Four days later, Mrs Levy was standing in front of Angelo’s Flower Shop in Orange Grove and holding a single perfect rose. Crossing the street, she examined the premises of Mother and Bride. Mrs Levy felt it was a charming name for a bridal boutique, catering for the two most important women in a marriage and in sensible order. Behind the glass window, a lifelike mannequin in a wedding dress smiled vacuously at her identical twin in advanced maternity wear. Standing in the shop behind them, a young woman dressed in a bridal gown gazed dolefully at her image in a mirror. An assistant was kneeling in front of her.
‘We’ve allowed extra large darts to accommodate your present condition,’ the assistant said empathetically through the pins between her lips. ‘We’ll tack them to allow for growth and stitch them just before the wedding.’
She looked up as Mrs Levy entered.
‘We won’t be a moment, madam,’ she called. ‘Please take a seat.’
Mrs Levy fidgeted in a chair while the darts were adjusted to accommodate the descendant under the dress.
‘Marriage, maternity, or both, madam?’
Mrs Levy stonily considered the question. ‘Marriage,’ she said.
‘Bride, or retinue?’
‘Retinue.’
‘Custom design, or off the shelf?’
‘Custom.’
A broad smile welcomed the increased commission. ‘I’m Philippa. Nice to meet you Ms . . .?’
‘Levy. Mrs Levy.’
‘We must be the mother of the bride.’
‘That’s us,’ said Mrs Levy. ‘We are looking for a pink dress for our daughter’s wedding. It must have a bow on the back.’
Philippa blew lightly onto her nails. ‘Certainly. Pink is very popular. Do we want a particular shade of pink, or shall we show you the range?’
Mrs Levy smiled fixedly. ‘We don’t want a particular shade, I want an exact shade.’
She placed her rose on the counter and watched as Philippa picked up the bloom and held it to her nose.
‘Smelling it won’t help,’ said Mrs Levy. ‘Do you have that colour?’
‘Oh, indeed, madam. I happen to have an excellent eye for colours. This is Nepal pink.’
Mrs Levy shook her head doubtfully. ‘I don’t think so. That isn’t an exact colour. That could be light pink, dark pink, red, brown, even purple or black.’
‘I assure you, I’m right,’ retorted Philippa irritably. ‘This definitely matches our Nepal range. Please wait here, madam, and I’ll bring a sample of material from the back.’
She exited through a door in a false wall dividing the room.
Nipple pink? That’s a funny colour for a dress, Mrs Levy thought worriedly.
She listened curiously as a huskily miserable voice began to cry behind the partition.
‘Philippa, I’m getting desperate about Geoffrey. I think he wants to leave me.’
‘Now what’s happened?’
Mrs Levy sighed at the lack of concern in Philippa’s voice.
‘I am positive he’s got a lover, a cheap tramp at his work.’
‘How can you be sure Geoffrey wants to leave you?’ Philippa asked.
‘Well, he hasn’t said so in so many words, but I can tell. He’s so offish. He hasn’t got a moment for me anymore. It’s not the first time, you know. He has had affairs before, but this time it’s different.’
‘Do you know where the pink range is?’
‘It’s under Mrs Mhlongu’s second-hand wedding dress. I am a very sensitive person and his touch is not the same. There is just a difference in the way he shows his affection.’
‘This is the black range not the pink.’
Mrs Levy quaked and heard a nose being blown.
‘Try under Mrs Bernstein’s divorce ensemble. He gets telephone calls. Can you imagine that? Telephone calls in my house from a woman!’
Mrs Levy clucked sympathetically as shoulder-quivering weeping began.
‘I have always kept everything just right for him. I cook for him, I do his washing, I see that the house is clean and neat. Oh, I am just his servant! But I love Geoffrey!’
‘It’s not here either,’ said Philippa.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sitting on it. I am too frightened to discuss it with him. What if Geoffrey is just waiting for me to say something so he can use my jealousy as an excuse to break it off permanently? I couldn’t bear it. I just don’t know what to do.’
‘Give it to me. I need the commission,’ said Philippa.
Mrs Levy’s eyes lit up as Philippa returned with a sample of material.
‘This is our pink bombazine,’ Philippa said. ‘It’s a twilled dress material worsted with silk.’
‘It’s exact! It’s perfect!’ Mrs Levy exclaimed ecstatically. She grabbed the square of fabric and clutched it to her cheek.
‘Of course, in black it is very popular for mourning,’ said Philippa. The snivelling behind the wall began again.
Mrs Levy spat three times onto the aubergine carpet, narrowly missing a thin man in a white safari suit with green epaulettes.
‘Well excuse me for living,’ he said, dodging to one side.
