Rachel's Dinner Party
©
Linda Eisele 2002
Rachel lived with her husband, Ronald, in one of the more elegant suburbs of London
in 1905. Ronald was a pleasant man who enjoyed fox hunting on weekends. Rachel's lover, Paul, was a successful painter who lived with his wife and five
children in the country. Her boyfriend, David, was a playright, brilliant but
cynical. Wounded by too many women, David was determined never to be hurt
again. Rachel believed he would die alone, a bitter old man if he did not take
care. Her pet project had been to make sure this did not happen.
At a business supper with Ronald, a new man attracted Rachel's attention.
Recently married to a young Austrian countess, Trevor was ten years younger than most of Rachel's acquaintances. With a broad, open smile, flashing white teeth, piercing blue eyes, blonde hair
parted and falling to the sides, long in front and short in back, he reminded her of a musician or composer, a Beethoven or
Chopin, but he was, in fact, an architect. It was Rachel's secret delight to
invite David, and Paul and Trevor with their wives, to a dinner party at her home. To
provide a companion for David, Rachel included her cousin, Sylvia.
The cook was instructed to prepare the most extravagant dishes. Servants
set the table with the finest linen and best silver. A superb bordeaux was brought from the wine cellar. Bouquets of lillies decorated
the sideboards. The guests arrived at 7 p.m. by carriage. The butler took the cloaks and canes from the gentlemen, the
wraps from the ladies, and showed the guests into the dining room.
When all were seated, Rachel surveyed the company with the greatest pleasure.
Here in one room, at one time -- her favorite men! What could be more
delicious? The conversation warmed with the wine, the men discussing politics
and business, the ladies exchanging gossip about servants or children. Rachel
nodded, listened, smiled. It was for her a perfect evening. Her painter had never seemed more charming, her playright more arrogant and proud, her young architect
more dashing. And Ronald was as gentle a host as any wife could wish for.
Then Sylvia yawned and sighed. "Rachel. When are you going to tell David about Paul?"
Davids mouth fell open. "What
is this?!" he demanded, the red rising to his cheeks. "Have you betrayed me?!"
"What is she talking about, dear?" Paul's wife
asked. Paul's horror-stricken face betrayed him in an instant.
"Rachel, do you have something to tell me?" Ronald
demanded, indignantly.
Rachel's eyes opened wide. "Sylvia, what are you trying
to do to me?"
"So! It is true! How dare you! I will never see you again!" David stormed from the room.
"I will speak to you about this when I get you home!"
Paul's wife rose, dragging Paul by the scruff of his collar. "Thank you, Ronald, for your hospitality, you poor man," she glared at Rachel. "And you!" she glowered at her
husband. Paul's eyes met Rachel's in a last, desparate glance just before he,
and his wife, disappeared from the room.
"Well, I say!" Rachel's husband pushed his chair back from the table, stood
up, coughed into his handkerchief. "I am terribly sorry
my dear, but you really must excuse me. I will be sleeping at Mother's tonight. My lawyer will be by in the morning to speak to you."
"I am afraid we really must be going." Trevor's
wife stood up, cheeks glowing. "This is all so very awkward. I am terribly sorry." Rachel followed
Trevor and his wife to the front door. As she shook their hands, Trevor pressed
something onto her palm. Rachel watched them climb into the carriage and drive
away. Unfolding a slip of paper, she read, "May I call?" Turning, she found herself face to face with Slyvia. She opened her fist. Their eyes met, smiling.