Im no longer a queen.
Albert, you mustnt marry that country girl. What could a provincial lass with no proper upbringing or education possibly offer you?
Mum, why are you being so snobbish? Poppy is a wonderful woman, wellbroughtup, and shes studying at the medical school, now in her cardiothoracic surgery residency.
I bet her parents sold all their cattle just to pay for her tuition.
Mum, you never finished your degree yourself and youve never held a job. Your own parents live in Bristol, theyre not Londoners either.
How dare you! I left university after my third year because I gave birth to you, and then your father forbade me to work, saying hed support the family himself. I devoted my whole life to you!
Mum, thank you for giving your life to me, but Im an adult now and Ill decide my own fate.
Do what you like; I wont attend the wedding, snaps Zoya Alexeyevna, turning away.
Because of their mothers attitude, Albert and Poppy decide not to stage a big wedding and avoid provoking their future motherinlaw. Poppys parents cant travel to the ceremony either, as theyre caring for a sick grandmother. The couple simply register at the local registry office, then linger with their witnesses in a café. When Zoya hears this she huffs again, claiming the brides family didnt sell all their milk and therefore couldnt raise any money for a wedding.
Poppy and Albert arent particularly upset by their new motherinlaws remarks; they think shell get used to it. Poppy already has a flat where the two plan to live. The only work needed is a small relayout to merge the flat that belongs to the grandmother with the parents space, but that scares nobody. The young couple feels happy. They met like a scene from a romance novel, strolling on Hampstead Heath with their own friends, when a sudden gust snatches Poppys sheer silk scarf from her shoulders. Albert darts after it, catches it, collides with her, they lock eyes and completely forget the scarf. After that everything follows the usual script: flowers, chocolates, a cinema outing, and six months later they decide to get married.
After the registration they arrange to meet the parents. First up is Alberts mother. They warn Margaret of their visit, bring a beautiful bouquet and a box of her favourite chocolates, and walk to her house. Albert has already told his wife that his mother thinks shes a dull, country simpleton.
Good afternoon, the mother says languidly, so this is the wife youve chosen, my son?
Good afternoon. Albert really is a good lad; we were both at the event, and he singled me out.
Where was that? Margaret asks, puzzled.
At the spot on Hampstead Heath where he was looking for a bride, Poppy replies earnestly, glancing at the lady of the house.
Please, come to the table, the woman invites.
With pleasure, Poppy answers, while Albert hides a grin.
The table is laid out with a touch of elegance: assorted dishes, a dessert platter, knives and forks for meat, fish and dessert, and glasses for white and red wine. It all seems arranged to highlight the daughterinlaws lack of refinement.
Your setting is as beautiful as a museum. Albert and I never set the table like this, Poppy admires.
Poppy, stop calling my son Albert, hes Albert, the mother retorts.
Sorry, as you wish.
The hostess begins serving: Heres the pâté, the sturgeon aspic, and now Ill bring the chicken à la king; it must be eaten hot.
I love chicken à la king. Its a signature dish at the Prague restaurant, Poppy says, noting the hostesss surprised look, Albert invited me there.
Poppy uses the cutlery confidently. The mother tries to guide her, but Poppy cuts in:
Thank you, Margaret, I know how to eat properly; Albert has been teaching me all morning.
Albert coughs, and the mother is at a loss for words.
Later they ride home in a taxi.
Why did you mock my mother all evening? Albert asks with a smile.
I wasnt mocking; let her think Ive just come from the barn with a bucket of milk.
After a while they plan to meet Poppys family. They suggest taking both families and the motherinlaw on a trip to meet the new relatives. Margaret rolls her eyes, muttering about going to the countryside being unseemly, but curiosity wins and she agrees. They set off in Alberts SUV. The village is only about 120 miles away, so they arrive quickly. The parents house is large and sturdy, with three rooms downstairs and two in the attic, its interior paneled with carved wooden boards. The air smells of fresh pies.
They step inside. A tidy, wellkept woman greets them:
Tom, come in quickly, the guests have arrived, she calls, then turns to them, Good afternoon, dear friends, welcome. Im Poppys mother, Catherine Petrovna, and you must be Margaret? Delightful to meet you.
Margaret smiles thinly, not expecting such a polished lady in the village, who looks only a few years older than her daughter. She nods, assuming a regal pose as if shed just spied a goat. On the porch appears Poppys father, a tall, distinguished man with silvertinged hair and an athletic build. He easily lifts Poppy into his arms, greets Albert, then approaches the motherinlaw, who watches him with interest.
Margaret, is that you?
Im sorry, I dont recall meeting you, the woman replies.
Im Konstantin Georgievich Kretchev, a former classmate of Anatoly Krasheninnikov at the diplomatic academy. He introduced us at a Kremlin reception and later at our institutes anniversary.
Ah, yes, I remember now, apologies for the delay, Margaret says.
I remember you too, Margaret, Catherine answers.
Margaret recalls the Kremlin reception where the diplomatic corps gathered, and she had spent the evening envying a woman in a seagreen gown adorned with museumquality jewellery that woman was Catherine. Margaret feels out of place, like a highsociety lady among simple villagers, surrounded now by diplomats and family heirloom diamonds instead of cattle.
The lunch goes splendidly. Everyone relaxes, chats about the weather and the countryside. Even Poppys grandmother, who rarely moves, sits in her armchair and laughs along. Margaret feels as comfortable as she once did in her own parents home.
After lunch they decide to walk to the nearby lake. A local boy, sevenyearold Andy, joins them. He resembles his cartoon counterpart redhaired, shaggy, and a bit scruffy yet he is unusually serious and thoughtful. He immediately takes Margarets hand and leads her toward the water, spilling all his boyish secrets along the way. They all splash about, while Margaret watches from the shore, smiling. Andy runs up to her:
Aunt Margaret, lets go swimming!
Andy, Im afraid of water and I didnt bring a swimsuit, Id rather just watch,
Aunt Margaret, dont worry, he says maturely, you act like a queen looking down on everyone, but you dont have to. We live here, we love everyone who visits. If you push people away youll end up alone, old and friendless, and queens never have friends.
Andy darts off to swim, and Margaret watches the scene, ashamed of her earlier haughtiness toward her daughterinlaw and son. She thinks, Its not too late; Im no longer a queen. I love these people.
