Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [7]
Venetia had clung desperately to Jenny’s hand. After three years in the freedom and pleasure of the Montessori school in Malibu this place seemed like prison.
“Be brave, honey,” Jenny had said. “Remember you’re here because your father was British and you’ll learn how to behave like a lady. I’m not having any child of mine ending up as another L.A. show-business brat. And anyway, it’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
They had been shown by a self-possessed seven-year-old to the one empty bed in “Tenderness” dorm, and Venetia had wondered what had happened to the lucky child who had vacated it.
“All our dorms are named after the special qualities the school hopes that we’ll strive for,” announced their young guide with a wink at Venetia, “—Tenderness, Tranquility, Sympathy, Kindness, and Modesty.”
“What happened to her?” Venetia had asked in a small voice, pointing to the empty bed that was now to be hers.
“Oh, Candia. She got mumps and her aunt had to come and take her home. Her family is in Hong Kong and I think her mother wants her to stay there until she’s old enough for the big school. All our families live overseas.” The girl’s high-pitched British voice and long vowels had sounded like a foreign language to Venetia.
“There, you see,” Jenny had cried triumphantly, “I told you you wouldn’t be the only kid here without a family.”
“Did you bring your pony?” the girl, whose name was Lucy Hoggs-Mallett, had asked. “Most of us bring them with us.”
“A pony?” Venetia’s face had expressed her surprise. She could swim like a fish, having first had lessons at the Crystal Scarborough Swim School in Hollywood when she was only one year old; by a year and a half she’d been safer in the water than on her own two feet on dry land and had waved triumphantly to Jenny watching through the “portholes” where proud parents viewed their water-happy offspring. She had taken her first tennis lesson at the age of five, knew how to hold a tennis racket properly, and had a firm backhand and a keen eye for the ball; she was no mean hitter in the baseball games at school and on the beach. But a pony! There had never been room for a pony at the Malibu beach house. An occasional “pony ride” in the mini-fun fair in Beverly Hills before they had closed it down and put up a hospital and a shopping center was as much as she knew of horses.
“You’ll have a pony by the end of the week,” Jenny had promised. “What color would you like?” It was as if she were choosing a new dress.
“I don’t know.” Venetia had been doubtful. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted a pony, weren’t they rather big and pushy?
“Well, just don’t get gray,” advised the wise Lucy. “It’ll only roll in the mud and it takes ages to get it to look clean. Mine’s a bay,” she added proudly. “That’s the best color.”
“A bay it shall be,” Jenny had decided, setting out Venetia’s brush and comb and the silver-framed eight-by-ten photograph of herself taken by Avedon for Vogue.
“No.” Venetia’s voice had cracked with pent-up emotion as she thrust the picture back at her mother. “We’re only allowed one picture and I want this.” From the battered Snoopy lunch pail that had accompanied her on her previous happy schooldays she brought forth a blurred snapshot of her last birthday party, taken on the beach in front of the Malibu house.