Ben took a step toward me, but Val laid a hand on his arm. “Please,” she begged, “let me tell her.” Women shouldn’t plead, I thought, from someplace off in the distance, not unless they are incredibly lovely and nothing they do can reduce them. And Val was at her most beautiful at that moment, with the blue of the sky in her eyes and her black hair as glossy as a raven’s wing in the sunlight. I felt all color seep out of me, as Ben nodded and, after looking at me intently, turned on his heel and went into the house.
“So what do you have to tell me?” I asked the woman of the hour, as if this were an entirely casual conversation, with nothing dependent on it other than whether we should stand or sit while it took place. She would have looked good anywhere, in her rose-colored skirt and pale pink top. Would it be rude to nip upstairs and change into something better suited to the moment when my life fell apart?
“Why don’t we get comfortable?” She pointed to a couple of garden chairs under the draped fringe of a willow tree, and we settled ourselves facing each other. It was lovely and warm, so there was no need to hug my arms or battle to repress a shiver. The sky seen through the green canopy showed no sign of raining, as conservatory ceilings sometimes do. There were no heavenly bodies clad only in laurel wreaths on display, no clouds to flake off and drop into our teacups. But I thought determinedly of Mr. Tribble and how cold he must be now. It would be appropriate to send flowers, but should the card be signed from Ben as well as myself? Suddenly I would have given anything for a plate of chocolate biscuits to float my way or to be wearing red. I look horrible in red, but it is a brave, defiant color. All I could do was put a wobbly smile on my face and say, “I’m all ears, Val.”
“You’re going to think me a deceiving wretch.”
“Whatever makes you think that?” Sarcasm was wasted on her.
“Ben told me that one of things he most loves about you is your honesty.”
“That was kind of him.” I would have preferred a mention of my fabulous figure, winning charm, and ineffable grace, but at such times one settles for crumbs.
“He said”-she looked at me with wonderfully sad eyes-“you hate deceit, and if you knew what was going on it would be bound to show in your face, and every time you looked at either Tom or Betty you’d be miserably uncomfortable.”
“Why them in particular?” I asked, and again the sarcasm sailed overhead like a bluebird.
“Because Betty doesn’t know that, long before she met Tom, he and I planned on getting married.”
“What?”
“His parents broke it up because I wasn’t a Roman Catholic, and that was a must for their daughter-in-law.”
I sat utterly still for fear that if I didn’t I would fall through my chair.
“Shortly afterward, Tom married his first wife. I heard they’d had a daughter, but I never saw him again until I came here to see my great-aunt and discovered that he and Betty had bought this house. My immediate reaction was to turn tail and run, but once I saw Aunt Valeria was declining rapidly and was no longer fit to be left alone, I knew I had to stay. So I talked to Tom, and we both agreed there was no good reason to tell Betty about us. It was well in the past…”
“Yes?” I prompted, as life and feeling flowed back into me.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed she’s the insecure, volatile type. Why upset her unnecessarily, particularly when Ariel would probably get the backlash?”
“And Ben was worried that if I knew I’d give the game away?”
“I was the one who was afraid you might unintentionally let something slip.” Val leaned toward me, full of apology. “Ben’s concern was that being in the secret would make you intensely uncomfortable and you’d think it wrong of him not to have things out with Tom, which I didn’t want him to do. Finally, he gave me his promise that he wouldn’t tell you. But just now he said he couldn’t continue to keep you in the dark. That the two of you don’t have that sort of marriage; it was causing a strain between you and he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice your peace of mind for mine.”
I became aware that the air was sprinkled with birdsong and the sun had laid a golden scarf around my shoulders. Every breath was perfumed; every flower bloomed more brightly than it had done moments before. This was not the moment to dwell on my folly in doubting Ben’s love for me. He had told me about Tom’s broken love affair with a girl he had called his wild Irish Rose. No wonder that term had kept popping into my mind. But I had been prey to my insecurities. Who better than I to understand how Betty might have reacted to the reality?
“Has Tom said anything to Ben about his recognizing you?”
