“Why is it?” I ask, irritated.
“For etiquette matters, you know…” Sophia looks around for a moment, as if she were trying to avoid my questions. “But let me introduce you to the baron. He’s such an interesting person!”
Sophia disappears for a second in the crowd, and then she reappears with a tall bald man, whose blue eyes are almost white. “Lassen Sie mich Ihnen die Herzogin von Burlingham vorstellen, die Sie noch nicht kennen.”
“Die Herzogin von Burlingham! Es ist schön, Sie endlich zu treffen,” says the baron to me, taking my hand with the hint of a bow.
What did he just say? I look at Ashford in panic, but Sophia has already dragged him away. I understand, now. This is nothing but a strategy: leaving me alone with the baron on purpose, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to say a word.
The baron looks at me with a kind but questioning air, waiting for my reply.
“Um…halloBaron!” Oh dear, what am I going to say, now? All I can say in German is ‘Sachertorte’!
The butler announces that dinner will be served and, while the other guests are taking their seats, the baron pulls out my chair for me to sit down. “Bitte.”
I nod my head to thank him. I feel as if I have swallowed my tongue.
I look for Ashford at the other end of the table, giving him desperate glances to ask for help, but Sophia has engaged him and other guests in animated conversation to make sure he ignores me.
The baron soon realises that it’s not out of shyness that I’m silent, but because I don’t speak a word of German, so he turns to his other side and starts a conversation with Earl Warlock.
The dinner is boring, everyone ignores me. The table is so wide that the people sitting in front of me are half a mile away, and there are monumental floral centrepieces that prevent us being able to see one another. The guest on my left, Carter Willoughby, didn’t even show up. I start thinking he’s an imaginary guest invented by Sophia to keep me out of the way.
26
Ashford’s Version
I have a headache. Sophia won’t stop talking and her silly friends burst into high pitched giggles every three words she says. As for the other guests, they’re as interesting as watching paint dry.
Harring is not here, the race is tomorrow.
And that sodding ceiling is kitsch beyond belief. A mass of golden decorations in faux baroque style andtrompe l’oeilsin a late Neoclassical building. I wish I could express my opinion without restrictions, and say that all that golden plaster makes my eyes bleed, but politeness and good manners force me to shut up and smile.
And nod, pretending I agree with this tedious chatter I’m not even listening to.
I’m worried about Jemma. She ended up next to Baron von Hofmannsthal and she doesn’t speak German, so I guess she’s struggling.
After dinner, the men move to the billiard room to drink liqueurs, whereas the ladies withdraw to the private study to tastepatisserieswhile exchanging gossip.
Thank God I’m not a woman.
Except for thepatisseries. I’d happily taste those.
Paradoxically, if my mother were here, I would be less concerned, because Jemma would have someone to lead her throughout the evening and keep her on track, but my honourable mother is never there when you need her.
Due to the uninteresting conversation, and the fact that my enthusiasm for the evening was feeble from the start, I wait for the pendulum clock to strike an acceptable time to leave, then I say my goodbyes and run away to recover Jemma and go back to Denby.
However, when I knock on the door of the study where the ladies are gathered, Jemma isn’t there.
Jesus! Where did she go to make trouble?
27
Jemma’s Version
I reluctantly follow the ladies to the sitting room, where Sophia’s mother enthusiastically offers coffee and chocolates around. I don’t exactly feel like ingesting anything else, though, after all the horrible food I had to eat.
Damn, it’s the usual rip-off: there are trays of delicacies, but you can’t touch a single thing.
