“It is quite unnecessary for you to take an attitude,” I said furiously. “We simply do not agree about Guy.”
The front bell rang, so somebody was waiting out on our doorstep. Honorine was evidently still out on an errand; I remembered her telling me that she’d tracked down the girlfriend she’d originally been looking for when she first arrived in London. The bell rang again. And Jeremy, blast him, didn’t move a muscle, as if males are totally incapable of any form of reception or secretarial work. So I went down the hall to peer out the window.
“It’s Guy Ansley,” I told Jeremy, who had followed me.
“Right. That’s just brilliant,” Jeremy said furiously. “You deal with him.” He stormed out the back door, rather than face Guy. Therefore, I had to let the poor fellow in.
“Got a little package for a Miss Penny Nichols,” he announced, sounding pleased as punch. “It’s in the car. Is this a good time?”
“Sure,” I said, holding the door open while he retrieved it from his car. He’d come all this way to personally deliver his lovely wedding gift, that beautiful antique clock. I smiled wanly at first, but his vital enthusiasm for his clocks actually cheered me a little. He carried it in as if it were a precious child, and I directed him to the study, where he agreed that the mantel in this room was perfect for it.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked. “I have some in my office I just brewed.”
“Lovely, thanks,” he said, following me to help me with the tray. As he picked it up, he paused to peer at the nearby photos of the tapestry.
“My, this is all so wonderful!” he said, smiling up at the pictures, and squinting. “Very fine work indeed. French, yes? I should say so. A wedding tapestry, how marvellous. See, the archway of climbing flowers, ahead of the bride? There are many myths about young couples passing under such archways, to test the sincerity of their love. Nice, very nice.” He looked up. “Are you thinking of making a purchase?”
“No, it’s a loan,” I said, enjoying his enthusiasm. He was, in fact, the only person besides me who was really interested in the content of the tapestry. “I keep trying to make sense of all these images,” I admitted. “The whole thing’s a bit of a riddle to me.”
Guy glanced at me now, no doubt sensing that I was talking about more than just the tapestry.
“Life’s a riddle, child,” he said lightly, “but if you can feel the bumps on the road, it means you’re alive and in the game. And that is a good place to be.”
We went into the study, and drank our tea and nibbled on butter biscuits while he regaled me with stories of his customers. Then he brushed off his hands, and set about arranging the clock, showing me how it worked. He was genial and jokey, yet quite touchingly serious about his clocks. He showed me how to adjust, if necessary, the revolving, overlapping discs, which automatically rotated to display the hours, days, months, seasons. He was so patient when he explained it all, and I wished that Jeremy had stayed to see what a gentle, generous soul Guy was.
Not until he was leaving did he ask for Jeremy, and when I said he was out, Guy replied in a light, easy way, “Ah, then please give him my best. I hope that Jeremy and I will, in time, become friends. I know that it would make Sheila happy.” His face lit up at the mention of Aunt Sheila, as if he was so thrilled to have found her. I could perfectly understand why she treasured him.
After Guy departed, the house was deadly quiet. Normally I find this meditative, but I was unnerved after that dumb spat with Jeremy. I felt apprehensive, because of past boyfriends I’ve had who were fully capable of sulking in stony silence for days, even weeks on end. I had no idea how Jeremy would deal with this, because we’d never really quarreled in quite this way before. Not over family, which gave it a terrible weight. I couldn’t bear to hang around, listening for his footsteps. So I went out for a long walk.
The air was oddly humid tonight. The trees in the little square park on our street were a bit droopy, as if the day had exhausted them, too. I moved on, observing people hurrying home from work, looking stressed but still glad to be released into the summery evening. I saw one woman come to her front door to give her husband a big kiss as he arrived home from the office. He was carrying an attaché case, which he put down on the top step so that he could embrace her. Then they went inside together, stepping under an arched doorway.
Something in this gesture reminded me about what Guy had said, about couples passing under an arch to test the sincerity of their love. I turned and walked steadily home, hoping that Jeremy was there, and yet dreading that he might not be in a particularly forgiving mood. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to let our entire little enterprise be defeated by a damned guest list.
