The cold dish turned out to be apricots. Vivienne named them with the air of someone obliged to produce a modest object after allowing an extravagant introduction. Poached with bay, she said, properly cold, the syrup almost bitter. Three halves remained in the bowl. Enough for a taste; rather less convincing as a still life. She offered Vera one now, before tomorrow's supper gave her hopeful expression a place across the linen.
Vera wanted a taste. She also wanted the three remaining halves to remain food, rather than become the material for a test Vivienne had to pass. There was evidence in that small quantity: someone had already been enjoying them. She asked for syrup first. A spoonful could tell her what she thought of bay without taking possession of the fruit. Then she added a condition. Vivienne must have a spoon too. She would not do all the tasting while her hostess watched for a result.
“Two spoons,” Vivienne conceded. Going first, she pointed out, severely restricted her opportunity to stare at Vera. But the syrup claimed her attention before Vera could. The bay was stronger than it had been yesterday. She had left the leaf in too long. She liked its edge, she said, though she would warn anyone before serving a whole bowlful. And Vera's arithmetic had been sound: she had eaten the missing apricots herself, standing at the fridge. They had been her pudding before she promoted them to supper.
That admission gave Vera something quite different from a menu to consider. Vivienne had chosen the dish and eaten it without a guest to impress. It belonged to an ordinary appetite before it belonged to an invitation. Vera tasted the syrup and supplied the judgment she had been asked for. The first second was lovely. The next recalled the cupboard where Vivienne kept the leaves. A bowlful would be too much. Neither of their dresses had caught fire, she observed; apparently they could survive a culinary disagreement.
Still, Vera wanted to try the fruit. She proposed cutting a single half in two, with less syrup accompanying it. She also made her position on tomorrow explicit. Vivienne need not prepare another batch to repair an opinion. An invitation to supper did not make Vera responsible for commissioning changes. The refusal was precise enough to leave room for interest: she disliked the strength of the syrup, yet she was still standing there asking for an apricot.
Vivienne supplied a saucer. Dividing fruit above the bowl, she warned, would make her insufferable about the arithmetic. She lifted out one half, leaving most of the syrup behind, and left the cutting to Vera. There would be no fresh batch. The comparison with the cupboard might linger when she reached for dessert, but she would live with it. What she wanted now was to share something Vera did not entirely like without finding herself apologising for a bay leaf.
Vera divided the half into two pieces and took one. This she liked. The fruit retained its sharpness when it was no longer carrying so much syrup. If any remained tomorrow, she wanted hers drained; Vivienne could keep the syrup she enjoyed. It was a small arrangement, exact and possible. It did not require them to agree about the contents of the bowl. Vera told Vivienne to stop watching her spoon. There was something she had meant to ask before leaving, and the apricot had distracted her.
Would Vivienne come for a walk after supper tomorrow? Vera wanted to be with her somewhere neither woman could rearrange the chairs. Vivienne accepted, then ate her own piece, formally releasing Vera from further reporting on the spoons. But she wanted a direction before choosing unsuitable shoes. A circuit of the square, or a destination? Vera had looked composed while making the invitation. Vivienne now knew enough to suspect that composure could conceal unnecessary planning. She preferred to hear the wish while they were both still in the kitchen.
Toward the river, Vera said. Comfortable shoes would satisfy the entire dress code. On the way stood a closed shop with a green door. She used to have a key to it. She wanted to show Vivienne the place, although she had not decided how much she wanted to say once they arrived. There was the composed part, offered without an explanation of what the key had once opened for her. Vivienne could ask tomorrow. For tonight, Vera had one request about the bowl: put the apricots back in the fridge. She would like two halves still to be there when she came.