“Not a word. I knew he wouldn’t if not confronted. Tom was always an ostrich, ready to put his head in the sand and let the world sort itself out. It’s what made it easy for his parents to decide what was best for him. By the time he looked back up it was all settled.”
“You know him very well.”
“Do you think me wretchedly deceitful?” Her smile was rueful, her eyes shadowed with unhappiness.
“You found yourself in a situation that you tried to make less difficult.”
“Thank you.”
Impossible not to warm to her. Her beauty had such a wholesome quality. She was this lovely garden, she was a leafy lane in the dew of morning… Happiness was turning me into a poet almost of Mrs. Malloy’s equal. The thought of this personage brought her sharply to mind. I even imagined for a couple of seconds that I caught a glimpse of a black-and-white head topping a row of shrubbery. How, I wondered, had I previously seen Val as the scheming femme fatale? Envy gave way to sympathy for her… and Betty. Which of them, if either, did Tom truly love?
“It must have been a shock Saturday when you walked through the door and saw Ben in the hall,” I said.
“Yes.” The rose-petal lips trembled. “I’d only met him a few times. He was Tom’s cousin; they both worked in his uncle Sol’s restaurant. He didn’t know me well enough to call me Val. Only my closest friends used the shortened version of my name at that time. In those days I thought Valeria sounded more sophisticated, but it’s always been a bit of a mouthful for everyday conversation.”
“Was Tom worried when Ben recognized you?”
She looked away from me and glanced over her shoulder as if looking to see if anyone was about. But when she turned back I wondered if she’d needed a moment to collect her thoughts. Her voice came out tight and higher than usual, and there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes.
“I think what really upset Tom was that he realized something when he saw me looking at Ben that I had never wanted anyone to know, let alone him… and now you.”
“What’s that?”
“Even though I had only met him a few times, it was Ben I fell in love with. One of those at-first-sight things. You more than anyone else would know why.” Her eyes implored me to understand. “He had no idea. I made no impression on him at all; I might have been the wallpaper. Believe me”-she laughed shakily-“if I’d thought I had the whisper of a chance I’d have tried for him, but I knew it was hopeless. He’s not a man who can be manipulated into falling in love. I really should be unbearably jealous of you, Ellie, but I can’t be. There isn’t room for any other strong emotion. Good to hear?”
“I hope one day you meet the ideal person.” I meant it. “Do you think Tom recognized the true state of your feelings when he saw you standing with Ben?”
“I’m sure he did. I know it was there-in my eyes, my whole body language. You must have realized too.”
I nodded.
“That’s why I thought I should get everything out in the open with you. Ben hasn’t a clue as to how I felt about him. It’s up to you if you want to tell him.” She sounded tired.
“There are some secrets I can keep.” I sounded like Mrs. Cake. “It’s a matter of deciding which ones they should be.”
“It would only hurt Tom if I told him at this juncture that the only reason I agreed to marry him all those years ago was that it might as well have been him as anyone else. He’s a dear man, I really cared about him and still do, but when it came down to it I was relieved that his parents broke up the match.” I kept listening, as I would have with a friend.
“Aunt Valeria has a feeling she won’t live much longer, and I sense she may be right. The moment I’m no longer needed here, I’ll get out of Tom and Betty’s lives. It’s been so awkward. I’ve felt so guilty toward her that I’ve probably gone overboard trying to be helpful. The decorating started with her asking my advice about wallpaper and mushroomed into her asking me to do all the decorating and help her pick new clothes. You’ve no idea how I’ve felt at times, with her being so trusting. I’ve tried so hard to encourage her to make her own choices, particularly about what to wear. She would look so much better if she got the right fit.”
“I know,” I said, thinking of the too-large suits. “It’ll take time for Betty to adjust to her new lifestyle, but what will make the real difference is if she and Ariel can reach a better understanding and Tom helps to pull them all together as a family.”
“Thank you, Ellie, for hearing me out.” Val got to her feet. “I’d better get back to the Dower House. Aunt Valeria was in a real tizzy this morning.”
“I’m sorry.” I also stood up. “Old age can be sad.”
