Broken Country (Reese’s Book Club)

18. Before

Before

I am in my mother’s bedroom getting dressed for a dinner party at Meadowlands. My sister is here too, lolling on my mother’s bed, dishing out fashion advice and snippy remarks about the Wolfe family.

“Is it too much?” I say, staring at myself in the long, gilt-framed mirror.

I am wearing an off-the-shoulder top of Eleanor’s, with a circular skirt my mother and I have sewed painstakingly over the past four days. My mother has lent me a wide patent leather belt and Eleanor has put waves into my hair with my mother’s rollers. Makeup too, borrowed from my sister: red lipstick, rouged cheeks.

“Oh, Beth,” my mother says, when I turn around. “You are lovely.”

“You look great,” Eleanor says. “Although that dreadful woman will no doubt tell you your clothes are completely out-of-date.”

It was probably a mistake to tell my family about Tessa’s behavior the first time I met her.

Gabriel came here for supper a few nights ago. He was his most charming self, talking to my mother about the Bront? sisters, her favorite; to my father about Dublin, where Gabriel had holidayed as a child; and asking Eleanor all about London’s nightlife.

It did no good. When Gabriel left, Eleanor said: “He’s all right, I suppose. Very good-looking. But how do you put up with that voice? Frightfully posh, isn’t he?”

The dinner party is in full flow by the time I arrive.

“There you are, dear Beth,” Tessa says, when I walk into the dining room where Gabriel, his parents, and some visiting American friends are gathered. “The silly girl brought our soup out before we were ready for it. So I’m afraid we’ve had to start without you.”

“And here’s your place next to me,” Edward says, rising in his chair. “Let me introduce you.”

The guests are Richard and Moira Scott and their daughter, Louisa, who has just finished her first year at St Hilda’s, Oxford. Gabriel gave me no other information about this evening other than there was some dreary American girl coming for the weekend whom he was being forced to look after, and please would I help.

He’s giving a good show of being willing rather than coerced is my first thought, as I watch him listening to Louisa, his head tilted toward her. Perhaps no one had told him how pretty she was, although “pretty” does not do justice to her pink-and-white skin and glittering eyes, a mouth that curves upward as if in permanent readiness for a smile. She has a doll-like perfection, dainty ears, elegant little nose, curvy rosebud mouth, like a prototype for classic beauty.

I thought I had dressed up for this evening, but it is nothing compared with Louisa. She is in strapless black satin, a choker of pearls around her lovely neck, a daring suggestion of cleavage on show for this family party.

It’s interesting seeing mothers and daughters together, particularly when they are the mirror image of each other, like Louisa and Moira Scott. It bodes well for Louisa, her mother’s smooth, unlined skin, her slim body encased in a narrow black dress. Good genes, great bone structure. Strong white American teeth. They laugh a lot, perhaps to reveal these excellent smiles.

Louisa waves at me from the other side of the table. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says. “Gabriel has been telling me all about you.”

“And Louisa has been filling me in on Oxford.”

“Some of my best friends at Oxford are poets and playwrights. They are always on the lookout for other writers.”

With sudden clarity I understand two things: Louisa and Gabriel are going to become close, and I will feel excluded.

Whether out of politeness or design, I am soon distracted by Richard Scott, who is sitting on the other side of me. I’ve never known someone so curious—he asks a stream of questions about my family, my school, my favorite authors, what sort of music I like, whether I’m a confirmed country person or could picture myself living in town?

He treats me like an adult, asking how I feel about Anthony Eden, our new prime minister. Was I sad to see Churchill go?

I repeat what I have heard my parents say, that Churchill was once a brilliant politician but it was time for him to retire, and Eden had waited a long time. My parents are not fans of the Conservative Party but I decide to keep that to myself.

We talk about the recent hanging of Ruth Ellis. Like everyone else my age, I was appalled by the death sentence. “She was a mother,” I say, and Richard must hear how my voice falters for he reaches out to pat my hand. “And her boyfriend was abusive. It was so wrong.”

From time to time, I manage to steal the occasional glance at Gabriel and Louisa, still talking intently. I see the way she looks at him, not quite with adoration, but with full, rapt attention.

With some pressing, I manage to piece together information about the Scott family. They live in California, in the Hollywood Hills. I picture a white mansion with a shimmering pool, a row of sports cars parked outside, Marilyn Monroe dropping in for sundowners. Richard is a film producer, recent credits include Sabrina and Rear Window , both of which I have seen.

“You know Alfred Hitchcock?” If my voice is starstruck, I can’t help it.

