A Surrey State of Affairs Read Free Page A

his son according to his liberal beliefs, preaching the importance of tolerance and open-mindedness. As a result, David has converted to Kabbalah, some sort of mystic sect favored by celebrity gym fanatics such as Madonna. Apparently, this explains why he has taken to wearing a red wristband. Last time I saw him, I thought he had simply visited the municipal pool.
    Reginald stared pensively at his cup of peppermint tea and asked me for advice, with a little tremor of anxiety in his gentle voice. I suggested that he should either find David a girlfriend or enroll him in the Territorial Army. Both options would dramatically reduce his free time and thus his ability to indulge in unorthodox religious experiments. Reginald pointed out that he was a pacifist, and we both fell silent.
    Then I had a sudden moment of inspiration. Sophie! Religious eccentricities aside, David is a very decent sort of young man, with a polite way of talking to his elders and clean fingernails. He could be a positive influence on her. Admittedly, she leaves for the Ardèche on Sunday, but they could always be pen pals. There is something ineffably romantic about penning letters to a dear anddistant acquaintance, about yearning for some-one far away across the seas; besides, it might improve her grammar.
       FRIDAY, JANUARY 11
    Reginald and David have just left, the latter with a slight limp. Sophie has shut herself in her room in disgust. Things did not proceed entirely as planned.
    I did my best for poor Reginald. Once the vicar and his son were strategically positioned in the drawing room and had dried themselves off from the tea that Natalia had spilled over their laps, I went to fetch Sophie from her room. I told her that David, a charming, intelligent, and sensitive young man, was waiting downstairs. She asked if I meant “that retard with the gay hair.” This was not a promising beginning.
    Nevertheless, I coaxed her downstairs with the offer of a slice of my Madeira cake. I had already hidden most of the chairs in the kitchen, so the only seat available was next to David on the sofa. At the sight of my daughter—dressed, inexplicably, in a ballet tutu and leggings—David’s pale features lit up and his protuberant ears almost waggled in delight. If only he would shave the peachlike fuzz off his upper lip he would be perfectly eligible.
    Reginald and I chatted away, subtly alluding to David’s achieve-ments, including his certificate from the council for services to the visiting library. However, Sophie merely stared at a small mark on the wall—perhaps she too has noticed Natalia’s sloppy cleaning standards.
    Eventually, Sophie broke her silence and asked why David was wearing a bracelet. He replied with a long-winded and impassioned account of Kabbalah, which concluded with the offer of enjoining her into the faith. Sophie looked blank. David musthave misread her confusion for tacit consent, because he suddenly took her small hand in his large, gangly one, and produced a spare red bracelet from the pocket of his chinos. Sophie leaped to her feet and kicked him in the shin like a mule. I was wholly ashamed of her. If she had to resort to violence, she could at least have slapped him in the face like a lady.
       SATURDAY, JANUARY 12
    Reginald telephoned to apologize today. I told him it was quite unnecessary: he is not responsible for his son’s erratic behavior. If we were to be held to account for our children’s every misdeed, then a certain shop assistant at Selfridges would still want my head on a platter after a six-year-old Sophie kicked over her pyramid of champagne flutes in a fit of pique.
    If an apology is due, it is from Sophie. I tapped on her door in order to suggest as much, and was greeted with a very grudging “Yeah, come in.” I did so, and found a scene of devastation. Given that she leaves for France tomorrow, I had been hoping to observe neat stacks of belongings ready to be packed. Instead there were clothes