Edible Woman - Margaret Atwood [113]
They ascended the staircase together, Marian leaning on Peter’s arm. In the hallways of each floor they passed as they went up Marian could see gigantic wooden crates and oblong canvas-covered shapes standing outside the apartment doors: they must be installing the kitchen equipment, the stoves and refrigerators. Soon Peter would no longer be the only person living in the building. Then they would turn the heat up to its full capacity; as it was, the building, all except Peter’s place, was kept almost as cold as the outside air.
“Darling,” she said in a casual tone when they had reached the fifth floor and were pausing for a moment on the landing to catch their breath, “something came up and I’ve invited a few more people. I hope you don’t mind.”
All the way there in the car she had been pondering how she would tell him. It would not be a good thing for those people to arrive with Peter not knowing anything about it, though it had been a great temptation to say nothing, to rely on her ability to cope with the situation when the moment came. In the confusion she would not have to explain how she had come to invite them, she didn’t want to explain, she couldn’t explain, and she dreaded questions from Peter about it. Suddenly she felt totally without her usual skill at calculating his reactions in advance. He had become an unknown quantity; just after she had spoken, blind rage and blind ecstasy on his part seemed equally possible. She took a step away from him and gripped the railing with her free hand: there was no telling what he might do.
But he only smiled down at her, a slight crease of concealed irritation appearing between his eyebrows. “Did you, darling? Well the more the merrier. But I hope you didn’t ask too many: we won’t have enough liquor to go around, and if there’s anything I hate it’s a party that goes dry.”
Marian was relieved. Now he had spoken she saw that it was exactly what he would have said. She was so pleased with him for answering predictably that she pressed his arm. He slid it around her waist, and they began to climb again. “No,” she said, “only about six.” Actually there were nine, but since he had been so polite about it she made the courteous gesture of minimizing.
“Anyone I know?” he asked pleasantly.
“Well … Clara and Joe,” she said, her momentary elation beginning to vanish. “And Ainsley. But not the others: not really.…”
“My, my,” he said, teasing, “I wasn’t aware you had that many friends I’ve never met. Been keeping little secrets, eh? I’ll have to make a special point of getting to know them so I can find out all about your private life.” He kissed her ear genially.
“Yes,” Marian said, with feeble cheerfulness. “I’m sure you’ll like them.” Idiot, she raged at herself. Idiot, idiot. How could she have been so stupid? She foresaw how it was going to be. The office virgins would be all right – Peter would just look somewhat askance at them, particularly Emmy; and Clara and Joe would be tolerated. But the others. Duncan would not give her away – or would he? He might think it was funny to drop an insinuating remark; or he might do it out of curiosity. She could take him aside when he arrived though and ask him not to. But the roommates were an insoluble problem. She did not think either of them knew yet that she was engaged, and she could picture Trevor’s shriek of surprise when he found out, the way he would glance at Duncan and say, “But my dear, we thought …” and trail off into a silence weighted with innuendoes that would be even more dangerous than the truth. Peter would be furious, he would think