“Yes. Well, as much as anyone knows him. He keeps himself to himself.”

“What was he like to work with?”

Richard takes a sip of his wine. “?‘Challenging’ is probably the best way I can put it. He is not an easy man.”

“And do you know Marilyn Monroe? I’ve been trying not to ask but I can’t help it.”

Richard laughs. “Oh, ask away. I have met her. Hollywood is a very small world, everyone goes to the same parties. But I wouldn’t say I know her. We haven’t worked on anything together and she usually has an entourage around her.”

“Daddy?” Louisa calls out across the table. “Gabriel is writing a novel. I was telling him you’d probably have someone read it for him?”

“I can do that,” Richard says. “What’s it about?”

This is the thing about Gabriel. If it were me presenting an idea to a Hollywood producer in front of a room of people I knew, including my parents and my girlfriend, I would fall to pieces. Gabriel does the opposite. He takes his time to think about what he’s going to say, composing his thoughts while we wait.

“I’d describe it as an upside-down love story. Instead of the girl being desperate to marry the boy, it’s the other way round. The girl wants to explore her sexuality and live freely like a man. She’s batting off his proposals while she sleeps with whomever she chooses and he’s left at home waiting for her, hoping she’s going to come back.”

“I like that,” Richard says. “Subverting the trope. How does it end?”

Before he can say any more, Tessa interrupts. “No prizes for guessing who the racy heroine is modeled on.” She allows her gaze to rest on me, her meaning clear. “Beth, answer me honestly,” she continues. “If the offer of a great marriage came along, would you turn it down?”

There is a sudden hush in the room. Across the table I see Gabriel watching, and I know what he is thinking. Don’t rile her. Please, let it go . It’s a tightrope Edward and Gabriel walk when Tessa is drinking.

“What constitutes a great marriage?” I say, avoiding the question. “I think we’d probably have different ideas on that.”

Yours, Tessa, for example, is more flawed and destructive than any I’ve ever seen.

Across the table, Gabriel shakes his head at me. And I realize, once again, he is leaving me to flounder. Or defend myself alone. When it comes to Tessa, Gabriel doesn’t have it in him to stand up to her. He doesn’t want me to spoil his chances with Richard Scott either. This is how inner circles work: You meet the right people, doors open, you are ushered through. Join the club. You’ll fit right in. So long as your drunk of a mother doesn’t ruin things for you.

“Marriage is the last thing on my mind, to be honest. This beef is delicious, Tessa. So tender.”

I notice, when the meal is finished and Louisa starts to pile the plates nearest to her, one on top of the other, Tessa simply thanks her.

“Stay where you are, Louisa,” she says. “We have a girl in the kitchen washing up. Beth and I will fetch the pudding.”

Another girl from the village has been serving the dinner, so there’s no need for me to help, unless it’s an excuse for Tessa to talk to me alone. My stomach clenches with dread.

“Louisa seems lovely,” I say, as soon as we are in the kitchen.

“Isn’t she? She and Gabe hit it off immediately. I knew she’d be his type.”

“It was a good idea of yours to invite them. So nice for him to start university with a friend.”

I’m saying everything Tessa wants to hear. But it’s no good. She fixes me with dark, contemplative eyes, and a small, pitying smile.

“Dear Beth, I do worry about you.”

“Oh? I don’t know why.”

“I hope you’re going to cope with him leaving you.”

“It’s only one term and then he’ll be back.”

She laughs. “You think it’s going to last that long?”

I’m so shocked by her unkindness I cannot find anything to say.

“I’m fond of you, Beth, and I hope you haven’t thrown everything away on a summer fling. You’ve let my son take advantage of you rather, haven’t you?”

I feel my face flush with anger. Day in, day out, men are admired for their sexual prowess, for the “conquests” notched upon their bedposts. Whereas women, who dare to do the same, are derided, and, most often, it is other women dishing out the derision.

Didn’t Tessa hear what Gabriel’s novel was about? His attempt to expose double standards so ingrained nobody ever questions them? Her son gets it, even if she doesn’t.

“Boys like Gabriel don’t tend to end up with girls like you. I don’t mean to be unkind. Quite the opposite. I’m just trying to warn you, so you don’t get hurt.”

For the rest of the evening, I cannot shake myself free of Tessa’s insinuations. I look at Gabriel and Louisa and see them as a perfect inverse of each other, one dark and tall, the other blond and slight. Handsome, clever, and well-bred, they are ideally matched, like a pair of Henry James protagonists destined to fall in love.