44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [49]
Sasha smiled. “Yes, of course. A small party. Just the three of us and . . .”
“That’s fine. The three of us. That’s fine.”
“And a fourth.”
Lizzie said nothing. She tried to meet her mother’s gaze, but Sasha looked away.
“A young man,” said Sasha. “A very charming young man from the office. He’s called Bruce. We thought it would be a good idea to ask him to join us.”
Lizzie sighed. “Why? Why can’t we just go by ourselves?”
Sasha leaned forward conspiratorially. “Because there’s hardly anybody going,” she whispered. “Nobody has bought a ticket –
or virtually nobody.”
Lizzie looked at her mother in frank astonishment. “Nobody?”
“Yes,” said Sasha. “Even the people on the committee have found some excuse or other. It’s appalling.”
102
The Facts of Life
“Well, then, why don’t you cancel it? Surely that would be simplest?”
Sasha shook her head. “No, it’s not going to be cancelled. Imagine if people heard about that. We’d be the laughing stock. The ball is going ahead. Your father has made up his mind.”
Lizzie thought for a moment. “And Bruce? What about him?”
Sasha answered quickly. “Very charming. A good-looking young man too. He lives down in the New Town somewhere.”
She paused, and then added: “Unattached.”
For a moment there was a silence. Then Lizzie laughed. “So,”
she said. “So.”
“Yes,” said Sasha. “So. And it’s about time, if I may say so, that you started to think of finding a suitable man. It’s all very well enjoying yourself, but you can’t leave it too late.”
Lizzie closed her eyes. “I’m on the shelf, am I?”
Sasha picked up her coffee and took a sip. She would remain calm in this conversation; she was determined about that. “You know very well what I’m talking about. There are some people who just miss the bus. You may think that you’ve got plenty of time, but you haven’t. The years go by. Then you suddenly realise that you’re thirty-something and the men who are interested in getting married aren’t interested in you any more – they’re interested in girls in their mid-twenties. Oh yes, you may laugh, but that’s the truth of the matter. If you want a husband, don’t drag your feet – just don’t drag your feet.”
Lizzie waited until her mother had finished. Then: “But you’re assuming that I want a husband.”
Sasha stared at her daughter. “Of course you want a husband.”
Lizzie shook her head. “Actually, I don’t have much of a view on that. I’m quite happy as I am. There’s nothing wrong with being single.”
Sasha put down her coffee cup. She would have to choose her words carefully. “All right. You’re single. Where does the money come from? You tell me that. Where does the money come from?”
Lizzie did not respond, and after a few moments Sasha provided the answer herself.
“Money comes from men,” she said.
40. In Nets of Golden Wires
Carried down on the Jenners escalator, mother and daughter, one I
step apart, but separated by a continent of difference. must be patient with her, thought Sasha; and Lizzie, for her part, thought exactly the same. She’ll come round to our way of thinking –
it’s just a question of time, thought Sasha; and Lizzie said to herself: God help me from ever, ever becoming like her. She actually said it. She said: money comes from men! She felt herself blush at the thought, a warm feeling of shame, mixed with embarrassment, for Sasha. If her mother thought this, then what did her parents’ marriage amount to? An agreement as to property? That would make her the by-product of an arrangement of convenience; no more than that. They descended from the first floor in silence. Then, halfway down, Lizzie turned to the left and saw, standing on the ascending escalator, a young man, perhaps her age, perhaps a year or two older; a young man who was wearing a dark-olive shirt and a grey windcheater, and whose face reminded her, more than anything else, of one of those youths who stood as models for Renaissance painters. Had he been naked, and pierced by arrows, then he was Saint Sebastian in full martyrdom; but his