When I entered the townhouse, it was totally silent. I went into my office, vowing not to come out until everything on my list was done. But when I sat down, I still felt a little tremulous. I hated being on the “outs” with Jeremy. Feeling foolish, I blinked away a few tears that were hovering in my eyes.
Yet even before I’d picked up my pen, I heard a small whistle. I raised my head alertly. Was it coming from some kid outside? Mystified, still carrying my wedding organizer in hand, I went into the study, where I heard it again, closer now. A moment later, there was an odd clatter of metal; then, out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving along the floor, near the wall. A mouse? Instinctively, I stepped back.
Not a mouse. It was a miniature train that had come chugging in from the corridor, whoo-whooing and choo-chooing its way along tracks which, Jeremy told me later, he had set down while I was out. I stood there, dumbstruck, watching as the train busily rounded the first corner, gently blowing steam, whistling importantly, following its tracks around the perimeter of the room, until suddenly, with a long, shrill whistle, it came to a neat stop, right at my feet.
I stared at it, and saw that it was a mini
train bleu
. Taped to the caboose was a pale blue envelope that said
Penny
. I stooped down to open it. The page inside said:
So sorry, babe. Might I join you for cocktails so we can hash out our future plans? Please fill out the following, return it to the train, and blow the whistle when you’re done.
Below this was a choice of two boxes to tick: either,
Yes, you fool
, or
No, get lost forever
. As you may imagine, I opted for the first box. Then, fascinated, I replaced it, and tugged on the tiny cord at the front of the train, and it went,
Whee-ooo!
Jeremy must then have thrown a switch from his office, because a moment later, the train started up again, dutifully chugging back to him, bearing the message.
I waited, silent, holding back my laughter until my chest ached. There was a longer pause; then the little
train bleu
came chugging back; only this time, it was hauling an extra car, a big open- topped one, like the kind that carried coal. Inside this car was a martini shaker, two cocktail glasses, and a dish of green olives. When the train came to its stop, the glasses clinked a little. A second later, Jeremy entered, beaming.
“How do you like the new bar car?” he asked.
I dissolved into laughter. “Pour,” I commanded finally.
We sat on the sofa, nibbling on olives and sipping our drinks. After awhile, Jeremy said, very gently, “I think I understand how you feel about that tapestry. Sorry it took me so long.”
“
I’m
not even sure of what I feel about it,” I commented.
“You want it to really mean something,” he observed. “You don’t want a single false note in this wedding. Above all, you don’t want to be shanghaied into a life that isn’t right for you.”
“That about covers it,” I agreed.
“Your instincts are always right about this sort of thing,” he said. He hesitated, then added cautiously, “Darling, you know, we have to face this whole wedding business.”
“I know it,” I said, sounding stressed in spite of my best efforts, as I began reeling off all the must-do’s, but Jeremy stopped me in my—tracks—no pun intended.
“Not that stuff,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’ll get to that. I’m talking about the real deal, that’s you and me. This is not about our friends and family and the florist and the caterer. It’s nothing to do with them. And I’ll marry you any way you want. Frankly, I’d just as soon elope—go off together on our yacht.”
“What about your grandmother, and all her posh friends?” I pointed out.
“I don’t give a damn what people say, including Margery. Believe it or not, I only humor her for Mum’s sake. You’d think I’d know better by now, but I keep falling into that trap of imagining it’s my task to bring Margery round, so that she’ll be nicer to my mother again. But, she never will. I see that now. And it’s nothing to do with our wedding. So, whatever you want is fine with me. Only, Penny, we have to face it, together. Now.”
“Face what?” I asked, a trifle confused.
“Well,” Jeremy said calmly, with the courage of a true knight, “if it’s that you don’t want to get married, I want you to know that we don’t have to.”
I was stunned. Completely taken aback. “Whoa, hold the phone,” I said. “Are
you
having second thoughts?” I asked warily. “Ya know, projecting them onto me?”
