Expose! (10 page)

I’d been fantasizing about enjoying a candlelight dinner with my handsome lieutenant in full naval regalia for weeks. True, tonight we’d be joined by his mother and aunt, but it was a start and far better than trying to talk in a bar filled with noisy punters.

I needed to check my reflection and wash my hands. I went back to the hatch and was about to ask where the downstairs loo was when I was struck dumb.

Robin had entered the kitchen.

“Ahoy there matey!” Robin scooped up his mother and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. “Hmm. Lovely smell of old lightbulbs. What’s cooking?”

“Dead fish,” said Mary dryly.

Not wanting to miss a single minute, I trotted back to the kitchen and stood in the doorway just staring at the most handsome man I had ever met.

“Why aren’t you in dress uniform?” Eunice scolded, still clutching that wretched spatula. I had to admit that Robin didn’t look as attractive in plain denim jeans and a red-checked shirt. Out of uniform, I noted he had a very small bottom and short, rather thin legs.

“I hope you’re not going to dine in that dirty apron, Auntie,” he teased. “Oh, wait! What’s that you’re wearing underneath? Is that one of my favorite dresses?”

Eunice gave a twirl.

Mary saw me watching and rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you going to say hello to our guest, Robin?”

Robin turned around, rewarding me with a brilliant smile and a nautical salute. “Oh! It’s Vicky! You look pretty tonight—but not as beautiful as you, Auntie.”

“I thought you were still in the English Channel on maneuvers,” I said, recalling our last disjointed conversation transmitted from HMS
Dauntless
. Fortunately, he managed to cancel our date before I reached the Three Tuns. There’s nothing worse than being stood up in a bar packed with farmers, which was what happened the other time we’d tried to make plans.

“Maneuvers?” Eunice declared. “You told me you were doing shore-based drills this month. I wrote it down on the calendar.”

“Change of plan, Auntie. You know how it is,” Robin said smoothly. “What’s everyone drinking?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Mary said. “I’ll have a large one.”

“Don’t give her a double,” said Eunice. “You know she can’t take it.”

“Auntie? Dry martini?” Robin said. “Do we have any olives, Mum?”

“No olives.”

At the mention of the word, I felt uncomfortable. Should I mention Olive’s interest in Douglas Fleming? Sooner or later the subject was bound to come up. I resolved to do it later. Eunice was bound to be more affable after a drink.

“If there are no olives, I can hardly have a martini, can I?” Eunice snapped.

“In that case, gin and tonics all round,” said Robin cheerfully.

“A weak one for me,” I said. “I’m driving.” I hated gin. It depressed me.

Robin disappeared into the walk-in larder and emerged with an enormous bottle of Gordon’s gin and Tesco tonic water.

“Ice? Lemon?” he said.

“No ice. No lemons,” said Mary.

“Never mind.” Robin searched for a space to put down the bottles. “Mum, mind if we shift some of this stuff?”

“I’ll help,” I said. Between us, Robin and I managed to move the tractor drive shaft under the table. Our fingers touched, twice.

Eunice produced four grubby glass tumblers and darted back to the Aga as a loud hissing sound signaled that something had boiled over.

Robin deftly mixed the drinks. I took a sip and practically keeled over. It was pure gin. “Is there a splash more tonic?”

“I can’t taste anything.” Mary picked up the gin bottle and added a generous slug.

Robin sashayed over to Eunice who was just in the process of removing the tinfoil from a fish kettle. The smell was beyond nauseating. He handed her a tumbler and they clinked glasses. “What’s on the menu, Martha Stewart?”

Eunice laughed with delight. “Monkfish medallions with tomato lemon coulis followed by snow eggs with pistachio custard and chocolate drizzle.”

“Good Lord! We are in for a treat!”

“Or a visit to emergency.” Mary took a large draft of gin and gave a happy shudder as it went down.

“What’s the occasion?” said Robin. “Whose birthday?”

“It’s a practice run isn’t it, Eunice?” Mary said. “Douglas—”

“Shut up!” said Eunice.

