Wyn is reliable. Ricky is new, but he seems energetic.
“We’ll have the ballroom looking nice, I promise.” Alex insists.
And do they have it looking nice? When I go to have a look at 2pm., it’s as if I’ve walked into a film set.
Last year I played Tatiana inWar and Peace, one scene only in which I had to waltz around in an impossibly huge skirt. At the start of the scene, I also had to walk down a curving staircase with ornate banisters. A grand scene, I still have a picture saved on my phone.
This is the same. Obviously without the period clothes and a hundred actors and cameras. The Kendric House ballroom might be smaller than a Russian palace, but the stairs are magnificent. I never noticed the beautiful jade-green and gold mosaic border before; it runs at the base of the walls of the octagonal room. What a vast difference from the grim, over stuffy and smelly care home. I walk around looking at what Alex must have been restoring; I’ve really underestimated him. Each wall has an alcove and Alex has placed a small lamp in each alcove to shine on the colourful murals painted there.
Both Ricky and Wyn have been running back and forth excitedly looking for tablecloths, cutlery and glasses. Every time I asked them, they replied, “Wait and see.” Now I see they’ve arranged the trestle tables in a horseshoe in the centre of the ballroom under the crystal chandeliers. It sparkles, making the cheap white tablecloths and ordinary china seem elegant and expensive.
The biggest surprise, however, is the professor.
He turns up five minutes later with flowers. Lots of them, all wrapped in cellophane.
“Can you find vases for these?” He waves to one of the teenagers.
“We don’t have vases,” Ricky says, looking around.
Meredith comes in with a stack of paper napkins which she ‘borrowed’ from Haneen’s takeaway shop. “As if vases might be hiding on the bare walls.” She scoffs at him. “We can use big glass jar.”. And off she takes him leaving me alone with the professor.
At last, he looks up and meets my eyes. “Alex suggested flowers to make good any deficiencies in the refurbishments.” He doesn’t quite smile. He does but it’s impersonal. The kind of smile a cashier at McDonalds gives you with your food.
“Thank you,” I say.
“The least we can do.” Alex arrives for once dressed in other than his builder’s clothes. “You’ve been working like a demon. And the best news, Llewellyn has rigged up his conferencing gizmo so we can have music, just like tea at the Ritz.”
I turn to Llewellyn. “Thank you.”
He waves my words away. “We all need a posh do to cheer us up. Besides, this is important, isn’t it?” he asks me. “You want it to be a success.”
So, they’ve all noticed. They knew how much this matters to me. And they’ve all come in to help one way or another. I don’t know if I want to hug them or cry.
The least I can do is feed them well. There’s still jam and cream to spoon into small bowls and more sandwiches to cut. The mini van from The Glyn will be here soon, so there’s no time to get emotional.
Chapter Nineteen
2pm, Kendric House Ballroom
It goes well. Better than I ever dared hope. For a start, Bill loves everything and raves about my scones.
“Light as air, and crumbly. They’re perfect.” He slathers blackcurrant jam on top of clotted cream and takes bite after bite.
Even better, he and the professor sit side by side and chat happily. If nothing else, I’m glad to have given my grandfather a chance to see his son. Also, I’m starting to suspect, after the flowers, that the professor might just be the nice person Haneen told me he was.
I sit next to Jack to make sure he has a good time. He particularly enjoys the chocolate cake. “I lived in France for a time. They have good cakes there, but yours is better.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him it came from Sainsbury’s. Raff must guess he winks at me. “Why were you in France, Jack?” he questions the old man to keep him talking.
“I was a television producer.” He waves a careless hand as if talking about being a waiter. He tears a bit off his ham sandwich but seems to be losing his appetite.
I offer him another slice of chocolate cake, hoping to keep him engaged. “Don’t you love French films?”
He grimaces. “Not me. I worked on news and current affairs for the BBC European desk. France for ten years then moved to Geneva at the United Nations offices.”
Raff meets my eyes over Jack’s head; we’re probably thinking the same thing. This interesting man who once worked at the heart of world events, now he’s treated like a worthless nuisance by those paid to care for him.
The old man dozing in his chair in front ofColomboon endless repeats has gone. In his place is a funny, clever man full of stories about filming interviews with Fidel Castro and Nelson Mandela and Yasser Arafat. Even his eyes shine.
