This is a tale of pre-Covid times when people met face to face.
COVID TALES: 2
THE DINNER PARTY
In the olden days before self-isolation became the norm, people used to meet face to face and even touch. It was called socialising. That was how I came to meet my neighbours for the first time one April.
‘Come in.’ Margaret looked surprised.
‘I have got the right day, haven’t I’
‘Of course. How sweet.’ She took the bottle and the flowers from me without looking at them, turning to call over her shoulder, ‘David, be a darling and offer Andrew a drink. Forgive me. Kitchen crisis.’
Twenty minutes later, nursing the remnant of the glass of wine I had been given, I could not escape the conclusion that I had got it wrong. I had been sure that Margaret had said 7.30 for 8.00. At 7.50 I was the only guest. Margaret was still sorting out the crisis. After presenting me with the drink and introducing himself as Margaret’s husband, David had withdrawn and was now making himself busy straightening the cutlery on the dining table for the second time.
People’s possessions can be eloquent and I had all the time in the world to look around. There was money here, more money than could be made from small-scale farming, and good taste. Most of the furniture was old, perhaps passed down through somebody’s family, but well cared-for. There were a couple of portraits of army officers in uniform, one from each of the World Wars. A large modern water colour seemed out of place. In contrast, the elderly black Labrador, snoring loudly on the rug by the open fire, looked at home. There was one striking absence to my eye - not a book in sight. Only a copy of the Daily Mail on the long rectangular coffee table gave a clue to my hosts’ literary interests.
The door bell was a relief. David got to the door marginally ahead of his wife but then deferred to her and she was the one who opened it. A man and a woman came in. The woman looked in her early forties: shoulder length, thick, dark hair, good looks verging on glamorous, someone who was careful with her appearance. She was wearing an elegant silk dress of blues and greys with shoes in a matching grey. The necklace and ear-rings were discreet but looked expensive. The man with her looked several years older, though his receding hairline and the extra weight he carried might exaggerate the difference. He was more casually dressed in dark red trousers, a pink shirt which emphasised his florid complexion, and a navy blue blazer with a regimental crest on the pocket. Ex-army, very ex judging by his physical state. After the rituals of welcome he was led away by David and Margaret and the woman approached me arm in arm.
‘Andrew, this is Barbara, my oldest friend.’
‘Her friend of longest standing.’
They shared the joke, easy in each other’s company. Then Barbara turned to me and her eyes challenged me. ‘I hear you’ve moved into the Rectory. Are you the advance guard?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The Rectory’s big for one person. Are your family joining you later?’
‘There’s no family.’
‘You’re not just weekending?’
‘No.’
‘Have you moved down here with your work?’
‘I’m retired.’
‘That can’t be true. You’re far too young.’
‘Barbara!’ Margaret’s remonstration was gentle and was disregarded.
‘Don’t take any notice of her, Andrew. She’s as curious as I am but likes to pretend to good manners. You don’t mind my quizzing you, do you?’ The smile invited complicity. ‘We’ve been starved of fascinating new neighbours recently.’
‘I’m not sure I qualify as fascinating.’
it was then that we were joined by two new arrivals: a man in his late forties - short, dark haired, slim and suited - and a much younger woman. She was taller than the man despite her flat shoes; blonde, pale complexioned and very pretty. The two exchanged kisses with Margaret and Barbara. The woman was restrained and formal, the man more enthusiastic. His lips lingered longer than convention called for. He favoured me with a nod. The woman extended a slim, delicate hand and a slightly nervous smile.
‘You must be Andrew. I’m Susan. This is my husband, Gerald.’ As she said it she linked her arm through Gerald’s as though she felt the need to hang onto him. For all her evident physical appeal she looked unsure of herself.
‘Barbara, ravishing as ever. Bitsie, I’m starving. What are you feeding us?’
Margaret winced slightly at Gerald’s greeting but her smile was warm enough. ‘You’ll have to wait until Jenny arrives.’
‘But beloved, I’ve been working like a dog. I shall die. Jenny holds the world record for lateness.’
