by Julia Ariss
"Among other things. And if ever there was a case of the pot calling the kettle black."
"A genetic predisposition, it's true. Your brother's the same, forever drifting off in mid-sentence, which reminds me; I received a postcard from him yesterday - from Kathmandu." He was beaming. This was good news. "Let's go to Bread and Butter bakery and pick up a pie."
"Yes, let's. Jeez, I hope they haven't run out of peach again." It was a time honoured childhood ritual, and he was ready and willing to indulge her, thereby fostering her regression.
When they pulled into his driveway on Wickham Circle she heaved a happy sigh. Her parents had moved to this home in the west-end from a downtown walk-up when she was a toddler. Lured by its forested park, spacious yard, closet space, and parking spots, it offered breathing room and built-in bookshelves. The street had matured gracefully and, apart from her father's increasing inability to distinguish her mother's perennials from weeds, little had changed. The interior of the house remained frozen in time since her mother's death, the result of paralyzing inertia, but this was of solace to Fanny. After catching up and regaling him on the strange events of the previous weekend, during which his reaction was exasperatingly subdued, they spent a blissful couple of hours in his study reading contentedly, he behind his desk ensconced in his leather chair and she in the overstuffed armchair with her legs flung over the side. She adored the musty, unchanging permanence of his book filled refuge. When she eventually roused herself from her novel and offered to cook some spaghetti, knowing perfectly well she'd be muscled out of his kitchen, she was shocked to hear him announce he'd have to run out and get take-out. Take-out! Friday was pasta night. This was new and therefore, worrisome. She wanted old and same.
The moment he left she busied herself poking about the house. It pained her to have to resort to this, but something was up. She consoled her conscience by checking the origin of the email messages only; she drew the line at reading them, as that would constitute snooping. The evidence was overwhelming. Dozens of messages sent from Katherine re: Fundraiser descending all the way down to hell and jamming up his inbox. A simple deduction pointed to the irksome Katherine, clearly a delegating type, and the probable cause of their food crisis. It grieved her to think of her good-natured-to-a-fault father being unfairly saddled with grunt work. At the sound of the garage door going up she hustled about gathering up his laundry, throwing it into the washing machine, and setting the table in a show of productivity, and to atone.
"This curry was very tasty, not bad at all," she said, after finishing off the last of the butter chicken.
"Good to mix things up once in a while, try something new, isn't it Fanny. Change can be good."
"Nah, I'm more inclined to think of change as highly over-rated, for the most part, and... stressful. I mean, why shake things up? Whatever happened to tried and true? And... since we're on the subject of stress, I hope you're not taking on too much, Dad. I mean with this fundraiser tomorrow and everything."
A baffled look washed over him as he strained to make sense of her meandering thought process. He paused for a lengthy think, during which he tore off a piece of Naan bread, chewed it slowly and considered his response.
"Katherine is on the Queen's Campaign Cabinet. She's been bouncing ideas off me as they occur to her and my role has been to provide positive feedback and reassurance. Not terribly demanding though. Head cheerleader, I suppose. I'm that good, apparently."
"So Katherine - you did say Katherine right - is she your old chum then? And who put her in charge?"
"She is and she has very generously offered to host the fundraiser at her vacation property on Loughborough Lake, on an annual basis. The Queen's Campaign Spring Fling."
"You mean her cottage?"
"Well it's quite large and sprawling, ideally suited to the size of this event as a matter of fact, but no, cottage wouldn't accurately describe it."
"So you've seen it? Checked out the venue?"
"Yes, it'll do."
"So is she rich or something?"
"Spectacularly. But that is neither here nor there. She's a top-drawer fund-raiser, extremely well-connected, and the committee members are falling over themselves in gratitude, as well they should be. This translates into a windfall for Queen’s."
"But how is it you know her? Not exactly travelling in the same circles."