“I’m fond of her. She gave my brother, Simon, and me a wonderful holiday here when were children. Of course I always knew she could be difficult with others, but she never was with me, until now, and that’s only occasionally when her mind really seems to slip.”
“It must be a strain,” I said.
“She kept talking this morning about there being people she hasn’t seen in years who’ve snubbed her by passing down the road in full view of the Dower House without coming in to see her. And then she got really worked up because there were letters or photos she wanted to look at in the top of her bureau and she couldn’t find the key. She’s always misplacing it. But she accused me of hiding it, to prevent her from finding evidence that old Reverend Mr. Tribble was not talking through his hat when he said he was sure he’d officiated at Lady Fiona’s marriage to someone other than Nigel Gallagher. I only hope Aunt Valeria forgets all about it before her ladyship takes her out on Wednesday, or things could turn nasty. She told me she’s primed to speak her piece. Even if I hadn’t known Ben wanted to talk to me, I would have needed to get away to clear my head.”
Val looked at her watch.
“I’ve been gone long enough, I have to get back before she comes out looking for me, the way she did Saturday night.”
I said I remembered, and we parted a little awkwardly. We were two strangers who had shared an unusual conversation. Under the circumstances, I couldn’t resent her telling me that she was in love with my husband. She had been right to do so. Perhaps she realized that I had made unfounded assumptions about Ben’s feelings for her. I found myself somewhat embarrassed at the thought of facing him but was delayed in going back into the house when Mrs. Malloy popped around the shrubbery.
“Well, that was interesting.” She enthroned herself in the chair Val had vacated. And to think I hadn’t even requested an audience. “Of course I’d not the least intention of listening, Mrs. H. I came looking for you to see how your talk with Mrs. Cake went.”
“How much did you hear without your ear trumpet?”
“No need to be snippy; I didn’t want to move in case she heard me and got extra embarrassed. Too sensitive to other people’s feelings, I am, but isn’t it a relief all’s cleared up for you and Mr. H? I can tell you now I was worried meself, for all I made light of things to you. It kept coming back to me what the real Madam LaGrange said about an old girlfriend showing up and causing problems for a woman with the name beginning with E.”
I sat back down. “When you saw my reaction, you said it might have been a B. Did Madam LaGrange add that, or did you throw it in to make me feel better?”
“If I told you she said it, then she did,” Mrs. Malloy replied huffily; then her painted eyebrows shot up. “I see what you’re getting at! It was Betty that Madam was talking about. She has the gift for sure! Now I’m back to being worried about what else she said.”
“That’s understandable.” My mind had drifted to Ben and what I would say to him. Wives are such fools might be a good beginning. When I said this to Mrs. Malloy, she poked me with her finger.
“You’ll continue being one if you believe everything you hear. I’ll tell you, now you’re so keen on Val, that there’s something about her gets right up my snout.”
I changed the subject. “Any more tries to get hold of Madam LaGrange?”
“Still getting her voice mail. Mrs. Cake say anything interesting?”
“I expect it was much the same as what she told you. Did she mention that your sister, Melody, does have a gentleman friend?”
“She did, but I couldn’t get a name out of her. Said it wasn’t for her to say. My guess is he’s the friend Mel was seeing Saturday night but canceled to spend time with me. She made it sound like it was a woman.”
“That’s probably because she talked about a shared love of knitting.”
“I suppose.” Mrs. Malloy pursed her lips. “If she wants to keep him interested, she needs to do something about her appearance. Wear bright colors and stay away from black.”
“No, I don’t suppose it suits her as well as it does you.”
“Never did. Even when Mel was a baby she didn’t look good in black.”
“And maybe if she were to do something about that bad perm.” It was something to say, rather than a desire to be catty. I was wondering if I had been too eager to believe Val when she’d assured me Ben had no feelings for her.
“Melody doesn’t need a perm. That’s her natural curl.”
“Conditioner,” I murmured.
While my mind continued to float, Mrs. Malloy recounted her conversation with Mrs. Cake. When she finished, I said that when it came to the main points the story was the same. Forcing myself to concentrate, I asked if she had managed to connect with Milk Jugg on the phone.