‘Geoffrey, I’m busy with Mrs Levy and I wish you’d sort out your private life elsewhere,’ Philippa snapped.
‘You’re Geoffrey?’ Mrs Levy asked.
Geoffrey looked oddly at Mrs Levy.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ he said to Philippa.
‘Show a little compassion, a little sincerity,’ Mrs Levy declared.
Geoffrey and Philippa looked in astonishment at Mrs Levy.
‘Who’s she?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘Mrs Levy,’ said Philippa.
‘Sincerity and compassion,’ Mrs Levy repeated. ‘Do you have any idea how unhappy and insecure she is? She thinks you want to leave her no matter what she does! The poor girl’s desperate in there!’ She pointed at the dividing wall.
‘Leave her? Unhappy? Insecure?’ Geoffrey exploded. ‘I’m not the one who’s been mucking around!’
Mrs Levy stared at him in amazement.
Voluble with resentment, Geoffrey snarled, ‘I’m not the one who is walking around on eggshells. Who’s been hanging about the telephone, waiting for calls? Who’s been frigid in bed? Who turns their back every time I come home?’
‘Have the two of you discussed this?’ Mrs Levy asked.
Philippa stood gaping.
‘How can we? Every time I bring up the subject of love, or even speak to my colleagues on the phone, there’s a wailing and slamming of doors!’
Mrs Levy pursed her lips in thought. ‘There has been a terrible misunderstanding, Geoffrey,’ she said carefully. ‘The two of you have not communicated and have been avoiding the important issues. Go and talk to her right now. She’s behind that wall.’
Geoffrey slowly opened the door and disappeared behind the wall.
A few moments of silence passed, followed by soft discussion and muffled weeping, then, ‘I just want to tell you that I love you.’
Mrs Levy beamed at Philippa as wails, cries and happiness poured from behind the wall. The conversation became soppily personal.
‘Thank you, darling,’ Geoffrey sighed at last. ‘I’m so happy. Let’s go and say thank you to Mrs Levy.’
Mrs Levy’s delighted smile faded as they appeared.
‘Mrs Levy, I’d like you to meet Ernest,’ said Geoffrey.
‘Mrs Levy, I’m so happy to meet you!’ exclaimed Ernest ecstatically.
‘Oy gevalt,’ said Mrs Levy, dropping her pink bombazine onto the counter.
Ernest clutched Mrs Levy’s hand and frantically kissed her fingers. ‘How can we ever thank you? How can we ever show our appreciation for what you have done for us? You have saved us, you have saved my life!’
Mrs Levy softened and retrieved her fabric. She turned it over and looked at the reverse disparagingly. ‘Well, perhaps a little discount. I was considering using this material for my dress for my daughter’s wedding, but I’m not so sure about the colour anymore . . .’
‘But it’s you!’ shrieked Ernest. ‘It’s absolutely you!’
‘Do you really think so?’ Mrs Levy wondered how she would describe the colour to her friends.
Ernest cupped his chin in a hand and intently examined Mrs Levy. ‘There’s no doubt about it,’ he said. ‘It’s such a warm cerise.’
‘That’s a nicer colour,’ said Mrs Levy relieved.
‘You have chosen our top fabric. You do know we can’t go any higher than the Nepal line?’
Mrs Levy considered this. ‘I’d like the top a little higher, if you don’t mind,’ she said uncomfortably.
‘We really can’t go much higher than that in this country, but I’d suggest a bow at the back,’ Ernest said.
‘That’s what I thought too,’ remarked Mrs Levy with renewed warmth.
Ernest placed a forefinger over puckered lips and contemplated Mrs Levy’s ample rear. ‘I’ve always felt that bows really give the fullness of the Nepal line an aesthetic feeling.’
Mrs Levy was incredulous that a bow could cause anaesthetic nipples. She thought about the problem for a moment. ‘Would it help if I used sticky tape on them? I’ve heard that women runners do. It stops their T-shirts from rubbing them when they wobble.’
Ernest clapped his hands in mock horror. ‘Sticking plaster? My dear Mrs Levy, we double stitch them. Can you imagine what would happen to our good name if they fell off?’
‘I think I’ll leave the bow out,’ said Mrs Levy.
‘As you wish. By the way, who is your daughter marrying?’
‘Jeremiah Koekentapp. He’s a doctor.’ Mrs Levy smiled radiantly at Geoffrey, who had become ashen.
‘Not the one who had his operation last week?’ Geoffrey asked faintly.
‘Why yes. Do you know him?’
‘Geoffrey’s a male nurse at the Park Lane Clinic,’ Ernest explained proudly. ‘He’s a qualified midwife.’