"Oh, well we knew each other years ago during our undergrad and lost contact over the years but recently became reacquainted, with this fund-raising initiative." His gaze drifted away and then he yawned. "But I'll tell you more on the drive up tomorrow. A few details...we should discuss." This was followed by another enormous yawn.
Fanny went to bed unconvinced this Katherine wasn't wearing her father down with fussy wussy last minute details. She took a dim view, deeming it reckless for a whiz fund-raiser to entrust the intricacies of event planning to a well-meaning but hopelessly absent-minded professor.
They were travelling on Highway 38 en route to the 'Spring Fling', wasting valuable airspace with frivolous words to stave off their nagging apprehension, when her father decided to be serious, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Fanny, I thought I should tell you...ahem...before we arrive... well... hmmm, just how lovely you look. And... what a pretty brooch. Spider, is it?"
"Thanks Dad." And Good. For a moment, it looked like their silly banter could take a solemn turn; just as she was about to mentally rehearse some benign party chit-chat. She had managed to assemble a passable outfit, after all. She'd dusted off a black dress and embellished it with her chic new 'birds of the tropics' scarf. At the last minute she'd secured it with the small spider brooch in case of sudden wind gusts. But the scarf was the thing. The fact was her father was profoundly bored by fashion. If he had specifically admired the scarf, she might have had to rethink her ensemble.
"That's a daring shirt you're sporting, Dad."
"Strange thing. It used to be a staid, tried and true, conservative white but when I pulled it out of the dryer this morning it had decided it would really rather be an eye-catching shade of pink, and the rest of my dress shirts have disappeared. Off finding themselves, no doubt. No harm done darling, you were only trying to help."
"Oops." It was this overly generous, conciliatory behavior that she found both endearing and deeply troubling. She cringed at the thought of the detail-obsessed Katherine screwing up her face at his attire.
"Now, I'm going to have to pull into this store for some gas and a quick errand. Won't be a minute." He strode back out of the country store a few moments later smiling, holding a large bouquet of pussy willows. "They sell groceries, worms, fresh-baked butter tarts, and they're a florist," he boasted with the triumph of the one-stop-shopper.
"Another errand for Katherine?" Fanny inquired as they drove off.
"No, no. It's just something she mentioned to me once, that's stayed with me... her fondness for pussy willows. Er, Fanny... there's something I've been meaning to-."
"Well, a very thoughtful hostess gift then. Oh, oh, oh. You'll never guess what I was thinking about while you were in the store. Because the store reminded me of that age-old conundrum - you know the one - are you a country mouse or a city mouse and, weirdly, I think I'm a bit of both..." This spellbinding drivel was feverishly pursued for the duration of the trip, allowing them both to postpone a very different conversation, one which threatened to cause uneasiness for them both.
When they arrived at their destination, a few minutes early, there was a festive conviviality in the air, of a celebration already in full swing. A large meadow had been sectioned off for a makeshift parking lot and partygoers were spilling out of their chartered buses as more vehicles poured in to the parking area. In the distance could be heard the sound of a band warming up and from overhead a helicopter was circling for a landing in a roped off area reserved as a landing pad. "Good grief," her father muttered, faintly.
They both sat rigid in their seats, quietly taking stock w
ith their windows rolled up. This might have gone on indefinitely if it weren't for the arrival of uniformed waiters carrying champagne-filled trays. They emerged from the car in unison and helped themselves, nodding and smiling at their good fortune. Her father was clutching the pussy willows and had just drained his glass when he motioned to Fanny to follow him. Fanny, who was juggling two glasses and a clutch purse, finished off the first quickly, to take the edge off, vowing silently to sip the other slowly, for buzz maintenance.
"Why don't I show you around first," her father shouted. "The waterfront is lovely... and quiet. We'll catch up to Katherine in a few moments." Having snagged another glass for himself, he proceeded down a long winding path away from the crowds, effectively delaying the inevitable. In the distance Fanny could see an enormous limestone house with several outbuildings and a large tented outdoor space.
