Sister of the Bride (11 page)

CHAPTER SIX

I LAID down Avail’s postcard. The message on the back was written in her usual wide, almost childish scrawl that was somehow so expressive of her character. ‘Have met the most fascinating man. But not a patch on Vance Ashmore, of course. Hope you are coping with Rodney.’ But of course I knew that she didn’t really care whether I was coping with Rodney or not. It was evident that, for the time being, her attentions were fully taken up with the ‘fascinating’ man.

I took up a trug and went into the garden. Every day now brought summer near
er
and the borders that led down to the wicket gate were a riot of colour. I picked huge bunches of golden-brown wallflowers and purple and white lilacs.

When I returned to the cottage I arrayed the flowers in the windowsill and on the gleaming walnut table and in fact anywh
ere
I could find a space. And when I was finished the sun-filled room was full of the scent of beeswax and blossoms and the faint indefinable perfume of old, long-seasoned woods. ‘It’s a fair treat,’ Mrs. McAlister remarked, with an air of flattering conviction. ‘It does my heart good to see them lilacs. Mrs. Etherton never paid any mind to the garden, that’s why the vases and bowls are so dusty. They were stuck there in the cupboard out of the way and I never took any notice of them.’

I smiled. This was h
er
oblique way of expressing
apology for the grimy condition of the vases.
‘
But the garden’s so well taken care of
!’
I remarked.
‘
Someone must have kept it in such good order.’

Mrs. McAlister nodded. ‘Mr. Vance had one of his gardeners call once a week and keep things in order. Come to think of it, never once did I see Mrs. Etherton as much as pick a daisy.’

No. But then Averil had never at any time bothered about adorning anything but herself. I remembered how at home, she would spend hours in her room, in front of her dressing-table, experimenting with makeup and apparently oblivious to the fact that the furniture needed dusting and that her clothes were untidily piled on a chair.

‘Well, I’d better be running along,’ Mrs. McAlister remarked at last, pulling on her tam-o’-shanter over her springing grey hair and collecting her shopping-bag. ‘If you ask me I’d say you’re going to have a visitor before the day is through.’

She uttered the words with such an air of grim foreboding that I glanced at her in surprise. ‘Don’t tell me, Mrs. McAlister, that you’ve the Scottish gift of second sight?’

She snorted indignantly at the idea. ‘For goodness’ sakes, no. I’ll leave all that stuff to the Highlanders. I’m a Lowlander myself, not that I believe in that second sight stuff anyhow. It’s all a lot of nonsense, if you ask my opinion.’

I smiled. ‘Then how did you know I’d have a visitor?’

‘For the simple reason that yesterday afternoon I obliged at Mrs. Wilson’s and I heard Mr. Wilson say he was paying a visit to Cherry Cottage this afternoon.’

‘But who is Mr. Wilson?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘He’s the architect that planned all them lovely villas outside t
o
wn.’

‘Oh,’ I said dismally. So already Vance Ashmore was carrying his plans concerning the addition to the cottage into action! I felt my heart sink. The designer of those hideous red houses would obviously be a disastrous choice for the delicate beauty of Cherry Cottage.

‘No doubt it’s to arrange about the rumpus room Mrs. Etherton is so keen on. Mind you the extra space will make all the difference. Rodney can play there and watch the telly and it will keep him from getting under foot,’ Mrs. McAlister said with an air of bestowing consolation. ‘And it will be no trouble keeping it tidy. Floor-to-ceiling windows and the furniture in vinyl and laminated plastic. I must say it will be a nice change from polishing the carving on this old furniture. Dust-traps is what I call them,
’
she added, as she bustled out.

Whatever hopes I had that Mrs. McAlister had been mistaken were banished by the appearance that afternoon of Vance accompanied by a stout, fussy-looking man who, after Vance had introduced us, prowled round the orchard scanning the exterior of the cottage and making notes on a clipboard.

I saw Vance’s eyes stray to Averil’s postcard, then glance away. Averil’s handwriting, even from a distance, was unmistakable and I wondered if he’d recognize it. ‘I had a postcard from Averil: she seems to be having a wonderful time.’ For a moment I maliciously wondered what his reactions would be if I told him of the ‘fascinating man’ that Averil had acquired.

