rather tasteless hothouse nectarines, the silver bonbonnières filled with almonds and muscatels, and the silver box of cigars. As Frederick and Alfred light their cigars their faces change, become hazy, ruminative, more adult, out of reach. This change to the ancestral mode lightens the atmosphere, and Sofka, with a sigh, looks round at her altered family. She acknowledges, after having fought against the idea, that Frederick will marry Evie, who may, indeed, prove to be a devoted daughter-in-law; she is, in truth, a good-hearted girl and marriage will almost certainly tone down that laugh and subdue her restlessness. Sofka is almost reconciled to the idea of Frederick living in Devonshire Place and being a consultant to his brother; if he observes these technicalities Sofka does not mind too much what he does with the rest of his time. And Evie has a sense of family, that much is clear from all her references to her papa whom she calls Dadda. Sofka knows that she can expect to see both Frederick and Evie every Sunday afternoon for coffee and cake.
But it appears that Evie is more devoted to her papa than was apparent at the first. Her one idea is to go back and live with him on the Riviera, taking Frederick with her. Being acutely female, Evie desires to separate Frederick from his mother, although in more moral ways she is prepared to be strictly loyal and respectful. But when Evie’s papa, a short fat man with the high burnish of one who runs a successful private empire, pays a visit to Sofka – and it seems as if by this means the alliance is already cemented – it is clear that the price that Frederick will pay for the hand of his daughter is the general managership of the Hotel Windsor in Bordighera, a recent acquisition which Evie’s father hopes in time to bringinto line with his more prestigious establishments in San Remo and La Spezia. This is a blow to the heart to Sofka, although they all agree that it is a handsome offer and an ideal plan: Frederick is overjoyed. He loves the sun; he loves hotels; he loves company. He is tired of the factory and he longs to let Evie take care of his life. Before they have hammered out the final details it is all arranged.
There is another reason for Sofka to agree to this. Evie’s papa has warned her privately of conditions in Europe and what they mean for families such as theirs. Wars, and rumours of war. Let the children scatter, let them put down roots, let them transplant. Sofka knows that they are safe enough for the time being. But she also knows that she can never go home again.
So here they are in the wedding photograph. It appears to be a very jolly occasion, but perhaps that impression is given by Evie who is laughing, her open mouth revealing her triumphant teeth. Evie is wearing white satin and is carrying lilies; she carries them as if they were some sporting accessory, a tennis racquet perhaps. The vee neck of her white satin dress reveals a longish triangle of skin, and the skirt, which flows into a train at the back, is carelessly hitched up to show her ankles, and her hefty feet buckled into white satin shoes with cuban heels and
diamanté
straps over the insteps. On her head is a sort of satin fender, worn a bare inch above the eyebrows. Where she has got this curiously old-fashioned outfit from Heaven alone knows; but as she refused all Sofka’s advice and offers of help, it looks as if she has been guided by the saleslady at Whiteley’s or Harrods and has come out of it rather badly. But she grins with unabashed cheerfulness, as does Frederick; together they present a double row of teeth and already they are beginning to show a marked resemblance. Linking arms, they turn to each other, mirroring each other’s smile. They will behappy, no doubt of that. Less smiling, more thoughtful is the bridegroom’s mother, in long grey lace, I am told, with a small hat largely composed of marabou feathers. The bridegroom’s sister does not look well; she wears
But it appears that Evie is more devoted to her papa than was apparent at the first. Her one idea is to go back and live with him on the Riviera, taking Frederick with her. Being acutely female, Evie desires to separate Frederick from his mother, although in more moral ways she is prepared to be strictly loyal and respectful. But when Evie’s papa, a short fat man with the high burnish of one who runs a successful private empire, pays a visit to Sofka – and it seems as if by this means the alliance is already cemented – it is clear that the price that Frederick will pay for the hand of his daughter is the general managership of the Hotel Windsor in Bordighera, a recent acquisition which Evie’s father hopes in time to bringinto line with his more prestigious establishments in San Remo and La Spezia. This is a blow to the heart to Sofka, although they all agree that it is a handsome offer and an ideal plan: Frederick is overjoyed. He loves the sun; he loves hotels; he loves company. He is tired of the factory and he longs to let Evie take care of his life. Before they have hammered out the final details it is all arranged.
There is another reason for Sofka to agree to this. Evie’s papa has warned her privately of conditions in Europe and what they mean for families such as theirs. Wars, and rumours of war. Let the children scatter, let them put down roots, let them transplant. Sofka knows that they are safe enough for the time being. But she also knows that she can never go home again.
So here they are in the wedding photograph. It appears to be a very jolly occasion, but perhaps that impression is given by Evie who is laughing, her open mouth revealing her triumphant teeth. Evie is wearing white satin and is carrying lilies; she carries them as if they were some sporting accessory, a tennis racquet perhaps. The vee neck of her white satin dress reveals a longish triangle of skin, and the skirt, which flows into a train at the back, is carelessly hitched up to show her ankles, and her hefty feet buckled into white satin shoes with cuban heels and
diamanté
straps over the insteps. On her head is a sort of satin fender, worn a bare inch above the eyebrows. Where she has got this curiously old-fashioned outfit from Heaven alone knows; but as she refused all Sofka’s advice and offers of help, it looks as if she has been guided by the saleslady at Whiteley’s or Harrods and has come out of it rather badly. But she grins with unabashed cheerfulness, as does Frederick; together they present a double row of teeth and already they are beginning to show a marked resemblance. Linking arms, they turn to each other, mirroring each other’s smile. They will behappy, no doubt of that. Less smiling, more thoughtful is the bridegroom’s mother, in long grey lace, I am told, with a small hat largely composed of marabou feathers. The bridegroom’s sister does not look well; she wears
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