How to Murder Your Mother-In-Law (35 page)

“I believe you did.” Mrs. Malloy refrained from rolling her eyes as she put on her fur coat and sequined cloche hat. “And if you don’t mind, ducks, it’s a sore subject, seeing as I was responsible for giving him the earful he used to put the clamps on you for money.”

I followed her to the door. “It did puzzle me that I was the only one among the daughters-in-law that he contacted, but once you told me that you mentioned only my name in connection with the matter …”

“Well, I should hope you know me well enough by now to know that I don’t gossip, except about people
what I’m especially fond of!” Mrs. Malloy turned to look me up and down with a critical eye. “You look very nice in your party frock, Mrs. H.”

“Thank you.” I gave her a hug.

“And you’re sure you don’t need me for nothing else?”

“No, everything is all set for our little celebration.” I held the door open for her and watched her teeter on her high heels down the steps. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget to save you a piece of wedding cake. And I’ll be sure and explain to Mum and Dad that you had to leave to visit a friend in trouble.”

“The way I see it”—Mrs. Malloy turned around to look up at me with eyes smeared with mascara—“I don’t have to think well of Edna to feel sorry she’s ended up in such a pickle.”

“I’ll see you on Monday,” I said, and after closing the door picked up the silver tray of cheese straws to take into the drawing room, where our guests were already assembled, waiting for the bridal couple to descend the staircase for a reception prior to leaving for the registry office. We had arrived at this back-to-front approach because Mum and Dad, having elected to spend the preceding week with us, wished to leave immediately after the wedding for Tottenham. I gave Mum a lot of credit for agreeing to a civil ceremony as a sensible stopgap until a religious alternative could be reached. But I had to admit to a pang of regret that she wasn’t going to have her big day with all the trappings of a white wedding. But as Ben had said to me the previous night, the time comes when we have to let our parents fly the nest and live their own lives.

Talking of my beloved, he came into the kitchen as I was going out into the hall.

“There you are, sweetheart.” He took the tray of cheese straws from me with practiced ease. I thought he had never looked handsomer as he leaned with nonchalant elegance against the door—his dark hair crisp, his jewelled eyes alight to my every movement as I
went to give him the restrained kiss that befitted the occasion of his parents’ marriage. My hands did try to wander under his jacket to feel the warm smoothness of his shirt, but I snapped them back to my sides when he said, “I wish I could break this to you gently, Ellie.”

“What is it?” Instinctively, I reached for a cheese straw.

“I just went up to Mum and Dad’s room.…”

“Yes?”

“It was empty.”

“So?”

“The window was wide open, and when I looked out I saw a white bow tied to the top rung of Mr. Watkins’s ladder. It would seem, my darling”—Ben helped himself to a cheese straw—“that my parents have eloped.”

“Oh, I do hope they are headed for Gretna Green!” For the first time in a week I remembered that life could be wonderful. Love was the great healer. I longed to sing and dance and toss the tray of cheese straws in the air. “Come on, darling”—I grabbed hold of Ben’s hand—“let’s go and tell our guests that great romance
is
wasted on the young!”

The people Mum and Dad had wanted included in the festivities were all there in the drawing room. Jonas, bless him, was not looking heartbroken. Tricks was looking the picture of health, and had high hopes that she would be the woman to win the Martha now that the other mothers-in-law were out of the running. Frizzy was looking lovingly at her husband, Tom, and baby Laura was crawling across the floor towards Tam and Abbey, who were both looking unabashedly adorable in wedding finery. It was a scene to warm the cockles of your heart until that heart-stopping moment when my one and only son took a couple of purposeful steps forward, and with a look in his periwinkle-blue eyes that I had never seen before, pointed his finger at baby Laura and said in a voice that brought a hush to the room: “Her
pretty
.”

“That’s my boy!” Ben looked down at the budding Casanova with intense pride, while everyone else smiled admiringly at the little he-man. Everyone, that is, except his mother. For at that moment I took a long, hard look down the years and saw my fate etched in cold, hard stone.

“Excuse me a moment, darling!” I gave Ben a nudge into the room. “I’ve just realized I have to make a
very
important phone call.”

“You want to invite Eudora and Gladstone to join us?” His tender smile was an exact replica of the one my son was wearing as he looked deep into the eyes of that nice but quite ordinary nine-month-old girl.

“No.” I managed to keep my voice light. “I need to phone the priory over at Pebbleworth.”

“Is that the prep school you mentioned?”

“No.” I laid my head against his shoulder. “It’s a monastery, and you know how those places are—they probably have a huge waiting list. So, as a mother who wants
only
the best for her son, I think it would be wise to get Tam enrolled as early as possible.…”

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*Available from Bantam Books