Page 99 of Provocation
Or maybe he does. Maybe that's the point of this. Maybe, like John Novelle, his decisions regarding me are made in order to make me as uncomfortable as possible.
But I just smile sweetly. Politely.
When a young man dressed in a black uniform offers me a flute of Champagne, my eyes find Joe Banderville first, silently requesting his permission.
He nods, and I see approval in his eyes.
What an asshole.
I take the flute, holding it with my forefinger and my thumb.
I'm introduced to a thin, mature woman with graying hair and wearing a dress that makes her look much older than she must be.
Martha Banderville.
She's wearing thick black tights and clompy shoes, looking like she’s in her late seventies, though she can’t be much past fifty-five.
She gives me a somewhat cold smile and says something about not being able to wait until I'm part of the family.
I hope my sneer doesn't come across on my face.
The next person I meet is their sister, Elizabeth.
She must be around my age. She's quite small, petite, with long dark frizzy hair and eyes so dark they're almost black.
She's wearing a dress that's very much like mine, too old for her.
She stands and takes my hand, giving me a very warm smile and murmuring something about me calling her Lizzie and having always wanted a sister.
I smile at her, mimicking her appropriately.
‘Me, too,’ I say. ‘I can't wait for us to get to know each other better.’
I'm invited to sit, and I do so next to Lizzie, who seems like the safest option.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to make small talk, but luckily, the men of the house seem to love their own voices more than anything else, and I'm rarely called on to speak at all.
The other women listen attentively to their male counterparts, nodding appropriately, encouraging them with small smiles. They seem very used to this little dance, and I wonder if the two women have real conversations with each other when they’re alone.
I try to do the same as they do, even though I'm a hundred percent sure that a small part of me dies.
Tall candles flicker by the mantle, and I have an intrusive thought where, when they all go to dinner, I stay behind and knock one of them over, setting the drapes on fire and taking their entire dynasty down in one fell swoop.
Before I can be tempted further, the butler returns to call us all to dinner.
I'm sat between the sister and Joe, who is much too close to me for comfort. I can’t help my jump when his hand comes to rest on my thigh.
I try not to notice as he rubs in feather light circles over and over in the same place, that makes me want to push him away violently and scratch my skin vigorously.
The first course is a pate with melba toast and an apricot compote.
It's actually not bad. I eat slowly because my stomach is still twisting unpleasantly, listening to the men at the table drone on about nothing. Marcus’ eyes rarely leave me, but I ignore him completely.
I notice that all the men at the table have wine where the women have water, or in the sister’s case, what looks like apple juice.
The main course comes out; lamb shank, with potato gratin and a medley of steamed, buttered vegetables with gravy.
At least it's a step up from dinner at the Novelle house foodwise. The company isn’t all that much worse than John and Andy either and I’ve eaten with them a hundred times, so I find that I can do the same here without my stomach protesting too much.