‘Well, I have seen lots of Dr Koekentapp,’ Geoffrey said, ‘but I can’t say I really know him. A dreadfully aggressive old man who called himself the Godfather came to his operation. I’ve never met anyone from the Mafia before and I hope I never do again.’
Mrs Levy lifted an eyebrow. ‘Paddy O’Reilly? I didn’t know that. His mother was Italian, you know, so I suppose it’s possible, but she married an Irish Catholic and Paddy’s Jewish.’
‘I suppose that could explain it,’ said Geoffrey weakly.
‘It’s a very small world,’ said Mrs Levy.
At that very moment, Paddy O’Reilly, who was still suffering from an uncomfortably accelerated heart rate as a result of recently diagnosed congenital Judaism, was sitting in Dr Koekentapp’s waiting room. He dourly listened in as Elizabeth and Anne discussed the modifications to their employer.
‘I wonder if he feels any different?’ Anne asked.
‘I’m sure he’s still very sensitive,’ replied Elizabeth, ‘but they say the skin does toughen up and circumcised men often make better lovers because they don’t climax so quickly.’
‘I don’t mean feel differently, I mean feel any different after suddenly finding out he’s Jewish,’ Anne said.
‘Hard to say,’ Elizabeth replied.
‘No it’s not,’ declared Paddy O’Reilly. ‘It’s a shock that affects the heart.’
Anne and Elizabeth regarded him silently.
‘That’s why I am here,’ explained Paddy O’Reilly.
‘You are Jewish, Mr O’Reilly?’ Elizabeth asked incredulously.
‘Only for four days. Before that, I was Catholic.’
Anne was about to roll back her eyes and say ‘not another nutter’ when Mrs Finkelstein entered with Lucas.
‘Well, well, if it’s not Mr O’Reilly,’ Mrs Finkelstein said, ‘fancy meeting you here.’
Oblivious to the expression of unconcealed aversion on his face, she sat on the chair next to him. Paddy O’Reilly surreptitiously moved his chair further away.
‘It’s my gardener again,’ Mrs Finkelstein announced darkly. ‘You’d think I was Mother Theresa the way I look after him. I ought to be sainted.’
Paddy O’Reilly recoiled at the terrible thought of an icon of St Naomi Finkelstein glaring malevolently from a cathedral wall.
‘But why are you here?’ Mrs Finkelstein asked inquisitively.
‘It’s me heart,’ Paddy O’Reilly replied.
Mrs Finkelstein nodded sagely. ‘Heart disease is very common among Jews, you know. You must take better care of yourself.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m in a bit of a rush. Would you mind if Lucas went in before you?’
Paddy O’Reilly shook his head, grateful for any reason to get rid of her. When Anne escorted Mrs Finkelstein and Lucas into Dr Koekentapp’s consulting room, Paddy O’Reilly scowled bleakly at Elizabeth.
‘That woman’s got the clap, you know. She used to be a prostitute. She’s probably having it off with that black bloke of hers. Do you think I could catch anything by sitting next to her?’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ demanded Elizabeth.
‘Just making sure,’ said Paddy O’Reilly, vastly relieved that Elizabeth felt it was insanely impossible to contract a venereal disease from Mrs Finkelstein by sitting next to her.
‘There’s something wrong with his organ,’ Mrs Finkelstein said to Dr Koekentapp. ‘I can’t quite make it out. He said it’s dropped or something. He just points to it. Maybe he’s got a hernia.’
Dr Koekentapp looked inquiringly at Lucas.
‘I’ve got the drop,’ Lucas said embarrassedly.
‘You see what I mean?’ rejoined Mrs Finkelstein.
She waited in the consulting room while Dr Koekentapp examined Lucas in private. There was no mistaking the accuracy of the diagnosis. The heavy dripping discharge of gonorrhoea was present.
‘Have you had this before?’ Dr Koekentapp asked.
Lucas grinned ruefully. ‘Yes.’
Dr Koekentapp shook his head.
‘He’s got what?’ Mrs Finkelstein spluttered, when she heard the news.
Paddy O’Reilly exchanged a significant glance with Elizabeth as Mrs Finkelstein shrieked ‘Gonorrhoea!’ from behind Dr Koekentapp’s closed door.
‘We had better do a blood test – a sexually transmitted diseases screen,’ Dr Koekentapp said, ‘just to exclude the possibility of other illnesses.’
‘What other illnesses?’ demanded Mrs Levy frantically.
Dr Koekentapp hesitated. ‘Well, syphilis for one—’
‘Syphilis!’ screeched Mrs Finkelstein.
Paddy O’Reilly nodded sadly in the waiting room.
