The Rose Garden (15 page)

“Indeed so, I thought. That's the first I ever heard of any of that, and the last, I hope. Breakfast in bed, indeed! And I went off down the hall and left the bag, and then I went downstairs, and I filled the ice bucket and put it in the living room, and then
she
came down, all smiles.

“‘Will you be wanting tea, Mrs. Tillbright?' I asked her. ‘Ooh, I don't know, Stasia,' she says. ‘I'll let you know. You left ice, didn't you? That's all right, then. Mr. Tillbright will be home at six sharp, and when you hear him come in, bring up more ice, will you?' I said I would, and I went off down to the kitchen, and I heard Mrs. Lamb coming down the stairs and going into the living room, and then I heard no more out of them, and it got to be six, and it got to be seven, and at half past seven didn't I hear His Lordship's voice in the hall. So I got out the fresh ice and I hurried along to see what was what. No sign of him, he'd gone upstairs, but his girlfriend was there, large as life, making herself at home. Miss Carter, she is, and a bold-looking piece of work if I ever saw one. Not more than twenty-two or so, I'd say, and all done up in a tight cocktail dress that showed her chest.

“Over she goes and stands in front of the fire. ‘Mmm,' she says. ‘Delicious! Harry and I nearly froze in that open car. I'm afraid I'm not dressed for the
country,
' she says, and she looks at what the other two have on, and you can see she's right satisfied with herself.
Mrs. Lamb has blossomed out in a pair of light-gray velveteen slacks and a yellow pullover like a boy's pullover, and Mrs. Tillbright is wearing the same as she was wearing before—that great big skirt she has, her fireside skirt, she calls it, and a little white baby blouse. That Miss Carter doesn't know when to shut up, or she doesn't want to shut up, I don't know which. ‘I'd let myself go terribly if I lived in the country,' she says, looking at the other two. ‘I don't wonder that people go to pieces out here. I mean the whole thing is to keep warm, isn't it? It must be so demoralizing—for women, especially.' ‘I don't live in the country,' Mrs. Lamb says, very sharp altogether. ‘Oh, I know that,' says Miss Carter. ‘Even if Harry hadn't told me all about you on the way up here, I'd know by your clothes. They have that wonderfully
considered
look, as though you'd really thought about what would look best on you. I bet I know why you chose that particular pullover,' she says, with a big nod. ‘Why did I choose it, pray tell?' says Mrs. Lamb, getting all red.

“Mrs. Tillbright speaks up, trying to be a hostess. ‘I hope you have a ride back to the city tonight,' she says to Miss Carter. ‘I hope Mr. Tillbright—Harry—explained to you that Mrs. Lamb is staying with us, and we have only one guest room.' Miss Carter gives a great squawk, as if she had a pain. ‘Heavens, Mrs. Tillbright!' she says. ‘It's too sweet of you, but you know, I wouldn't spend a night in the country to save my life. I can't
stand
the country! I simply can't imagine how you live out here, although I think your house is just as sweet as can be. I mean I can see you've worked over it. Goodness, no, I'm not staying. I have to be at a party at eleven, for one thing. Harry and I were having a drink, and he suggested that I run out here for dinner and see the house, and all. And of course I jumped at the chance to meet you and see where Harry lives. He's told me so much about it I feel as though I knew every room.
What did you decide about the new furniture for the patio? Harry says you want rough, woodsy stuff, but I think wrought iron has so much more chic, don't you?'

“‘Where the hell
is
Harry?' says Mrs. Lamb, and just at that exact moment Mr. Tillbright comes running down the stairs, two at a time, with a big white woolen shirt on him and a red scarf tucked in at the neck. Miss Carter lets out another squawk. ‘Harry,' she shouts, ‘you look scrumptious!' And she looks at Mrs. Tillbright. ‘If you don't get that outfit copied,' she says, ‘I will. Harry darling, you look so chic. Honestly, men have
the
most wonderful clothes. If all the men out here dress like that, I think I'll take your sweet wife up on her weekend invitation.' ‘Oh, that would be fine, fine,' says Harry, and you can see he's beginning to wonder what he's got himself into. ‘Not this weekend, darling,' Mrs. Tillbright says to him. ‘We're full up this weekend. And in any case, Miss Carter says she has to get back to town to some party. I hope you've arranged a ride for her.' ‘Somebody's bound to be driving in,' Harry says, and makes himself a drink and one for Miss Carter. ‘Who?' says Mrs. Tillbright. ‘I don't know of anyone who's driving in. The weekend people won't be leaving till tomorrow or Monday. I don't know of anyone who's driving in tonight who would be willing to take Miss Carter.' ‘Oh, hell,' says Mr. Tillbright, ‘I'll drive her in myself, get her to her party, and be back before you can count to a hundred. Nothing to it.' ‘Oh, grand,' says Miss Carter. ‘That's settled then.' ‘It's not settled at all,' says Mrs. Tillbright. ‘Stasia, what on earth do you want?'

