“I’m honoured,” I repeat, giving a curtsy, like actresses do after their performances.
Ashford grabs me by the elbow to return me to an upright position. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he keeps hissing.
Lady Davenport readjusts her glasses on her nose. “What a peculiar girl.”
“Absolutely, there aren’t too many… specimens like her. It’s clear that you’re an artist,” continues Murray. “Do you think you’ll miss the theatre?”
I try to hold back a big laugh and stick to Delphina’s version. “It was part of my everyday life and I’m still not sure if quitting was the right thing to do. It will be up to Ashford to prove to me that I made the right choice!” I turn towards my husband and wink at him.
His face though, remains unemotional. “I think I’ve already proven it, darling.”
“You can do better,” I hiss.
Murray looks at us, perplexed, and brings us back to theatre. “Did you work on some play we might have seen?”
It depends. Do you have manic depressive tendencies? No, I can’t say that. “Well, I worked in several socially involved niche plays with gritty themes…”
My vague answer is followed by a brief moment of silence, then Audrey asks another question. “Will you soon leave for your honeymoon?”
“Yes,” Ashford says.
“No,” I say.
Murray clears his throat, as if he wanted to conceal our ambiguous answer. “Have you already decided where you will go?”
“Cuba,” I resolve.
“Athens,” Ashford declares simultaneously.
Delphina cuts in to sweep the whole thing under the carpet. “They haven’t decided yet, they were talking about it at breakfast. The truth is that they would like to see the whole world, they just don’t know where to start from,” and another false laugh closes her speech.
“They’re right. You know, Audrey and I love travelling. We’ve been married for more than thirty years, and we’re not tired yet of planes, trains and time zone changes.”
“How did you two meet?” Asks Audrey, to change the subject.
“At the theatre,” Ashford answers.
“On the dance floor,” I answer.
Murray, Audrey and Delphina are bewildered. Ashford goes for a quick fix. “I went to the theatre and then I visited a friend in the dressing rooms.”
I continue to support his story. “Yes, but you can’t say that we really met, then. I mean, we saw each other and we were introduced, but it was only when someone suggested going for a drink at the Argentinian restaurant that we actually met. We talked, laughed and danced tango.”
The three seem to recover from the moment of confusion resolved by our explanation.
Murray in particular. “Ashford! Are you a tango dancer?”
“Quite surprising, isn’t it, Murray?”
“I wish my husband could dance tango!” Sighs Audrey.
“My darling, I try to make you happy, but I’m hopeless at dancing!” says Murray, before turning towards me again. “Where are you from, Jemma?”
“From London. My mother is from London, but my father is—” I say, but before I can finish the sentence, Ashford grabs me by the elbow again and pulls me towards the door.
“We should get going, now. We need to talk about the details of our honeymoon.”
I can barely catch the last words of the conversation.
