Before I Do(65)

She wiped her eyes. Fred would come, and this morning would be forgotten. She thought of the bandstand, the dancing, that feeling of flying. Then she closed her eyes and a rush of other thoughts crowded in. She would need to move out of her home. Her relationship with her mother was sure to change. She would no longer be able to climb into Vivien’s bed with two cups of tea on a Sunday morning. She would have no nightly companion to listen to the shipping forecast with.

Don’t think about it now. Fred would come, and everything would be better. But one o’clock came and went, and no Fred. A teenage girl and her friend took photos in the booth. Whirr, click, the sound of the machine. Audrey couldn’t sit any longer; she started pacing. Why wasn’t he here? He said he would be here.

Had she imagined him into existence? It had been so real. She pulled the photos of them kissing out of her wallet. She turned over the photos to find his number, but the digits were lost in a dark smear of ink. A seven and a six, maybe a four, but the rest beyond deciphering. It was now twenty past one. Audrey was still without a phone; the rice trick had not worked. She walked to the pay phone on the street and called home. Her mother picked up after three rings.

“Darling, I’m so pleased to hear you had such a successful morning with Benedict. He got back in such a jolly mood—said you were a perfectly eager student.”

Eager? Audrey clenched her jaw. “Has anyone called for me?” she asked.

“Called for you?”

“I was supposed to meet someone today, and they’re late. I gave them the home number.”

“Not that I know of. Let me ask Benedict.” She heard her conferring with him in the background. “Who is it? Is it a boy?” she asked Audrey, a mischievous note in her voice. “Benedict, have you intercepted any messages from a suitor for Audrey?”

“Never mind. Just make sure you take a number down if anyone calls.” She hung up. She would wait. He would come. She was sure of it.



* * *





She waited for three hours. She knew it didn’t make sense, but the lightness of yesterday felt somehow blackened by this morning. Everything felt inexplicably connected. When she finally got home, her mother was waiting alone in the kitchen, a grin like a Cheshire cat on her face. It was only five o’clock, but Audrey poured herself a glass of wine.

“Finally, there you are,” Vivien said, clapping her hands together. “Benedict was so happy you took such an interest in his work. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you two are finally getting along.” Vivien’s eyes were bright with excitement. Audrey took a long swig of red wine, tilting her head into an almost imperceptible nod. “Now, I have two things I need to ask you. Firstly, will you be my maid of honor?”

Audrey looked at her mother’s hopeful face and managed another nod. Vivien clapped in excitement. “Oh, won’t we have fun planning our outfits, darling, you know I live for weddings,” she said without a hint of irony. “And secondly, perhaps more exciting, he wanted to ask you himself, but I simply can’t wait to tell you.” Vivien leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands together. “Benedict wants you to sit for him. Can you believe it? He wants to make a sculpture of you, as an engagement present for me.”

“No, thank you,” Audrey said. She clenched her jaw, feeling disappointment turn to anger.

“?‘No, thank you’?” Vivien laughed. “Audrey, do you know what an honor that is, to be asked to sit for Benedict Van Vuuren? You’d be immortalized. An artist of his caliber—”

“Shouldn’t you be sitting for him?” Audrey felt herself bristle.

“It takes him a year to create a sculpture, minimum. Time and Rain took two; this isn’t some whimsical vanity project, he only uses models in whom he sees himself creating something worthy of his time. He sees that in you.”

“And do these models all happen to be girls thirty years younger than him?” she said under her breath.

Vivien’s face fell, and a dark veil drew behind her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice now a stark whisper.

“Nothing.” Audrey downed her drink. “I just don’t want to do it. Don’t ask me again.”

“What is wrong with you? Is it such a chore for you to be civil to the man I love?” She let out a slow, wearied sigh. “Do you not see how much your spiteful aversion to him pains me?”

Audrey narrowed her eyes at her mother and tapped her empty wineglass.

“Maybe Benedict is right, I have spoiled you,” Vivien said.

And then something in Audrey broke—the combination of these fierce words from her mother, the crushing disappointment of Fred’s not showing, and the shame and indignity of the morning. Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“Oh, Audrey, what is the matter?” Vivien asked, her voice all soft sympathy now.

“Don’t marry him, please don’t marry him.”

“What’s happened?” Vivien asked, but Audrey shook her head until she repeated more firmly, “What’s happened?”

“I can’t bear him, and I can’t be alone with him,” Audrey said, her words barely audible.

“Why?” Vivien asked nervously.

Audrey took a deep breath, and then she said, “Because he’s always touching me, he touched me in the gallery in a way I didn’t like. I asked him not to.” Audrey’s face reddened. “I found him watching me in the shower once, just standing there, in the doorway of my room.” The relief of saying something flooded out of her in fresh tears.