“‘I wanted to know what time you wanted the dinner, Ma'am,' I said, all quiet and polite—which she was
not
being. ‘It's all ready, Ma'am, only to put on the steak.' ‘Steak!' says Miss Carter. ‘Oh, goody, I'm starved!'

“‘Oh, we're not in a hurry,' says Mrs. Tillbright. ‘Take your
time, Stasia.' ‘Harry, aren't you going to take me down to see your kitchen?' says Miss Carter. ‘I hear you have the most divine old-fashioned kitchen,' she says then, to Mrs. Tillbright. ‘Take the little girl to see the kitchen, Harry,' says Mrs. Tillbright, ‘But see that she doesn't burn her little fingers,' says Mrs. Lamb. ‘You should know about burnt fingers, Norma dear,' says Mrs. Tillbright, very nasty. ‘Oh, poor sweet!' says Mrs. Lamb. ‘It's just the same old dreary story, isn't it? And you put up such a brave front all evening, positively gallant. I do admire you so, dear.' ‘Oh, cut it out, you two,' says Mr. Tillbright. ‘Mind your own business,' says Mrs. Tillbright. ‘Your pants are too tight, Norma,' she says. ‘You look perfectly awful, and the reason is you are awful. Not interesting awful,' she says, ‘just dreary, sad, pathetic awful. Do you know what? I feel sorry for you.' And she gives a great giggle.

“Mr. Tillbright is getting to look very sorry for himself. ‘Debbie,' he says, ‘why don't you go upstairs and lie down a while? Get a little rest, why don't you?' ‘Some women just cannot drink,' says Mrs. Lamb, and tosses off her own martini, trying to hold in her stomach at the same time.

“‘I'll let you know when to put the steak on, Stasia,' says Mrs. Tillbright, and I march off to the kitchen, wondering what'll happen next, since it's plain they're all well over the edge. Well, they all come after me, Mr. Tillbright and Miss Carter and the other two. Miss Carter is singing a little song, whispering like, and Mrs. Lamb said, ‘Your kitchen used to be divine, Harry. We had such happy times here in the old days, you and Berenice and I. I hope you haven't changed it much.'

“‘Well, it looks just like any other kitchen,' says Miss Carter, when they're inside the door. ‘I mean it's bigger, and there are the beams in the ceiling and all, but it's not really so terribly unusual, is it?' ‘What did you expect—a wishing well?' says Mrs. Lamb. ‘Well, a fireplace, anyway,' said Miss Carter. ‘I mean the whole
point of having a kitchen in the country is that you have a fireplace, isn't it? I mean why live in the country at all when you can live in the city.' ‘But, Harry, where is the fireplace?' says Mrs. Lamb, all astonished. ‘Let's get back to the drinks and leave Stasia in peace,' says Mr. Tillbright, very sudden and nervous. ‘But, Harry, tell me,' says Mrs. Lamb, ‘what
happened
to the fireplace? There used to be a divine fireplace right there,' she says to Mrs. Tillbright. ‘Didn't Harry even tell you it was there? Harry, you
are
naughty.' ‘You're out of your mind, Norma,' says Harry. ‘You're thinking of some of the other kitchens around here. Some of them have fireplaces. Come on, let's go have a drink. What are we standing here for?' ‘Oh, I suppose you and Berenice had it bricked up, Harry,' Mrs. Lamb said, ‘but I do think it was mean of you not to tell Debbie about it. You know how she adores fireplaces.'

“‘Harry,' says Mrs. Tillbright, ‘if there's a fireplace there, I want it.' ‘Damn it all,' says Mr. Tillbright, ‘I had it bricked up—Berenice and I had to have it bricked up, because we needed that wall for space when we were breaking that door through to the patio. Stop being a silly little fool, Debbie.' ‘But it used to be so cozy, Harry,' says Mrs. Lamb. ‘Silly to have a kitchen without a fireplace,' says Miss Carter.

