JACK OF DIAMONDS, REDUX

Chapter 14...proposed edits

CHAPTER 14

Countess Madame Chernetsov—Bubbi—was a large bosomed, matronly woman of fifty, who could best be described as stout. Her hair swept up into a tight bun, she brushed a strand aside as she looked over the list for tomorrow’s upcoming entertainment, and shook her head slowly. She had to ask herself how she could have ever agreed to letting her sons help her organize the entertainment for this year’s upcoming Ball. A costume ball, at that.

A juggler? she thought, fighting back a feeling of disbelief. And a magician, too? What do they think this is, a children’s party? At least they still have the octet I asked for—but an American Jazz band? she thought with disdain. Why would they think we need an American Jazz band?

She nodded as she read further down the list, and then looked up at Reynolds, her major-domo as she liked to refer to him. Tall, thin, and unassuming, he had proven himself to be indispensable over the years. He’d served the family faithfully since they first arrived in England seventeen thirteen years ago. Now in his mid-fifties, the man simply had not aged. His hair may have become a little thinner, but not noticeably so; it was something she’d never admit to despising about the man, because really, what was the point in that? Some people age prematurely; they lose their hair, gain weight, turn grey, and show their age with wrinkles and age spots. He simply happened to be one of those people who didn’t.

“And the guests?” she asked, almost afraid to hear what the answer might be.

“Forty, perhaps fifty,” he said softly—“but we’ll have enough food for more I should think.”

“Did Greggson hire more help?”

“I believe he’s bringing the old cook in, from Mandalay. And some others,” he added.

“Of course. And the wine? Have they those boys raided my wine cellars and taken the best for themselves? This is turning out to be more of a college party than a Costume Ball. Perhaps we should order hot dogs sausages and beer, rather than canapés?”

He smiled. “I’ll make certain they do not go into the wine cellar unattended, Mum,” he said, now trying to hide the lingering smile she could see playing at the edge of his thin lips. She wondered if perhaps her three sons had predicted how she’d react once she saw the night’s itinerary.

“Will you? Thank God for that!” she said, letting out a gentle sigh of relief.

“I was thinking thirty bottles of red and sixty bottles of white, would be more than enough.”

“Ninety bottles of wine? They cannot possibly drink that much, can they? Is it this generation, or am I simply getting old?”

It wasn’t a question she expected an answer to, and she was happy relieved when he looked at her in silence remained silent. She wished more men would knew when to be quiet remain silent. It would make life so much more tolerable easier if she didn’t have to listen to someone’s outrageous idea of what was wrong in with the world. It was those ideas that had brought about the Great War, and the Revolution in Russia. She always shuddered when s at the thought of what may have happened to her family back home.