“I didn’t realize you had them on.” I involuntarily glanced down as she nudged a foot in my direction.
“I changed from what I was wearing when I went upstairs. Have to put me best feet forward for Melody.”
“Some can wear shoes and some can’t.” My eyes were again riveted on the road. But in my opinion Val’s-Valeria’s-legs were as great as the rest of her.
We were now passing the house with the BED AND BREAKFAST sign on the gatepost, but this time there was no woman with orange hair on display.
“According to Betty, we should turn right at the next corner and then shortly make another right in order to reach the part of the high street where Mr. Scrimshank has his office.” I hoped Mrs. Malloy would concentrate either on coming face-to-face with her sister Melody or on admiring her footwear.
“What was it,” she said, as I knew she would, “that made you snap at me just now, Mrs. H? And you always so even-tempered.” She did know when to lay it on thick. There never was any keeping things from her when I was seized by a desperate need to pour my heart out.
“I was afraid you’d bring up Madam LaGrange and her predictions, in particular the one about a woman having problems when her husband’s old girlfriend showed up.”
“Oh, that!” Mrs. Malloy chuckled unconvincingly. “The way I remember it, we agreed she was spouting off nonsense. I’ve even stopped worrying about that bus-stop business. Of course,” she could not resist adding, “you could say as how the part about me traveling to foreign parts has come true, seeing as Yorkshire isn’t England as we know it down south and the people do talk with a funny accent. Not Tom and Betty and Ariel, of course, but Mrs. Cake’s speech is quite broad. But”-backtracking hastily-“that was probably just a lucky guess on Madam’s part. I don’t think you need to worry about Mr. H and… her.”
“You don’t?”
“ ’Course not! If there ever was something between them, it came to nothing, didn’t it.”
“There could have been reasons.”
“Well, let’s just say, to make you happy, that once upon a time they was all hot and bothered about each other. That’s in the past. You can’t reheat a week-old stew and make it worth eating. Besides, it goes against the laws of nature.”
“What does?”
“Them being physically attracted to each other. They’ve both got black hair and blue eyes-well, maybe Mr. H’s are more green. Still, it comes to the same thing. In the sort of books you and me like to read, the hero and heroine are always opposites when it comes to coloring, him usually being the one that’s dark. I should have realized that when I got the wind up about me third husband having a thing for the woman next door. They both had hair as red as fire. It was her hubby mine was after. Ran off together, they did, and they’ve been happy as larks ever since. And who can begrudge them, seeing as they were a miserable pair of buggers before?”
“There’s sometimes a killjoy.”
“The difference is, Mr. H is happy. He’s daft about you. Nothing’s going to change that. You and the children-and his pots and pans-are his whole world.”
“He didn’t even see me after she walked in. At least that’s how it was at first. When he realized I wasn’t the long case clock, it was as though he shut the connecting door between us.”
“And hung up the NO ADMITTANCE sign? Now you just stop this, Mrs. H!” Mrs. Malloy rounded on me, nearly elbowing the steering wheel out of my hands. “Working yourself up over nothing, when we should be asking ourselves why Mr. Gallagher did a bunk. Jealousy’s an ugly thing! If you let it get hold of you, it won’t let go. That was the root of the trouble between Melody and me. Always out to put a spoke in one of me wheels, she was, because I was better at leapfrog and could do the cat’s cradle without looking.”
I felt myself relax. I had worked myself into a state over nothing. My wretched insecurities! Before setting eyes on Val I’d felt absurdly threatened by her talents in what was supposed to be my field. When would I grow up? So she was beautiful! Had I ever in all the years of our marriage feared that Ben was pining for a long-lost love? Never! Suddenly I felt like singing, but this was hardly the time. We were now in the high street, making it even more important to concentrate on my driving. There was quite a lot of traffic. This being a Saturday, pedestrians bustled along the pavement, many of them loaded down with shopping bags. Mrs. Malloy peered out her window, looking at the street numbers on the buildings.
“There’s Barclay’s Bank,” she pointed out, “and the bus stop, a bit farther down. Remember, Betty said it’s right outside the office. Slow down, we turn here into the alleyway. She said it was a good place to park without a meter. There. Pull up alongside that car.”
I did as I was told, turned off the engine, and stepped out. Upon seeing that Mrs. Malloy had done likewise, I locked up and put the keys in my pocket. The sun was shining as brightly as it had done earlier in the day, but as far as I was concerned it had just come out. My world was back to rights. On our return I would laugh with Ben over my silliness about Val. Or maybe I wouldn’t say anything. It was that unimportant.
Facing us in a brick wall was a glass door inscribed with the name ARCHIBALD SCRIMSHANK and, beneath it, CHARTERED PUBLIC ACCOUNTANT.
“Should we just walk in?” Mrs. Malloy was tugging at her dress, fussing with her hair, shifting her handbag from one arm to the other. By way of answer I tried the doorknob.
“It’s locked.”
“Better ring.” Nothing like pointing out the obvious but it was my turn to boost her flagging confidence, so, telling her that was a great idea, I pressed the bell. While we waited she told me haltingly that perhaps it hadn’t been kind of her to mention Melody’s not being good at leapfrog or doing the cat’s cradle while not pointing out that she’d been unbeatable at the egg-and-spoon race.
“Concentration, that’s what did it for her. It couldn’t be said she was a fast runner, but-”
“Relax, Mrs. Malloy. You’re not here to be measured for your coffin.”
“Very funny!” She was now the one to snap.
There was no time for more; the door opened. A querulous voice bade us enter, and we stepped into a hall. It was not quite as gloomy as the hall in Cragstone House had been before the lights were turned on. Even so, its dimness required me to blink several times before deciding that the person regarding us with extreme pessimism couldn’t be Melody. Not unless she wore gray pin-striped suits and had a domed bald head and a sizable Adam’s apple. Mrs. Malloy was no help, having turned into a pillar of salt.
“Mr. Scrimshank?” I produced my best boarding-school smile.
“Yes?” His voice was as thin and reedy as the rest of him. My eyesight having adjusted, I decided he was wise not to subject himself to strong light. A candle held too close might have caused him to crumble to dust.
Returning to life, Mrs. Malloy edged around me to stand admiring a closed door to our left. Given the choice it was better than looking at his long poky nose. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” Her smile was better than mine, having the benefit of purple lipstick. She even achieved a modest fluttering of the eyelashes. “I’m here, if it’s all right with you, to see Melody, Mr. S.” Such familiarity! Nerves, of course. For a ghastly moment I feared she would elbow him in the ribs and announce with a coy chuckle that she’d always found accountants irresistible and was he up for an evening of Bingo?
He looked perplexed. Understandably so, it seeming unlikely he had ever previously had his name abridged in such a way. Very likely his own mother had addressed him as Mr. Scrimshank from the time he could sit up. “There is no Melody here.”