Jemma’s Version
This is proving harder than I expected. It should have been nothing more than an extended stay in the privacy of a country house, at a distance from one another, but it is turning out to be a hurdle race, and we’re tied together by the ankle.
What am I talking about? Being obliged to go on with this farce and pretend to be a happy couple when our demeanour would be more appropriate for a funeral.
Back home, breakfast is the best time of the whole day: slices of bread with chocolate spread, warm milk with honey cereals, fashion magazines and my tv tuned to the gossip channel.
Not at Denby, of course. This morning, I found out that they have smoked ham, salmon, carrot juice and wishy-washy coffee. No magazines, just newspapers, and I’m sure that Ashford is using them to make a barricade against me, rather than reading them. Who would? They are so boring, all black and white and without a single picture.
Delphina is at a safe distance again, and she greets us with a cold ‘good morning’, uttered without raising her eyes from her plate. As soon as we sit down, she pushes it away and stands up to leave the table. Lance enters the dining room with his usual composure and announces: “Lord Davenport and his wife are here for a visit. May I show them into the blue parlour until you are ready to receive them?”
Delphina collapses on her chair as though her legs were melting down. “Murray and Audrey Davenport? Are you sure it’s them?”
“Absolutely. They have just returned from their last cruise and they stopped by for a short visit,” Lance confirms with a small bow.
“Show them in,” she says in a whisper, then she looks at us for the first time. “I’ll receive them myself. I’ll go to the parlour, I’ll do the honours and tell them a credible story about your marriage. In half an hour, not a minute before, after they have bought every last one of my words, you will join us for a polite but quick greeting, and you will return to whatever you were doing immediately afterwards. You will not spend time with any guest, at least not until we officially introduce you into society,” she says to explain her resolute strategy.
On his side of the table, Ashford remains barricaded behind his copy of the Times and simply replies with a cold: “Suit yourself.”
Delphina leaves the room muttering. “Of course I’ll suit myself! I’m the one who has to clutch at straws to solve his problems! I have to extinguish his fires! I have to dam rivers in flood!”
“When you get to melting polar ice and restoring the ozone layer, the Davenports will have left, Mother,” Ashford freezes her.
We do have one thing in common: neither of us can stand Delphina.
I keep watching the show they’re putting on until Ashford folds the newspaper and turns towards me abruptly: “When we go into the parlour, let me talk to the Davenports. You just say hello, and I’ll take care of everything else.”
“Very well, let me add that to the list of things I don’t give a shit about,” I reply, feigning a smile.
“Jemma, you’ll have to, eventually. The Davenports are just the first of a long line of visitors, who will come with the excuse of an informal greeting, just to see the happy newly-weds. The Davenports have been friends of our family for years and, trust me, it’s far better for you to meet them in this way, little by little, than at an official reception with hundreds of other strangers parading before you.”
“Ashford, the deal was that I would live my own life.”
“The deal is to make this marriage look real. And I must urge you not to bring this up again in the future. There are ears listening everywhere.”
“I feel like a hostage.”
“Don’t play the victim, Jemma.”
“What do you want me to play, the happy bride? Then, you’ll have to avoid talking down to me and treating me like a retard, at least in public.”
“I don’t treat you like a retard,” Ashford replies, sipping his coffee.
“You don’t? You just talk to me to criticise me, humiliate me or give me orders, like a dog.”
“You just tease me and start arguments. It would be much easier if you did as I say without pointless objections.”
“Pointless obj… very well, I didn’t think I’d have to bring it up this early, but it can’t be helped.” I roll up my sleeves to emphasise what I’m saying. “Ashford, let me remind you that my money is covering your debts, so you owe me some respect.”
He stands up, sweeping imaginary crumbs from his blue cashmere jumper. “Your money depends on my title, so, if you’re done with the drama, we can go to the parlour. I would appreciate it if you avoided causing the Davenports heart attacks,” he says, and leaves the room without waiting for me.
In the parlour – which is nothing more than a small sitting room for meeting friends, basically a whole room they use just for chatting, can you imagine that? – Delphina is putting on a show in which she plays the loving mother.
“And so, when I had finally accepted that he would remain a bachelor forever, he surprised me! Ashford arrived at Denby arm in arm with his bride, smiling like a child on Christmas Day. To tell you the truth, I had noticed a change in him quite a while earlier. He started going to London for no apparent reason, he came home very late at night, always with a sort of mysterious and dreamy aura. A mother notices these things immediately. Yes, I thought he could be having a liaison, but I would never have expected a marriage. She’s such a unique girl. She’s an artist and worked in a theatre company. They cried when they learned that my Ashford was taking her away!”
The woman sitting next to Delphina on the sofa holds her cup of tea without drinking any. “And yet, we would all have bet our fortunes on Ashford marrying Portia.”
“I wonder how that’s possible!” My mother-in-law comments – what a liar! – and then she goes on with her version of the story. “Ashford is quite picky and sometimes I find it hard to understand him myself, but as far as Portia… no. They’ve been friends for so many years, they’re more like brother and sister,” and she bursts into laughter that sounds fake to me. Then, she turns around, and sees us standing just inside the room. “Oh! Here are the newly-weds! Ashford, Jemma, come and say hello to our guests!”
Bloody Delphina, she’s doing her best to look like the perfect mother-in-law. At least, she’s able to pretend. Ashford is hopeless, or rather, he’s making no effort.
He puts a hand behind my back without touching me, but close enough to give the impression that he’s gently leading me across the room. I wonder what would happen if I took a step backwards and his hand touched my back. I’m sure he would hit the ceiling, screaming in panic!
“Audrey, Murray, what a surprise!” Ashford greets them warmly.
“You’re the one talking about surprises, young man? We got back from India and found out that my dearest friend’s son had got married!”
“Let me introduce her to you, then. This is my Jemma,” he invites me to step forward with a nod.
“Hi!” I say, but there must be something wrong, because I notice that Ashford and Delphina look shocked.
“You’re supposed to say ‘I’m honoured’,” Ashford hisses.
“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.
“Her father is…?” Audrey asks.
“Dead,” says Delphina. “A bad story, a terrible loss. But let’s not be saddened on such a happy day. Would anyone like more tea?”