At Vera’s door, Vivienne confessed that she sometimes left a visit before anyone had asked her to. A cup lifted too early could become evidence; a little tidying could look remarkably like an eviction. She knew that the interpretation might be entirely her own. Still, she did not want to spend this particular tea watching Vera’s hands. If Vera wanted an evening alone, she could say so. Vivienne, in return, would announce her departure before developing a sudden fascination with the time.
Vera had slowed because she was finding her key. It was a practical explanation, which did not prevent it from carrying a small reassurance. She was not revising the invitation. Once the door was open, she offered a chair for Vivienne’s coat, with the observation that her own coat could endure company. Then she made the invitation larger. She wanted Vivienne there for supper. She had intended to let the tea make the offer sound casual, but the tea had not yet been given its chance.
Vivienne accepted. Her coat, she pointed out, had already settled in, and she would not be outdone by it. First, however, there was the yellow bowl on the shelf beside the window. Vera allowed her to pick it up; its unfortunate edge could survive ordinary handling. In Vivienne’s hands it was heavier than expected. When she tilted it, the earrings slid towards the low part of the rim. She called the little hollow a particular sort of harbour. She did not claim the rim was secretly perfect. She liked the fact that Vera had kept it without needing that defence.
The earrings prompted a question. Had Vera worn them on the evening they first met? Vivienne remembered looking when she turned her head. Vera corrected the jewellery: that evening’s pair had been the longer silver ones. These were the earrings that caught in her scarf and nevertheless accompanied her to the shops. But the error mattered less than the looking. Vera had thought Vivienne was waiting for her to finish speaking. She found the correction pleasing enough to contemplate putting the earrings on.
For a moment Vera suggested that the bowl should be put down before she grew vain enough to try them. Then she changed her mind about the vanity. She wanted to wear them. Vivienne could tell her whether she really remembered the earrings or had merely invented a respectable place to look. The bowl was placed safely down. The compliment that followed was direct: they looked lovely on Vera. And yes, Vivienne had been looking at her face. The mistaken silver did not undo that part of the memory.
Vera had stopped smiling at something Vivienne said. Vivienne had wondered whether she had lost her; then Vera had asked a question she could not answer prettily. It had annoyed her to discover that she would not be allowed to coast. Remembering it now, she admitted something more consequential than admiration of the jewellery. She had not been waiting for Vera to finish. She had hoped for another question. She could get the earrings wrong while remembering, rather accurately, the woman who wore them.
Vera accepted this formidable description of herself with reservations. She did like hearing that Vivienne had wanted the conversation to continue. But she did not want every good hour between them to depend on discovering a question Vivienne could not evade. Sometimes she wanted to be the woman putting on earrings because Vivienne might like them. Today she wanted to put the kettle on. There was an ordinary pleasure in that proposal, and a small risk: she invited Vivienne to discover tastes she described as disappointingly ordinary.
Vivienne had particularly liked seeing Vera pleased as she put the earrings on. Following her towards the tea, she chose the one Vera usually drank rather than something reserved for guests. Before they settled, she asked what Vera actually wanted to eat. She could chop things. If supper required heroic effort, she would be equally willing to go out together; staying need not leave Vera occupied in the kitchen. Vera named her usual tea, two spoonfuls, and went to fill the kettle. An omelette appealed. There was a pepper Vivienne could chop later. Vera wanted to cook together, then sit close enough to forget who was meant to fetch something. But she liked her omelette folded while its middle was still soft. Vivienne looked like a woman with opinions about a frying pan. Before any eggs went into it, Vera wanted to hear them.