“She’s got a nice little flat. The furnishings wouldn’t be my choice, but they suit her. I don’t care for knitted curtains.”
“Although interesting,” I commented.
“Or wall arrangements of tea cozies. ‘Course I didn’t let on. I said she’d fixed the place up a treat and asked if her gentleman friend had contributed his handiwork. She shied away from that one, and I knew there was no use trying get more out of her about him. Mel always did clam up when she’d the mind. But that had its good side last night.”
“How?”
“It gave me the chance to bring up Mavis’s husband. I told Mel she was like a safe that only a locksmith could open without knowing the combination. And I’m pleased to tell you, Mrs. H, that she was all for the idea of phoning him up. She’s going to choose her time, when Mr. Scrimshank is out of the office.”
“Yes?”
“She’ll tell Mavis’s hubby as how there’s some important papers she needs on the double but can’t get into the safe because she’s forgotten the numbers.”
“Have you run this by Mrs. Cake?” I asked, feeling more and more doubtful, being the one who had come up with the idea.
“Just now. She don’t think it would be right to drag Mavis and her husband further in than necessary by telling them what’s really going on. She thinks Mel should just say the papers have to do with Lady Fiona’s future financial welfare. Seeing as Mavis is so fond of her ladyship and eager to see her back on her feet, Mrs. Cake is sure that’ll do the trick with the husband. Otherwise, he might say he’d only come out if he had Mr. Scrimshank’s okay.”
“It may still take some persuasion on Melody’s part. Do you have a phone number to give her?”
“Mrs. Cake said it’s in the directory under Ed the Locksmith.”
“Oh, do let’s hope that nothing goes wrong if he agrees.” I shivered, not only because it was chill and damp in the conservatory, even without water dripping from the ceiling, but I also kept seeing little Mr. Tribble’s ghost sitting perilously close to the edge of his chair. If only he had been wearing a seat belt and not been drinking while perched. O vain regrets!
“Death casts a long shadow,” quoth Mrs. Malloy.
“Shadows I can take,” I replied. “I just don’t want any more of the real thing.”
“I’m not going to phone Mel at the office, just in case Big Ears should be listening; I’ll go round and see her again this evening. For right now, if you should want me I’ll be in me bedroom, writing a eulogy to Mr. Tribble. It’s amazing how I’m getting the hang of this poetry business.”
The rest of that day blurred into the rain that sheeted down the windows with very few letups. Ben was fully occupied in shopping for and preparing what could be made ahead for the garden party. We had the occasional idyll, when meeting on the stairs or in the hall. But I stayed out of the kitchen and mealtimes naturally included other people, making it impossible for any real conversation between the two of us. But given what had so recently transpired, I would have basked in our restored happiness, had the feeling not lingered that something of a distressing nature was about to happen.
Wednesday arrived in an uncertain mood. The sky was a watery blue, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds every now and then. The rain had turned to fitful drizzle, but every so often there was a rumble of thunder. When I met Mavis on the stairs, as I was going down and she was coming up, she said, somewhat morosely, that this looked to be a better day than yesterday. I hoped she would be proved right, as I was eager to get out of the house, if only for ten minutes. This became increasingly appealing when an army of cleaners came marching through with enough equipment to scour Buckingham Palace from top to bottom in no time flat.
This convergence put Ariel, who had come fairly speedily out of her Monday shopping sulk, back in a snit. This time it was her father who annoyed her by getting on her again about her hair.
“He’s mad because I wouldn’t go with Betty when she left to have hers done,” she told me. “But I didn’t feel like sticking my head in one of those cooker things.”
“You could have told the hairdresser you like to let your hair dry naturally.”
“I don’t. I hate having it damp around my face.”
I was tempted to tell her to suit herself, as Betty might have done, but a peek out the front door showed clearing skies and I decided not to delay my walk in the grounds any longer. It was not yet noon, which would give me sufficient time before lunch. I felt a little guilty slinking off when the house was swarming with workers, which included Ben in the kitchen and Mavis, whom I’d not seen since she had gone upstairs.
Begrudgingly, Ariel offered to accompany me. So we each donned a waterproof jacket and set off down the drive before crossing onto the lawn that separated Cragstone from the Dower House.
“What does Mavis do when the cleaning crew comes in?” I asked, as we trudged soggily past ornamental trellises and beds filled with flowers now even more lush and fragrant for their good soaking.
“I think she sorts out cupboards, that sort of thing.” Ariel dragged her hood over her head. “Betty says it isn’t fair to make her take every other Wednesday off. It would mess her about where her pay is concerned.”
“That’s thoughtful of Betty.”
“I’ve said she doesn’t have a lot of good qualities. I didn’t mean she has none.”
“She tried hard to find you something nice to wear on Thursday.” Suddenly I realized that was tomorrow.
“I know.” Ariel plodded on, head down. “Next you’ll be telling me a psychologist would say I’m afraid of getting close to her in case one day she isn’t there-just like with my mother.”
“There are always huge risks in loving anyone,” I said.
“Speaking from experience?” She stopped and pushed back the hood.
“Absolutely. I’ve been the worst coward when it came to relationships, and I still have relapses.”
I felt her hand slip into mine as we continued walking. A small glimpse of sunlight warmed my heart. Let her be happy, I thought; she has the possibility of growing into a special woman if her family of three can find their way to one another.
“See who’s coming our way.” She pointed toward the Dower House. “She looks like she’s in a hurry from the way she’s galloping along.”
“She certainly does.” As we drew closer, I could see that Val’s black hair was windblown and heightened color had been whipped into her face. She was wearing a raincoat that was misbuttoned, the belt left dangling.
“Oh, dear!” She shoved back her sleeve to look at her watch. “I’ll have missed it. The bus, I mean. I didn’t hear Aunt Valeria leave and was hoping she was only a few moments ahead and I could catch her on foot. But she must have set off at least ten minutes ago to walk to the bus stop. She’s meeting Lady Fiona in the high street for lunch and she’s forgotten her senior citizen pass, which will ruin her whole afternoon.”
“What a shame,” I said.
Val smiled distractedly. “I don’t understand why she always refuses to let me drive her… Yes, I do.” She paused to exhale. “She wants to keep doing things the way she always has. And everything about her Wednesday afternoon has its routine: the ten-past-twelve bus going and the four-thirty coming back.”
“Ritual has its security,” I said lamely, and heard Ariel giggle.
“It’s not fair for me to try and change her at this stage of her life.” Val plucked at her black curls, and they responded charmingly. “I’ll get my car and go after her. There are several places where she and Lady Fiona could have lunch, but I’ll find them. And if Aunt Valeria has her pass for coming back it should cheer her up a bit.”