One Winter Weekend

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

T rue to his word, Fabrizio’s presentation was superb.

The primera of pasticcio al forno, “a traditional Christmas pasta bake,” according to their host, delighted the guests. Layers of rigatoni, ground lamb, tomato sauce, and generous helpings of cheese were a welcome way to replenish after a day of sight-seeing.

The tender slices of veal and delicious roasted potatoes that comprised the secondi were an absolute delight, too. When Helen O’Brien raised a faint objection to eating veal, Fabrizio noted that, “little animals are the sacrificial victims of the Italian lust for meat at Christmas. It is… tradition.”

One bite later, Helen’s moral qualms melted away like the meat in her mouth.

So delicious was everything that no one seemed to notice just how much wine was being consumed.

This was partly Fabrizio’s doing: rather than leaving a bottle of wine for the table, he insisted on pairing different wines with each course.

By the time dessert rolled around, everyone had had more than their share of delicious Barberas, Sangioveses and Vermentinos.

It was after Fabrizio brought out a delightful-looking zuppa inglese that things started going downhill.

The festive dessert, made of rum, jam, pastry cream, whipped cream and fruit, reminded Paddy of sherry trifle, easily his favourite dessert.

He hadn’t been particularly impressed by the wines nor the limoncello Fabrizio had foisted upon the table, but this – this was a rare slice of home, and Paddy was simply delighted.

“Nothing beats a good trifle,” he said, his mouth watering.

Patricia shot him a look. “Trifle?” she repeated, amusedly. “How… quaint .”

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” Paddy continued between mouthfuls of zuppe , “it’s nothing compared to my Helen’s here. No one does it better. But this isn’t half bad at all.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had trifle before,” James mused.

Patricia nodded. “Of course you haven’t, dear,” she said haughtily. “It’s a rather … common dessert, no flair or artistry needed.”

Helen’s gaze shot up. “Really …” she said decidedly unimpressed.

“Oh darling,” Patricia insisted, “that wasn’t meant to be insulting.”

“Good,” Helen replied flatly. “Because it certainly sounded like that.”

Patricia wasn’t finished. “I just think,” she continued, “it speaks to a certain… kind. ”

“Mother…” Ben interjected warily.

“No Ben,” Patricia continued, holding up a hand to silence him, “I am tired of having to hold my tongue. You are asking me to be something that I simply am not. And I also resent being told that I have to pretend to think this….Italian charade… is all okay when it simply is not .”

Ben shook his head apologetically at Molly. “Father,” he motioned towards Patricia, “couldn’t you…”

James merely looked down as his wife continued on. “Ben,” she said, softening as she gazed concernedly at her son, “this can’t truly be what you want - a hush-hush ceremony in a tiny church in a foreign country? You are entitled to so much more . You are the son of a lord, and heir to an important title. One day, you will be the 16th Earl of Daventry. Our family has certain standards to uphold. And however pleasant this young lady,” she motioned towards Molly, “might be, I simply do not believe she understands what inheriting such a title might mean. Of course, I cannot blame her for that. Manners are taught as much as they are learned.”

“Now, you hold on!” Helen exploded, shocking everyone at the table as she stood angrily. “I don’t know who you think you are to insult my daughter and my family the way you have, Patricia, but this is truly beyond the pale. Your so-called English title does not bring with it the opportunity to look down your nose at any one’s manners, at least not with the way you yourself are acting.”

Helen’s breathing increased in rapidity, and she felt her heart race in her chest. She glanced at her daughter, who looked on the verge of tears, and took a deep breath before continuing in a more relaxed tone.

“For Molly’s sake, I am going to assume that you simply have had too much wine tonight, and it has loosened your tongue. I can be far more forgiving of an obnoxious drunk than I can the nasty person you are showing yourself to be this evening. I think we should leave now, before I say something I myself might truly regret. Paddy?”

Paddy looked at Molly, then to Ben, and finally stood and joined his wife.

“I – good evening,” he said simply as Helen stormed off.

Molly stared at Patricia, who seemed unconcerned by their exit.

“Molly, dear,” she said with a put-on smile, “I hope you know this had nothing to do with you…”

The bride-to-be looked shocked. She looked at Patricia quizzically. “Nothing… to do… with me?” she repeated.

“Of course not,” Patricia shook her head. “We simply want the best for our son that’s all.”

Molly’s jaw hit the floor. “So… what you’re saying is… I’m not the best for Ben.” She looked at her fiance, who said nothing. “How… dare you…!”

“See. Like mother, like daughter,” Patricia muttered under her breath.

“And you ,” she exploded, turning on Ben. “That you could just sit there while this… woman insults me, insults my mother and my father while all we’re here in Rome - for our wedding?”

“I – I don’t—”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “You know what, Ben?” she snapped. “You can keep your titles, and your Lordship and your stuck-up parents. I can’t be with someone who cares so much about a title and so little for his wife-to-be.”

With that, she spun on her heel and walked off.

Caroline jumped up to chase after her – but before doing so, she turned to the Pembreys. “You’re just… I can’t even …” she muttered before going after her friend.

Ben sat at the table in stunned silence. His mother sipped on her limoncello, a satisfied look on her face, while his father continued to stare off into the distance. “See Ben, this isn’t—”

“Mother,” he said quietly, “can you please give it a rest for once?”

“I’m only saying…”

“Not. Now.”

“All right, all right,” Patricia responded. “But at some point, you’re going to have to face facts, Ben: that girl is simply all wrong for us. And her family is —”

“ Mother, ” Ben interjected hotly. “That is enough . You have been rude, pretentious, and condescending, particularly towards the O’Briens. And now, you’ve ruined the one thing that has made me happier than anything ever has. I want to marry Molly. I’m going to marry Molly - here in Rome on Christmas Eve. And there is simply nothing you can say or do that’s going to stop me.” He stood up and angrily tossed his napkin on the table. “Molly however, might well be a different story. ”