Sister of the Bride (12 page)

‘Well, what is it?’ I asked sharply.

‘Do you know, Esther,’ he remarked thoughtfully, not at all taken aback by the note of hostility in my voice, ‘it occurs to me that you’re just the type Mother’s looking for. She’s holding one of those charity modelling do’s. I suppose she’s told you all about it. Dresses by Lacroix, lashings of champagne and everyone who’s anyone present. Beautiful girls parading down the staircase with lots of lush photographs in the glossy magazines. You, for instance, would be perfect in Averil’s part as Josephine. I can see you in one of those high-waisted Empire gowns. You’re slim enough, goodness knows, to carry it off.’

‘But hardly beautiful enough,’ I said shortly. The suddenness and unexpectedness of the proposition made me wonder if it were a subtle form of mockery.

‘Why do you look at me so suspiciously, Esther?’ he said gently. ‘Surely you don’t imagine that I’m deliberately trying to lead you up the garden path?’

‘But why should you suddenly decide on me for such an affair?’ I said warily. ‘There must be lots of beautiful girls in Warefield gasping for the position.’

He grinned. ‘There probably are, but not many of them have your extraordinarily small bones. And as for your denigration of your looks! Yours are the type of features that make up fantastically well—besides, you’ll be wearing a wig, dressed high, with ringlets falling on the shoulders in the Empire style.’

‘You sound very knowledgeable regarding the affair,’ I said a little sourly, but feeling a rising interest and excitement that I was careful to conceal. ‘How on earth do you know so many details concerning the costumes
?
’ Somehow it was out of character, I felt, for a man like Vance Ashmore to be so well informed about an affair that he must secretly regard with tolerant indulgence.

‘My dear girl, how could I help but be knowledgeable? Mother has done nothing but talk of it for months and is forever on the phone to Lacroix who has designed the clothes. Actually she’d Averil in mind for Josephine.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I said, feeling suddenly deflated.

‘But since Averil has set off on her travels and won’t be back in time, of course it’s out of the question. However, if you won’t do it I suppose Mother will have to look around for one of our budding Warefield debutantes.’

‘Well, if you think your mother would agree—’ I began.

‘But of course she’ll agree. Otherwise I’d hardly have suggested it.’

Did he not then realize that Mrs. Ashmore, although she was careful to hide it, did not approve of what she considered my unbecoming lack of deference to her elevated social position, or was it simply that when Vance set his heart on anything he invariably got his own way and would not let his mother’s opposition deflect him in the slightest?

‘Very well then,’ he said briskly, ‘I shall tell Mother you’ll model the Josephine dress.’ In his usual arbitrary way he was sweeping aside all objections and forcing me into a position that I was not quite certain yet it would be wise to accept.

‘I shall tell Mother and she’ll immediately get in touch with Lacroix. He’s quite mad, of course, and incredibly temperamental, but, according to my mother, a genius.
’

It was just then that I noticed a flash of light above the woods as though the sun had glanced off a mirror. It was sudden and startling and I gave a lit
tl
e gasp of surprise.

Vance, however, merely looked grim. ‘It looks like Eric's up to his old tricks,
’
he said dryly. ‘That light that you see is the sun reflecting off the lenses of a pair of extremely powerful binoculars scanning the countryside for something of interest.
’

And Eric had seen something of interest, I thought uncomfortably, remembering how I’d been propelled into Vance’s arms. From a distance, and to someone of Eric’s salacious turn of mind, how would the incident appear?

For somehow I was certain he had seen us.

‘You mustn’t let Eric
’
s peculiar pastimes bother you,’ he said quietly. ‘After all, he has very little else to do with his life
.’

The callousness of the remark made me feel cold. This was the man who had stepped into Eric’s shoes, and rumour had it that he had actually contrived the accident in the woods that had ruined his half
-
brother’s life.

As I tu
r
ned away in revulsion he caught my arm. ‘Oh, don’t go. There are all sorts of questions to be discussed yet.’

