Disclaimer: I do not own Pat, Hilary, or any of the Gardiners. But I do
own the Bowens.
A/N: THE DINNER What will they think of the Bowens?
Pat was still managing to cover her nervousness as they climbed the steps to the door of the Bowen house. At least it wasn't huge. It was a modest home by all appearances, but well kept and very elegant in style. The Bowens lived in the city, not too far from where Hilary and Pat were staying. Pat would have preferred to walk, in fact, but Hilary had pointed out that it would be better to take a taxi. Besides, if they walked, Pat would risk injury to her dress.
Hilary had loved the dresses when they arrived, just as Pat thought he would. She had received help from the lady in the store, who had managed to convince her that, instead of two dresses for dancing, she would probably need at least one for a dinner party. Hilary's favorite, alas, was the dress for dancing which was now laying on their bed in the hotel room. But he did like this one. Instead of the customary black, it was a deep, deep purple. Hilary thought Pat looked wonderful, but unlike herself in some way. This, he believed was the result of her hair. She usually let it tumble down around her shoulders in soft curls. But, this evening, it was pinned up elegantly. She looked very sophisticated and chic. Hilary mentally dared the Bowens to find fault with his wife.
They reached the door and Hilary knocked, using the ornate brass knocker. Pat couldn't help but think it was almost as nice as the one from Silver Bush. The door was opened by a tall, severe-looking woman dressed in gray. She looked as if she had tasted something unpleasant in childhood and had never really gotten the taste out of her mouth. Pat couldn't say anything. Her nervousness was in full swing. Hilary, glancing sideways at her, noticed that she had suddenly gone pale. He spoke up.
"Good evening. I am Hilary Gordon and this is my wife, Patricia. I believe Mr. and Mrs. Bowen are expecting us."
The woman nodded and opened the door wider.
"Please come in, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. I'll tell Master Bowen you're here."
They entered and the woman took their wraps, then disappeared. Pat looked at Hilary.
"MASTER Bowen?"
"Just a formality, Pat. I'm sure she's a paid servant, not a slave."
His last comment earned him an icy glare, but he couldn't help noticing the way Pat's mouth twitched at the corners. They didn't wait too long. A young man soon appeared. Pat realized he must be 'Master' Bowen and she saw right away why Hilary had thought he would be so friendy.
Parker Bowen was tall and slim, like Hilary, with fair hair and blue eyes. His face seemed so friendly and warm. Pat imagined he must have a friendly smile. But the smile he wore now was rather.fake. Almost as if he had pasted it on. He came forward and shook Hilary's hand.
"Mr. Gordon. I'm so glad you could make it. And you must be Mrs. Gordon," he said, turning to Pat. He took her hand briefly. "It's very good to meet you. I'm afraid my wife isn't down yet. But she will be joining us shortly. Shall we wait for her in the parlor?"
Pat, despite her tumultuous thoughts, latched on to the word 'parlor'. Not very many people used that term any more. It was considered too old- fashioned. She filed that away in her memory as he led them into the room. It was beautifully decorated. Simple, but elegant. Pat was somewhat surprised. The way Hilary had talked, she had expected an ostentatious room with brilliant colors. But the décor was subdued and tasteful. Looking at Hilary, she saw that he, too, was surprised. Her eyes were soon drawn to a large painting which was centrally located in the room. Mr. Bowen followed her eyes and smiled.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he asked.
"Yes, she is," agreed Pat. The painting was of a young woman, probably in her early twenties. She was standing in what was obviously the parlor they were sitting in right at the moment. The woman was dressed in a ballgown, white in color. Pat admitted she was beautiful. She had an ivory complexion, night-black hair and green eyes. Yet she seemed untouchable. Someone Pat couldn't imagine herself being friends with.
"That's my wife, actually. Katherine is her name. I had that commissioned for our fifth anniversary. It didn't exactly turn out the way I had hoped, but it is beautiful. Of course, it doesn't half do justice to her."
As if on cue, the woman in the portrait breezed into the room. She was shorter than Pat had imagined, but, as her husband had said, the painting didn't do her justice. The ivory complexion also had a rosy tint to it, giving her more color. Her black hair was glossy and her green eyes were revealed to be a much deeper color than the painting portrayed. Yet, still, she seemed distant as she held her hand out to Hilary, then Pat.
