Vivienne had agreed to sit in the blue chair. That concession, she discovered, left an unexpectedly important question about the other chair. Vera had described the place for her guest and the room she would need beside the stove; Vivienne could picture her own arrival rather more easily than she could picture Vera eating. She wanted a face across the breakfast table. Vera's back might be excellent, but it would be difficult to argue with.
Vera normally occupied the blue chair herself. The other seat faced the window, an arrangement that sounded agreeable until the light made the glass into a mirror. Breakfast there could involve looking past one's own reflection. She had not meant to assign Vivienne a permanent place. She wanted her to try something she had made usable. As for the stove, an omelette might require a minute of attention. She was prepared to offer breakfast without burning it as a demonstration of welcome.
A minute, Vivienne conceded, was survivable. Continuous eye contact began to sound exhausting when she heard her own demand taking shape. She would try the blue chair and then return it to its usual occupant. The window appealed to her, reflection included. Morning light could deliver its own opinion of theatrical preparation, and Vera could enjoy watching that discovery. But Vivienne wanted to know whether choosing the other seat would disappoint her. Agreeing to sit down had not been a promise to spend breakfast admiring a repair.
A little, Vera admitted. She had imagined Vivienne in the blue chair when she invited her, and her intended guest had inconveniently acquired a preference. Still, the second seat was available. Books usually occupied it. Vera had moved them to a shelf that afternoon, before going to supper. She had wanted to issue an invitation and had recognised a practical danger in leaving the chair covered: returning to a room without a spare seat would give her an excellent reason to postpone asking.
Vivienne was pleased by the timing. The chair had been cleared before supper, before the visit she had begun imagining as an opportunity to inspect Vera's handiwork. She threatened, briefly, to commission a plaque, then asked for something more immediate. Vera should allow her a moment to enjoy the fact without prescribing how small she ought to consider it. She would come on Sunday because Vera had asked her. The repair did not have to earn the visit. Meanwhile, the displaced books had become interesting. Were their contents compelling, or had their weight simply made them effective barriers to company?
There had been three: a cookbook, a novel, and a furniture repair book whose advice Vera now consulted before beginning. She allowed Vivienne her pleasure. Yes, she had wanted her there. The novel had a cracked spine and annotations in the margins, a practice Vera's sister considered vandalism. One page had received so many conflicting objections from its owner that the printed sentence scarcely had room left around it. Vivienne could inspect the shelves on Sunday. Permission to borrow that particular volume had not been granted.
Vivienne had asked for no such loan. The furniture manual, though, now faced serious competition. Rather than begin with the handwriting, she wanted to hear the printed passage. Faced with all those versions of Vera disagreeing in the margin, she might devote herself to guessing which one she should impress. Let Vera read it after breakfast, if she wished. Vivienne would withhold her opinion until the reading was finished. Sitting in a chair seemed a modest undertaking beside that promise; she expected Vera to appreciate the difference.
Vera agreed to read after breakfast. She would cover the notes with her hand so that Vivienne could disagree with the page before encountering any of its owner's objections. The arrangement left Vivienne free to choose her chair after trying the blue one. It also left her free to eat without composing flattering remarks about the eggs. Vera had cleared a seat because she wanted company. A favourable report was unnecessary.
There remained something more difficult than seating, light, or breakfast. Vera had defended something in that passage for years. Now she was unsure she could defend it aloud. The reading was agreed; the words themselves remained unheard. Vivienne had offered an opinion unshaped by the margins, and Vera had accepted without yet knowing whether her old argument would survive being spoken.