Valerie King

Closing Gambits

One of the reasons I never have more than twelve pence to my name – and that only if I start digging down the back of the sofa cushions for the shilling I know I lost in 1964, is that I am constitutionally incapable of saying "Goodbye" on the telephone.

I was brought up always to have something to say at the table. It was the price I paid for being at dinner in the first place and a valuable social lesson.

Sadly, the lessons stopped at "And if, when you've asked the person sitting next to you whether he plans a holiday soon you find his hand roving towards your knee, quietly pick up your fruit knife and stab him in the kidneys."

So telephone manners were something I had to piece together myself. No problem wittering on for hours about knack-all, as my phone bills will attest. Oh no. The problem was extricating myself from the call when all possible intelligence had been swapped.

"Lovely to speak to you, sweetie, you must come and have dinner very soon!"

Blast. No point in having them on their own, might as well have another couple of people and make an evening of it.

And so another dinner party came and went and my bank statements began to look like kidnap threats: "You Are Overdrawn Again - We Want Our Money Back

Not a hope. Harrods had a lot of it, as did Fortnum and Mason and a wonderful cheesemonger above whom I used to live in Muswell Hill. These days, living in glorious Cirencester and my bank having given up the unequal struggle, my cheque books arrive pre-printed with "Pay Jesse Smith & Son..." a thoughtful gesture that saves me much time at our peerless butcher.

One of my dearest friends, also a professional cook, tried to give me lessons once. She came over to tea - "Oh darling, come and have some meringues, I haven't seen you for weeks..." - and sat patiently in the kitchen, holding a floorbrush up to her face (she couldn't use the actual phone, since I was on it inviting several people over to brunch) showing me how she conducted her own conversations.

"Lovely to speak to you," She enunciated clearly, "Goodbye." She did it twice, although frankly I thought that was showing off and said as much. I was, however, privately flabberghasted. Was that all there was to it? Was that why other people managed to go to the theatre and buy clothes and pay bills?

"Give me that floorbrush! I must call someone and try it out."

She and I didn't speak for days after that. Mostly because I'd tried her method and found myself unexpectedly hosting a buffet supper for twelve the following Thursday and simply didn't have the time.

When I met the man I discovered was my soul mate, I suggested he meet Joanna, since it was very important to me, as it always is with girlies, that he and she liked each other. They got on like a house on fire and I was particularly pleased when his parting shot was "It has been wonderful to meet you at last – Valerie has told me so much about you – as soon as we get sorted out you must come and have dinner." I think I managed the almost impossible feat of both winking and sticking my tongue out at her as we left the restaurant where the pre-husband scoping out had taken place.

We are now some years down the line, she and I and our lives have changed considerably.

She lives in an immense villa with every conceivable labour-saving device known to man including a charming au pair and I have six people coming over to eat on Saturday and must dash.

Why not join us?

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