‘—and herpes—’ Dr Koekentapp mentioned.
‘Herpes!’ bellowed Mrs Finkelstein.
Paddy O’Reilly held his head.
‘—and Aids,’ whispered Dr Koekentapp.
Paddy O’Reilly shot to his feet as Mrs Finkelstein screamed, ‘Aids!’
‘Bloody full house. I knew it. The poor bastard,’ he said.
Mrs Finkelstein breathed heavily through flared nostrils as she stared at Dr Koekentapp.
‘Any more “illnesses”?’ she asked.
‘Well, just one,’ Dr Koekentapp admitted, ‘Chlamydia.’
‘Cla-what?’ growled Mrs Finkelstein.
‘Chlamydia. It’s also a sexually transmitted disease.’
‘I’ve never heard of it!’ bayed Mrs Finkelstein.
‘I told you she was trash,’ Paddy O’Reilly said to Elizabeth. ‘Now she’s given him diseases she hasn’t even heard of.’
Somewhat biased by the accurate sequence of events as predicted by Paddy O’Reilly, Elizabeth warily watched Mrs Finkelstein as she left Dr Koekentapp’s room.
‘It’s going to cost me a fortune,’ Mrs Finkelstein was mumbling.
‘What is?’ Elizabeth asked. She grabbed a can of Doom insect killer as Mrs Finkelstein clutched at the edge of the receptionist’s desk.
‘Paying for blood tests. About shtupping, he knows. About paying, he doesn’t.’ Mrs Finkelstein faced Paddy O’Reilly indignantly.
‘Who does Lucas think I am? His mother?’ she demanded.
With mounting agitation Paddy O’Reilly scrutinised Mrs Finkelstein. ‘It’s not his fault, you know,’ he said angrily. ‘He hasn’t had the advantage of your upbringing and education. You can’t blame him for trusting and depending on you.’
Mrs Finkelstein looked at him in surprise. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, after a while. ‘I shouldn’t have held it against him. Anyway, done is done. I do tend to get heated up sometimes, but he should have taken precautions before coming to me.’
‘I’ll say!’ Paddy O’Reilly agreed with alacrity.
When Lucas returned to the waiting room, he was rubbing his buttock where Dr Koekentapp had injected penicillin.
‘I hope you have learnt your lesson now,’ Mrs Finkelstein snapped at him. ‘You can’t always expect me to drop everything and just lie down every time you need me. I’m a busy woman, you know. I don’t have time to play silly games with you anymore.’
Elizabeth’s voice cracked when she asked Paddy O’Reilly to go through.
That evening, Mrs Levy looked worriedly at Sylvia, who was reading with her legs curled under her on the sofa.
‘Where’s Jeremiah?’ Mrs Levy asked. ‘He should have been here by now.’
‘He’ll be a little late. He’s meeting his father to discuss something this evening.’
‘What are they discussing?’ Levy asked, sitting at the Hebrew table and preparing Dr Koekentapp’s lesson for the evening.
‘He wouldn’t say. It’s supposed to be a surprise,’ replied Sylvia.
Mrs Levy pursed her lips doubtfully. ‘More surprises?’ She changed the subject. ‘How did his first day back at work go?’
‘Very well, I believe. Paddy was there when I phoned. I could hear him complaining bitterly to Jerry about Naomi.’
‘What was he complaining about?’
‘I couldn’t catch the details. Something about Naomi giving aid to the under-privileged. I don’t know why that should upset Paddy so much. He didn’t strike me as a radical conservative, but you never can tell about people, can you?’
‘I suppose not,’ replied Mrs Levy. She scrabbled in her bag and retrieved a square of material.
‘What do you think of this?’ she asked, casually tossing it onto the coffee table.
Sylvia picked up the cloth and examined it.
‘It’s a gorgeous colour. What is it?’
‘Warm cerise. What do you think of the material?’
‘It’s got a very silky feel. It would make a lovely dress.’
‘That’s what I thought. It’s such a pity they can’t use this material to make a bow for the dress.’
Sylvia gaped at her mother in astonishment. ‘Why ever not?’
Mrs Levy glanced surreptitiously at her husband occupied at the Hebrew table. ‘It can damage your nipples,’ she whispered.
Sylvia eyed her mother from below hooded lids. ‘Nonsense,’ she snorted.
A waved hand from her mother stifled further uninformed scepticism. ‘It’s true. The man at the shop warned me about it. It’s like some sort of allergy. Your nipples can fall off – just like gangrene.’ Mrs Levy paused for a moment. ‘I wonder if I couldn’t use an antihistamine? I must ask Jeremiah for his opinion.’