“He wasn’t what you’d call thrilled to hear from me, but I soon put him in his place, Mrs. H, the upshot being that he’s going to check into whether Lady Fiona was married to this other man, who from what Mrs. Cake said would be Mr. Gallagher’s cousin. I told Milk as how you and me needed all the particulars he could come up with, and we didn’t want to be left tapping our feet too long. ‘Course, he went on about how strapped he is for time right now.”
“That may well be true.” I was once more convinced Val had told me the unabridged truth.
“Whatever, Mrs. H! The best I could get out of him was that he’d get back to me in a few days.”
“There’s an idea that came to me while I was talking with Mrs. Cake. It has to do with Melody and her desire to get into Mr. Scrimshank’s safe and have a look at his records of the Gallaghers’ finances. Mavis told me yesterday when I stopped to chat with her in the hall that her husband is a locksmith. According to her, he’s so good he can break into anything. I’ve also learned, via Mrs. Cake, that Mavis is extremely fond of her ladyship. Perhaps if Mavis were to speak to her husband and got his okay, Melody could phone and ask the husband to come to the office and try and open the safe at a time when Mr. Scrimshank won’t be around. What do you think?”
“Maybe it’d be best to say as little as possible to the man, in case he refuses for fear of getting into trouble with the law. I’m going to see Melody later; she told me this evening would suit her. I’ll tell her what we’ve been thinking, and if she’s for it you and me can have a word on the subject with Mrs. Cake tomorrow.”
We agreed it was a plan, and I went into the house to face my husband. He was in the kitchen and fortunately alone. Not for the first time, I wondered how many men looked as wonderful as he did in a pair of faded jeans and an equally old sweatshirt, especially when holding a saucepan in one hand and a couple of tomatoes with the other. On seeing me, he laid these items down and came toward me.
“You and Valeria talked?” He placed his hands on my shoulders.
“She said you insisted she do so.”
“I should never have made that promise not to tell you about her and Tom. I have this thing about keeping my word, even if it’s nonsense.”
“I know.”
“At first it seemed to make sense. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable every time you looked at Tom and Betty when Valeria was there or her name was mentioned. What I overlooked was the fact that you were bound to figure out the state of affairs for yourself and wonder why I was in collusion with a woman I barely knew.”
“I thought you did know her… very well. I convinced myself that you were in love with each other.”
“What?”
I pressed my fingers to his lips. “That’s the way it looked to me, the way you froze before walking blindly toward her. How your face shut down when your eyes met mine.”
He gently removed my hand. “Ellie, I was trying to contain my shock. Here was the girl-the woman Tom had been madly in love with. She was right there in his house, and Betty obviously didn’t have a clue. I felt as though I were in the middle of a minefield. If I were to so much as change expression, there’d be an explosion.”
“It’s all clear as glass now, but… I was a fool.”
“Don’t say that.” He spun a chair away from the table and sat down, drawing me onto his lap. “I can see now how it may have looked.”
“You called her Valeria when no one else did.”
“It has to be one of the worst names ever. Rhymes with malaria.”
“That’s what Ariel said.” I laid my cheek against his and stroked his dark hair.
“And why it stuck in my mind.” He kissed me slowly, and I melted into his warmth, loving his tenderness, his strength, our knowledge of each other that was the reward of having been together for so long, coupled with the feeling of beginning all over again.
I continued to nestle in his arms when speaking about Tom and Betty. “Do you think he had forgotten that you’d met her and was appalled when he saw you recognize each other?”
“Tom has always had the ability to block out what he didn’t want to remember, but in this case it isn’t that surprising that he’d forget. I only saw him with Val, as she’s now called, on a few brief occasions. But I happen to be good with faces.”
“Hers is particularly beautiful.” I was able to say this without rancor.
“Yes, she’s lovely.”
“She’s also a great decorator.”
“There’s no better judge of that than you.” He kissed me again.
“Mmm!” I savored the taste and texture of his lips. “Ben, I don’t think I would have been quite so ready to leap to the wrong conclusion about Val if we hadn’t had the evening we did, before leaving home. I said all the wrong things about that review in Cuisine Anglaise and then got in a snit, as Mrs. Malloy would say, when you went off to the Dark Horse with Freddy.”