"The rich are different from you and me," Fanny mumbled.
"There is that, but sometimes Fanny, they're just richer."
"Hmmm."
"Over there you'll see the stables, riding rings, and paddock."
She thought she caught a whiff of 'to the manor born' as he drew her attention to the various points of interest, but she decided it was either nerves or the transformative power of expensive champagne. The shoreline was indeed pristine, with beautiful woodland rising up above it. There was a boathouse and a long T-shaped dock which moored an array of watercraft in boat slips. Squinting out into the lake, she was able to discern a pontoon plane headed in the direction of the dock. This was a world she neither belonged to nor approved of necessarily: surreal and yet, amusing, like being an extra on a lavish film set where the alcohol turned out to be real. It occurred to her that large gatherings sometimes had this effect on her, though most often making her feel like a second-rate actor, struggling to remember her lines. Today she would finesse them, if not for her own sake, at least for the benefit of her clever father who, by dodging the crowds, had scored them the best seats in the house. She watched awestruck as an agile, dark-suited figure disembarked expertly onto the dock with the panache of the seasoned float-plane aficionado and strode purposefully toward the house.
"Someone, give that man a glass of champagne-," her father said, chortling merrily.
"Unbelievable."
"Yes, I quite agree. Very impressive, great entertainment."
"No, no, no, this is bad. I think I know him. Oh, for cripes sake...it is him!"
"Oh, you mean 007 down there, from the plane?"
"That is John make-way-for-progress Fitzwilliam, the top slimy guy in charge at my work."
"Ahhh...that's Jack, is it? Katherine's been expecting him. Her nephew, incidentally. I meant to tell you...earlier."
4
"When were you planning to tell me and... just how long have you known anyway?" Fanny asked, incredulous.
"Since you started at Barrington. Couple of months. I dragged my feet telling you because I was determined to get you here and I thought you might back out, if you knew. It was probably unwise but if it's any consolation, he's also been kept in the dark. Katherine pressed me to say something but agreed to hold off letting him know him until you were told. There. That's a weight off."
"Dad. Of course, I'd come. To support you, the school. Now, there might be some mild awkwardness with Jack, just so you know. The protest debacle made him cranky and things are a touch thorny but I want to expose myself to more of these sorts of events. Trying to build up my immunity. I have a plan, it's a multi-pronged approach. You'll see. The new me."
"Sounds very scientific, but I'm quite fond of the old you. You remind me of me. Do pass on the formula if it works though. At any rate, it's high time we made our way to the house. Katherine will be waiting and she wants to meet you."
"Okay, but I want you to fill me in on Jack. Has Katherine told you much? I should warn you we've had a bad beginning, frosty."
"He's an orphan."
"What? How old is he anyway?"
"I mean he was orphaned, when he was fifteen. His early years were spent in the U.K. and then his parents enrolled him in a boarding school in Belleville in his early teens, presumably to be close to Katherine while they were in South East Asia on a diplomatic mission. Tragically, they were killed in a plane crash and Katherine and her husband, who were childless, took over his care and embraced him as their own. He chose to stay at the school but commuted back and forth to Toronto and Kingston where they had homes. He was groomed to take over at Barrington when her husband retired. Katherine worries about him, as all parents do. I'm looking forward to meeting him today... see what all the fuss is about."
Fanny was still chewing this over when they entered the large tented area surrounding the front of the house. The crowd was lively, clamouring to get their bids in for the silent auction, mobilized by an energetic string quartet. A small platform was set up for the live auction and adjacent to this a larger stage had been erected for the musicians. Several booths were busy selling raffle tickets for lavish gift baskets and prize packages. Waiters were circling with h'ors deurves and were putting the finishing touches on a lengthy table decorated with ice-sculptures and flower arrangements.
"They're setting up for the buffet and the wine tasting bar is just over there. Jack co-owns a winery in Prince Edward County. A jazz band will be playing later on and the dance floor will be set up just over there..."