‘Such as?’ I said coldly.

He was still holding my arm and I saw his expression change. The indolent amusement faded from his eyes and he regarded me intent
l
y. ‘Esther, surely you can’t believe—’

But whatever he had been about to say was drowned in the clamour of Rodney’s shrill voice as he demanded, ‘I may keep the kitten, mayn’t I, Aunt Esther?
’
His round face was flushed and he was panting slightly from his recent exertions, but he had found the kitten and stood holding it awkwardly in both hands while it sniffed indignantly and made little hissing spits like a miniature tiger.

Vance released my arm. He stepped back a little and when he spoke again it was with his usual casual indifference.
‘F
or instance, the pressing question of whether Rodney may keep this hideous little cat.’

‘It’s not hideous,’ Rodney protested, pressing his face dose to the kitten’s pink nose, ‘and I’m going to call it Marmalade.’

‘But your aunt hasn’t said whether you may keep it or not,
’
Vance pointed out.

‘It’s hardly my place to decide such a matter,’ I returned icily. ‘According to Rodney it must have strayed from Mrs. Clarke’s dairy and as you own the dairy it’s obviously your kitten.’

‘
Dear me, what an extraordinarily lucid breakdown of the situation! I’m not surprised you work in a stockbroker’s office. You don’t think I own Mrs. Clarke too?’ he asked quizzically. ‘You know, Esther, you make me sound quite feudal.’

‘So I’ve heard you described,’ I agreed.

‘By whom?’

I hesitated, remembering it had been Bob Pritchard and the obvious dislike he had shown for Vance Ashmore—but then he had also been in the running for Averil.

‘It sounds remarkably like one of Bob Pritchard’s observations! But in spite of what he says I wouldn’t go as far as claiming to own Mrs. Clarke.’

But I could see he felt no resentment. Bob Pritchard would, in his view, be so completely negligible as to be not worth dignifying with dislike.

‘
And is that how you feel about me too, Esther, that I’m arrogant and dictatorial?’

‘I don’t think anything about you,’ I replied. But I knew, even as I said it, that it was untrue. I remembered so clearly the extraordinary mixture of feelings I had experienced when I had gazed at the photograph of him with Averil and remembered how ruthlessly he had disposed of Clive. He had adjusted life to suit himself even if it meant destroying those who got in his way.

‘
All right! But what of the fate of this unfortunate kitten? Even though your attitude is one of complete indifference to me, surely you’re not hard-hearted enough to condemn it to the fate that Mrs. Clarke has in store for it
?’

‘What fate?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Do you realize, my dear girl, that this kitten is one of a large family of similar monstrosities?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Rodney put in solemnly. ‘There
’
s lots more up at the farm.’

‘Exactly. And do you know that Mrs. Clarke hates kittens, especially marmalade ones? If you return this animal its fate is definitely sealed.’

At this dire information Rodney burst into loud sobs and clutched the kitten closer so that it squawked indignan
tl
y.

‘Surely, Esther, you’re not so utterly heartless as to condemn this helpless creature?’

He was at his usual occupation of mocking me, I realized, and my first reaction was to insist that Rodney return the kitten immediately and show him that I was not to be so easily bamboozled.

‘Oh, Aunt Esther, do let me keep him!’ Rodney’s pudgy face gazed at me anxiously.

‘But what will your mother say when she returns and finds that we have an addition to the household?’ I protested weakly.

‘Oh, she won’t even notice it,’ Rodney put in eagerly, with childish perspicacity. It was true, of course. Unless the kitten actually got in her way and caused her inconvenience, Averil probably would not mind.

‘All right, then! But you’ll have to take care of it yourself,’ I added severely to save face.

Radiant, Rodney was about to go into the house when, turning, he said magnanimously to Vance, ‘You must come to my birthday party. Mrs. McAlister is making a cake with my name on top and we’re having jellies and ices.’ Then, continuing his
headlong dash towards the house, he left me alone with Vance.

