Canarino

Thanksgiving. The junior colleagues from the office were the first to appear. David had said he didn’t want them to feel that the party was a work event, but they evidently perceived it as such. They arrived as a tribe, wearing, Elizabeth felt certain, the clothes they had worn to the office that morning. Though some were tall and some were short, some were men, some were women, they looked to Elizabeth to be all exactly the same, in the ungraceful, wrinkled uniform of number-crunching, obedient ambition. They exuded not the least aroma of aesthetic inclination, nor even imagination. How on earth would they be able to appreciate the subtleties of David’s party? He should have taken them off on a golf outing, she thought, or maybe just given them each a wad of cash—cash which is so straightforward and which, once given, feels extremely personal.

As she shook their hands one by one, Elizabeth smiled and nodded, murmuring, ‘Hello’, or ‘I’m Elizabeth’ maybe, or ‘Welcome’, her voice hushed low so that the young men and women leaned toward her, with a polite question in their eyes, wondering just what she had said.

Elizabeth was looking for clues. The hands varied in size, in firmness, in clamminess. They told her nothing, and she disliked grasping them. She felt that the faces revealed only cowed respect. How would she remember their names? Some had European accents, some English, some American. An Indian-looking face spoke with the voice of New Jersey, and a black face spoke with the voice of Eton. It seemed to her like a globalization of youth, a sign that too many people were clamoring for the same thing.

Elizabeth also thought that they accepted champagne with uncouth excitement. And then they stood clutching the delicate flutes any old way, sipping from them in awkward silence here and there around the edges of the room as if they were expecting someone to make some kind of announcement or start a game.

Her disdain knew no bounds. Desperately, she tried to imagine her own guests making conversation with these learner bankers, these trainee human beings. There might still be time to rearrange the seating, but she was afraid to do it without David’s okay. It had been his express request that she mix everyone up, and she had spent hours with her secretary, studying CVs, searching for signs of interest in music, art, theater, books, shooting, riding, fishing, dogs, so that everyone might have common ground with his or her dinner partners.

She went on shaking hands and weakly fake-smiling, and she began to reconfigure the tables inside her head. She knew exactly how she would do it, but she needed ten minutes by herself. Her own guests, being socially blasé, hadn’t begun to arrive yet; if she could slip away now, she had time. Where was David? It must be an hour since she’d been told his plane had landed; why would there be traffic from Heathrow this late? Could she leave the junior colleagues with the catering staff? Well, why not? Wouldn’t they prefer to talk quietly amongst themselves, without her perhaps daunting presence?

She turned toward the door, softly mouthing, ‘Excuse me.’

Ah! There was a straggler, yet another junior colleague, arriving on her own. And as the young woman came through the double doors into the drawing-room, Elizabeth caught sight of David just behind, outside on the landing. She began to walk toward them. She wanted to go quickly, greet the young woman and slip past her to have a quiet word with David before he entered the room. But she restrained her hurry; it would suggest to David that there was a crisis. Then he might sense something important was afoot; he might want to discuss it, or he might resist her plan altogether. Calm was essential; calm would bring things around just the way she wanted them—the way she wanted them for the sake of the guests. And that’s what she would say to him: I think our guests would feel more relaxed if I made a few small changes…

I must greet her properly, Elizabeth was telling herself. David is watching; however I greet this one young woman is the way in which he will think of me having greeted them all. He must feel satisfied before we make these seating changes. She was already looking past the young woman toward David. Then she made herself look back again, with her tentative smile, extending her hand. She focused her eyes on the young woman’s face.

In fact, it was an attractive face. Elizabeth felt surprised. She warmed to it, unexpectedly. A rich, off-white complexion, Asian eyes—maybe Asian, Elizabeth wasn’t sure—dark in color, glistening, very large and direct. What Elizabeth most noted was the delicacy of line which traced out the features on such a strong bone structure—prominent cheekbones, a real nose. And she realized she was looking up; the young woman was tall, and her hair was long and wavy, black, curling over her shoulders, rising in a rich, natural curve from her forehead. This one has a bit of glamor, Elizabeth thought, at last!