She moistened her glistening lips and touched his sleeve. “When will the cookery book be out, darling? I can’t wait to buy it for my coffee table.”
Super! She had her hoof in her mouth. Ben had heard nothing from Brambleweed Press, the publisher to whom he had submitted his manuscript, and he claimed to have blotted out all thoughts of its acceptance or rejection. I didn’t believe him, judging from the way he chased after the postman like a hungry terrier each morning.
“My, my, Bentley! You are certainly haute cuisine!” Stepping back, Vanessa flicked her lashes sideways and downways at me. Tobias did nothing for my figure, there were snags in my veil and dirt rimmed the hem of my gown. Her laughter tinkled.
Ben started to speak, but I was ahead of him. “I know, Vanessa, I do look bedraggled. But then”-I reached out and stroked the collar of her fox jacket-“I’m not wearing the sort of apparel that meows a warning when it is time to come in out of the rain.”
“Anyone for a saucer of milk?” Ben’s voice was undisguisedly amused. Vanessa’s sherry-coloured eyes sizzled.
Flushed with success, I beamed. “So pleased you could come, Van; it seems ages since we’ve seen you on the cover of Vogue.”
Instinctively I stepped back. I had struck a nerve, but she did not slash out with her bright claws. After an intake of breath, her lips curved into a smile.
“Pax, Ellie. I truly am lost in admiration when I think of how you unloaded yourself of half-a-dozen chins-just kidding!” She tweaked my cheek. “And produced gorgeous Bentley out of a hat! Do you know, until today I always thought Chitterton Fells about as exciting as a bubble bath with no bubbles, but-” She broke off. Aunt Astrid and Rufus had just collided with Rowland.
Vanessa’s colour rose. “I’ve got to get Mummy out of here.”
This from the girl who would have cheerfully let her mother sink into the bog without stretching forth a finger for fear of breaking a manicured nail.
Something crashed in the drawing room. Voices were heard exclaiming. Freddy burst through the doorway snarling, “Sorry about the table but it was right in my path.” Whatever Ben and I started to say was drowned out by the booming of the gong.
A trembling silence ensued. Jonas’s voice cut through it like a hacksaw. “Ladies and gents. A buffet is served. We hope you all partake. And remember, next time most of you get privileged to enjoy Mr. Haskell’s cooking you’ll be paying restaurant prices.” You could have heard an eyelash fall.
At long last my husband and I were the focus of attention. Ben drew me into the centre of the room, cleared his throat to rid it of amusement, and embarked on a formal greeting. I clung to his arm, punctuating his remarks with wifely smiles.
“Handsome devil, isn’t he?” observed a female voice from under a flower-pot hat. “But then, they so often are. Most unfair, I always think.”
Clearly she meant other people’s husbands! How often I had thought the same! As the guests flooded toward the drawing room, Jill came out. Face tight as a fist, she headed up the stairs without looking back.
“Ben, I think I should go after Jill. If anyone asks where I am, tell them I have gone to hem up my dress.”
“Don’t be long, Ellie!” He sounded thrillingly like the heavy husband in Love’s Wild Embrace. People were looking at us. “You have certain wifely responsibilities.”
It was hard to tear myself away when his eyes turned that dark emerald and the muscles in his jaw tightened. But Jill and I had been friends for years.
I entered several bedrooms without finding Jill or Freddy. I did find Uncle Maurice and the Paisley Lady, but will not elaborate on that scene. The bathroom revealed a woman in purple silk, inspecting the medicine cabinet. She was saying to another female seated on the toilet lid, “I only came on the slim chance of brushing shoulders with one of our elusive celebrities. Oh, I knew it wouldn’t be Edwin Digby, and I don’t know anyone who has ever set eyes on Felicity Friend, but I did have hope for Dr. Bordeaux. He’s quite handsome, in an anguished sort of way. Never mind, I’m not sorry you persuaded me to come; this has been interesting in its own way. Don’t tell me it doesn’t mean something, his parents not being here…” A paralysing silence fell as their eyes met mine through the open doorway. Each lifted a hand to fiddle with the brooch on her lapel as I drew the door shut.
Jill was behind a third-floor bedroom door, standing on her head. The unnerving part was that her eyes were open. “Don’t gawk,” she snapped. “I’m meditating. Leave me alone.”
I sat down on the bed and sighed. “I guess Freddy proposed and you refused. Seeing his parents in action must have been a shock.” I petered out. If Jill really loved Freddy, Uncle Maurice’s peccadilloes and Aunt Lulu’s kleptomania shouldn’t matter.
“Freddy didn’t propose marriage. He wants us to live together. But Ellie, that’s so conventional. Personally, I find his parents inspiring. If they can stay married for thirty years, the institution must have something going for it. Now get out of here. Your happiness offends me.”
“Yes, Jill.”
I would search out Freddy and threaten to break his neck.
He had to be hiding under a bed; I couldn’t find him. I was about to go downstairs when I heard music. Mozart, being played on the harpsichord. I headed for the boxroom with quickened feet and a slight sense of shame; Freddy had been telling me for years that he was a musical genius; I had never taken him seriously. This… was impassioned, soaring, sublime. I, who cannot trill a note, wanted to burst into operatic ecstasy as I thrust open the door.
The person seated at the harpsichord was Miss Thorn. Her fingers rippled, stirring, teasing the keys. Her shoulders were hunched, the daisies gone from her hair, but-amazingly-she had attained a kind of beauty. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark, languorous. Now she saw me. The fingers stilled, and she reverted to plainness.
“Mrs. Haskell!” She jerked to her feet. Gripping her knobby hands, she did a dip at the knees and twitched a glance around the room-at the chair with the broken caning, the bed tumbled with old blankets. “Oh, my deepest apologies, Mrs. Haskell! I fully intended to return to the festivities after parking my coat, but you had mentioned this precious instrument”-she reached out to touch the wood-“and I could not control myself. I took a peek and was swept away.”
“I’m glad you found the harpsichord. You play magnificently.”
I meant every word; the reason my voice sounded peculiar was because I saw something moving under the blankets. I knew it wasn’t Tobias because he had just wandered in and was pawing at my legs. I knew it wasn’t Freddy because I could see the top of a bald head. Who? The answer came to me as Miss Thorn emitted a terrified screech and Tobias slid across the floor, grabbing at what seemed to be a black astrakhan hat.
Miss Thorn had me by the arm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Haskell, but I am terrified of cats, m-may we leave?”
She didn’t have to ask twice. It would only take the inebriated bartender to awake and sit bolt upright in bed to make her faint. And I really didn’t have the time. I had to find Freddy, and assist Ben in cutting the wedding cake before I could race into my bedroom, throw on my going-away outfit, tuck my suitcase under my arm, and then at last, at long last, be off on the honeymoon of the century. I, Ellie Simons-sorry-Haskell, was about to live out my most beautiful fantasies-unlike the heroine in a romantic novel who gets slapped in the face with The End. My heart started a drum roll that drowned out Miss Thorn’s voice as we went downstairs. It could not, however, obliterate the hubbub, musical and otherwise, in the hall.