Fanny was smiling and nodding, dividing her attention between her father and the raucous laughter coming from a small group of women her age who surrounded the tasting bar with the result that she heard nothing with any satisfaction. The women were having a riot, adorned as they were in their fancy hats and fascinators. Her antennae went up when she heard Jack's name tossed about and, straining to hear, was able to decipher "...cavorting with... blonde trollop from Havergal College... attached at the hip". She was intrigued by their easy camaraderie and adventurous headgear and yearned to join them, if only for more salacious gossip, but given they belonged to the horsey set, she doubted she could speak their language. But then, she reflected, there was always the universal language of the smashed; they were just getting started so she'd bide her time and approach when the timing was right. Apart from the mayor of Kingston, and a few other persons of note, she recognized no one, so she trailed after her father who was waving and nodding like a politician now, an old hand at the game.
"...and that is the main house, where Katherine stays, when she is here. She said she'd be inside. Let's do this, shall we?"
Placing their empty champagne flutes on a tray, they strolled along the wide flagstone path leading to the house and then up the granite clad steps to the entrance. The door swung open as a few guests exited and her father held it as she made her way inside. The foyer was spacious and high-ceilinged, occupied by scattered clusters of guests chatting and milling about while the catering staff bustled back and forth from the kitchen. As she scanned the decor the thing that most stood out for her was how, contrary to expectation, nothing stood out at all. She couldn't decide whether it was intentionally understated or just puzzlingly ordinary, but the effect enhanced its charm; it had an ambience of warmth and character, the timeworn comfort of a home well used. She felt pleased for her father, whose pussy willows would unquestionably suit. They were temporarily stuck in limbo while her father surveyed the room so she calmly immersed herself in people watching.
Abruptly, jarred from her reverie, she was being introduced and felt her hands clasped by her hostess in one smooth transaction, before fully comprehending what had taken place.
"So nice to finally meet you, Fanny. I've heard so much about you from your father. My goodness, what a beautiful brooch. And Robert, those pussy willows are perfect. I have just the spot for them. No gaps in your memory. Have you had a chance to poke about, Fanny?"
Katherine - the Katherine - was a poor match for the image of the society doyenne she had conjured in her mind. The bling was noticeably absent, for one thing. She had the
bone structure of a former beauty, but with the carefree inattention of someone unperturbed by the ravages of age. Her white hair was tucked behind her ears in a neat bob, her skin was bare but for a touch of lipstick, and she was dressed simply and modestly. If shunning the accoutrements of wealth was by design, she could well afford to; her way of putting people at their ease and her elegance, emanating from within, dazzled everyone in her radius.
"Nice to meet you, too," Fanny said returning her smile. "And yes, my father steered me toward the lake right away. Stunning. You have a lovely spot here. Please let me know if I can be of help."
"Thank you, but I think we have everything under control. Just. And yes, this place is a wonderful respite and ideal for entertaining family and friends. It has its attractions."
Fanny registered the silly grin plastered across her father's face and watched Katherine closely to see whether her gracious demeanor could withstand his shirt's luminous pinkness, but she gave it no more than a cursory glance and carried on with the exchange of pleasantries. She was affecting indifference, thereby depriving Fanny of a single reason to dislike her.
Fanny spied Jack at the opposite corner of the foyer but he glanced over briefly without acknowledging her and then swung around and strode out of the room. In the meantime, a small group of her father's Queen's associates had closed in and introductions were being made. She received a round of compliments on her spider brooch which led to an in depth discussion on the comeback and revival of the brooch, but it barely fazed her that a gaudy piece of costume jewellery had stolen her scarf's thunder; it kept the more probing questions at bay. It was a relief that no one bothered to ask about her career because anxiety about what had very likely transpired between Jack and Katherine was taking hold and making her edgy. After the hot topic of jewellery trends was exhausted and everyone was in agreement about how nicely the weather had cooperated, the crowd gravitated toward the bartender.
