At a party given by film people recently I chatted to a set designer at some length about the moral conundrums posed by modern life. An old friend of mine-one of my best- insists on calling me ‘My Dear’- all the time. She’s 6 months younger than I am. I just cant stand it. Sweet heart, Darling, Darl, China, Pal, Mate, Diddums, I have no problem with at all, but My Dear for some reason makes my heart sink in great thudding lurches. There are many quite slanderous insults I would genuinely prefer. ‘Should I say something?’ I ask.
‘ No,’ he replied. ‘You should never reject the terms of endearment people use for you.’
‘ Not even sausage or pudding-face?’
He shook his head. ‘Nor,’ he added, cryptically, ‘should you ever criticise someone’s salad dressing to their face. It’s just too personal. Most people can’t take it.’
‘ Really?’
He nodded.
‘ Even if they offer it to you to taste?’
‘ Even then.’ This was getting interesting. I remember once my father
asking me with a slight sneer if I’d added a little sugar to the salad dressing and being completely mortified. (‘Of course I haven’t! What do you take me for?
It’s just your antique balsamic vinegar that has turned my delicate leaves into syrupy mush so you’ve only yourself to blame,’ I didn't quite say.) The man was still talking. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘I bet you’ll know the answer to this. When I was a child in the fifties my parents had close friends in Russia in some kind of trouble whose two daughters came to stay with us in England, in the country, for about eighteen months. I’m not exactly sure why, but that’s what happened. My parents looked after them as if they were their own and they went to school with us, came on holiday with us and did everything that we did. We adored them. Ever since then, over 50 years ago, the girls’ parents have sent us a large tin of caviar every Christmas. They aren’t rich these people. In fact, quite the opposite. I think day to day living is a struggle for them. We write and thank them every year, of course, and tell them they are too kind and generous and they mustn’t waste their money on us, but the awful thing is for the last eleven years the tin of caviar has been completely rancid. I don't know if it’s the way it is transported or whether they are using a bad supplier or whether they are actually trying to kill us, but we always feel terrible that they are -and this is what seems most likely- being conned in some way. Now, should we tell them? They are proud people and we might seem terribly ungrateful, or should we just carry on? I cant bear the idea of them being cheated on our account when they have so little themselves. Yet I’d hate to hurt their feelings. The purchase may represent a week’s wages for them. I’ve no idea. It feels like such a terrible waste.’
‘ How tricky,’ I sympathised. ‘ I suppose what this all hinges on is whether their need and their desire to give is bigger than any other consideration.’
‘ I know,’ he said.
‘ You could do something like say the law has changed and caviar is no longer allowed to be sent into the country, except through a state approved supplier.’
‘ I don't think they’d fall for that. They’re not idiotic.’
‘ Your parents could write and say they’ve developed an allergy to fish products.’
‘ Is it possible that could happen in your eighties?’
‘ Extremely unusual but not without precedent,’ I reply with authority. ‘Or, your parents could write and say that they have turned vegan.’
‘ Be quite far fetched, but maybe...’
‘ You could say the whole family has.’
‘I’m not sure. I don't really want to resort to lying, besides every time I tuck into a steak or ice cream I’d see their horrified faces reflected in the back of the spoon.’
‘ Really? This is going to be difficult then. I’m not sure I can help you after all.
But how about this? For our wedding we were given a perfectly nice hand painted mirror that isn’t massively to our taste. It’s been in the junk room downstairs ever since. Anyway about seven years later the people who gave it to us commented to a mutual friend that if we weren’t going to use it perhaps they could have it back because they have a nice spot for it in their country
house. The friend passed on the message to us. Should we give it back?’
‘ What’s your instinct?’
‘ I’m not sure. It doesn't seem quite right to me that they’ve asked.’
‘ I can see that.’
‘ Would it be outrageous to offer to sell it to them?’
‘ Completely,’ he nodded. ‘Probably end the friendship.’
‘ Oh. OK. Best not then. People are so....’my voice trailed off.
‘ Drink?’
‘ Go on then.
By the way,’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘Do steer clear of that salad. ‘Apparently’ his entire, slender body bristled with horror, ‘they’ve put pomegranate juice in the dressing.’