Page 26 of The Dolce Vita Divas
‘I’m not allowed the blue ones.’
‘We always take the blue ones out, darlin’, don’t we? We don’t want a repeat of last Thanksgivin’,’ Raleigh breathed and favoured me with a slightly raised eyebrow. ‘It was like havin’ dannilburn in the house.’
We tutted and nodded together while I tried to work out what she had said. She then went on to mention The Alamo – not in conjunction with car hire but with reference to a site of historical importance. By a process of elimination, I realised she was talking about e-numbers and Daniel Boone the famous frontiersman, and I looked at Eric with new respect.
‘I love your necklace,’ she said, eyeing my charity shop bargain. ‘Is it Murano glass?’
Doubtful, I thought.
‘From a vintage shop back home,’ I said at last, which seemed to satisfy her.
We then had crab claws the size of bicycle spokes arranged on a platter with lemon wedges and aioli followed by salad in frosty glass bowls with chilled forks.
Raleigh picked daintily at the meal, keeping up a thoroughly entertaining and censored stream of scandalous gossip, which was spoiled a little because I didn’t know any of the people she was ‘dissing’.
Someone called Clarke had run off with the pool guy and someone else called Jelly – although in retrospect it might have been Julie – was suspected of another ‘enhancement’. Following some subtle pointing to her own nose, I guessed this was code for cosmetic surgery.
Raleigh looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and leaned towards me, tapping her upper lip with a manicured nail.
‘I’ve discovered a wonderful lady back home. She specialises in threading.’
I covered my impending moustache with my napkin and wondered what it would be like to be one of those women who were constantly tweaking and titivating themselves, unlike me who thought applying body lotion after the occasional bath was a bit out there.
Raleigh then filled me in on her latest purchases from the mall where she liked to go with her friends, as the remains of the hapless crustaceans were cleared away and Eric lay on his stomach across his chair and pretended to be swimming.
Eric, his appetite blunted by breadsticks, picked at his meal with no great enthusiasm, having wrapped his napkin around his fork as he said it was too cold, pretended to sword fight with a crab claw and dabbed at his fantastically beautiful salad with a pout of dissatisfaction.
Lamb medallions arrived shortly afterwards – a mini work of art with the beans artistically arranged into a tiny log cabin. Eric demolished these with a sweep of his fork and asked for fries.
I wondered if his parents ever admonished him or tried to instil good manners into him. It seemed not.
Dessert was more fresh fruit cut into fantastic shapes as though a sushi artist had been let loose in the kitchen. Eric wandered off at this point to stare at some of the other guests.
‘Hey, buddy, don’t leave the table, come back and join us!’ Leonardo called.
‘We’re not saying “No” at the moment,’ Raleigh confided quietly. ‘It’s a new thing we’re trying. It’s called No No Parenting. It seems to be working.’
Oh really? Did she think so?
Leonardo looked up from his dessert and exchanged an eye roll with his father.
‘We want Eric to find his own boundaries,’ Raleigh continued with a confidence I thought was misplaced. So would she if she could have seen Eric behind her crawling under someone else’s table.
‘What if his boundaries aren’t the same as yours?’ I asked, unable to keep silent any longer. ‘What if he wants to set fire to the curtains or smoke a pipe?’
Raleigh gave me a patient look and moved her fruit slices around her plate.
‘He wouldn’t because of mutual respect,’ she said.
‘Well, I’d prefer he get it sorted sooner rather than later,’ Leonardo muttered rather testily, pulling the cheese platter a little closer. ‘I’m not sure it’s working.’
Eric came to sit down again and watched, mesmerised, as his father cut him some thin slices of cheese.
‘Now, we all know little boys and girls who are good get treats,’ Raleigh said, bending towards Eric, who ignored her as he put about half a pound of butter on a bread roll and made a cheese and strawberry sandwich.
After Eric had messed about a bit more, ignored his grandfather’s attempts to distract him by making animals out of his napkin, dropped some cheese on the floor and cleaned his knife on the tablecloth, he began to whine. A quick call from Leonardo’s cell phone produced nanny Andrea from her room upstairs and she shepherded her grumbling charge away.
‘So now then, you were going to tell me how the Hutchinson deal is going,’ Paulo said to his son.
