Arthur, you really shouldn’t be thinking about marrying that countrygirl. What could a provincial lass without proper upbringing or education ever bring you?
Mum, why are you being so snobbish? Evelyn’s a wonderful girl, wellbroughtup, and she’s studying at the medical school, doing a residency in cardiac surgery.
Probably her parents sold every cow they owned just to pay for her tuition.
Mum, you yourself never finished university and youve never held a job in your life. And your parents live in Bristol, not London.
How dare you! I left university after my third year because I gave birth to you, and then your father forbade me from working he said hed support the family himself. I devoted my whole life to you!
Mum! Thanks for giving your life to me, but Im an adult now and Ill decide my own future.
Do what you like, I wont be at the wedding Zoya Alexeyevna snapped, turning away dramatically.
Because of Mums attitude, Arthur and Evelyn decided to skip a big ceremony so they wouldnt upset their future motherinlaw, and Evelyns parents couldnt even travel for a wedding they were caring for a sick grandmother. The couple simply registered at the registry office, then had a little coffee with their witnesses. When Margaret heard about it, she huffed again, saying the brides family hadnt even sold all their milk to raise money for a wedding.
Evelyn and Arthur werent really bothered by their new motherinlaws comments; they figured shed get used to it. Evelyn already had a flat where they planned to live. The only thing was a tiny relayout to join her grandmothers and parents rooms, but that didnt frighten anyone. They were happy. Theyd met like something out of a novel strolling on Hampstead Heath in separate groups, when a sudden gust stole Evelyns sheer silk scarf from her shoulders. Arthur lunged, caught it, collided with her, stared into each others eyes and the scarf was forgotten. From then on it was flowers, chocolates, cinema, and half a year later they were talking about marriage.
After the registration they arranged to meet the families. First up was Arthurs mother. They warned Margaret about the visit, bought a beautiful bouquet and a box of her favourite chocolates, and showed up. Arthur gave his wife a headsup that his mum thought Evelyn was a simple country girl.
Good afternoon, Margaret murmured, so this is the wife youve picked, son?
Good afternoon. Arthur really is a good man there were loads of people that day, but he only noticed me.
Where were there loads? Margaret asked, puzzled.
Where he was choosing a bride on Hampstead Heath, Evelyn replied, eyes fixed on the lady of the house.
Come in, have a seat, Margaret said, gesturing to the table.
Delighted, Evelyn answered, while Arthur suppressed a grin.
The table was laid out with a proper English spread: roast beef, salmon, a pudding, each with the appropriate knives, forks and dessert spoons, plus glasses for red and white wine. It all seemed set up to highlight Evelyns lack of etiquette.
It looks like a museum in here, Evelyn said, impressed. Arthur and I never set a table like this.
Evelyn, please stop calling my son Arthur; his name is Arthur, Margaret snapped.
Sorry, as you wish.
The hostess began serving. Heres some foie gras, a terrine of sturgeon, and Ill bring the chicken pâté now it must be hot.
I love chicken pâté, Evelyn said. The Prague restaurant serves it as their signature dish, she added, looking at the surprised lady. Arthur invited me there.
Margaret tried to correct her fork usage, but Evelyn cut in, Thanks, Margaret, Arthur has been teaching me proper table manners all morning.
Arthur cleared his throat, and Margaret was left speechless.
Later, in a taxi home, Arthur teased, Why were you teasing Mum all night?
I wasnt teasing, I was just pretending Id just come out of a dairy with a bucket of milk, Evelyn laughed.
A while later they planned to meet Evelyns parents. They invited Margaret along, hoping shed get to know the new relatives. Margaret rolled her eyes, muttering about the countryside being uncultured, but curiosity won and she agreed. The three of them set off in Arthurs 4×4. The drive to the village was only about 75 miles, so they arrived quickly. Evelyns parents lived in a solid stone house with three downstairs rooms and two up in the attic, the interior paneled in carved wood and smelling of fresh pies.
At the door a tidy, wellkept woman greeted them. George, come in quick, the guests are here, she called, then turned to them. Hello, dear ones, welcome. Dad will be down shortly. Im Evelyns mother, Catherine Bennett. And you must be Margaret?
Margaret gave a thin smile, not expecting such a polished lady in a village. She raised an eyebrow and fell back into her queenlike pose. Soon after, Evelyns father appeared a tall, silverhaired gentleman with a fit build. He lifted Evelyn into his arms, shook Arthurs hand, then turned to Margaret.
Margaret, is that you? he asked.
Im sorry, I dont recall you, she replied.
Its just that Evelyn mentioned her new surname, and I thought of your family. Anatoly Kreshenkin thats your husband, isnt it? Hes in Argentina now?
Yes, you know him?
Im Konstantin Georgievich Kretchov. Anatoly and I studied together at MGIMO, and he introduced us at a reception in the Palace, then we bumped into each other at our institutes anniversary.
Ah, now I remember. Sorry for the delay, Margaret said.
I remember you too, Margaret, Catherine said.
That memory sparked Margarets recollection of the palace reception, where diplomats swarmed and shed spent the evening admiring a woman in a seagreen gown with museumquality jewellery Catherine herself. Margaret suddenly felt out of place, trying to show off as a highsociety lady among simple country folk, only to be surrounded by diplomats and family diamonds instead of cattle.
The lunch went wonderfully. Everyone relaxed, chatting about weather and countryside life. Even Evelyns grandmother, who rarely got up, sat in her armchair, smiling along. Margaret began to feel as comfortable as she once did at her own parents home.
After lunch they walked to the lake. A mischievous sevenyearold boy named Tommy, the neighbours lad, trailed behind them. He looked like his cartoon counterpart redhaired, shaggy, but surprisingly thoughtful. He grabbed Margarets hand and led her to the water, spilling all his little secrets. They all took a dip, while Margaret watched from the shore, smiling. Tommy ran up to her.
Aunt Margaret, come swim with us!
Im scared of water and I left my swimsuit at home. Ill just watch, she replied.
Dont worry, Aunt Margaret, the boy said in a surprisingly adult tone, you act like a queen looking down on everyone, but were just simple folk who love anyone who visits. If you push people away, youll end up alone, old and friendless queens dont get friends.
Tommy dashed off to splash about, and Margaret stared at the happy group, feeling a deep shame for how shed behaved toward her daughterinlaw and son. The important thing is its not too late, she thought. Im no longer a queen. I love these people now.