‘I’ll find you something to nibble on to keep you going.’
Gerald extracted his arm from Susan’s and put it on Margaret’s hip as they walked away, winking over his shoulder to his wife. I was left with Barbara and Susan. I sensed an awkwardness between them and there was a few moments’ silence before Susan broke it. ‘How are you settling in? I thought the Rectory was never going to sell.’
‘Oh, why?’
Susan hesitated and Barbara took over. ‘A messy divorce. He was the one who wanted out so she held on until she got the settlement she wanted. The atmosphere put a lot of people off. He got what he wanted too, a bimbo half his age. I don’t suppose it will last.’
A look passed from Susan to Barbara. Susan might easily be half Gerald’s age. During the ensuing silence the front door opened.
The woman who entered was tall and slim with short, almost masculine blonde hair. She wore no make-up. In marked contrast to the other women she was under-dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, worn loose to blur rather than accentuate her outline. All that was missing was a sign saying, “I don’t give a damn.”
‘Sorry, everybody. Late again. You didn’t wait for me, did you?’
‘Jenny, at last. Of course we waited. Let’s eat, everyone.’
I was seated between Margaret and Barbara. Margaret shared her attention round the table. When Barbara turned to me, as she often did, she had a habit of placing her hand on my arm and looking straight at me. Together with the occasional brush of her thigh against mine, this distracted me from much of what was being said around the table, albeit in a not wholly unwelcome way. It could hardly be a come-on to a total stranger. I assumed Barbara was simply a tactile person.
Myself apart, these were people who knew each other well and the conversation consisted largely of oblique references to people, places and events which meant nothing to me. It was a code to which I did not have the key, though Barbara was very ready to interpret for me. I had plenty of time to study my new neighbours. Fortunately, the food and the wine were of a quality to compensate for any shortage of conversational stimulus. The saddle of lamb, reared I was assured two fields away, was undercooked to perfection and did justice to rather a good claret. I was happy enough to exchange standard pleasantries while enjoying the meal.
As the ample offerings of alcohol began to take effect, the noise level rose and conversation became fragmented. Gerald’s voice rose higher than most. ‘Bloody French. Can’t trust ‘em. World’s worst. Sign up to a contract all right. Payment in 30 days. No problem, M’sieur. Till it’s time to pay. Then it’s circumstances beyond our control. Deepest bloody regret. God knows why I do business with them.’
‘We make a lot of money out of them, darling.’ It was the first time Susan had spoken for several minutes. In her case the wine had made her giggly, but her giggles were immediately silenced by the venomous look that Gerald gave her.
‘Perhaps you should keep quiet about things you don’t understand, my love.’
Susan looked like a dog that had been kicked, and not for the first time, but does not understand why. Her head dropped and her shoulders hunched, waiting for the next blow.
‘Bad as bloody politicians for breaking promises. Now don’t get me started about them…’
‘None of us wants to do that, Gerald. Is there anyone you respect, apart from yourself?’
Jenny’s question slapped Gerald in the face. He blinked and his mouth opened and closed. ‘What? Oh, sorry. Was I going on a bit? Susan doesn’t mind, do you, Susie? Just the drink talking.’
‘Shall we take coffee over by the fire?’ Margaret’s suggestion was greeted with evident relief by most of those round the table.
If Gerald had been discomfited by Jenny’s rebuke it had not lasted long. ‘Excellent. Perhaps a spot of brandy?’
Margaret’s frown suggested a lack of enthusiasm for the idea but her hostess’ responsibility prevailed. ‘Perhaps you could pour Gerald a small brandy, David. Would anyone else like something?’
As the party moved over to the fireplace, Jenny hung back with Susan and said something to her in a low voice. Susan looked on the brink of tears.
‘Well, what do you think of our little community?’ Barbara did not appear to be about to abandon me.
‘People have been very welcoming.’
‘Very tactful. Gerald isn’t always like that. He’s got enormous energy. He can be very good company. Drink doesn’t suit him.’
‘No.’
‘You intrigue me, Andrew. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more discreet man. I’ve been sitting next to you all evening and I know hardly any more about you than I did when we sat down.’
