“Are you nervous?” asks Ian as we walk towards the door of the French restaurant he's chosen for this meal with our families.
“Nervous would be putting it mildly,” I reply, trying to stay calm as we approach. Ian has opted for a place that will please everyone: nothing overly sophisticated, but not too rustic either. I've got a sneaking suspicion that in the attempt to remain neutral he'll end up annoying all present. I really hope I'm wrong.
“My lot are already here,” he informs me, pointing to the Bentley parked a few metres ahead.
That's how to make everyone feel at ease, I think, looking at the enormous luxury car.
“I love people who don't like being noticed,” I reply sarcastically.
I see Ian's lips stretch out in a smile. “Grandfather doesn't know what it means not to be noticed. You've met him, I believe.”
The air is thick with tension: this must be the type of restaurant that doesn't normally have to deal with people like the Duke of Revington. Or my weirdo parents.
“This way,” says a pale-looking waiter as he shows us to our table. In his place, I'd be pale too.
We are led to a large flawlessly set table. There's no silverware, but it's all very tasteful.
The three faces awaiting us there are not exactly the personification of friendliness, but that was to be expected. The Duke gets up immediately and shakes my hand.
“It is always a pleasure, Miss Percy,” he says, as though it were true. But I appreciate the form that he attempts to maintain.
Ian's mother gets up to say hello and introduce her husband. “A pleasure. I'm David St John,” he says in a formal tone, shaking my hand and studying me carefully. His deep blue eyes give me no clue as to what he thinks of me, but the resemblance between father and son is quite staggering, even though Ian's face is much sweeter and definitely more open.
The only thing missing to complete this cheerful little picture is my family, but soon enough they arrive. Once the introductions are over and everyone is seated, an awkward silence falls over the guests.
“Well, now that we've all arrived, how about getting on to the real reason why we are here today?” asks Ian's grandfather. He certainly isn't one to beat about the bush.
“We are here to meet one another, Grandfather. I think that's obvious,” Ian replies in the same tone.
“Well, I would say that we've all met, now, then,” his mother says nervously.
He looks at her, summoning extreme patience.
“Good, because Jenny and I would like to tell you something,” announces Ian.
“You're not pregnant?” asks my mother accusingly.
At the word 'pregnant', all present jump to attention and the tension becomes palpable.
“No, mum, I'm not pregnant,” I answer sharply. Even though it's none of your business anyway, I feel like adding.
“Are you sure?” asks Ian's mother.
Have they all gone mad?
“Yes, I'm quite sure,” I say through clenched teeth.
“What we wanted to tell you,” says Ian, attempting to retrieve his thread, “is that we are moving in together.”
“Together?” asks my father in shock.
“Yes, together. It means living in the same house,” I explain. If he's going to ask such stupid questions then I'll have to resort to semantics.
“Why?” asks Ian's mother.
Ian laughs. “What do you mean, 'why'? Does it seem so odd that two people who are together decide to live together?”
“Ian, you know that in our family there has never been… cohabitation,” points out his father, who until then has had the good sense to keep quiet.
“There's a first time for everything,” replies his son.
“And where the hell would you live?” asks his grandfather finally in a tone that is clearly meant to intimidate.
“I was thinking about my flat,” replies Ian.
“You mean my flat,” says the Duke, rather inelegantly.
“I mean the flat I pay rent for. But I have no difficulty with moving out and looking for another, if that's the problem.”
His grandfather looks at him icily. “Of course not. That's not the point.”
“Yes, I'd worked that out for myself,” replies Ian, growing increasingly angry. “May I know exactly what this insurmountable stumbling block might be, then?”
A silence descends suddenly on our table and no one dares to breathe.
“Well?” prompts Ian.
“You can't really imagine that you two are compatible,” says his mother, looking serious.
“Mother dear, if you and father think that you are, then I am very happy to be totally incompatible with Jenny—”
His mother looks at him in annoyance, but says nothing else.