‘What’s this about a party? Don’t tell me you’re actually going to have a hooley?’

‘It’s for Rodney’s birthday. He’s going to ask a few of his friends from school to it.’

‘Indeed? Then, no doubt, should I accept his gracious invitation, not being quite in the same age group, I should feel rather out of things.’

‘I should imagine so,’ I said dryly.

‘All the same perhaps I could contribute something towards the general jollification. We have some Chinese lanterns at the house. They were strung amongst the bushes at one of Mother’s do’s and by all accounts it was a smashing success.’

‘If you like,’ I said doubtfully. ‘But where exactly do you intend to string them here?’

‘Through the orchard, of course. I imagine they’ll look pretty effective shining through the blossoms, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Rodney
’
d like that,’ I agreed grudgingly.

‘G
oo
d. Then I’ll make arrangements for the great day if you’ll let me know in advance.’

He turned and left me with the quick, lithe steps that were somehow typical of the man.

Feeling rather let down at the swiftness of his departure, I walked slowly back to the cottage, conscious of a strange unease that I found difficult to fling off, or even, for that matter, to pinpoint. It had something vaguely to do with the sudden flash of fight in the woods and the knowledge that we had been spied on. Eric, curious and malign, had been sitting up there, his sticks placed beside him, sweeping his powerful binoculars over the surrounding countryside, intent on feeding his frustration by witnessing something that might give him the opportunity to exert a subtle blackmail on his victims. The fact that he had seen me in Vance’s arms was of no importance. After all, I had simply stumbled: it had been an accident. I had nothing whatever to worry about, as far as he was concerned, I told myself.

It was as well for my peace of mind that I didn
’
t realize the capital Eric was to make out of the meaningless incident and that he was already planning to bring a swift end to my idyllic days at Cherry Cottage.

Shortly before Rodney’s birthday I received a letter from my mother and, to my surprise, instead of querulously complaining how difficult life was without me and all the insurmountable problems that my absence caused, she seemed actually to be in good
spirits.

‘You will be surprised to hear that your cousin George has gone abroad and that Aunt Mavis is joining me until she makes plans for the future. I must say that we get on splendidly together and I do hope she will stay on indefinitely, for she understands all my lit
tl
e foibles and is so agreeable in all sorts of ways. There is no reason why we shouldn’t settle down comfortably together.

‘I am quite reconciled now to your staying on at Cherry Cottage until Averil’s return. I must say it was providential under the circumstances that your cousin George decided to take a position abroad and has left his mother free to come to me, for, as you know, I rather dreaded being here on my own. But then young people now have so very lit
tl
e consideration for their elders, so that it’s hardly likely my point of view would have made any difference. As long as Averil was enjoying herself she wouldn’t .give a thought to the inconvenience she was causing me by selfishly rushing off on a cruise. However, as I said, perhaps good may come out of it in the end, for she definitely needs the steadying influence of a husband and, who knows, she may meet someone suitable abroad, for it’s hardly likely she will in a small provincial town like Warefield—’

I folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope, thinking how ironic it was that it was here in despised, provincial Warefield that Averil had selected her husband. When my mother spoke of a prudent husband what she actually meant was an eligible one, and from her point of view, Vance Ashmore of the Ashmore Shipping Line would be an eminently suitable husband for Averil. Any transitory romances that Averil might indulge in abroad would be strictly limited by the termination of the cruise. She was fundamentally much too canny and hard-headed to make again the mistake of falling in love with a man like Clive, without ambition or initiative. In spite of the romantic tropic moon and the half-Spanish, half-Italian boy-friend, it would be Vance Ashmore and a future as mistress of the Ashmore mansion that would be in the forefront of her mind.

Well, at least until Averil’s return I would be spared being bombarded by my mother’s self-pitying letters,
I thought with relief.