Nice Day For A White Wedding

And all the lids are lifted at the same time with military precision. The effect is surreal. I can almost be persuaded I have gone back in time to a lost epoch where the very rich lived like Kings and Queens.

I look down at the tiny silver pot of potted crab with delicate fingers of sourdough bread on my plate. As the delicious smell fills my nostrils, the first of the barrage of questions arrives.

“How long have you two been together?” Viktor asks.

I spoon a bit of crab into my mouth quickly so Alex will have to answer. The crab is divine. It melts in my mouth. This is without doubt the best potted crab I have ever tasted.

“Four months.” Alex smiles. “I know the engagement might seem a little quick, but when you know you know. And we’re planning on taking things a little more slowly now with a long engagement.”

“It doesn’t seem that quick to me,” Marina says. “Look at Petra. She met Anton in July of last year and they were married by Christmas.”

I swallow the crab in my mouth and look at Petra in surprise. “You’re married?”

“You don’t have to look so surprised,” she snaps.

“Actually, it’s a compliment. You look too young to be married,” I say evenly.

“My husband is away on business,” she says haughtily. “Not everyone can take holidays whenever they like.”

“Yes, I’m sure that is what all the truly poor people in Africa say,” I shoot back, taunting her, almost daring her to say more. She sensibly keeps her mouth closed.

The servers bring us melon sorbet to refresh our palates.

“Where did the two of you meet, Cindy?” Marina asks me curiously.

I tell her the story about the supermarket. By the end of it, Babushka appears quite taken with it all, and Marina makes all the right noises, but the ice sisters roll their eyes to each other and mutter in Russian again.

The next course is served. “Roast wood pigeon with black pudding and baby beets,” the main waiter announces as the domes are lifted. I have never eaten pigeon. I like pigeons. Sometimes I feed them in the early morning hours when I’m walking back from the casino. The meat looks dark pink. The black pudding is in little cubes and the beets are shaped into ovals. Some sort of red sauce is artistically dotted around the arrangement of food.

“The puree is made from dried and blended hibiscus flowers,” Babushka explains.

I look up at Alex. He raises his eyebrows enquiringly? I glance at Babushka and she is looking at me with an expectant expression. She has gone to a lot of trouble to create this menu. I know I can’t make a fuss. I cut off a piece of the dark pink meat and chew it. It’s juicy with a deep flavor. If I didn’t know it was pigeon I would have said it was perfectly cooked and seasoned.

Babushka watches me as I chew, and then she smiles. “At least it’s not horse steak, huh?” she says.

Jesus Christ! I stop chewing. The tiny morsel of meat suddenly makes my mouth feel too full. I actually want to spit the mush in my mouth out. I catch myself and force myself to swallow the food in my mouth. No matter what I mustn’t offend Babushka on my first night here. I nod my head, forcing myself to smile as I reach blindly for my glass of wine.

Babushka throws her head back and laughs.

“Your face,” she cries merrily. “As if I’d condone eating horse when we have a stable full of faithful friends here. I just had to do it, I’m sorry.”

I laugh, relieved that she’s joking. I like the old woman. I like her wicked sense of humor.

“Babushka, behave yourself,” Alex chides, but he’s laughing too.

“Ah, come on now, Alex, I’m old now and I have to do something to amuse myself.”

“You were doing this when you were not old,” Alex says dryly.

“Yes, I suppose I was. Now, you said you’re having a long engagement. How long is long? Because I’d rather like to see the wedding and maybe even a baby or two before I croak.”

This time, Babushka doesn’t follow up the comment with laughter. This time, she’s deadly serious. My eyes find Alex’s and for a split-second I catch that expression of dismay that crosses them. I feel my own face burning. I really hate that Babushka isn’t going to get to see any of that. She seems like a genuinely sweet old lady and her affection for Alex is clear to see. We’re lying to her and it’s not right. And he knows it too.

“Typical bachelor reaction that, Alex,” Viktor says cynically. He must have caught the quick expression too.

Alex gives him a pained smile and then turns to Babushka. “We’ve only been together four months Babushka. I know compared to Petra that’s not a lot of time, but we want to do this right. We want to really get to know each other before we get married.”