“We fixed you a nice lunch, honey,” Madam Agnes said. “I hope you’re hungry.”
They led her into the dining room, where a table had been festively set, with a bottle of champagne at Margaret’s place. As they walked through the hallway, Margaret glanced toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. She knew Jamie visited here, and she wondered which of the girls he chose. All of them, perhaps. And she studied them again and wondered what it was they had for Jamie that she did not.
The luncheon turned out to be a banquet. It began with a delicious cold soup and salad, followed by fresh carp. After that came mutton and duck with potatoes and vegetables. There was a tipsy cake and cheese and fruit and coffee. Margaret found herself eating heartily and enjoying herself immensely. She was seated at the head of the table, Madam Agnes on her right, and Maggie, a lovely blond girl who could have been no more than sixteen, on her left. In the beginning the conversation was stilted. The girls had dozens of amusing, bawdy stories to tell, but they were not the kind they felt Margaret should hear. And so they talked about the weather and about how Klipdrift was growing, and about the future of South Africa. They were knowledgeable about politics and the economy and diamonds because they got their information firsthand from experts.
Once, the pretty blonde, Maggie, said, “Jamie’s just found a new diamond field at—” And as the room went suddenly silent and she realized her gaffe, she added nervously, “That’s my Uncle Jamie. He’s—he’s married to my aunt.”
Margaret was surprised by the sudden wave of jealousy that swept through her. Madam Agnes hastily changed the subject.
When the luncheon was finished, Madam Agnes rose and said, “This way, honey.”
Margaret and the girls followed her into a second parlor which Margaret had not seen before. It was filled with dozens of gifts, all of them beautifully wrapped. Margaret could not believe her eyes.
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Open them,” Madam Agnes told Margaret.
There was a rocking cradle, handmade bootees, sacques, embroidered bonnets, a long, embroidered cashmere cloak. There were French-kid button shoes, a child’s silver cup, gold-lined, and a comb and brush with solid sterling-silver handles. There were solid-gold baby bib pins with beaded edges, a celluloid baby rattle and rubber teething ring and a rocking horse painted dapple gray. There were toy soldiers, brightly colored wooden blocks and the most beautiful thing of all: a long, white christening dress.
It was like Christmas. It was beyond anything Margaret had ever expected. All the bottled-up loneliness and unhappiness of the past months exploded in her, and she burst into sobs.
Madam Agnes put her arms around her and said to the other girls, “Get out.”
They quietly left the room. Madam Agnes led Margaret to a couch and sat there holding her until the sobs subsided.
“I—I’m so sorry,” Margaret stammered. “I—I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s all right, honey. This room has seen a lot of problems come and go. And you know what I’ve learned? Somehow, in the end everything always gets sorted out. You and your baby are gonna be just fine.”
“Thank you,” Margaret whispered. She gestured toward the piles of presents. “I can never thank you and your friends enough for—”
Madam Agnes squeezed Margaret’s hand. “Don’t. You don’t have no idea how much fun the girls and me had gettin’ all this together. We don’t get a chance to do this kind of thing very often. When one of us gets pregnant, it’s a fuckin’ tragedy.” Her hands flew to her mouth and she said, “Oh! Excuse me!”
Margaret smiled. “I just want you to know that this has been one of the nicest days of my life.”
“We’re real honored that you came to visit us, honey. As far as I’m concerned, you’re worth all the women in this town put together. Those damned bitches! I could kill them for the way they’re behavin’ to you. And if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, Jamie McGregor is a damned fool.” She rose to her feet. “Men! It would be a wonderful world if we could live without the bastards. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Who knows?”
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