“Are they okay?”
Tiffany speaks for the first time, and Mom nods, reassuring her with a soft smile.
“I have spent a lot of time with Rose. She is delightful and appears smitten with Julius, which of course is no mean undertaking. They work well together and I have never seen him so happy.”
“I wish I could see them.”
I interrupt.
“They will also be in Milan. You only have to wait a few days.”
“Really?”
Her eyes light up and Mom nods.
“Yes, they can’t wait. Alice is a darling, and Joseph’s brother Simeon is equally smitten with her. We all are.”
“They are easy to love.”
Tiffany smiles, but I detect the sadness in it.
Mom obviously notices it too and peers at me sharply.
“I hope you are treating Tiffany well, Joseph. I know how wrapped up you can be in business, and I must remind you that a wife requires love and attention.”
“I know how to treat my wife, Mom.” I say with exasperation, and Mom’s gaze turns to Tiffany.
“Is he right?”
Tiffany nods, gripping the champagne glass, and her words sound empty as she whispers, “I couldn’t ask for more.”
The expression in Mom’s eyes is questioning, and luckily the waiter reappears with our starter of oysters.
As Mom’s attention is diverted, Tiffany whispers, “I can’t eat these.”
“Why not?”
“I’m, um, well, allergic to seafood.”
Mom hears her and glances up with dismay.
“Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you know this already, Joseph?”
I think back on the prawn medley we devoured last night at dinner and throw Tiffany a pointed look, and she colors, saying quickly, “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
I snap my fingers, and the waiter comes racing over.
“My wife wishes to place another order.”
He turns to her and she whispers, “Um, soup please.”
As he heads off, I grip her knee under the table, for some reason needing to reassure her that it’s okay.
Mom’s attention is firmly on her plate, and as I slip an oyster down my throat, I wonder what Tiffany is playing at.
The soup arrives almost instantly, and Tiffany also turns her attention to the dish.
Mom chats shit as she usually does, telling us tales of home and of the latest annoying thing my father has done. It’s considered normal conversation for strangers, but it’s never business with mom and as she speaks, I wonder why her words appear faster than usual, as if she is covering something up.