He nodded and gave the sudden grin that revealed the whiteness of his teeth and completely transformed his usual rather grim features. ‘I received one too, so you needn’t look so guilty. I also have heard of a charming acquisition. According to Averil he
’
s half Spanish, half Italian. Quite a lethal mixture, I should imagine.’ It was typical, of course, that Averil would inform Vance of her latest infatuation, yet if her intention had been t
o
arouse him to jealousy she had failed dismally, I concluded. For if anything, Vance Ashmore, instead of showing resentment, seemed merely amused, and I thought too that his amusement was heightened by my simple-minded belief that the information would arouse his anger.

‘Did you imagine I’d act the jealous lover and throw a dramatic scene?’ he asked critically. You
’
re a romantic creature, aren’t you, Esther?’

So the sophisticated Vance Ashmore was patronising me! In his circles one did not commit the
naiveté
of showing jealousy. I’d revealed myself as provincial and priggish. ‘It was stupid of me, of course,’ I said bitterly. ‘I should have known that it wouldn’t make any difference to a man like you whether Averil was loyal or not.’

For a moment he regarded me thoughtfully.
‘
Loyal, Esther! And just how would you define the word?’ But I was on my guard against this man and had no intention of displaying my inmost feelings for his amusement. ‘My attitude can’t be of the slightest interest to you,’ I began with dignity.

‘Oh, but you’re wrong there! Your attitude interests me very much.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ I replied lamely, feeling the ground gradually being cut from beneath my feet.

‘
Because you’re so completely unlike the girls I’ve come across so far. Not many would have wanted to spare me the knowledge that Averil is letting her eye wander. In fact, I can think of a few who would have taken great pleasure in informing me.’

‘Perhaps, but then they’d probably have reasons that would hardly apply to me.’

He raised his brows. ‘Such as?’

I hesitated. I could hardly inform him that it was not my intention to attempt to oust Averil from her position in life, but that, on the contrary, I disliked and distrusted
him.

It was at this point that, much to my relief, Mr. Wilson reappeared. But as I watched them walk off together and saw the architect, his head bent in earnest conversation, I felt my heart sink. He was the type of man, I suspected, who would be all for utilitarian and coldly practical buildings like the horrible villas he had erected in Warefield.

Soon afterwards Rodney arrived back from school. He had seen Vance with Mr. Wilson and was all excitement at the prospect of the new addition. ‘When will it be finished, do you think?’ he asked excitedly. ‘Will it be ready for my birthday party?’ The promised party loomed large in all his arrangements and the prospect of entertaining his friends in a new rumpus room appealed to his imagination.

‘No, of course not: it will take some time. I’ll be gone long before it’s built.’ I felt a strange hollow feeling as I realized the implication of my words. Why on earth had I been so concerned about the despoiling of Cherry Cottage, when I wouldn’t even be here to witness its desecration?

‘
You won’t be here?’ Rodney’s eyes opened wide
with surprise.

‘No, of course not! I’ll have to go home when your mother returns from her trip.’

‘I didn’t think of that,’ he replied fla
tl
y, then added hopefully, ‘But you’ll be here for my party, won’t you?’

‘Of course.
’

‘Because you know,’ he added earnestly, ‘Mummy wouldn’t let me have one if she were here.’

From what I’d heard of Averil’s attitude towards Rodney’s schoolfellows it was obvious that she would strongly object to the proposed party, and I began to feel faintly uneasy. However, it was too late now to back out, for all plans had been made and Rodney had even made out a guest list which was headed by the bellicose Phillips, and from what I’d seen of the child I suspected he was the type that Averil would consider entirely unsuitable as a companion for her son.

Soon afterwards I went upstairs to fetch some mending, vaguely aware that Rodney had gone into the garden. I was collecting the sewing-box and preparing to go downstairs again when I heard a plaintive voice call ‘Aunt Esther!’