But I was sure that his grandfather would not be able to restrain himself, and I'm proved right. “Ian, you cannot seriously be considering going through with this: Miss Percy is a very intelligent, very interesting person, nobody denies that, but if you are serious in your intentions then you must see that you have chosen entirely the wrong kind of person.”
I was afraid that sooner or later someone would say something like that. And that my mum wouldn't be able to overlook it.
“Excuse me?” she says indignantly, raising her voice. “What exactly do you mean?”
Ian's grandfather looks perplexed. No one ever addresses him in this way. “No offence, ma'am, but we are one of the most important families in England and we have always regarded alliances in marriage as being of the most vital importance.”
My father laughs. “Right, so Prince William can marry a girl whose ancestors were miners but your family can't mix with commoner blood?”
Ian's grandfather is extremely annoyed. “Without detracting from the royal family, please remember that you are talking about a German line whose pedigree is not comparable in any way to ours. There is a difference of something like five hundred years of history.”
From bad to worse. At this rate, blood's going to flow.
“Something tells me that your blood's too blue and it needs a bit of new life. Too much inbreeding must have given you lot brain damage,” says my mother spiritedly.
Lady St John at this point feels obliged to speak. “It is more than just a matter of blood. No offence, but there are some essential qualities that a future duchess should possess.”
Oh greeeeeat…
I can't hold back a nervous laugh. “Fine. Well, since we've brought out the big guns, let's at least try and speak our minds,” I suggest to all, trying not to show how offended I am by her intimations.
But my mother has been stung. “Do you perhaps mean that my daughter isn't pretty enough? Are you kidding? Jennifer's gorgeous! Not to mention that she has more brains than all the girls that you're son's been out with put together.”
Apparently it took a nightmare meal like this to finally drag a compliment out of her.
Ian looks at her with a discouraged expression. “That's the way I feel too, mother.”
My mother is in full flow, though. “Anyway, it's your son who doesn't deserve Jenny! Somebody so vacuous, who only cares about appearances—”
“Mum,” I try and cut in, “let's not go too far.”
“Jennifer, please. This is serious.” As though I hadn't realised that for myself. “You can't really be thinking of moving in with Ian, knowing how he was raised and the world he lives in.”
Well, it doesn't take much more for total war to break out, with everyone screaming at each other and nobody listening to anybody else.
I knew it would end like this.
Maybe Ian can continue to kid himself that things can work between us, but I know they can't.
We might even decide to move in together, but eventually these quarrels between our families would affect us too, and they would gradually create a fracture that would ultimately bring the whole house of cards tumbling down, leaving only rubble.
I love Ian. It's strange to realise the fact right now. I love him so much that I'm convinced that these tensions will wound him. And maybe a small wound today is better than a mortal one tomorrow.
I wish there was an alternative, but I can see no other way out.
“Ian,” I whisper, trying to get his attention in the pandemonium.
He turns a disheartened face to me. I understand.
“Ian, I knew this would happen. If we'd thought about it for a moment we could have imagined it from the beginning.”
He looks at me quizzically.
“Our families will always be a problem, there's no point telling yourself that they won't. No one lives in isolation. These people brought us up and they affect our decisions. I'll be honest, I don't think that there's anything else we can do but split up, right now, before we move in together.”
Ian looks at me dumbfounded – he clearly didn't expect anything of the kind.
“What you are talking about?” His voice is hard.
“I care about you, I really do, but we can't go on like this.”
His sweet expression suddenly becomes frosty. “If you're going to give up at the first stupid bloody obstacle, then you obviously can't love me very much.” His voice is hurt and disbelieving.
In truth, the problem is totally the opposite: I love him too much. “I always tend to be the more realistic of the two of us, you have to admit that,” I say quietly. “So if I decide to do something like that it's because I really don't see another way out. We'd end up rowing, saying hurtful things, and in the end we'd hate each other. And I don't want that. So it's better to end it here. We knew from the start that we were too different.”
Ian gets up angrily from the table, so abruptly that all present suddenly go silent and turn towards him.
“You're windbags, the lot of you. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!”
And he storms out.
I try to follow him, but once outside the restaurant it's as though he has evaporated into thin air.