Meanwhile, another mother and daughter scene is taking place, across the two gulfs of Wellington harbor and Wellington’s social strata.
Wilhelmina Wellington glances around the witty, luxurious restaurant approvingly. “Such a clever idea, bringing back high tea.”
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mummy,” says her daughter, Winona. Delicately, they click their champagne flutes.
Wilhelmina surveys the towering cake stand before them and takes a smoked salmon canape. “Don’t mind me if I just nibble; Helena gave us a huge brunch. And Karin sent this lovely necklace. But you help yourself; good nutrition is vital when you’re working on conceiving.”
Winona blushes. “Mummy! It’s not the right time in my cycle…you said Daddy was retiring, and you wanted to talk about the party for him?”
“Yes. Your friend who was in charge of your engagement party – what was her name?”
“Yes, her. If her place can be done up a bit more, tablecloths and such, it would be just the thing. The location! She took such good care of everyone. A bit rough around the edges, with those tattoos and such, but she’s come up in the world,” says Wilhelmina.
Winona, nettled, says, “Really, Mummy, you can’t be that old fashioned nowadays. Wazzer’s got perfect manners and she reads books – that’s what I look for in my friends.” She snaps at her own canape.
“I’m sure she’s very intelligent to be as successful as she is, owning that restaurant.”
Brought up to never talk with her mouth full, several crucial neurons fire before Winona swallows and says, “Oh, definitely! Yes, she’s…definitely in charge.”