One place farther on, Charles was looking inquiringly at Lottie. “Have you been to the cinema recently? Any films that you’d recommend?”
Only now did I begin to appreciate the full extent of Ernest’s courage in getting all these people whom he called his family together around the same table. It was as if he’d seated barrels of gunpowder next to burning fuses. The Boker despised Mom, Mia, and me. Mia and I couldn’t stand the Boker, any more than we could stand Emily, who thought even worse of us than we did of her. Obviously she was also at odds with Grayson. In his own turn, Grayson had quarreled with Florence. Florence would happily have had Mia and me publicly whipped. Mom feared the Boker even more than earthquakes and tax returns. Charles hated his mother for treating him like a child. And so on and so forth. While Ernest sat in the middle of the party, feeling fond of us all. For the first time, as he raised his glass, looked around the company, beaming, and thanked us for coming, I felt deep admiration for him, and I could understand why Mom had fallen so much in love with him, never mind his Dumbo ears and bald patch. That is to say, the real Liv could understand it, and even Clone-Liv felt emotional enough to take herself off to the parallel universe where she belonged.
A kind of solemn feeling spread through me, and at the same time, I didn’t feel well. I’d functioned like a machine all this week, I just had to get through it, not feel, not think, not remember anything. But now, in view of Ernest’s generosity and optimism, I suddenly couldn’t keep all my suppressed feelings from sweeping toward me like a tidal wave and closing over my head. Along with my memory. It was all back again, and it hurt horribly. In my mind’s eye, I saw Henry sitting on that marble slab, pale and calm, looking at me.
“Is that it?” I heard him say.
Was that it? It was too much for my self-control, anyway. I tried desperately to breathe calmly, but found that I was doing the exact opposite. I met Mia’s inquiring eyes. This time I wouldn’t be able to avoid her question, and everyone at the table would see me collapse.…
Emily, of all people, rescued me.
“Oh, yuck, Liv!” She flapped her hand in the air in front of her nose. “What’s that disgusting old-lady perfume you’re wearing? It takes my appetite right away.”
My breathing returned to normal. No, I wasn’t going to collapse. I’d hold out for Ernest’s sake. “What a shame, you’ll miss eating the two Michelin stars,” I said. “And how did your exams go?”
“Just fine.” Emily was ostentatiously speaking through her nose. “It’s all a matter of organization and discipline. Unfortunately there are always people in our year who think they can take it casually, between parties and basketball games.”
“Why don’t we change places?” Grayson suggested, looking at her and obviously ready to pick a quarrel. “I like Liv’s perfume.”
I was about to explain that I wasn’t wearing any perfume at all, when trouble started up two places away.
“I can recommend About Time—that’s a really good film,” Lottie was telling Charles, and Charles asked, “Did Jonathan like it too?”
I swiftly interrupted. “Have you all decided what you’re going to order? I think I fancy … er…” I opened the menu. Duck liver marinated in bitter chocolate and creamed beetroot, for fifty pounds? Calf’s head with radish and mint vinaigrette and aioli with capers, seventy-five pounds? Heavens, this wasn’t a menu: it was a horror story. But at least I’d averted the escalating argument for now; everyone was busy studying the dishes on offer, and I’ll say one thing for them, there wasn’t a wide choice so you could see the whole range easily.
Just then the waiter arrived to take our orders.
Determined not to spoil Ernest’s evening, I opted for tortellini stuffed with mascarpone, flavored with Périgord truffles. I hoped there couldn’t be much wrong with that.
Mia said she’d like spaghetti carbonara with Aquitaine caviar, but without the caviar, please.
The waiter didn’t bat an eyelid, but Emily said, “In this case, the caviar is the main ingredient, Mia.”
“Leave her alone,” said Grayson.
“It will cost your father seventy-five pounds, and she’ll only push it about on the plate looking desperately for the pasta,” said Emily, and she turned to the waiter. “Maybe you can simply bring her a children’s dish, pasta with some kind of neutral sauce. And I’ll have the lobster velouté with artichokes and coriander.”
“You are—” Grayson began, but I interrupted him. “That sounds delicious, Emily. I was thinking of it myself.” Well, thinking of it so far as wondering what velouté meant.
Grayson shot me a rather irritated glance, but for now he kept his mouth shut.