“Not me, babe,” he said firmly. “I love you now and I’ll love you forever.”
“Oh,” I said in a small voice, feeling a lump in my throat.
“But don’t let anybody rush you to the altar, even me,” he warned. “I can wait, if you’re not ready yet . . . or if you don’t want to anymore . . . it’s okay. Whatever it is, let’s deal with it. Just you and me. I’m not going anywhere.”
If I thought I loved him before, this just knocked me out. I flung my arms around him and couldn’t speak, at first. Then, it was like a dam had burst, and the words just came pouring out of me, accompanied by some tears that dampened his nice shirt, as I was hugging him tightly the whole time.
“I love you so much!” I cried, the fog finally lifting, everything suddenly very obvious to me at last. “It’s just that I’m scared that marriage is going to change everything. So, I’m terrified of taking a step in
any
direction, and
that’s
why I keep hemming and hawing about each little decision. I don’t want us to end up bored or cynical, or taking each other for granted, or snarling at each other, if life doesn’t work out as we planned.”
“That doesn’t sound like us,” Jeremy said.
“But everywhere I go, people keep telling me that it’ll be no different for us; that, sure, it always starts out good . . . but they all say love can’t last.”
“Fuck ’em,” Jeremy said in a muffled voice, because, as I said, I was holding on tight. “I’m sure your parents never told you that,” he said, handing me his handkerchief.
“No,” I agreed, “but you know how mysterious they are, they can’t explain their secret, either.”
Jeremy grinned. “I suspect that’s because they’re swans,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I saw an article in the newspaper, so I did a little research while you were out,” he said. “Think you’re the only one who can do research? It just so happens that everything you’ve ever heard about the passion automatically going out of a marriage after the first blush is absolutely wrong. There is, it turns out, a pattern among certain couples that the brain experts call ‘swans’. Scientists have actually watched brain scans of these couples who’ve been married, like, twenty or more years, and who are, apparently, still nuts about each other. No loss of passion. No seven-year itch. Not bored silly with each other. Not unfaithful. They may be rare birds, yet, the researchers say the scientific proof is pretty indisputable, and it blows conventional thought right out of the water. The scientists call these lucky couples ‘swans’ because swans mate for life.”
“You’re sure you’re not making this up?” I teased.
“I printed it out for you. You can read it later,” he said offhandedly, looking a little embarrassed now. “But the point is, Penny, I think your parents are a couple of swans. Maybe that means we have ‘swan potential’. I’m no expert,” he said, taking my hand in his, “but it seems to me their secret is that they really like each other, and with all that love and compatibility, they have the guts to make their marriage the most important thing in their lives. I absolutely believe that you and I can do that, too. And who is anyone to tell us we shouldn’t even try? Nobody’s saying we’ll have a perfect marriage or even a perfect wedding, whatever that is. But if we stand by how we really feel, then at least it will be
ours
.”
I felt as if a giant boulder had been lifted off my shoulders, and I was ready to deal with anything. I told him so.
“You’re sure?” he asked tenderly. I kissed him.
“Oh,
yeah
,” I said positively.
Jeremy suddenly exhaled aloud in relief, and I now saw how much this meant to him. I mean, there he was, bracing himself in case I had said I couldn’t go through with it.
“What were you going to do if I said ‘no’?” I asked curiously, the danger so far behind us now that I could kid him about it.
“Oh, pack a few things in a sack at the end of a stick, go off and be a hobo,” he said lightly. “Come back the next day and fight for you all over again.”
“You really are my knight in shining armor,” I said, touching his cheek. Then I remembered something, and I said, wide-eyed, “Hey, this is the perfect moment if ever there was one!”
“Shall I call the minister?” he teased.
“Stay right where you are,” I cried, and bounded into my office, unlocking the little drawer in my desk and taking out his gift. When I returned to the study, I was breathless.
“Here,” I said, depositing it in his lap. “It’s your groom’s gift.”
“My what?” he asked.
“I was waiting for the perfect moment,” I explained.