Agnes nodded. ‘You go. I’ll – finish my chicken,’ she said.
I followed Mrs Gopnik through the tables of the Great Room and out into the hallway, my mind racing. We walked along a carpeted corridor, me a few paces behind her, and stopped at the Ladies. She opened the mahogany door and stood back, allowing me in before her.
‘Thank you,’ I muttered, and headed into a cubicle. I didn’t even want to wee. I sat on the seat: if I stayed there long enough she might leave before I came out, but when I emerged she was at the basins, touching up her lipstick. Her gaze slid towards me as I washed my hands.
‘So you live in my old home,’ she said.
‘Yes.’ There didn’t seem much point in lying about it.
She pursed her lips, then, satisfied, closed her lipstick. ‘This must all feel rather awkward for you.’
‘I just do my job.’
‘Mm.’ She took out a small hairbrush and dragged it lightly over her hair. I wondered if it would be rude to leave, or if etiquette said I should also return to the table with her. I dried my hands and leant toward the mirror, checking under my eyes for smudges and taking as much time as possible.
‘How is my husband?’
I blinked.
‘Leonard. How is he? Surely you’re not betraying any great confidence by telling me that.’ Her reflection looked out at me.
‘I … I don’t see him much. But he seems fine.’
‘I was wondering why he wasn’t here. Whether his arthritis had flared up again.’
‘Oh. No. I think he has a work thing today.’
‘A “work thing”. Well. I suppose that’s good news.’ She placed her hairbrush carefully back in her bag and pulled out a powder compact. She patted her nose once, twice, on each side, before closing it. I was running out of things to do. I rummaged in my bag, trying to remember if I had brought a powder compact with me. And then Mrs Gopnik turned to face me. ‘Is he happy?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s a straightforward question.’
My heart bumped awkwardly against my ribcage.
Her voice was mellifluous, even. ‘Tab won’t talk to me about him. She’s quite angry at her father still, though she loves him desperately. Always was a daddy’s girl. So I don’t think it’s possible for her to paint an accurate picture.’
‘Mrs Gopnik, with respect I really don’t think it’s my place to –’
She turned her head away. ‘No. I suppose not.’ She placed her compact carefully in her handbag. ‘I’m pretty sure I can guess what you’ve been told about me, Miss …?’
‘Clark.’
‘Miss Clark. And I’m sure you’re also aware that life is rarely black and white.’
‘I am.’ I swallowed. ‘I also know Agnes is a good person. Smart. Kind. Cultured. And not a gold-digger. As you say, these things are rarely clear-cut.’
Her eyes met mine in the glass. We stood for a few seconds longer, then she closed her handbag and, after a last glance at her reflection, she gave a tight smile. ‘I’m glad Leonard is well.’
We returned to the table just as the plates were being cleared. She said not another word to me for the rest of the afternoon.
The desserts were served alongside the coffee, the conversation ebbed and lunch dragged to a close. Several elderly women were helped to the Ladies, their walking frames extricated with gentle commotions from chair legs as they went. The man in the suit stood on the small podium at the front, sweating gently into his collar, thanked everybody for coming, then said a few words about upcoming events at the club, including a charity night in two weeks, which was apparently sold out (a round of applause greeted this news). Finally, he said, they had an announcement to make, and nodded towards our table.
Agnes let out a breath and stood, the room’s eyes upon her. She walked to the podium, taking the manager’s place at the microphone. As she waited, he brought an older African American woman in a dark suit to the front of the room. The woman fluttered her hands as if everyone were making an unnecessary fuss. Agnes smiled at her, took a deep breath, as I had instructed her, then laid her two small cards carefully on the stand, and began to speak, her voice clear and deliberate.
‘Good afternoon, everybody. Thank you for coming today, and thank you to all the staff for such a delicious lunch.’
Her voice was perfectly modulated, the words polished like stones over hours of practice the previous week. There was an approving murmur. I glanced at Mrs Gopnik, whose expression was unreadable.
‘As many of you know, this is Mary Lander’s last day at the club. We would like to wish her a very happy retirement. Leonard wishes me to tell you, Mary, he is so very sorry not to be able to come today. He appreciates everything you have done for the club and he knows that everyone else here does too.’ She paused, as I had instructed her. The room was silent, the women’s faces attentive. ‘Mary started here at Grand Pines in 1967 as a kitchen attendant and rose up to become assistant house manager. Everybody here has very much enjoyed your company and your hard work over the years, Mary, and we will all miss you very much. We – and the other members of this club - would like to offer you a small token of our appreciation and we sincerely hope that your retirement is most enjoyable.’
There was a polite round of applause and Agnes was handed a glass sculpture of a scroll, with Mary’s name engraved on it. She handed it to the older woman, smiling, and stood still as some people took pictures. Then she moved to the edge of the platform and returned to our table, her face flashing relief as she was allowed to leave the limelight. I watched as Mary smiled for more pictures, this time with the manager. I was about to lean over to Agnes to congratulate her when Kathryn Gopnik stood.
‘Actually,’ she said, her voice cutting across the chatter, ‘I’d like to say a few words.’
As we watched, she made her way up onto the podium, where she walked past the stand. She took Mary’s gift from her and handed it to the manager. Then she clasped Mary’s hands in her own. ‘Oh, Mary,’ she said, and then, turning so that they were facing outward: ‘Mary, Mary, Mary. What a darling you’ve been.’
There was a spontaneous burst of applause across the room. Mrs Gopnik nodded, waiting until it died down. ‘Over the years my daughter has grown up with you watching over her – and us – during the hundreds, no, thousands of hours we’ve spent here. Such happy, happy times. If we’ve had the slightest problem you’ve always been there, sorting things out, bandaging scraped knees or putting endless ice packs on bumped heads. I think we all remember the incident in the boathouse!’
There was a ripple of laughter.
‘You’ve especially loved our children, and this place always felt like a sanctuary to Leonard and me because it was the one place we knew our family would be safe and happy. Those beautiful lawns have seen so many great times, and been witness to so much laughter. While we’d be off playing golf or having a delicious cocktail with friends there at the sidelines, you’d be watching over children or handing out glasses of that inimitable iced tea. We all love Mary’s special iced tea, don’t we, friends?’
There was a cheer. I watched as Agnes grew rigid, clapping robotically as if she wasn’t quite sure what else to do.
Emmett leant into me. ‘Mary’s iced tea is quite a thing. I don’t know what she puts into it but, my goodness, it’s lethal.’ He raised his eyes to the heavens.