I crossed to the window and to my surprise saw Rodney perched on top of an old, gnarled pear tree whose branches almost touched the windowpane. ‘What on earth are you doing up there, Rodney?’ I said irritably. ‘Come down immediately
!’

‘I tried to fetch down the kitten,’ he replied in a quavering voice, ‘and now I can’t get back.’

‘What kitten?’

‘It’s one of Mrs. Clarke’s from the Ashmore dairy.’

I looked doubtfully at the unprepossessing object that he held clutched to his pullover. Marmalade and off-white tufts of hair surrounded a pink nose. It was one of the ugliest kittens I had ever seen, I decided. ‘Now how do you expect me to get you down?’ I asked in exasperation.

‘You could fetch the ladder from the outhouse,’ he suggested hopefully. ‘And do you think Mrs. Clarke will let me keep the kitten?’ He edged along the branch in excitement at the idea and I heard it squeak ominously.

Immediately my irritation gave way to anxiety. I flung down the sewing-box and bundle of clothes.
‘
Don’t move until I fetch the ladder,
’
I called, before dashing down the stairs and heading for the outhouse.

I tugged and pulled the long, heavy ladder until I manoeuvred it against the pear tree. To my relief there was no sign of Vance or Mr. Wilson. To be found at the top of a ladder in the midst of a pear tree rescuing a small boy with a kitten was not at all the sort of situation I would care to be found in.

By the time I had clambered up the ladder, Rodney had begun to realize just how far he was from the ground and was emitting ear-piercing yells of terror. ‘Oh, do shut up, Rodney,’ I exclaimed in exasperation, ‘you’re perfectly safe now.’

I reached out my arms to lift him from the branch and he said in a quavering voice, ‘I think the branch is breaking, Aunt Esther.’ Then, to my dismay, there was a sound of splintering and rending wood and Rodney, with the kitten safely tucked inside his pullover, was propelled violen
tl
y into my arms. For a moment I almost overbalanced, then clu
tching
at an adjacent branch I managed to prevent Rodney, myself and the kitten being hurled to the ground.

‘You seem to be in trouble up there,’ a cool voice said from terra firma.

I glanced down to see Vance’s face staring up at me. ‘I thought you were gone,’ I said dourly.

‘I was on the way home when I heard some bloodcurdling screams from this direction. I could hardly pursue my way in cold blood, could I
?
It wasn’t you by any chance who was emitting those extraordinary sounds, was it?’

‘No,’ I snapped, ‘it wasn’t.’

‘I thought not. It didn’t sound like you. It wasn’t Estherish to lose control of the situation.’

He reached up and lifted Rodney to the ground. ‘And just what is this exercise in aid of?’ he asked, surveying the branch which had crashed to the ground and now lay half-buried in the grass.

Speechlessly I surveyed him from the top of the ladder.

‘Mrs. Clarke’s kitten got caught at the top of the tree, and I tried to rescue it. Then Aunt Esther tried to rescue me. And may I keep the kitten?’ Rodney added in a rush.

‘And now it’s time I tried to rescue Aunt Esther,’ Vance said determinedly.

He reached up his hands to me but, ignoring them, I began to back down the ladder with as much dignity as I could manage. Unfortunately I had forgotten that one of the rungs had been roughly repaired with a wire. My foot slipped on it and I found myself being propelled into Vance’s outstretched arms. For a moment I was held close to him: tight in his encircling arms I felt confused and breathless.

‘Sorry, I forgot about that gammy rung.’

‘But why be sorry?’ His dark eyes stared into mine, intense and enigmatic as fathomless tarn pools so that for a moment I felt mesmerized.

Then, recovering myself, I pulled free. Dishevelled and confused by the strange new emotion that his closeness had caused, I tossed back my hair and ran my fingers through it, feeling at an acute disadvantage.

Luckily at that moment Rodney caused a diversion. The kitten, released from his pullover, darted away and was instantly hidden in the long soft grass under the apple-trees, and Rodney, with a cry of distress, ran off in pursuit.

‘Can you believe it? The child actually wants to keep that awful kitten!’ I began to break a silence that threatened to become too lengthy.

He ignored this and continued to regard me with a look of attention that I found disconcerting.