Leonora by Elena Poniatowska Page B

Beaton takes Leonora’s photograph and her mother dreams of her marrying royalty, whispering to her in French: ‘ Tu dois faire un grand mariage. Ton père et moi …’ Leonora dislikes her mother addressing her in French, for her pronunciation is execrable.
    â€˜You talk French like a Dutch cow, Mama.’
    â€˜Show a little more respect, if you please.’
    â€˜It’s not a lack of respect, it’s the truth. And it’s also true that you’ve put on weight.’
    Taking tea inside a white marquee in the gardens of Buckingham Palace seems the height of absurdity. Guests perambulate, cup of tea in hand, and introduce one to another. Leonora extends her hand to be kissed, or else gently inclines her head towards one group before passing on to the next. When a young man approaches her to strike up a conversation, she ceases paying attention within a minute and, still smiling like the Mona Lisa, gives him to understand that the space she can accord him on the green lawns at the Garden Party is rapidly dwindling. Not one of those present at the dances and the five o’clock teas captures her interest. By contrast, she herself attracts every gaze, followed up by the murmur that she is not only beautiful but wealthy. ‘What a catch!’ ‘Have you noticed how she walks, she looks, how disdainful she is?’ ‘She’s frighteningly beautiful, and totally unapproachable!’
    Maurie busies herself with managing her daughter’s wardrobe, rushing her to the hotel to change three times a day. Leonora has hardly enough time to remove her morning outfit and replace it with her afternoon wear before she has to return and garb herself in the evening dress spread out on her bed beside her dancing shoes. Impossible to wear the same garment twice: no debutante would commit such a faux pas. Still less could she put on her three strings of pearls or the signet ring chevalière with the family escutcheon upon it again! Maurie lets her know the expense of such a trousseau , of how exemplary and generous a father Harold Carrington is. Leonora thinks just the opposite. ‘My father scares me and when he doesn’t scare me, he bores me.’ Among all her attire, her favourite is the well-cut suit she wears to the Ascot races; its blue-grey colour reminds her of clouds just before the rain. A silk blouse complements it well, as its high collar doesn’t get crumpled and always looks good on her. Nonetheless, Leonora continues to defy her mother: ‘I don’t enjoy dressing up. What I enjoy is undressing.’
    Leonora, the distinguished guest, has her own chair in the royal box at Ascot.
    â€˜I want to place a bet.’
    â€˜You cannot. Up there in the royal box, you’re right on public view, if you get up – or make any move – everyone will notice. Have you not observed that the royals never sneeze?’
    â€˜Then I want to go to the paddock and take a look at the horses.’
    â€˜That will not be permitted. If you have been invited to the royal box, it is because you have demonstrated that you know how to conduct yourself.’
    â€˜Then, Mama, why have they invited me at all if I can never do anything?’
    Leonora brings a book with her to the follow-up invitation to the royal box. The duke, a princess. When a count asks her: ‘What are you reading?’ the answer comes back: ‘ Eyeless in Gaza by Aldous Huxley.’ She does not raise her eyes from its pages, which she continues turning while no-one dares to interrupt this strange creature who in some way appears to despise them. In the box, nobody is aware that Huxley is the author of Brave New World.
    â€˜Did you have a good time?’ Maurie asks her.
    â€˜I’ve nearly finished my book.’
    â€˜There’s no dealing with you, you do it simply to annoy us.’
    Leonora persists in the process of her mother’s mortification. Now Maurie really does