‘I’m sorry to be a disappointment.’
‘I didn’t say you were a disappointment. A challenge perhaps.’ There was a reciprocal challenge in her smile, and perhaps elements of puzzlement, even irritation. ‘Would you excuse me? I need to have a word with someone.’
Margaret was now talking to Susan, leaving Jenny to detach herself. She seemed in no hurry to join the others who were in a huddle by the fire. It was natural enough for me to move in her direction. ‘Is she all right?’
‘As all right as you can be married to Gerald.’
‘Your defence of her was very impressive.’
‘I don’t like bullying. How are you finding the land of the lotus eaters?’
‘Is that what it is?’
Mostly. We’re all running away from reality in some way. Be careful. You’ll get sucked onto the fete committee and enlisted as a village hall trustee and before you know it your life will be circumscribed by the parish boundary. You’ll wake up in the night fretting about pot-holes in the road and the price of heating oil. I’ve seen it happen.’
‘What are you running away from?’
‘I’m the exception. Are you going to answer my question?’
‘Which was?’
‘You’re not a psychoanalyst are you? You always answer a question with another question. My question was, how are you finding it here?’
‘No, I’m not a psychoanalyst. Everybody seems very keen to have my verdict on the village.’
‘That’s our need for approval. Beneath the gentile superiority we’re all deeply insecure. We want to be told how wonderful we are and quite unlike anywhere else on earth. And?’
‘I’d like to assemble some evidence before I arrive at a verdict. What about you? I don’t picture you reading the Telegraph and riding to hounds.’
‘Don’t knock the Telegraph. Most of your neighbours wouldn’t have an opinion on anything without the Telegraph. And no, I’m not horsey.’
‘What do you do?’
‘You’ve done it again, haven’t you?’ I start out trying to find out about you and you turn it round. I’m not playing. You go first.’
This was more fun than anything I had so far experienced that evening. ‘I’m afraid I’m not very interesting.’
‘Very probably, but could I be the judge of that? I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll take it in turns. You tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me.’
‘Speed dating?
‘Speed acquainting.’
‘OK. I read the Times, not the Telegraph.’
‘Guardian.’
‘I enjoy riding.’
‘I swim.’
‘I’m 48.’
‘Irrelevant.’
‘Why irrelevant?’
‘We’re not playing the question game. Information please.’
‘I moved here from London.’
‘I was born here.’
‘That surprises me.’
‘Why? No, no commentary. Facts only.’
‘I think I’m getting out of my depth.’
‘I doubt it. Something safe then. Favourite film.’
‘I don’t watch many. Casablanca.’
‘A romantic. Pulp Fiction. The book that most influenced you?’
‘That would have to be Dawkins’ Blind Watchmaker.’
‘And a rationalist. Doris Lessing’s Golden Notebook.’
‘Are you a feminist?’
‘I don’t like labels. I think for myself. Is that a problem?’
‘Not in the least. We seem to have abandoned your rule.’
‘It served its purpose.’
‘Which was?’
‘To find out whether you were capable of answering a question.’ She looked at her watch, a slightly battered man’s watch. ‘Time’s up. I have to go.’
I suddenly felt disappointed. ‘It’s past my bedtime too.’ On the other side of the room Margaret and David and the other guests had settled themselves into the sofa and armchairs with full glasses. ‘I wasn’t sure what would be an acceptable time to leave.’
‘They’ll go on until the early hours, saying less and less with increasing conviction.’
‘If you’re going perhaps I should say my farewells too. Save disturbing them a second time.’
By the time I had exchanged kisses and handshakes, received a boozy wave from Gerald, and been presented with my coat by a flushed Margaret, Jenny had already left. As the door closed behind me I could see the tail lights of a car disappearing round the corner. Not a woman to stand on ceremony. Intriguing, though. The evening had not been without interest, one way and another. I paused at the corner. It was the most wonderful night; with no street lights to dilute them the stars were brilliant, and apart from a distant traffic murmur the only sounds were of owl and fox. This was why I had made the change. No regrets. No going back.