“Poppy.” Wanda swoops toward me. Her wild hair has been freshly hennaed, and she’s wearing one of her odd, capacious dresses made out of what looks like parachute silk, together with rubber-soled Mary Janes. Her skin is as pale and unadorned as ever, although she’s put on an inaccurate slash of red lipstick.36 Her cheek brushes against mine and I catch a whiff of stale perfume. “The fi-an-cée !” She enunciates the word with care bordering on ridicule. “The betrothed. ”
“The affianced, ” chimes in Antony, rising from his seat at the table. He’s wearing the tweed jacket he wears on the back of his book, and he surveys me with the same off-putting gimlet-eyed smile. The oriole weds his mottled mate; The lily’s bride o’ the bee. Another for your collection, darling?” he adds to Wanda.
“Quite right! I need a pen. Where’s a pen ?” Wanda starts searching among the papers already littering the countertop. “The damage that has been done to the feminist cause by ridiculous, lazy-minded anthropomorphism. Weds his mottled mate. I ask you, Poppy!” She appeals to me, and I give a rictus smile.
I have no idea what they’re talking about. None. Why can’t they just say, “Hello, how are you?” like normal people?
“What’s your view on the cultural response to anthropomorphism? From a young woman’s perspective?”
My stomach jumps as I realize Antony is looking my way. Oh my holy aunt. Is he talking to me?
Anthro-what?
I feel like if only he would write down his questions and give them to me with five minutes to look over (and maybe a dictionary), I’d have half a chance to come up with something intelligent. I mean, I did go to university. I have written essays with long words in them and a thesis.37 My English teacher even once said I had a “questing mind.”38
But I don’t have five minutes. He’s waiting for me to speak. And there’s something about his bright gaze that turns my tongue to dust.
“Well … um … I think it’s … it’s … an interesting debate,” I say feebly. “Very crucial in this day and age. So, how was your flight?” I add quickly. Maybe we can get on to movies or something.
“Unspeakable.” Wanda looks up from where she’s scribbling. “ Why do people fly? Why? ”
I’m not sure if she’s expecting an answer or not.
“Um … for holidays and stuff—”
“I’ve already started making notes for a paper on the subject,” Wanda interrupts me. “ ‘The Migration Impulse.’ Why do humans feel compelled to pitch themselves across the globe? Are we following the ancient migratory paths of our ancestors?”
“Have you read Burroughs?” Antony says to her, with interest. “ Not the book; the PhD thesis.”
No one’s even offered me a drink yet. Quietly, trying to blend in with the background, I creep into the kitchen area and pour myself a glass of wine. I’ve tuned out the conversation about migration. But suddenly Wanda addresses me directly.
“I gather Magnus gave you his grandmother’s emerald ring?”
I jump in panic. We’re onto the ring already. Is there an edge to Wanda’s voice or did I make that up? Does she know ?
“Yes! It’s … it’s beautiful.” My hands are trembling so much, I nearly spill my wine.
Wanda says nothing, just glances at Antony and raises her eyebrows meaningfully.
What was that for? Why an eyebrow raise? What are they thinking? Shit, shit, they’ll ask to see the ring, it’s all going to implode.
“It’s … it’s difficult to wear a ring with a burned hand,” I blurt out desperately.
There. It wasn’t a lie. Exactly.
“Burned?” Wanda swings round and takes in my bandaged hand. “My dear girl! You must see Paul.”
“Paul.” Antony nods. “Certainly. Ring him, Wanda.”
“Our neighbor,” she explains. “Dermatologist. The best.” She’s already on the phone, winding the old-fashioned curly cord around her wrist. “He’s only across the street.”
Across the street?
I’m paralyzed with horror. How have things gone so wrong so quickly? I have a vision of some brisk man with a doctor’s bag coming into the kitchen and saying, “Let’s have a look,’ and everyone crowding round to see as I take off my bandages.
Should I dash upstairs and find a match? Or some boiling water? To be honest, I think I’d take the agonizing pain over having to admit the truth—
“Damn! He’s not in.” She replaces the receiver.
“What a shame,” I manage, as Magnus appears through the kitchen door, followed by Felix, who says, “Hi, Poppy,” and then immerses himself back in the textbook he was reading.
“So!” Magnus looks from me to his parents, as though trying to assess the mood of the room. “How are you all doing? Isn’t Poppy looking even more beautiful than usual? Isn’t she just lovely?” He bunches up my hair and then lets it fall down again.
I wish he wouldn’t. I know he’s trying to be nice, but it makes me cringe. Wanda looks baffled, as though she has no idea how to reply to this.
“Charming.” Antony smiles politely, as though he’s admiring someone’s garden.
“Did you get through to Dr. Wheeler?” Wanda queries.
“Yes.” Magnus nods. “He says the focus is cultural genesis.”
“Well, I must have read that wrong,” she says tetchily. Wanda turns to me. “We’re trying to see if we can’t get papers published in the same journal. All six of us, including Conrad and Margot. Family effort, you see. Felix on indexing. Everyone involved!”