Foreign Affairs - Alison Lurie [112]
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Vinnie cannot think of anything clever to say. Her head has begun to ache and her stomach to complain of the strong punch and the spicy canapés. She says goodbye to William and starts to move toward the door, stopping to greet the few people she knows. One of these, as might be expected, is Rosemary Radley.
“Lovely, isn’t it all?” Though elegantly dressed and perfectly—if rather over-elaborately—made up, Rosemary seems somehow scatty and distracted, perhaps a bit tipsy.
“Oh yes.” Vinnie remembers that there’s something she’s supposed to tell Rosemary—what? Yes: she’s promised to explain that Fred Turner really loves her and is going back to America against his true desire. The commission is uncomfortable, and this crowded room hardly the place to carry it out. Besides, what’s the point? In Vinnie’s opinion, the breakup of their affair isn’t surprising; it was inappropriate from the start. Of course Rosemary is beautiful, and her life no doubt very glamorous, if you like that sort of thing. But she’s much too complicated for someone like Fred, and probably bad for him as well: frivolous, egotistic, temperamental, and full of expensive false values. To reconcile them—even if anyone could, which seems very unlikely—hardly seems desirable.
Buf fate, perversely, provides Vinnie with the opportunity to carry out her promise. As she collects her coat, Rosemary reappears and asks if she needs a lift; she is going to a dinner party in Gloucester Crescent, and can easily drop Vinnie off. Feeling ashamed of her recent thoughts, Vinnie hesitates; but her increasing headache and the knowledge that the 74 bus becomes rare, almost extinct, as soon as the Zoo closes, change her mind.
Though it is always hard to find a cab in Mayfair at that hour, Rosemary spies one. Sprinting a little unsteadily down Upper Grosvenor Street in her high-heeled silver sandals, with her long pink cape billowing behind, she beats out two men in bowler hats who have already hailed the taxi. They begin to expostulate, but Rosemary, dazzling them with her smile, pulls open the door and waves Vinnie on. Once inside, however, she and her cape collapse into the corner with a sigh like a pricked balloon.
“Stupid party,” she announces in her sweet, well-modulated voice. “Imbecile dons, think they know everything about the theater because they once read a play.”
Vinnie, who has recognized no dons beside herself at the party, and wonders if this comment is meant maliciously, makes no comment.
“Disgusting drink,” Rosemary continues. “Nothing to eat, either.”
“Oh, no,” Vinnie corrects her. “There was quite a lot of food.”
“Really? No one offered me any.” She laughs musically. “Pigging it all for themselves, most likely.”
Unsure whether this is an accusation, Vinnie again says nothing. Rosemary too is silent, sulking within her silk cocoon.
Traffic is heavy; the taxi jerks forward and halts along South Audley Street; jerks and halts. At this rate it will take hours to reach Regent’s Park Road; whereas if Vinnie were to get out now and walk to Bond Street Tube Station—But before she can solidify this intention Rosemary turns to her and begins to complain of what she calls “your friend Fred”—thus simultaneously denying that she is Fred’s friend and assigning responsibility for him to Vinnie.
“I’m not a complete simpleton,” she declares. “I know your friend Fred doesn’t really have to go back to that silly old college this summer.”
Annoyed, but bowing to fate, Vinnie assures Rosemary that he does; she begins to explain why. Rosemary listens with an ill grace, tapping her silver-sandaled toe on the floor of the cab and gazing away out the window.
“Oh, come on, Vinnie,” she interrupts. “I don’t need to hear all that drivel again. I know there’s more to it; he’s going back to that stupid wife of his, isn’t he?’”
Vinnie assures her that as far as she knows