“I was the one in a foul mood.”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to Mrs. M’s spending the night, when it was our first chance to be alone with the children gone.”
“It all worked out for the best. We’ve discovered from being here with Tom and Betty how very blessed we are.” He gathered me closer and the kitchen was really heating up when the door creaked open. We got to our feet as Betty came in. He had been right; I did feel uncomfortable with her, knowing what I did. I would probably have blushed regardless of my tousled appearance. Fortunately, she appeared oblivious. Was that her Achilles’ heel? Did she generally fail to see what was right in front of her, I wondered, or was she exceptionally good at hiding her true emotions?
She asked me if I would like to join her and Ariel on a shopping trip.
“Please come, Ellie. We’ll stop somewhere fun for lunch, and then we’ll scour every boutique we can find for an outfit for Ariel to wear on Thursday. I think she’d like it better if you’re with us.”
“Don’t you think the two of you should have the time alone?” I was hesitant to intrude, but at the same time it would be a good idea to get over the hump of being around any of the Hopkinses, especially Betty.
“Getting Ariel to agree to the outing is triumph enough for me. I don’t intend to rush things by foisting myself on her without any distractions.”
“Ellie is the best of distractions,” Ben assured her. “You need to take her with you if I’m going to get started planning the food for the garden party.”
“Well, if it’s like that!” I pretended to glower at him in lieu of kissing him good-bye. Somehow that wouldn’t have seemed kind in front of Betty.
Ten minutes later, she and I met up with Ariel on the drive in front of the coverted carriage house, now used as a garage. Betty proved to be a relaxed and skillful driver. I had been quick to get in the back so Ariel could sit beside her. The expedition began well. They chatted, almost like any other mother and daughter, bringing me into the conversation and occasionally pointing out passing places of interest. Lunch was everything to be hoped: delicious food in a charming Georgian house converted into restaurant and gift shop.
It was while we were eating our treacle pudding and custard that Betty brought up her husband’s name for the first time.
“The thought has crossed my mind a few times, Ellie, since you and Ben came to Cragstone, that maybe Tom and I should consider converting the west wing into a place similar to this one. He’s so handy he could do much of the remodeling himself. Also, he did have that experience working in Ben’s uncle’s restaurant in London. I know he was at the cash register, not in management or involved with the meals. I think he may regret having gone in a different direction. He had a lot going on at the time.”
“Oh?” I spooned up custard while blocking out Val’s image.
“That’s when he was about to get married.”
“Really?”
“To Angela.” Betty looked at Ariel.
“My mother.” The girl continued a composed demolition of her pudding.
“That would have preoccupied him,” I said, wondering if it would appear odd if I jumped up and suggested we explore the gift shop.
“As I’ve said, Tom knows the restaurant environment and I’ve seen him watching Ben while he’s cooking. Maybe he’s thinking he might like to have a go at learning to be a chef.”
Was that the only reason for those looks? Or was her mild-eyed husband inwardly seething with jealousy and resentment over Val? If so, was this why Tom had said he didn’t feel well in church and had gone outside for some air? I felt sorry for him, even while thinking he had brought most of his problems on himself by buckling under to his parents instead of waiting for the right woman to turn up. Angela would probably still be alive, married to someone else, and Betty might be with a man who worshiped her, from the top of her red head to her Barbie-doll shoes. But of course there wouldn’t have been Ariel.
Half an hour later, she said she wished she were home; she was bored, she was tired, and she was sick of looking in stupid shops at stupid clothes. It didn’t matter, anyway, what she wore to the garden party; nobody would be looking at her even if she did go outside for it. And Betty needn’t expect her to play any childish games, or run any three-legged races, because she wouldn’t. She’d just sit at a table under an umbrella and pretend she was having a wonderful time in school doing algebra.
My patience was soon exhausted and Betty, having showed magnificent restraint, flared at her. “Keep this up,” she said, “and it will be boarding school for you.”
“You don’t think I’d like that?”
“At this point I really don’t care, Ariel.”