"I'm so glad to finally meet you both. I do apologize for your wait. The dinner is ready and I'm sure you're hungry. Please, follow me."
Hilary and Pat obediently followed. Pat's mind was working overtime. Something wasn't right here. The behavior of their hosts seemed to contradict their appearance. Despite Mrs. Bowen's somewhat distant manner and cultured British voice, there was something in her eyes that Pat found herself drawn to. What was going on here?
The dinner was delicious, but Pat was soon bored. Hilary and Mr. Bowen spoke of architectural doings and Mrs. Bowen, although a charming hostess, seemed only to care for the latest fashions and gossip. Pat fervently hoped that all the dinners she was to attend wouldn't be like this. Just as she was beginning to wonder if it was too early to suggest that she was tired, there was a fateful interruption to the disastrous dinner.
Right in the middle of dessert, a very sleepy looking little boy wandered into the dining room. Pat guessed his age to be about four. His sandy hair was a bit mussed and his blue eyes blinked continuously in his effort to keep them open. He was dressed in pajamas and he seemed rather irritated. Neither of his parents saw him until he spoke up.
"Mummy, I've been waiting forever. When are you going to come read to me?"
The mistress of the house looked up from her dessert in shock. Pat thought the range of emotions that crossed her face was very interesting. First guilt, then embarrassment, then irritation. But a mask quickly covered all those. Before she could reply, her son uttered the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Are these people ever going to leave?"
Mrs. Bowen turned pale and her husband's eyes began to flash.
"Robert!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen. "That's no way to speak to our guests."
"Apologize, young man," Mr. Bowen added.
But before the 'young man' could apologize, Pat began to find the situation very funny. Here she was, wanting to leave, and the only person in the room with enough courage to say what he felt was a four year old boy. Unable to help herself, she began to smile, then giggle, then laugh. Hilary turned to her, his eyes imploring her to stop, but Pat could not. Her laughter rang through the house and Hilary, always unable to resist that sound, began to laugh with her. Both were surprised when they realized they weren't the only ones laughing. Mr. and Mrs. Bowen had begun to laugh, too. In fact, the only person not laughing was young Robert, who looked very confused. His mother, still laughing, scooped him up in her arms and carried him upstairs.
When the laughter had subsided, Parker Bowen started to apologize for his son's behavior, but Hilary cut him off.
"Think nothing of it, Mr. Bowen. Children don't know when to censor themselves. It's very refreshing, actually."
"Don't call me Mr. Bowen. Call me Parker, please. Mr. Bowen sounds so strange to me. All my friends call me Parker."
Hilary's eyes twinkled with merriment. This was the true Parker Bowen.
"Well then, Parker. You must call me Hilary."
"And call me Pat," added the former Patricia Gordon.
Parker warmed up immediately and soon spilled out all the details. He and his wife had been afraid their humdrum life wouldn't be enough to impress Hilary and so they had behaved as they had imagined the Gordons would. Parker's family was indeed part of the British aristocracy, but Parker had made his own way in the world, determined not to rely on his family's wealth. They soon adjourned back into the parlor where they waited for Mrs. Bowen's return and laughed over the mixup of their meeting. Parker was a very friendly, funny man and Hilary found his earlier impression melting away. Pat hoped the same would be true of Mrs. Bowen.
She was not disappointed. Mrs. Bowen returned after about twenty minutes, having read to young Robert and tucked him in. She smiled at Pat, a beautiful smile that made her face radiant. And when she spoke, it was the biggest surprise of all.
"I'm so glad we needn't keep up with this charade. It's a bit av an inconvenience, isn't it now?"
Pat's mouth dropped open in spite of herself.
"You're Irish?"
"Born and raised. Av course, after I married Parker, I moved to England and my accent isn't what it used to be, but it pops up every now and then. Usually when I'm mad. I have a raging Irish temper. It's one av my worst faults. I can speak just as beautifully as the quane herself when I want. But I much prefer my own voice."
"So do I," agreed Pat.
They talked well into the night and plans were made for the next day for the Gordons and all of the Bowens to go on a sightseeing tour of London. Pat and Hilary left happy, sure that they had made lifelong friends. The race that knows Joseph had recognized its own.
A/N: More about the Bowens in the next chapter. Then, it's back home for Hilary and Pat. But are there more surprises in store? Hmmmm.
