The State of the Novel (2)

The Novel Comes to Dinner

Gathering for pre-dinner drinks in the Melville Room, The Novel arrived early and nearly finished a decanter of port alone.

Sitting across from him at dinner, I watched him frown over his plate of asparagus. Fearing the outbreak of a crisis, I encouraged him with Hollandaise sauce and more port. That turned the tide and he became his gregarious self, charming the children with his interest in the servants.

After dessert he chose the company of the women over joining the men in the conservatory. The cigar smokes offends me, he said. Besides, I am in want of a wife.

To Liza’s harpsichord accompaniment, The Novel sang a Scottish lament about two lovers ignorant of their undying mutual love. The lament ended in a scene with tears shed over a grave. My cousin Faith fainted. The Novel revived her with a brandy and a kiss on the brow.

At the end of the evening he turned somersaults across the lawn and disappeared through the front gate.

The next day he turned up at dawn at the service entrance. My husband came down and they went fishing on the river.