“Well, isn’t that nice, after you pretended to be so sympathetic when I was upset about Mr. Tribble dying!”
Betty pressed a hand to her brow, and we returned to the car. This time it was Ariel who nipped into the back and we made the return journey to Cragstone House in silence. Anything I could have said would have been jarring. I truly felt sorry for both of them. Ariel had been a little snot, but there was something about her current quiet that tugged at my heart. It seemed fitting that it should start to rain as we drove between the gateposts.
“Probably only a shower,” said Betty, as we pulled into the garage.
But she was wrong about that. Mother Nature having been dry-eyed and eager to show her best colors, by being sunshine and light over the past few days, decided on making up for it by being utterly miserable. It drizzled continuously for the rest of that day and evening.
There was a brief letup the next morning, which was particularly welcome because a team of gardeners arrived and got to work, as apparently they did every other Tuesday. The lawns were too damp for mowing, but there was plenty of weeding and clipping to keep them occupied until the skies, which had darkened rapidly, unleashed a deluge that sent them scurrying into their vans. I watched this from the conservatory windows while halfway occupying myself arranging cut flowers in vases. Tom ambled in and said the gardeners had promised to return early Thursday morning, weather permitting, to do the mowing and set up the marquees and umbrella tables that would have been delivered by then. I had the feeling that he would have liked to follow this up with something more but didn’t know how to begin. After shifting from one foot to the other, he wandered out. Mrs. Malloy, who came in to tell me about her evening with Melody, replaced him.
“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.”
“Wouldn’t the driver, seeing her age, overlook her not having it with her?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But there are always those officious types who insist on going by the book.” Val waved as she walked back to the Dower House, where I could see the outline of a car parked outside. In the short time we had spent talking, the mist had thickened.
“Let’s go back inside.” Ariel gave an elaborate shiver.
“Okay.” I turned with her toward Cragstone’s soaring roofline and imposing gloom. “Now tell me, why did you giggle just now when I was talking to Val?”
“You sounded so preachy!”
“Grown-ups do that. It’s to mask our horrible sense of inferiority in the presence of children. We know we are doomed to disappointment where most of them are concerned, and it inevitably takes its toll.”
“You are ridiculous!” She skipped along beside me.
“You need to talk to my brood of three sometime; they’ll be in complete agreement. They don’t find Ben quite so trying. It’s a scientifically proven fact of nature that fathers in seventy-two point three percent of cases get off easier than mothers.”
“Men being the weaker sex? Poor things!” Ariel raised her face to the now sharply blowing wind.
“I hope Val catches up with her aunt,” I said, as we walked up the drive.
“She doesn’t approve of us.”
“Val?”
“No, silly, Nanny Pierce. For one thing, she’s made it clear that she’s not keen on Roman Catholics. That’s why she’s upset that Val’s brother went to live in Ireland, where the place is full of them.”
“But aren’t they Irish?”
“Only way way back, Miss Pierce told me, and she added, ‘Thank God.’ I’m sorry she’s old, but she’s not a nice person. She disapproves of everyone except her dear Mr. Nigel. Would you believe that the other reason she disapproves of us is that she thinks Dad and Betty have a wild lifestyle?”
“Whatever gave her that idea?” We were approaching the steps leading to the front door.
“She said she’s seen car lights coming down the drive several times in the middle of the night. She said so the morning after Mrs. Cake fell down the stairs. She told me the glare through her bedroom window had woken her up at three A.M. I didn’t want to repeat that to Betty and get her going on her murder mystery merry-go-round.” Ariel turned to me and clutched my hand. “But it did worry me, just on the off chance that Nanny Pierce wasn’t hallucinating.” She looked away from me, and I wondered sharply if her reason for wanting Mrs. Malloy and me to come to Cragstone had less to do with proving Betty wrong than with setting her own fears at rest.
I put an arm around her as we entered the hall. The lights were on, but I found myself overwhelmed by the same feeling of oppression that had filled me on my arrival at Cragstone. It was a feeling that lingered all afternoon and culminated in the news that Nanny Pierce had stumbled off the high street pavement into the path of the four-thirty bus.