A/N: THE DINNER What will they think of the Bowens?
Pat was still managing to cover her nervousness as they climbed the steps to the door of the Bowen house. At least it wasn't huge. It was a modest home by all appearances, but well kept and very elegant in style. The Bowens lived in the city, not too far from where Hilary and Pat were staying. Pat would have preferred to walk, in fact, but Hilary had pointed out that it would be better to take a taxi. Besides, if they walked, Pat would risk injury to her dress.
Hilary had loved the dresses when they arrived, just as Pat thought he would. She had received help from the lady in the store, who had managed to convince her that, instead of two dresses for dancing, she would probably need at least one for a dinner party. Hilary's favorite, alas, was the dress for dancing which was now laying on their bed in the hotel room. But he did like this one. Instead of the customary black, it was a deep, deep purple. Hilary thought Pat looked wonderful, but unlike herself in some way. This, he believed was the result of her hair. She usually let it tumble down around her shoulders in soft curls. But, this evening, it was pinned up elegantly. She looked very sophisticated and chic. Hilary mentally dared the Bowens to find fault with his wife.
They reached the door and Hilary knocked, using the ornate brass knocker. Pat couldn't help but think it was almost as nice as the one from Silver Bush. The door was opened by a tall, severe-looking woman dressed in gray. She looked as if she had tasted something unpleasant in childhood and had never really gotten the taste out of her mouth. Pat couldn't say anything. Her nervousness was in full swing. Hilary, glancing sideways at her, noticed that she had suddenly gone pale. He spoke up.
"Good evening. I am Hilary Gordon and this is my wife, Patricia. I believe Mr. and Mrs. Bowen are expecting us."
The woman nodded and opened the door wider.
"Please come in, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. I'll tell Master Bowen you're here."
They entered and the woman took their wraps, then disappeared. Pat looked at Hilary.
"MASTER Bowen?"
"Just a formality, Pat. I'm sure she's a paid servant, not a slave."
His last comment earned him an icy glare, but he couldn't help noticing the way Pat's mouth twitched at the corners. They didn't wait too long. A young man soon appeared. Pat realized he must be 'Master' Bowen and she saw right away why Hilary had thought he would be so friendy.
Parker Bowen was tall and slim, like Hilary, with fair hair and blue eyes. His face seemed so friendly and warm. Pat imagined he must have a friendly smile. But the smile he wore now was rather.fake. Almost as if he had pasted it on. He came forward and shook Hilary's hand.
"Mr. Gordon. I'm so glad you could make it. And you must be Mrs. Gordon," he said, turning to Pat. He took her hand briefly. "It's very good to meet you. I'm afraid my wife isn't down yet. But she will be joining us shortly. Shall we wait for her in the parlor?"
Pat, despite her tumultuous thoughts, latched on to the word 'parlor'. Not very many people used that term any more. It was considered too old- fashioned. She filed that away in her memory as he led them into the room. It was beautifully decorated. Simple, but elegant. Pat was somewhat surprised. The way Hilary had talked, she had expected an ostentatious room with brilliant colors. But the décor was subdued and tasteful. Looking at Hilary, she saw that he, too, was surprised. Her eyes were soon drawn to a large painting which was centrally located in the room. Mr. Bowen followed her eyes and smiled.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he asked.
"Yes, she is," agreed Pat. The painting was of a young woman, probably in her early twenties. She was standing in what was obviously the parlor they were sitting in right at the moment. The woman was dressed in a ballgown, white in color. Pat admitted she was beautiful. She had an ivory complexion, night-black hair and green eyes. Yet she seemed untouchable. Someone Pat couldn't imagine herself being friends with.
"That's my wife, actually. Katherine is her name. I had that commissioned for our fifth anniversary. It didn't exactly turn out the way I had hoped, but it is beautiful. Of course, it doesn't half do justice to her."
As if on cue, the woman in the portrait breezed into the room. She was shorter than Pat had imagined, but, as her husband had said, the painting didn't do her justice. The ivory complexion also had a rosy tint to it, giving her more color. Her black hair was glossy and her green eyes were revealed to be a much deeper color than the painting portrayed. Yet, still, she seemed distant as she held her hand out to Hilary, then Pat.
