If you thought families could be weird ....
Extract from Letters to the Pianist taken from halfway through the story, when Edward witnesses some strange behaviour from his wife, Connie.
Edward watched as everyone raised their glasses of claret, shouting, ‘Heil Hitler!’ including his wife Connie, her glass lifted, her other hand raised in victorious salute, eyes flashing as if remembering an inspired mentor.
He stared down at his plate feeling puzzled, stabbing his fork into the white flesh when he inhaled a gamey stench that made him retch. Overcome with nausea he covered his mouth with his hand as he stood up and staggered towards the door.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ called out Connie as she got up to follow him.
‘Leave him, dear. Some of us have weak stomachs,’ said Henry with a chuckle. He forked some game into his mouth, pounding it with his teeth.
Stumbling into their bedroom, Edward flopped down onto the four-poster bed. Connie swept through the door after him, her signature Chanel permeating the air like a scented breeze.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he felt her stroke his forehead, feeling the coolness of her fingers contrast with the heat emanating from his brow.
‘How are you, darling?’
He wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘But you must eat, Eddie. Are you going to join us later?’
He groaned. ‘I’ve got one of those awful migraines. Do apologise for me.’
Connie leant over and kissed him on the lips, stroking his cheek as he turned his face away.
‘Is everything all right, darling?’
‘I just didn’t think you were an Adolf fan?’
Connie pouted and folded her arms. ‘Oh, so that’s what this is about. Honestly, Eddie, you are being silly. I merely raised an innocent glass of claret to a dead man. We must all learn forgiveness for the damned, and I can’t sit there like a party pooper. Daddy would have thought me terribly improper for disrespecting his comrades.’
‘Forgiveness,’ said Edward, staring at her blankly.
‘Yes, Daddy’s philosophy has always been to raise a toast and bless your enemies. It’s a family superstition … in case you meet them in hell.’
Edward watched as everyone raised their glasses of claret, shouting, ‘Heil Hitler!’ including his wife Connie, her glass lifted, her other hand raised in victorious salute, eyes flashing as if remembering an inspired mentor.
He stared down at his plate feeling puzzled, stabbing his fork into the white flesh when he inhaled a gamey stench that made him retch. Overcome with nausea he covered his mouth with his hand as he stood up and staggered towards the door.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ called out Connie as she got up to follow him.
‘Leave him, dear. Some of us have weak stomachs,’ said Henry with a chuckle. He forked some game into his mouth, pounding it with his teeth.
Stumbling into their bedroom, Edward flopped down onto the four-poster bed. Connie swept through the door after him, her signature Chanel permeating the air like a scented breeze.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he felt her stroke his forehead, feeling the coolness of her fingers contrast with the heat emanating from his brow.
‘How are you, darling?’
He wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘But you must eat, Eddie. Are you going to join us later?’
He groaned. ‘I’ve got one of those awful migraines. Do apologise for me.’
Connie leant over and kissed him on the lips, stroking his cheek as he turned his face away.
‘Is everything all right, darling?’
‘I just didn’t think you were an Adolf fan?’
Connie pouted and folded her arms. ‘Oh, so that’s what this is about. Honestly, Eddie, you are being silly. I merely raised an innocent glass of claret to a dead man. We must all learn forgiveness for the damned, and I can’t sit there like a party pooper. Daddy would have thought me terribly improper for disrespecting his comrades.’
‘Forgiveness,’ said Edward, staring at her blankly.
‘Yes, Daddy’s philosophy has always been to raise a toast and bless your enemies. It’s a family superstition … in case you meet them in hell.’
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