The atmosphere improves from here. There are no pointed questions or snide remarks, though whether the introduction of another glass of sherry is the reason or a genuine truce, it’s hard to tell. I’m persuaded to eat while the pair finish their tiny sandwiches and try very hard not to laugh when my champagne risotto is delivered and Elsie immediately complains to the waiter that there appears to be a candy wrapper in it. The “paper” is actually gold leaf, and when the waiter returns with a plate sans gold leaf, she takes one look at it and sniffs before declaring it looks like rice pudding.
Talk turns to what we’re doing in New York.Work. Where I’m from.London; that godforsaken heathen town.She tells us that, in her opinion, living in Maine is almost as good as living in Yorkshire.
‘God’s country,’ she declares the place.
And for holidays? ‘There’s nowhere better than Whitby. You can keep your tropical beaches and your palm trees. Give me a bit of cold sand between my toes at Scarborough or a bit of dramatic headland like in Whitby. Fish and chips and a half pint of ale. You can keep your cocktails with umbrellas and bits of fruit floating in it. Yorkshire will do for me.’
After her grandmother’s declaration, Olivia leans in. ‘One of your ancestors is buried in Whitby?’ I frown, and for a minute, I think she might be being serious.Silly me.‘Dracula is buried in a church in the town.’
‘I’ll have to visit next time I’m up that way.’ Which is probably never, because—
‘That would be lovely!’ Elsie declares. ‘I’m back to the UK next month, and I always have a right hard time persuading Livvie to come with me. We can all go together. I’ll even buy the fish and chips.’
So, it looks like I have a family engagement to get out of next month.
After the food is cleared away, Olivia takes her grandmother to the suite to change her shoes while I wait downstairs, then we make our way out to the car together. I have a meeting, and the pair have decided a wander around Bloomingdale’s is in order.
‘He must be worth a fortune.’ I hear their approach before I actually see them.
‘Gran, shush.’
‘Why? Do you think he doesn’t already know?’
‘It’s just not polite conversation.’
‘What have I said to you, my girl? One of the perks of being old is being able to speak my mind.’
‘Quite right,’ I answer, as the pair walk past the deep armchair I’m sitting in.
‘There you are,’ Elsie answers as though the pair had been looking for me. ‘You’re not a criminal, are you?’
‘No. The amounts I’m paid, however . . .’
‘Criminal,’ she answers prosaically.
‘The amounts may seem so.’
‘Well, where there’s muck, there’s brass. And that’ll do for me. Now, let’s go shop till we drop, shall we?’ The pair turn, and I dutifully follow. ‘Or shop until we need to stop for a cuppa, at least.’
‘Yeah, Gran. Whatever you want.’
At the airport, we watch as Elsie is escorted through security by the very helpful airport staff; the other travellers making way for the airline-issued wheelchair.
‘I know she’s tired, but she’s perfectly capable of making it onto the plane herself. She’s just working the system.’
‘She’s very sprightly for someone of her age.’
‘It’s in the genes. Her mother lived well into her hundreds.’
When the last of the waving is done, and Elsie disappears into the bowels of the airport, Olivia sighs, slumping her shoulders. Then she turns, feeding her fingers into my lapels as she bumps her head against my sternum.
‘Urgh.I hate lying to her.’
‘No, but you love her very much, and you’re trying to protect her.’ Her head emerges from my chest with a frown. ‘And lying is such a harsh word. Isn’t it more the case that you’re being selective with the truth? Keeping a secret from her.’
‘I’m not sure she’d see any difference.’
‘Well, she’s not going to find out, is she? So the point is irrelevant.’