"I'm so glad to finally meet you both. I do apologize for your wait. The dinner is ready and I'm sure you're hungry. Please, follow me."
Hilary and Pat obediently followed. Pat's mind was working overtime. Something wasn't right here. The behavior of their hosts seemed to contradict their appearance. Despite Mrs. Bowen's somewhat distant manner and cultured British voice, there was something in her eyes that Pat found herself drawn to. What was going on here?
The dinner was delicious, but Pat was soon bored. Hilary and Mr. Bowen spoke of architectural doings and Mrs. Bowen, although a charming hostess, seemed only to care for the latest fashions and gossip. Pat fervently hoped that all the dinners she was to attend wouldn't be like this. Just as she was beginning to wonder if it was too early to suggest that she was tired, there was a fateful interruption to the disastrous dinner.
Right in the middle of dessert, a very sleepy looking little boy wandered into the dining room. Pat guessed his age to be about four. His sandy hair was a bit mussed and his blue eyes blinked continuously in his effort to keep them open. He was dressed in pajamas and he seemed rather irritated. Neither of his parents saw him until he spoke up.
"Mummy, I've been waiting forever. When are you going to come read to me?"
The mistress of the house looked up from her dessert in shock. Pat thought the range of emotions that crossed her face was very interesting. First guilt, then embarrassment, then irritation. But a mask quickly covered all those. Before she could reply, her son uttered the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Are these people ever going to leave?"
Mrs. Bowen turned pale and her husband's eyes began to flash.
"Robert!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen. "That's no way to speak to our guests."
"Apologize, young man," Mr. Bowen added.
But before the 'young man' could apologize, Pat began to find the situation very funny. Here she was, wanting to leave, and the only person in the room with enough courage to say what he felt was a four year old boy. Unable to help herself, she began to smile, then giggle, then laugh. Hilary turned to her, his eyes imploring her to stop, but Pat could not. Her laughter rang through the house and Hilary, always unable to resist that sound, began to laugh with her. Both were surprised when they realized they weren't the only ones laughing. Mr. and Mrs. Bowen had begun to laugh, too. In fact, the only person not laughing was young Robert, who looked very confused. His mother, still laughing, scooped him up in her arms and carried him upstairs.
When the laughter had subsided, Parker Bowen started to apologize for his son's behavior, but Hilary cut him off.
"Think nothing of it, Mr. Bowen. Children don't know when to censor themselves. It's very refreshing, actually."
"Don't call me Mr. Bowen. Call me Parker, please. Mr. Bowen sounds so strange to me. All my friends call me Parker."
Hilary's eyes twinkled with merriment. This was the true Parker Bowen.
"Well then, Parker. You must call me Hilary."
"And call me Pat," added the former Patricia Gordon.
Parker warmed up immediately and soon spilled out all the details. He and his wife had been afraid their humdrum life wouldn't be enough to impress Hilary and so they had behaved as they had imagined the Gordons would. Parker's family was indeed part of the British aristocracy, but Parker had made his own way in the world, determined not to rely on his family's wealth. They soon adjourned back into the parlor where they waited for Mrs. Bowen's return and laughed over the mixup of their meeting. Parker was a very friendly, funny man and Hilary found his earlier impression melting away. Pat hoped the same would be true of Mrs. Bowen.
She was not disappointed. Mrs. Bowen returned after about twenty minutes, having read to young Robert and tucked him in. She smiled at Pat, a beautiful smile that made her face radiant. And when she spoke, it was the biggest surprise of all.
"I'm so glad we needn't keep up with this charade. It's a bit av an inconvenience, isn't it now?"
Pat's mouth dropped open in spite of herself.
"You're Irish?"
"Born and raised. Av course, after I married Parker, I moved to England and my accent isn't what it used to be, but it pops up every now and then. Usually when I'm mad. I have a raging Irish temper. It's one av my worst faults. I can speak just as beautifully as the quane herself when I want. But I much prefer my own voice."
"So do I," agreed Pat.
They talked well into the night and plans were made for the next day for the Gordons and all of the Bowens to go on a sightseeing tour of London. Pat and Hilary left happy, sure that they had made lifelong friends. The race that knows Joseph had recognized its own.
A/N: More about the Bowens in the next chapter. Then, it's back home for Hilary and Pat. But are there more surprises in store? Hmmmm.