Now, however, supported by his sister Binnen, his daughter Maarte (Bernardo’s mother) and her handsome Jewish husband, Sigismund, he seemed at ease and contrived to make conversation.
‘We are having this little party,’ he said, ‘to wish well the young people who are to be married, and I take this opportunity, Dame Beatrice, to invite you to the wedding. This shall be in Holland, my country, and in a Protestant Church. The date I will let you know when it is fixed. There are many arrangements for a marriage.’
‘Indeed, yes,’ said Bernardo’s father. ‘It is so. You will be most welcome, Dame Beatrice — most welcome!’
‘And now,’ said Binnen, ‘we must find Florian a girl. It is high time for all our young people to be married.’
Florian, who was standing near at hand with his sister Binnie and their mother and father, heard his name and turned round, glass in hand.
‘What was that?’ he asked. Old Bernard chuckled.
‘Your grandmother is arranging for your wedding, mijnheer,’ he said. Florian disfigured his beautiful visage with a wolfish grin.
‘May the gods bless it!’ he retorted; and very deliberately he poured his wine on to the carpet. There was a wail of reproach from Rebekah.
‘Such wicked!’ she screeched. ‘Waste of the wine! Mess of the carpet! Aubusson?’ she added keenly, addressing Bernard. He smiled and nodded. Binnie rang the bell for a maid and a cloth to mop up the sherry. Rebekah seized the cloth from the maid, knelt down and, while mopping up, subjected the carpet to a keen and knowledgeable scrutiny. ‘You have been done,’ she announced. ‘Made in Brussels. Modern. Not bad. Not Aubusson. I will offer two hundred pounds.’
‘So it is Aubusson,’ muttered Bernardo to Binnie, who giggled wildly. She caught her brother’s hostile eye and began to choke. Bernardo patted her gently on the back. Giggling and choking at one and the same time, she changed suddenly to tears and ran out of the room. Rebekah looked at the door through which Binnie had just passed. Then she turned to Bernardo.
‘So she is pregnant, no?’ she demanded. The situation was saved by the butler, who announced that dinner was served. The company, shepherded by Binnen, were shown to their seats in the dining-room. There was a name-card opposite each place. Evidently the dinner was to be a formal occasion of a kind, although not entirely so, as was evident from some of the seating arrangements.
Bernard took the head of the table and Binnen the foot. On Bernard’s right was his daughter Maarte, Bernardo’s mother, on his left was Binnie and next to her Bernardo had been placed. Rebekah sat next to her sparring-partner and Derde was on her left. He was flanked by Dame Beatrice herself, who was upheld also by his brother Sweyn. Flora, the mother of Florian and Binnie, sat on Binnen’s right, and that concluded one side of the table.
On the opposite side, Sigismund sat next to his wife, then came Opal, partnered by Florian, who separated her from her sister Ruby. Frank, Binnen’s son, who was also Flora’s husband and the father of Florian and Binnie, sat between Ruby and the quiet, svelte Petra, who thus was on Binnen’s left.
‘Be prepared for my father to say grace,’ murmured Sweyn, as he drew out Dame Beatrice’s chair. Grateful for the hint, Dame Beatrice was fully prepared for the spate of Dutch which preceded the serving of the meal.
‘In the Netherlands, my country,’ announced Bernard van Zestien, raising his head, ‘I serve and eat according to our customs. In England, things are different. I am now following Parson Woodforde’s diary.’
‘Not pig!’ screamed Rebekah. ‘You know I do not face pig, neither Bernardo nor my son Sigismund.’
‘What a compliment!’ muttered Bernardo. Aloud he added, ‘If I remember my Parson Woodforde, darling, there will be so much choice that you can eat nothing but fish, if that is what you want. But don’t be such a hypocrite, sweetheart. You haven’t bothered about kosher food for centuries. What about…’
‘No!’ shrieked his relative. ‘I was drunk. It was bad champagne. You are not to say!’
‘All right. I don’t let down my nearest and dearest in public.’
Rebekah stared resentfully at the plate of soup which was placed before her. Then she sniffed at it disdainfully.
‘Out of season,’ she said. ‘Is a wintry dish, no? Inherits pork fat, bacon — who knows what?’ She pushed her plate aside.
‘Never mind, dearest,’ said Bernardo. ‘You can have a nice raw herring instead.’
‘Is to make up to me for losing on mine proteins?’ yelled Rebekah. ‘I fall for soup!’ She seized her plate and hurriedly caught up with the other diners. ‘Now perhaps I have your raw herring, isn’t it? So eat the nuns in Belgian convents,’ she added, with deep resentment.
‘Tasty, nourishing and cheap,’ said Bernardo. ‘Ever eaten rollmops, by any chance, dearest?’
His relative picked up a piece of bread and smacked it into his ear, and, apart from this, the meal proceeded according to plan.
‘We have from Parson Woodforde,’ announced Bernard van Zestien, ‘the account of a meal for the year 1788. We did not take fish with oyster sauce, but, apart from that, the menu stands just as he made it.’
‘Impossible!’ moaned Rebekah. ‘Is all pork!’
‘No,’ said Bernard, bending upon her his benign, shortsighted gaze. ‘There is pork, of course. I do not think any eighteenth-century menu could be without it. But there is also boiled beef, hashed turkey, mutton steaks, roast wild duck and fried rabbit. There is also…’
‘So I eat this infected rabbit, this mix-whatever-it-is!’ shrieked Rebekah. ‘I do not choose to obtain my diseases from rabbits!’
‘Of course not,’ said Bernardo, in dangerously quiet tones. ‘You obtain your diseases from over-eating and over-drinking, my dear. Now you jolly well eat boiled beef, hashed turkey, and roast mutton, and don’t be silly.’
The dinner ended with Parson Woodforde’s dessert of olives, almonds, raisins and apples. Of these Rebekah partook happily and rose, with the rest, to toast the newly-engaged couple. Her only comment was to the effect that her late husband would not have approved of mixed marriages and that King David’s peccadillo was entirely owing to Bathsheba. ‘Her fault, washing herself in public, so would nobody nice,’ said Rebekah, with authority.
‘Yes, Uriah was a bit of a twerp,’ said Bernardo. ‘After all, he could have opted out of that battle. He was a Hittite, and the Hittites were a damn’ sight more civilised than the Jews of the same era.’
‘In subjection! In subjection!’ shrieked Rebekah. ‘The Jews are always in subjection!’
‘He wasn’t a Jew, dear,’ said Bernardo. ‘In the words of Bessie Shimmelfarb, give way just a little. In my words, for God’s sake shut up! You sound a complete old moron, and I’m ashamed of you.’
Few, perhaps, except Dame Beatrice, realised the depths of affection and family pride which obtained between the two contestants. Rebekah glared at her critic and Bernardo peeled an apple with an air of complete detachment. He put two pieces on Rebekah’s plate, grinned at her and then, taking up one of the pieces, he bit into it and offered her the rest.
‘So you give me best, and so you should,’ she shouted. ‘You are Adam and Eve, isn’t it?’
‘Scholars seem doubtful whether the fruit of the Garden of Eden was an apple, darling. Personally, I think a pomegranate would be nearer the mark,’ said Bernardo.