“‘Harry,' says Mrs. Tillbright, ‘I want that fireplace, and I want it now.' ‘Oh, come on, now, Debbie,' he says. ‘Come on yourself,' she says. ‘Get moving. Where is it?' ‘Now, honey,' he says, ‘let's all go get a nice fresh martini and talk it over.' ‘I'm not moving out of this spot,' she says. ‘All right,' he says, ‘I'll bring the drinks down here.' And he goes off, and when he comes back with the martini shaker, she's got the hammer and she's tapping all along the wall, above the stove and the sink and all.

“‘Oh, for God's sake, Debbie,' he says, ‘will you stop it. It's behind the stove, if you want to know.' ‘That's what I thought,' says Mrs. Lamb. Miss Carter sat down by the kitchen table and
started to cry. ‘Oh,' she says, ‘men are so awful! Imagine hiding the fireplace. Harry, how could you be so mean to your dear sweet little wife?' ‘Move the stove, Harry,' says Mrs. Tillbright. ‘I'll do nothing of the sort,' he says. ‘All right, then, I'll move it,' she says. ‘I'd better turn the oven off, so,' I said, and I went over and turned it off and took off the kettle I always keep hot there. Mrs. Tillbright goes over and starts pushing and pulling, trying to move the stove.

“Miss Carter gave another of her screeches. ‘Harry,' she says, ‘she'll strain herself trying to move that thing. You do it for her.' ‘Oh, don't you do it, Harry,' says Mrs. Lamb. ‘You know what might happen. Harry isn't as strong as he looks,' she says to Miss Carter. Well, Mr. Tillbright gave Mrs. Lamb a look, I can tell you.

“‘I'm going to have another drink,' he says, and they all have a drink—Miss Carter and Mrs. Lamb all excited, and Mrs. Tillbright just boiling with temper.

“‘I hope you're not going to regret this, Debbie,' says Mr. Tillbright when he's finished his drink, but by that time he doesn't care much about anything. He goes over and gives the stove a wrench, and it comes away and stands lopsided and rocking—you know those old crooked floors, one leg of the stove had been made short to fit against the wall. And there's a terrible clatter from inside the oven.

“‘Aw, Mr. Tillbright,' I said, ‘I wish you'd told me you were going to do that, and I could have taken the dinner out.' He grabbed open the door, and the eggplant casserole and the cherry pie and all that I was keeping hot all come tumbling out, and the good dinner plates and the little bit of chicken I was keeping for meself—I was mortified that they saw it. All that good food.

“‘Well, there goes your dinner,' says Mr. Tillbright to Mrs. Tillbright. ‘Oh, damn the dinner,' she says. ‘Let's get the wall opened up.'

“Well, girls, they got every sharp thing in the house—chisels and screwdrivers and shears, all the carpentry stuff out of the basement, even the good poker out of the living room—and they began to loosen the bricks. Well, that's all, except a bit of the ceiling came down—not very much. And every bit of electricity in the house is dead, of course, and who can put it back together again I don't know, or what will be done. When the hole was big enough to suit them, they took the steak and carried it up to the living room, holding it up over their heads as if it was a football player. They said they were going to cook it in the fireplace—”

“All the electricity gone,” said big Bridie, the bully, sprawled in her usual seat, which ran all the way across the back of the bus.

“Oh, they don't know that yet,” Stasia said.

“Wait till he starts to shave himself,” Delia said.

“He won't even be able to take a bath,” Stasia said. “None of them will. The pump works by electricity.”

“The radio!” Molly Ronan said, with horror.

“And the dishwasher,” said Josie, the youngest maid.

“And the toaster and the rotisserie and the—everything,” Delia said. “And with no water at all in the house.”

“Not to mention the deep freeze,” Bridie said.

The deep freeze. They had all forgotten the deep freeze.

“Trust you to think of that, Bridie,” Stasia said, awed.

“All that reindeer meat,” Bridie said. “All the reindeer meat, all gone, unless they finish it up today.”

“And the pheasants, and all,” Lily Rooney said. “Remember how pleased they all were, coming back with their pheasants and their trout and their salmon, and all.”

“But the deer meat,” Stasia said pleasurably. “Mr. Tillbright was so set up with that little red hunting hat of his.”

“Oh, they're all great hunters,” Delia said. “A rabbit would put the fear of God into any one of them, if they weren't carrying their
gun.”

“Aw, Lord, I forgot to tell you about the steak on the rug!” Stasia cried, seeing that the bus was stopping in front of the church. “And Mrs. Tillbright hiding the car keys, and Mr. Tillbright trying to sneak out this morning.”