Robin frowned. “Auntie? You’re not up to your old tricks again, are you?”

“She most certainly is.” Mary took another sip. “Not even a restraining order can stop your aunt, now that old Scarlett Fleming is dead.”

Restraining order?
I recalled Melanie’s comment earlier during the day. Hadn’t she said, “I’ll call the police, again?”

Robin looked genuinely concerned. I caught him shooting his mother a look of alarm but Mary just shrugged and knocked back her drink.

“Well, if it’s a practice run,” he said, rubbing his hands with forced glee, “we’d better get started!”

The food was worse than I feared, probably because the entire dining room smelled of cow manure, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Robin kept up a cheerful banter, praising his aunt’s nonexistent culinary skills.

The roll-mop herrings felt and tasted of rubber. The monkfish medallions were more of a blob than the flat, perfectly rounded shape illustrated in the cookbook that Eunice had proudly shown me earlier.

As the evening wore on, Eunice became more subdued and Mary kept leaving the room with her glass in hand, on the pretext of having a weak bladder—obviously, topping up her gin.

Robin and I tried to cheer Eunice up. He told dreadful jokes but she didn’t laugh. I even committed a professional no-no by giving her the heads-up about this week’s article on the pros and cons of her current favorite subject, CCTV cameras, but to no avail. Yet, without intending to be unkind, Eunice’s misery was my joy. I really felt Robin and I were bonding in our effort to boost her spirits.

When we were finally confronted with dessert, I wasn’t sure if I could brave a single teaspoon. The snow eggs had curdled and the pistachio custard with chocolate drizzle looked like something the cat had thrown up.

“Well . . .” Mary said, finally, as she pushed her untouched plate aside. “You’re not going to win hearts with your cooking.”

“I imagine it was a complicated recipe,” I protested, trying to retrieve my spoon that was, quite literally, stuck in the pistachio custard. “It’s all delicious. Thank you.”

“You’ll just have to practice some more, Auntie,” Robin said, giving Eunice a playful nudge.

“That’s it!” Eunice flung her spoon and fork down with a clatter. She leapt to her feet and fled from the room.

“Auntie! It was a joke!” Robin put his napkin down, adding, “I’d better go and see if she’s all right.”

“I’ll just nip to the loo.” Mary stood up unsteadily and weaved after them. I was left all alone and in a bit of a dilemma. It was only seven forty-five. Was the evening over? What about the conversation I needed to have with Eunice about Douglas Fleming? And, what about my Robin? Was he going to be stuck to her side
all
evening? At one point—after he had told a hilarious knock-knock joke—I’d fantasized about Eunice saying, “Run along you two lovebirds,” and how Robin would take my hand. We’d go for a moonlit walk through the muddy farmyard and enjoy a goodnight kiss. He’d look deep into my eyes and say, “My mother and aunt adore you, and so do I.”

I decided to wait. Perhaps he’d gone to tuck her up in bed? I suddenly felt incredibly maudlin. It must be the gin. Mum called it a “mother’s ruin” and never touched the stuff. I should have followed her example.

I waited until the candle stumps had all burnt out and the room was in complete darkness. I thought everyone had forgotten I existed until I heard voices coming from the kitchen and went to investigate.

Despite the summer evening, Eunice was dressed to go out in a heavy blue wool coat and headscarf.

“I’m taking Auntie up to the Three Tuns for a plate of scampi,” said Robin. “You don’t mind keeping Mum company do you, Vicky?”

“You go with them. Don’t mind me.” Mary scowled. “I’m sure I’ll have time to clear the plates, wash up, and clean the kitchen before I have to get up at four to milk the cows tomorrow morning.”

I hesitated, torn between an evening with Robin trying to make his aunt laugh or getting into his mother’s good books. Judging by the near-empty gin bottle that Mary clutched to her chest, I chose the latter. I was curious about this so-called restraining order.

“Of course I’ll stay with Mary,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving her with all the washing up.”

