Unmarriageable(23)

‘You’ll be naming their children next.’ Alys shook her head. ‘They barely know each other.’

‘Plenty of time for them to get to know each other once they’re married.’

‘I think,’ Alys said, ‘better to get to know each other before deciding to get married.’

‘Big waste of time,’ Sherry said. ‘Trust me, everyone is on their best behaviour until the actual marriage, and then claws emerge. From what I’ve gleaned, real happiness in marriage seems a matter of chance. You can marry a seemingly perfect person and they can transform before your eyes into imperfection, or you can marry a flawed person and they can become someone you actually like, and therefore flawless. The key point being that, for better or for worse, no one remains the same. One marries for security, children, and, if one is lucky, companionship. Although,’ Sherry laughed, ‘in Valentine Darsee’s case, good luck on the last.’

‘I can’t believe Lady!’ Alys said. ‘No one deserves a spittle spray. Actually, I take that back. Hammy probably does deserve it.’

Ten minutes later, Alys believed Darsee deserved it too. She’d gone to congratulate Fiede and was about to climb down off the stage when she heard Bungles’s and Darsee’s voices. Their backs were turned to her and, despite knowing it was a bad idea to eavesdrop, Alys bent down to fiddle with her shoe.

‘Reader’s Digest?’ Darsee was saying. ‘Good Housekeeping? She is neither smart nor good-looking enough for me, my friend.’

‘I read Reader’s Digest,’ Bungles said, laughing.

‘Yes,’ Darsee said, ‘sadly, I know.’

‘You have impossible standards in everything,’ Bungles said. ‘Alysba Binat is perfectly attractive. But you’ve got to admit, Val, her elder sister is gorgeous.’

‘She is good-looking. But, please, stop foisting stupid, average-looking women on me.’



In the car on their way back home, Alys announced what she’d overheard. She laughed as she recounted Valentine Darsee calling her ‘stupid’, ‘average-looking’, and ‘neither smart nor good-looking enough’. However, Alys was not one to lie to herself: his words had stung. Valentine Darsee was handsome and he was wealthy, but obviously his upbringing had lacked classes on basic manners and etiquette: he was rude, he was disdainful, and he thought altogether too much of himself.

Mrs Binat agreed. She was most indignant. Never before had a single person doubted the beauty of her girls.

‘I hate Valentine Darsee,’ Mrs Binat declared, and proceeded to inform everyone of the Darsee family’s less-than-stellar background. Valentine’s mother was a dey Bagh, this was true, the crème de la crème. But his father’s family was another story. Although the Darsee clan had accumulated an immense fortune via the army, they did not come from noble stock. They were neither royalty, nor nawabs, nor even feudal landowners like the Binats. The Darsees descended, Mrs Binat announced, from darzees – tailors – and at some point their tradesman surname of Darzee had morphed into Darsee, or else, she suggested, squinting, an ancestor must have deliberately changed Darzee into Darsee on official certificates.

‘I wish you wouldn’t bring up everyone’s lineage all the time,’ Alys said. ‘Who cares?’

‘Good society cares,’ Mrs Binat said. She turned from the passenger seat, where she sat in Qitty’s lap, in order to glare at Alys. ‘Let this be a lesson to you to never attend another function not looking your absolute best. And don’t you dare sit in the sun any longer.’

‘I like my complexion dark,’ Alys said decisively.

Mrs Binat sighed. ‘Gone case.’

‘Oh God,’ Qitty groaned. ‘If Valentine Darsee thinks Alys is not pretty and a frump, he must think I’m ugly and a lump.’

‘I can assure you,’ Lady said, ‘Valentine Darsee was not looking at you. No one was.’

‘No one looked at you either,’ Qitty said, ‘except when you laughed like a hyena or embarrassed yourself by spitting or gallivanting onto the floor like a dancer-for-hire.’

‘Shut up, behensa – buffalo,’ Lady said.

‘You shut up, “Choli Ke Peeche”,’ Qitty said.

‘Both of you, shut up,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘For God’s sake, is this why I went through pregnancies and labour pains and nursed you both and gave myself stretch marks and saggy breasts? So that you could grow up and be bad sisters? How many times must I tell you: be nice to each other, love each other, for at the end of the day, siblings are all you have. Qitty, you are older than Lady. Can’t you just learn to ignore her?’

‘I’m barely two years older than her,’ Qitty sputtered. ‘We may as well be the same age.’

‘Stop laughing, Lady,’ Alys said. ‘Between spitting and dancing uninvited, what you did was unacceptable.’

‘But “Choli” is such a good song,’ Lady said.

‘All it takes is a good song for you to lose self-control?’ Alys asked.

‘What about Fiede Fecker?’ Lady demanded. ‘She crashed her own dance floor.’

‘She’s Fiede Fecker,’ Sherry said. ‘She can do whatever she wants to do.’

‘I want to be Fiede Fecker too,’ Lady said, angry tears appearing in her eyes.