Vivienne accepted Vera’s hand beneath the table and named the thing she had meant to do with her afternoon: go to the cinema alone. The admission needed several qualifications before she could leave it standing. She had not been calculating an escape. She still wanted lunch. She liked seeing a film without somebody asking afterwards whether she had enjoyed it; sometimes she needed the walk home to discover her answer. In the smoother version inside her head, the soup had already arrived to protect this explanation from sounding like farewell.
Vera understood before the imaginary soup. Lunch, then a film: she could hear two intentions without making either cancel the other. She nearly asked which cinema, then observed that the question would now make her sound as though she meant to lurk in the back row. She would not. What she wanted was a time, so that they could spend the remaining hour together instead of watching Vivienne postpone mentioning a clock. Her hand could stay exactly where it was. The practical question carried an affection that required no elaborate disguise.
Half past two for the showing; two for leaving the café and walking. Vivienne gave the figures and made a small joke about neither woman turning to stone. Then she admitted the less flattering detail. Some part of her had hoped Vera would object. She wanted the afternoon she had chosen, and she wanted the pleasing evidence that Vera would steal it if permitted. Having discovered the contradiction aloud, she asked Vera not to indulge it. Instead, she wanted to know what Vera might do: to picture her somewhere Vivienne had not arranged for her to be.
Possibly the hat stall. Vera wanted another look at the red beret, this time without Vivienne standing beside her looking delighted with her own judgment. She had liked it; she wanted to discover whether she still did. That was an afternoon of her own, but it did not prevent her saying that she had wanted more of this one together. Vivienne need not devise a little examination to extract the admission. Two was disappointing. It was also a perfectly good time to leave. Vera supplied the image Vivienne had requested: herself arguing with a mirror rather than pining outside a cinema.
Vivienne accepted the correction. She had hoped to enjoy Vera’s disappointment without admitting she had asked for it, and thanked her for saying it anyway. Two remained two. She hoped the beret would please Vera, though she disputed the suggestion that her delighted expression could influence commerce. Then she let go of the hand for the menu, carefully identifying the movement as something other than an exit. Soup and bread were straightforward enough to order. Asking whether Vera would share something afterwards immediately made her hear another complication approaching, so she specified something they could eat.
Vera chose lemon cake, provided the last slice survived their lunch. The order secured two soups, bread, and a promise that the cake would be kept for them. Vivienne’s face had apparently secured half a slice; its remaining influence could be measured later. Vera had a proposal too. The next time they went to the cinema together, she wanted to choose the film. Vivienne could keep the silent walk afterwards. Vera wanted to discover what could make her forget to be entertaining. The invitation was attractive; the purpose attached to it was rather more pointed.
Yes, Vivienne said, but Vera should choose something she wanted to see herself. A film selected to prise Vivienne open might fail spectacularly: she could spend a masterpiece thinking about her shoe. Another day, the silent walk might take place beside Vera. Today she wanted it alone. On another day she might want a hand without being required to produce a verdict. Then, without waiting to be expertly opened, she offered something specific. She cried at departures, even in films that had not earned the tears. It was, she announced, a scandalously cheap means of defeating her. What would Vera choose for herself?
A comedy. Vera liked discovering whether she laughed before deciding whether something was clever. If she made an embarrassing noise, Vivienne could blame the shoe. She also conceded the accusation: she had been turning her choice into an investigation. She would choose for herself. The soup arrived, requiring room for a bowl and returning both women to the lunch they had actually arranged. Vera was glad Vivienne would leave at two, and glad it was not two yet. But the confession about fictional departures left a more immediate question unanswered. When they said goodbye today, what did Vivienne actually want?