As Robin ushered Eunice out the back door, he whispered in my ear, “I’ll make it up to you at the Gala. Save me a dance.”

What incredible luck! As I turned to face the messiest kitchen in Christendom, I reflected that the evening had worked out, after all.

Was it really any of my business to speculate or gossip about Douglas Fleming’s future? Perhaps I might tell Mary that Douglas Fleming had other admirers. Surely, it was far kinder for Eunice to hear this kind of news from a family member.

But that aside, I really wanted to talk to Mary about Robin. There was so much I didn’t know about him. I was sure that she’d soon realize I would make the perfect daughter-in-law.

10

“No, I do not want to talk about Robin,” Mary said firmly, opening a bottle of sloe gin labeled 2003. “I hear it from Eunice day in, day out.”

“He’s devoted to her, isn’t he?” I began to restack the draining board and put the dirty plates in some kind of order before tackling the washing up. “Shall I wash and you dry?”

“Oh, just leave the dishes. Let Eunice do them tomorrow. It’s her mess.” Mary sat down heavily at the kitchen table and poured two glasses. “Eunice thought she’d hidden this.” Mary took a sip and pulled a face as if she’d just sucked a lemon. “Try it.” She handed me a glass.

“No thanks. I’m driving.” I knew all about the local sloe gin. It was even more lethal than scrumpy, the famed Devon cider. I’d helped Barbara make some gin one day last winter at work. She brought in a plastic shopping bag full of the hard, black oval-shaped berries, picked from hawthorn hedges down at Pennymoor Jump. It took hours to prick each berry with a needle. The prepared berries were put into empty screw-top bottles, covered with sugar, and, filled to the brim with neat gin. The bottles were left to steep for as many months as possible.

“Go on. It’s my birthday,” Mary said.

“All right.” We clinked glasses. After the initial burning sensation, it was surprisingly good. “Is it really your birthday?”

“No.” Three enormous sloe gins later, the real Mary Berry began to emerge. Out of the shadow of her overbearing sister-in-law, Mary was an extremely intelligent woman. She was remarkably informed on subsidized farming in the European Union and the price of wheat in Kansas. She’d taken evening classes in automotive engineering and was restoring an ancient Garrett steam traction engine that she planned on exhibiting at Gipping Church Fete in her husband’s memory. “I’ve called it The Gordon.” She went on to say that she missed him very much but one just got on with it and she wished Eunice would, too. “And now with that wretched Douglas business,” Mary said. “I can see she’s headed for another nervous breakdown, if he doesn’t marry her.”

“Surely, she can’t really believe they have a future. It was so long ago.”

Mary poured herself another glass of sloe gin. “Ever since you told her that he still had feelings—”

“I didn’t actually say that.” The problem was, I couldn’t quite remember my exact words. The sick feeling in my stomach came back again.

“You didn’t have to. Give her an inch and she’ll take a mile,” Mary said.

“Surely, she wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
Like murder, perhaps?

“Eunice was devastated when he married that Scarlett. Took an overdose of sleeping pills.”

“God. That’s awful.”

“Oh, yes. She had to have her stomach pumped out. Right
here
!” Mary slammed her hand down hard on the kitchen table. “Dr. Jolly did it with a rubber tube from the lambing shed.”

“Isn’t Dr. Jolly a podiatrist?” I said fighting back the image of Eunice being laid out like a fish on a slab being poked at with Jab-it-Jolly’s clumsy fingers.

“That was before Dr. Frost’s time, of course,” Mary said. “She tried again after marrying that idiot Pratt on the rebound when he left her.”

“What happened?”

“She kept calling him Dougie and his name was George.”

Mary turned the empty sloe gin bottle upside down and gave a sigh of disappointment. “Eunice is always threatening to kill herself. Every time one of her petitions is rejected she has one of her tantrums. I never take any notice but Robin gets upset.”

“How could she do that to poor Robin?” I said appalled.

“She doesn’t care. He found her, once, lying facedown in the bath. Another time she threatened to jump from the top of the old water tower in Trewallyn Woods. I wished she had.”