Page 91 of Save You
“Such a nice brother,” I remark.
“One does one’s best,” James replies.
“It’s just as well it was only those three lessons.Otherwise, I probably would have stopped as well and not kept it up another two years,” Lydia says.
“Why did you stop?”I ask.
“Lack of discipline,” Mr.Beaufort replies, as if I’d asked himthe question and not Lydia.“My daughter generally only persists with things she finds easy.The moment she faces a challenge, she gives up.”
An unpleasant, heavy silence spreads over us, like a dark thundercloud that will start rumbling any moment.
Lydia’s lips are set into a pale line.Beside me, James grips his knife and fork so hard that his knuckles are white.The only person to keep eating at his leisure is Mr.Beaufort.He doesn’t even seem to notice that his unkind remark has killed the mood around the table.
How is it possible to be that insensitive to everything going on around you?To be so ignorant when it comes to your own children?
My friend Lydia faces up to every challenge.Speaking about her like that shows how little he knows his daughter.
“Well, I’d still love to see the photos,” I say in the end, keeping my tone cheerful to break the oppressive silence.“I’m sure you looked really cute, even as a little rat.”I’ve never had to be the bridge between this many people before, or not in an atmosphere like this, and I don’t know if I’m helping or just making things even worse.I only know that I want to ease a bit of the pressure on James and Lydia.
“I’ll show you after dinner,” Lydia replies with a forced smile.She raises her head, and for a moment it looks as though she’s looking at their father.But then I see that she’s looking past him, to the enormous family portrait hanging on the wall over the antique fireplace.It’s an oil painting of the whole Beaufort family, including their mother with her fox-colored hair.James and Lydia can’t have been more than six or seven when it was painted.
“So,” Mr.Beaufort says suddenly, dabbing his mouth with thenapkin and standing up.“I have another video conference.Good evening.”He nods to us and leaves the room.
I look in disbelief from James to Lydia, but neither seems particularly surprised by their dad’s abrupt departure.
“He just walked out,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder to the door through which Mr.Beaufort just left.
“He does that.Don’t worry about it,” Lydia declares, leaning back in her chair.She smiles and rubs her belly.The fact that she does that around us, without a second thought, fills me with a warmth that’s very welcome after Mr.Beaufort’s icy glares.
“He always finds some excuse to get out of an awkward situation,” James remarks, taking a large sip from his glass of water.“Even when it was him who forced us into it in the first place.I can barely ever remember seeing him for longer than two hours at a time.”He snorts.“Which is fine by me.”
“I bet he doesn’t even have a call.Mum would never have allowed it,” Lydia mumbles.
James holds his breath.After a moment, he lets it out again audibly.“If you want to get away, I hereby set you free,” he says, glancing sidelong at me.
I furrow my brow.“What do you mean?”
“We can knock this depressing evening on the head now and try again next week.”
Lydia nods.“Nobody would mind if you’d rather go home.”
I stare at them both in outrage.“I’m not wasting this delicious meal.”I point my fork first at my half-eaten chicken, and then at Lydia.“Besides which, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen your ballet photos.”
Lydia laughs and James shakes his head with a smile.
I turn my attention back to my food, trying not to let anyonesee how much the encounter with Mortimer Beaufort has unsettled me.
The rest of the meal is much more relaxed, but I’m still glad when we can go up to Lydia’s room after pudding and shut the door behind us.Now we’re sitting on her large, comfy sofa, looking through old photo albums.
“You were so sweet,” I sigh, pointing to a photo of James and Lydia hugging each other, their chubby little cheeks pressed close together.
“That’s from when we were three.Look at the curls I used to have,” Lydia says, pointing to her hair in the picture.
“You don’t anymore?”I ask.
She shakes her head and runs her hand over her ponytail.“No, thank goodness.I’d probably go mad if I still had to tame those every morning.”
“Oh, but they were so cute.James never had curls.”
