Love and Friendship by Alison Lurie

Author:Alison Lurie [Lurie, Alison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-7116-2
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-10-12T23:47:00+00:00

Part Two

9

“ICE,” HOLMAN SAID. “I wonder if we’re going to have enough.”

“Mm.” Emmy, by the kitchen table, was arranging the flowers for their party that night. “What did you say?”

“I was wondering if I ought to go out and get more ice.”

“Haven’t we enough ice?”

“That’s what I wanted to know,” he said, quite patiently.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s quantities,” Emmy replied, without thinking or looking. But as she stood there in her red silk dress, a flower in each hand, he forgave her impracticality. For at happy last his wife was back to normal. She had got a little careless about the housekeeping, maybe (he had remarked in jest the other day that the Fenns’ life style, as well as the Fenns, seemed to be invading their house). But in general she seemed to have made a good adjustment to Convers. Her sulks and depressions had disappeared; she no longer bothered him about Hum C, nagged at him to spend more time at home, or complained of the climate. Since they had come back from vacation she had been content, even gay, most of the time.

He looked into the freezing compartment of the refrigerator.

“It doesn’t matter; if we need more ice, we can simply open the back door and break a piece off the roof. Don’t worry about it, darling, everything’s going to go beautifully.”

Yes; Holman felt himself that the evening would be a success. Nearly forty people had been invited, and they were serving both punch and mixed drinks. It was a pretty ambitious party for a first-year instructor to give. On the other hand, from a Stockwell point of view it was nothing at all.” Who do you think will get here first?” he asked.

“Golly, I don’t know.” Not Will, anyhow, Emmy thought, he said he would be late. She filled another bowl at the sink, where red and white flowers were soaking. “The McBanes?”

“No; we told him it was at 8:30.” It was the inflexible custom of Mr. McBane to arrive precisely at the designated time for every gathering, professional or social. Over the years, most members of the Convers faculty had adopted the same solution to this problem which Holman and Emmy had hit upon independently: Mr. and Mrs. McBane were invited for a later hour than that suggested to the other guests.

“I wonder if he knows what we did,” Holman said. “I suppose even if he doesn’t he’ll realize it once he gets here.”

“If he does, it serves him absolutely right,” Emmy said, casually but not unkindly; she was not in the least in awe of McBane. Holman looked at her with admiration. During the first few years of their marriage, still inexperienced, she had followed the social forms in which she had been trained; now she used them. One day she would be the kind of hostess of whom a department chairman, a dean, even a college president might be proud.

“Maybe he’ll come first anyway, if he’s found us out. He’s capable of anything.”

“It won’t matter.

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