couldn’t tell it from Baltimore.
“I know,” she added. “I’ve had a stroke of brilliance. Your young friend Daniel is in town—you must bring him. A young writer would make a very nice fourth. Besides, I’m anxious to see if he’s dressing any better.”
“No, Flap wouldn’t like me bringing him, even if I could find him,” Emma said. “I think he’s jealous of Danny.”
“My dear, that’s entirely his problem,” Aurora said. “Don’t give it a thought. I am your mother and it’s perfectly proper for a friend to escort you to my table in your husband’s absence. Civilized procedure takes allowance of the fact that husbands are sometimes absent.”
“I don’t think mine is very impressed with civilized procedure,” Emma said. The unexpected ironies of the situation made her feel bold.
“Do you really think all that’s a good idea?” she said. “I mean generally. Married ladies being escorted by men they aren’t married to. Doesn’t it sometimes lead to problems?”
Aurora snorted. “Naturally,” she said. “It often leads to disgrace. I hardly know why I wasn’t led to disgrace myself, considering how active I am and how reluctant your father was to take me to parties. You’re taking up too much of my time, asking these questions. Disgrace abounds, if I may coin a phrase, but good dinner parties are rare. I will expect you and young Daniel at seven and I hope you’ll both be witty and scintillating.”
“Hold it,” Emma said. “I don’t know where he is and I don’t think I can find him.”
“Oh, Emma,” Aurora said. “Stop that. I happened to be passing your street this morning and I saw an extremely disreputable car sitting in front of your house. It could only have been Daniel’s. Just fish him out of whatever closet you’ve hidden him in and clean him up as much as possible and get him over here. Don’t slow me down with nonsense when I have cooking to do.”
Emma stopped feeling relaxed. She hadn’t gotten away with it, after all. The picture was changed—worse yet, it was ambiguous. She felt hostile suddenly, but she tried to choke it down. She had to find out what game her mother wanted to play.
“You’re a snoop,” she said hotly, despite her resolve. “I wish Ilived in another town from you. I demand privacy. And I can’t bring Danny. So far as I know, he’s left town.”
“Humph,” Aurora said. “It seems to me he ought to keep you informed of his movements if he’s going to jeopardize your reputation. I have little respect for men who aren’t around when they’re needed. Your father was always around when I needed him, though of course he was also around when I didn’t. I’m hanging up now. I suppose I’ll have to allow Alberto to bring his wretched son.”
“I don’t like you driving down my street,” Emma said as the phone clicked.
CHAPTER V
1.
B Y THE time Emma arrived Aurora had done everything and, having nothing more to do than finish dressing, had suffered a small loss of impetus, of a sort that was particularly apt to afflict her in the evening when guests were expected. She was standing in her bedroom looking at her Renoir. It was a small Renoir, true, and early, but still it was superb: a small oil of two gay women in hats standing near some tulips. Aurora’s farsighted mother, Amelia Starrett, whose eyes had been a Renoir green somewhat unsuited to Boston, had bought the picture in Paris when she herself had been a young woman and Pierre Auguste Renoir quite unknown. It had been the dominant painting of her mother’s life, she felt quite sure, as it had been of hers, and as it would be, she hoped, of Emma’s. She had resisted all pressures to hang it where others could see it. Others, if they were worthy, might come to her bedroom and see it, but her bedroom was the only place she would allow it to be. The dresses of the women were blue; thepainting’s colors were light blue, yellow, green, and pink. Still, after thirty
“I know,” she added. “I’ve had a stroke of brilliance. Your young friend Daniel is in town—you must bring him. A young writer would make a very nice fourth. Besides, I’m anxious to see if he’s dressing any better.”
“No, Flap wouldn’t like me bringing him, even if I could find him,” Emma said. “I think he’s jealous of Danny.”
“My dear, that’s entirely his problem,” Aurora said. “Don’t give it a thought. I am your mother and it’s perfectly proper for a friend to escort you to my table in your husband’s absence. Civilized procedure takes allowance of the fact that husbands are sometimes absent.”
“I don’t think mine is very impressed with civilized procedure,” Emma said. The unexpected ironies of the situation made her feel bold.
“Do you really think all that’s a good idea?” she said. “I mean generally. Married ladies being escorted by men they aren’t married to. Doesn’t it sometimes lead to problems?”
Aurora snorted. “Naturally,” she said. “It often leads to disgrace. I hardly know why I wasn’t led to disgrace myself, considering how active I am and how reluctant your father was to take me to parties. You’re taking up too much of my time, asking these questions. Disgrace abounds, if I may coin a phrase, but good dinner parties are rare. I will expect you and young Daniel at seven and I hope you’ll both be witty and scintillating.”
“Hold it,” Emma said. “I don’t know where he is and I don’t think I can find him.”
“Oh, Emma,” Aurora said. “Stop that. I happened to be passing your street this morning and I saw an extremely disreputable car sitting in front of your house. It could only have been Daniel’s. Just fish him out of whatever closet you’ve hidden him in and clean him up as much as possible and get him over here. Don’t slow me down with nonsense when I have cooking to do.”
Emma stopped feeling relaxed. She hadn’t gotten away with it, after all. The picture was changed—worse yet, it was ambiguous. She felt hostile suddenly, but she tried to choke it down. She had to find out what game her mother wanted to play.
“You’re a snoop,” she said hotly, despite her resolve. “I wish Ilived in another town from you. I demand privacy. And I can’t bring Danny. So far as I know, he’s left town.”
“Humph,” Aurora said. “It seems to me he ought to keep you informed of his movements if he’s going to jeopardize your reputation. I have little respect for men who aren’t around when they’re needed. Your father was always around when I needed him, though of course he was also around when I didn’t. I’m hanging up now. I suppose I’ll have to allow Alberto to bring his wretched son.”
“I don’t like you driving down my street,” Emma said as the phone clicked.
CHAPTER V
1.
B Y THE time Emma arrived Aurora had done everything and, having nothing more to do than finish dressing, had suffered a small loss of impetus, of a sort that was particularly apt to afflict her in the evening when guests were expected. She was standing in her bedroom looking at her Renoir. It was a small Renoir, true, and early, but still it was superb: a small oil of two gay women in hats standing near some tulips. Aurora’s farsighted mother, Amelia Starrett, whose eyes had been a Renoir green somewhat unsuited to Boston, had bought the picture in Paris when she herself had been a young woman and Pierre Auguste Renoir quite unknown. It had been the dominant painting of her mother’s life, she felt quite sure, as it had been of hers, and as it would be, she hoped, of Emma’s. She had resisted all pressures to hang it where others could see it. Others, if they were worthy, might come to her bedroom and see it, but her bedroom was the only place she would allow it to be. The dresses of the women were blue; thepainting’s colors were light blue, yellow, green, and pink. Still, after thirty
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