Peacock Emporium by Jojo Moyes Page B

and I was going to treat everybody because Mr Holstein had just given me a pay-rise and a promotion from secretary to office manager, which was terrifically exciting. And I mulled things over for ages and ages, and in the end I thought I would probably invite Tom, too, because he was such a sweetheart, and I knew it would mean a lot to him if he were to meet my parents, and I knew they’d like him. They had to. There was nothing to dislike about him. The show was marvellous. Mary Martin was Dolly Levi – I’ll never forget how gorgeous she looked, even though we had all secretly wished to see Eve Arden. And Mummy was so pleased to see me that she kept sneaking her hand into mine and squeezing it, and making meaningful little glances at Tom. I know she was rather relieved to see a man on the scene after such a long time, and he had brought her a box of New Berry Fruits. So it was rather a lovely evening until the dinner. Oh, there was nothing wrong with the Golden Egg (Mummy said, gazing around her, that it was ‘certainly very . . . colourful’): the food was fine, and I splashed out on a bottle of wine, even though Daddy said he would not let me spend my new salary on entertaining my ‘old folks’. And Tom just sat and beamed quietly in that way of his, and talked to Mummy for ages about ribbons and things from before the war and how his father had once met the Prime Minister’s wife when she ordered some fine Belgian lace.
    And then she said it.
    ‘I meant to tell you, darling. Things are not good in the Fairley-Hulme household.’
    I stared at my fish for a moment, then looked up, my expression a careful blank. ‘Oh?’
    Daddy snorted. ‘She’s bolted.’
    ‘Who’s bolted?’
    ‘Oh, Henry. That’s such an outdated term. Athene Forster. Sorry, Fairley-Hulme. She’s run off with some salesman from up north, of all things. Made the most awful mess of everything. The families are desperate to keep it out of the papers.’
    It was as if she thought her words would no longer have an effect on me.
    ‘I don’t read the papers.’ My fish had turned to powder in my mouth. I forced myself to swallow, and took a sip of water. Tom, poor thing, was ploughing through his food, oblivious. ‘How – how is Douglas?’
    ‘Hoping she’ll come back, poor boy. He’s absolutely devastated.’
    ‘Always looked like trouble, that one.’
    ‘Well, yes. But she had seemed to settle down.’
    ‘Girls like that never settle down.’
    Their voices had receded, and I wondered, briefly, if I might faint. Then I looked at Tom and, for the first time, noticed with mild revulsion that he kept his mouth open while he ate.
    ‘Of course, her parents are absolutely furious. They’ve actually disinherited her. They’re telling everyone she’s gone abroad for a bit, just until things calm down. I mean, it’s not as if she hadn’t pushed her luck before she married Douglas. She didn’t have any real friends, did she? Or much of a reputation, come to that.’
    My mother shook her head pensively and swept non-existent crumbs from the tablecloth. ‘Douglas’s parents have taken it very badly. It reflects awfully on everyone. The chap sold vacuum-cleaners, door to door, would you believe? Vacuum-cleaners. And a few weeks after she’d gone, the girl had the cheek to ring them and ask them for some money. Poor Justine. I saw her at the Trevelyans’ bridge evening two weeks ago and it’s turned her quite grey.’
    It was then that she must have seen my expression. She gave me a concerned stare, which turned into rather a hard one, and then she glanced at Tom. ‘Still, you don’t want us wittering on about people you don’t know, do you, Tom? Frightfully rude of me.’
    ‘Don’t mind me,’ said Tom. His mouth was still open.
    ‘Yes. Well. Let’s think about pudding. Who’s for pudding? Anyone?’ Her voice had risen almost an octave. She gave me another hard look, the kind that can only travel from mother to daughter.
    I