Page 24 of Sisters Making Mischief
Actually, it sounded enormous fun to me, the sort of jolly, family time I had been hoping for over Christmas. It made me sad to think that we had missed out on such an opportunity, and the days had instead been punctuated by disagreements and sulking.
‘Have you had snow yet?’
‘Rain,’ I said, ‘plenty of rain.’
‘Same here. It’s a shame, isn’t it? I’m absolutely positive that we had snow every Christmas day when we were kids.’
Isabel stopped trying to clear up the kitchen table and stood with her hands on her hips, thinking.
‘Right, that’s better. Now then let’s take your bags upstairs and then we can think about what to do for dinner. There’s so much food in this house, and yet there never seems to be anything to eat. Or at least that’s what Sylveste tells me. And I keep telling him he doesn’t live here any more, but it makes no difference.’
Ten minutes later there was a perfunctory rap on the kitchen door frame.
‘Bonjour,c’est moi.’
Isabel had been correct in her assumption, and her mother-in-law, Eugénie, was there, wrapped in a beautiful red coat, clutching a Hermès handbag in one hand and a pot of jam in the other. She didn’t seem to have aged a day since I last met her.
The dogs, who had been frisking around outside obviously recognised a worthy opponent and sat down at her feet.
Eugénie jerked her chin at them.
‘S’en aller,’ she said. Go away, and they did. I would have to remember that for next time they tried to bowl me over.
‘Ah,’ she said, sounding surprised to see me although I was sure she wasn’t, ‘Joy.’
We exchanged the obligatory cheek kisses, and she took her coat off and leaned back to look at me.
‘You are ill,’ she said, her voice gravelly with probably a lifetime ofGauloisecigarettes, ‘you look terrible. Your skin isgris… grey. Perhaps you need some of my Clarins. I have a spare pot of their restorative night cream. I will bring it for you on my next visit. If the Lord spares me. Now sit down before you fall down.’
I did as I was told, feeling as though I was the eighty-four-year-old and not her, and to be fair she didn’t look her age. She had that enviable look of some French women, perfect posture, a trim figure, a slick of scarlet lipstick and a certain sparkle in her eyes. Dressed in navy slacks, a striped Breton sweater and an artfully tied silk scarf around her throat, she made me feel as ungainly as an unmade bed. And she was probably right, I did look awful. Bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, travelling and worry, and no one would have said I looked the least bit chic.
‘I have brought you some of my home-madeconfiture de figue.Fig jam. It is the last jar, and by the looks of her, Joy needs some decent nourishment. English food is so dull and brown.’
Isabel sprang to my defence. ‘Mamie, leave Joy alone. She has only just arrived, and she doesn’t need your opinions.’
I wondered how Eugénie would take this back chat, but she just shrugged and pouted, not at all offended and sat down at the kitchen table.
‘I will take coffee if some is offered. Black, no sugar. We all eat too much sugar.’ She darted a disapproving look at the cake next to me.
Isabel poured coffee into a porcelain coffee cup decorated with roses and pushed it with its matching saucer across the table towards her. Eugénie picked it up and pursed her lips towards the steaming drink.
‘So now then, tell me all your news,’ she said.
‘I saw you yesterday,Mamie, you know it all already.’
Eugénie pulled amouéof dissatisfaction. ‘Then make something up. Just to amuse me. Or perhaps Joy has more interesting things to tell me.’
She turned her piercing dark eyes towards me, and I wondered how much I should tell her. I didn’t really want to go into it all, it was a bit depressing, and I was beginning to wonder – with the benefit of distance – if I had overreacted in running away here.
‘I needed a break, after Christmas,’ I said, ‘and Isabel kindly invited me to stay.’
She nodded and gave me a sympathetic look, which made me feel a bit better.
‘So, I understand you had a difficult time, so often one cannot please everyone no matter how hard you try. People with foods they won’t eat, personalities clash where once there was friendship. Perhaps too much wine was drunk? Now your son and his family have gone to America, and you have left your daughter and granddaughters quarrelling in your house while her divorce is settled? Do you think that was wise?’
So, she knew just about everything anyway. I looked across at my sister and she gave me an apologetic grimace.
‘I did what I thought was best for them,’ I said, ‘under difficult circumstances.’
