CHAPTER 40
Small Concessions
Before dismissing this part of our subject, we beseech you to avoid all bickering. What does it signify where a picture hangs, or whether a rose or a pink looks best on the drawing-room table? There is something inexpressibly endearing in small concessions, in gracefully giving up a favorite opinion, or in yielding to the will of another; and equally painful is the reverse. The mightiest rivers have their source in streams; the bitterest domestic misery has often arisen from some trifling difference of opinion.
—Decorum, page 204
“Mr. Jerome’s party,” said Esther to the maître d’ as a small string ensemble struck up an air. The Café Savarin glowed in welcoming honey tones of white mahogany woodwork. Marble-top tables were crowned with shallow dishes of yellow crocuses that breathed spring into the light-filled main café. The somber winter fashions were giving way to green, violet, and blue with ornaments of flowers, feathers, and ribbons.
“I don’t remember Jerry ever possessing such a sheepish look,” she whispered to Francesca as Jerry saw them and waved.
“Good gracious, there’s Maggie,” Francesca said as Maggie turned and acknowledged them with a nod. “I thought we were lunching alone with Jerry. Neither of them looks very happy. It could very well be that she knows.”
“So she should,” said Esther. “I don’t approve of secrets between husbands and wives. Jerry has a perfect right to preserve his domestic life above any consideration he has for you, you know.” Francesca merely sighed. “Nevertheless, we should assume nothing and follow Jerry’s lead. Since there has never been any love lost between Maggie and me, that look of disapproval may be entirely for my benefit.”
The maître d’ gathered up the leather-bound menus and led the ladies through the labyrinth of tables as if parading violet and lavender flowers toward the far side of the room. The tap of Esther’s walking stick upon the marble floor awakened the curiosity of a succession of onlookers.
Jerry rose, looking more like his amiable self, his smile spreading. He extended a hand to Esther and gave her a family kiss on the cheek before pulling out her chair for her while the maître d’ seated Francesca and handed them menus. Maggie merely nodded.
“How are you, Maggie?” said Esther, when no further greeting was forthcoming.
“As well as can be expected, thank you, Esther,” said Maggie, perusing the open menu before her.
Francesca cast a furtive look across the table at Esther, whose attention was directed toward soups, hors d’oeuvres, and fish.
“Oh?” said Esther. “I thought perhaps you looked a little peaky. I hope the dinner party didn’t upset you. I thought it was rather fine myself, didn’t you, Jerry?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said.
“We were sorry we couldn’t join you for a nightcap afterward, weren’t we, Francesca?” Esther said. “But I’m afraid I’m still not quite used to such a press of social engagements.”
“I should think it will be a little easier at the Banff Springs,” said Francesca. “With the convenience of social engagements and recreation in and about the Springs and being able to retire at any time.”
“I certainly hope so, dear. How’s the beef Marseillaise, Jerry?”
“You missed a very enlightening time, didn’t they, Jerry?” said Maggie. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“Excellent,” said Jerry to Esther.
“Oh, how so?” asked Esther.
“I believe it’s the way the pan is seasoned,” said Jerry.
“I’m sorry, Jerry. I meant the enlightening time that Maggie referred to.” Francesca caught Esther’s eye this time, but the latter placidly ignored the distress signals Francesca exchanged with Jerry.
“It seems you’ll have your hands full, Esther,” retorted Maggie. “Mr. O’Casey has decided to take himself off to Banff—just like that. I can’t imagine what could have given him the idea, especially since he made such fun of it only a few months ago.”
“I suppose the man may amuse himself wherever he chooses,” said Esther.
“He certainly could have been more considerate by choosing to go somewhere else for his amusements, as you call them,” said Maggie.
“He is going for the sake of the Excelsior,” interjected Jerry. “It doesn’t follow that all business has to be hard labor.”
“Perhaps not. But anyone, however loosely connected with our family affairs, should not be imposing himself upon Esther and Francesca—especially Francesca.”
“Can you recommend a Bordeaux to go with the beef, Jerry?” asked Esther. “You act as if you think a powder keg is about to detonate beneath us, Maggie,” she continued. “I’m sure there will be plenty of other people in Banff to occupy his attention and ours.”
“He will only be a problem if we allow him to become one,” said Francesca.
“Well, Jerry, perhaps for safety’s sake you and I should join the ladies,” said Maggie.
“To do what? Police the corridors?” asked Francesca with a touch of sarcasm.
“Calm yourself, dear,” said Esther, “and please lower your voice. If we all keep our heads and mind our own business, everything should come off well. Transplanting the entire family three thousand miles to occupy closer quarters than Manhattan Island might well be a greater folly. What on earth should we do to keep from living in each other’s pockets while we’re all in a single hotel in the Canadian Rockies? Pitch tents by the Bow River?”
“Really,” returned Maggie, indignant.
“How well I remember your ability to get straight to the point, Esther,” said Jerry. “Not that I object, you understand. I certainly get enough of it around the women I know”—here he looked at Maggie and Francesca—“so you might say I’m used to it. The degree of tact varies considerably—something I know I don’t have to worry about with you.”
“That was a tactful move in itself, Jerry.” Esther unfolded the linen napkin and placed it in her lap. “Besides, it isn’t as if he’s going to marry my niece, is it?” Both Jerry and Francesca looked daggers at Esther. “I could do with an aperitif. How about you?”