Manners

We're having a party.  It's David's birthday.  I watch him circulating with a bottle of wine, topping up glasses.  People smile at him and nod or say 'please', then 'thank you'.

Until he gets to Kirstin Hillier.  He tips the wine straight into her glass.  He doesn't ask if she wants any.  She doesn't say thank you. There is no eye contact. He moves off to someone else.

It's nothing of any significance.  I know he doesn't like her, he's told me so.  Several times, in fact.  I don't like her much myself, to be honest.  She's only here because she's the (third) wife of David's oldest friend, Henry.  But David has impeccable manners.  It's one of the things which attracted me  to him in the first place.  Women like men with manners.  Would he really dislike her so much as to forget his ?

The party is over.  People are leaving.  I hug Henry.  Kirstin and David shake hands politely.

Later, in bed, the thought which has been flitting round my brain all evening coalesces into words – you have to know someone awfully well to be that rude.