The Green Hat and the Invitation Left Out

Vera was enjoying the telling, which she suspected might become expensive to her judgment. Still, the woman beside the hat interested her. Vivienne had allowed this other bidder only the role of loser. Had she actually wanted the thing? Or had Vivienne objected to the way she raised her hand? Vera could hardly claim immunity to foolish purchases. Someone had once called her offer timid, and she had answered by buying an ugly lamp. It had subsequently illuminated her stupidity with considerable efficiency. She wanted the size of the hat, and the other woman's words when Vivienne won.

The brim had reached both Vivienne's shoulders. The defeated bidder had laughed with relief: she could not have afforded another bid. Vivienne had mistaken a pleasant afternoon for a duel, then put on her acquisition to demonstrate that she meant it. That was the familiar ending. The shape of the hat, the extravagance of the gesture, the woman who would rather wear her mistake than surrender it: everything needed for a successful anecdote was already in place. Vivienne could have stopped there again.

Instead she told Vera about the invitation to tea. The other woman had asked her afterwards, and Vivienne had claimed an engagement she did not have. She had spent half an hour trying to secure that woman's attention. Once it was offered without the competition, she had refused it. There was no auction to win over tea, no shoulder-wide brim to put between herself and the person she had wanted to notice her. This was the part she usually left out.

Vera had been prepared to dislike the bidder for driving up the price. Now she rather liked her, an awkward revision when she had already arranged her loyalties. She refused to supply a magnificent lost future. Tea might have been dreadful. What she regretted was that Vivienne had not discovered whether the woman could be funny without an auctioneer assisting. And she wanted to know whether the hat survived. She wished to laugh at it without making Vivienne think she was laughing at the invitation.

The hat occupied a box at the top of Vivienne's wardrobe, taking up space that might otherwise accommodate something useful, such as another hat. Its survival did not require an apology. Vivienne still considered the purchase funny. She objected to having every foolish thing confiscated because something sad happened to be nearby. She offered to show Vera on Friday, after the omelette. Then she pointed out that she had come to supper tonight without bidding against anyone. The woman with her arm round her was the woman she preferred.

That woman preferred her too. Vera admitted as much despite the criticisms her furniture had endured. She accepted the invitation to see the hat and reserved the possibility of trying it on. No improving speech would accompany the omelette. Vivienne had offered a story; Vera acknowledged that she had begun reaching for a lesson. Her own lamp, meanwhile, remained in her bedroom. A better shade had allowed her to claim it had character. Vivienne could meet it before they went, provided she refrained from offering condolences.

Vivienne made no promise about the condolences. She did want to see it, once they got up; for now, she was enjoying where she was. She thought Vera might look magnificent in the green hat, which would damage its reputation as a crime against clothing. Then she thanked her for preferring her without demanding a better ending. She had never told the invitation before. It had not been a grand secret. Nobody had asked what the woman said after she put the hat on.

Vera was glad she had asked. She would not interrogate every punchline, though; Vivienne with legal representation would be unbearable. The lamp could wait another minute. Vera had liked her before the extra part and liked knowing it too. Friday's fitting remained ahead of them. So did one question, offered while they were still close: when Vivienne wore the hat now, did she see herself winning, or remember wanting to turn back?