are part of the package.’ Pause. ‘I imagine.’
Why wasn’t she being straight with her sister? Was it because, in watching Eve get married, she would be indulging in vicarious and deeply unhealthy shtick? Or, even more labyrinthine, that deep down she did not want Eve to get married because it would point up Duncan’s lack of desire to marry her? So she couldn’t advise her sister to call it off because it would be for the wrong reasons?
This was exhausting.
‘It’s going to be such a change,’ said Eve. ‘I can’t imagine it.’
‘But you are sure about Andrew?’
‘Yes … yes.’
‘That’s the main thing.’
Eve rattled on, ‘Perhaps we should ditch the big wedding and have a small one in the summer. Then it wouldbe over.’ She bit her lip. ‘September’s that much longer to wait.’
Jasmine tried to shape the words
Don’t marry unless you’re sure
.
‘Jas, you’re the only one I can trust.’
Finally Jasmine’s tongue obeyed her. ‘You don’t have to get married, Evie. Call it off.’
Jealousy was the fingernail screeching down the
‘The Palace Box, with the drawbridge.’
‘Oh, the Palace Box.’ Jasmine linked her arm through her sister’s. The houses had been ramshackle indeed. Sometimes she wrote in emphatic capitals, ‘Eve’s House’ above the doors – which ranged from tiny portals to serious entrances. Older and more competent, she honed her building skills, hacking away at the boxes with scissors (carefully blunted by Lara) to construct doorways and rooms. She devoted hours to painting roofs and doorknobs and – often – a window-box with bright red flowers.
Arm in arm, they progressed from the Jacobeans to the Georgians.
A blue and white pot of hyacinths had been set on a walnut table that formed part of the Georgian
mise en scène
.Blunt green spikes nosed through the bulb fibre and the outlines of the flower bells could be seen unfurling inside their green cradle. The notes supplied by the museum pasted on the wall above them read: ‘An increasingly popular plant in the eighteenth century, hyacinths were probably brought to England in the 1560s and, like the tulip, their bulbs commanded considerable prices. A contemporary herbalist wrote: “The Perfumers use is very much, but it is no use in Physick. It often raises the Vapours in Women.”’
I bet it did, Jasmine thought, and moved away. She had never lost her dislike of the hyacinth and its heavy, cloying scent.
Fixed to the wall were the curator’s notes: ‘During this period, the family still tended to be larger than those of today. As with earlier periods, anyone who lived under a family’s roof thought of themselves as part of the household. If well to do, a “family” might include stepchildren, orphans, spinsters and widows as well as servants …’
‘Over here, Jas,’ said Eve, and beckoned. She was standing by a walnut-cased clock, dated 1783, into whose handsome Roman face was incorporated a date dial. ‘There’s one just like it at Andrew’s parents’. One day, Andrew will inherit it. It has to be treated with extreme care.’
‘Lovely.’
Shockingly, Eve seemed to crumple. ‘What have I got myself into, Jas?’
‘Wedding nerves?’
‘Yes and no.’
Jasmine looked into her sister’s troubled face and tried to work out what was going on. ‘This isn’t about the stupid tiff over the wedding date, is it?’
Eve gripped Jasmine’s hand painfully hard. ‘No. No.’
‘Is it Andrew’s parents?’
Eve shrugged. ‘God,
no
.’ She managed a funny little smile. ‘I hate ’em, though.’
‘Andrew, then? You need more time? You haven’t known him that long.’
‘A year. People have got married after twenty-four hours and made it work. Anyway, he’s the one.’
She knew she should say,
If you have a moment’s hesitation, call it off.
Instead she offered, ‘Nerves and doubts are part of the package.’ Pause. ‘I imagine.’
Why wasn’t she being straight with her sister? Was it because, in watching Eve get married, she would be indulging in vicarious and deeply unhealthy shtick? Or, even more labyrinthine, that deep down she did not want Eve to get married because it would point up Duncan’s lack of desire to marry her? So she couldn’t advise her sister to call it off because it would be for the wrong reasons?
This was exhausting.
‘It’s going to be such a change,’ said Eve. ‘I can’t imagine it.’
‘But you are sure about Andrew?’
‘Yes … yes.’
‘That’s the main thing.’
Eve rattled on, ‘Perhaps we should ditch the big wedding and have a small one in the summer. Then it wouldbe over.’ She bit her lip. ‘September’s that much longer to wait.’
Jasmine tried to shape the words
Don’t marry unless you’re sure
.
‘Jas, you’re the only one I can trust.’
Finally Jasmine’s tongue obeyed her. ‘You don’t have to get married, Evie. Call it off.’
Jealousy was the fingernail screeching down the
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