completely taken aback. ‘I’d love to see it.’
The cake was brought out, a masterpiece of complicated icing, with marzipan roses on the top. ‘They took me a fair time,’ commented Miss Jameson.
‘You made them yourself?’
‘I should hope so! You won’t catch me buying them from a shop. ’
‘But they’re beautiful. It’s a work of art.’
‘Ay, well, I know my job.’
‘It’s a most gorgeous surprise. Well, I shall tell the Signora not to bother, we’ll take our own cake with us to the party. It will be a prize exhibit.’
This pleased Miss Jameson. Victoria saw that she was glad that ‘these Italians’, as she always called them, should see her handiwork. Before she turned to leave the kitchen, she said: ‘Thank you, Miss Jameson, for thinking of Amanda.’
She hesitated, as if she would like to say more. Miss Jameson hesitated too. There was an embarrassing moment between them, which neither of them seemed able to bridge. At last, Miss Jameson said brusquely:
‘That’s all right,’ and Victoria went away, oddly unsatisfied with the way the conversation had ended.
So on the morning of Amanda’s birthday, there were a great many parcels at the breakfast table: an Indian necklace from her father and a slender gold bracelet from her mother, a box of make-up from Victoria and an art book from Sebastien; a cameo brooch from Miss Jameson, obviously one of her treasures from the past, a pretty basket full of ripe peaches from Giorgio and an outsize box of chocolates from Charles.
‘Gosh!’ breathed Amanda, opening box after box, shedding gift wrapping around her, ‘I never expected all these wonderful things . . .’
She could not wait to eat breakfast. She kissed Victoria and Sebastien, rushed off to the kitchen to thank Miss Jameson and was shown the birthday cake, darted off to find Charles, and finding him about to enter the library-living room, flung her arms about his neck and kissed him too. He promptly hugged her tightly and kissed her back.
‘Thank you for the gorgeous chocolates, Mr. Duncan. I’ve had such super things . . .’ and rattled off the list while he watched her with amusement. ‘And Giorgio is giving us a party to-night and we’re taking Miss Jameson’s birthday cake to show off to everybody, and we’re going to have dancing and a feast and everything.’
She darted off again, back to the terrace and breakfast, leaving Charles looking after her, reflecting that he hardly needed to make an effort to entertain these young people, when others were doing so much to make them feel at home—even his Jeanie
Jameson with her birthday cake!
The party was everything the Fenn family could have hoped for. Victoria wore her sunshine yellow dress, and helped Amanda to use her new make-up box, even applying a light green eyeshadow and a little mascara which Amanda was sure made her seem older and more mysterious. There were eight of Giorgio’s friends, making twelve young people in all, who danced by candlelight on the terrace and hugged and kissed each other in the darkness of the garden below; and who crowded round the extended kitchen table for supper. A supper which consisted of two vast bowls of pasta of different kinds with rich savoury sauces and a dish of grated Parmesan; home-made bread and bowls of butter, a rough wine and heaped dishes of fruit. No refined elegance about this food, thought Victoria, but a fine, hearty supper for hearty appetites, tasting all the better for the convivial company with whom it was shared. And Miss Jameson’s birthday cake in the centre of the table, much admired by everybody, though Victoria suspected that Mama Beltoni found it difficult to understand how anybody could spend so much time making marzipan roses. In the end, nearly everybody had one of them, and preferred taking them home as exhibits to eating them!
At the end of the evening, Giorgio insisted upon driving the Fenn family home.
‘Nonsense,’ said Victoria.
The cake was brought out, a masterpiece of complicated icing, with marzipan roses on the top. ‘They took me a fair time,’ commented Miss Jameson.
‘You made them yourself?’
‘I should hope so! You won’t catch me buying them from a shop. ’
‘But they’re beautiful. It’s a work of art.’
‘Ay, well, I know my job.’
‘It’s a most gorgeous surprise. Well, I shall tell the Signora not to bother, we’ll take our own cake with us to the party. It will be a prize exhibit.’
This pleased Miss Jameson. Victoria saw that she was glad that ‘these Italians’, as she always called them, should see her handiwork. Before she turned to leave the kitchen, she said: ‘Thank you, Miss Jameson, for thinking of Amanda.’
She hesitated, as if she would like to say more. Miss Jameson hesitated too. There was an embarrassing moment between them, which neither of them seemed able to bridge. At last, Miss Jameson said brusquely:
‘That’s all right,’ and Victoria went away, oddly unsatisfied with the way the conversation had ended.
So on the morning of Amanda’s birthday, there were a great many parcels at the breakfast table: an Indian necklace from her father and a slender gold bracelet from her mother, a box of make-up from Victoria and an art book from Sebastien; a cameo brooch from Miss Jameson, obviously one of her treasures from the past, a pretty basket full of ripe peaches from Giorgio and an outsize box of chocolates from Charles.
‘Gosh!’ breathed Amanda, opening box after box, shedding gift wrapping around her, ‘I never expected all these wonderful things . . .’
She could not wait to eat breakfast. She kissed Victoria and Sebastien, rushed off to the kitchen to thank Miss Jameson and was shown the birthday cake, darted off to find Charles, and finding him about to enter the library-living room, flung her arms about his neck and kissed him too. He promptly hugged her tightly and kissed her back.
‘Thank you for the gorgeous chocolates, Mr. Duncan. I’ve had such super things . . .’ and rattled off the list while he watched her with amusement. ‘And Giorgio is giving us a party to-night and we’re taking Miss Jameson’s birthday cake to show off to everybody, and we’re going to have dancing and a feast and everything.’
She darted off again, back to the terrace and breakfast, leaving Charles looking after her, reflecting that he hardly needed to make an effort to entertain these young people, when others were doing so much to make them feel at home—even his Jeanie
Jameson with her birthday cake!
The party was everything the Fenn family could have hoped for. Victoria wore her sunshine yellow dress, and helped Amanda to use her new make-up box, even applying a light green eyeshadow and a little mascara which Amanda was sure made her seem older and more mysterious. There were eight of Giorgio’s friends, making twelve young people in all, who danced by candlelight on the terrace and hugged and kissed each other in the darkness of the garden below; and who crowded round the extended kitchen table for supper. A supper which consisted of two vast bowls of pasta of different kinds with rich savoury sauces and a dish of grated Parmesan; home-made bread and bowls of butter, a rough wine and heaped dishes of fruit. No refined elegance about this food, thought Victoria, but a fine, hearty supper for hearty appetites, tasting all the better for the convivial company with whom it was shared. And Miss Jameson’s birthday cake in the centre of the table, much admired by everybody, though Victoria suspected that Mama Beltoni found it difficult to understand how anybody could spend so much time making marzipan roses. In the end, nearly everybody had one of them, and preferred taking them home as exhibits to eating them!
At the end of the evening, Giorgio insisted upon driving the Fenn family home.
‘Nonsense,’ said Victoria.
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