Sister of the Bride (13 page)

I had scarcely finished the rest of the letter which dealt mainly with my mother’s feud with her next-door neighbour when Mrs. McAlister bustled into the sitting-room.

‘It’s about time we were thinking of getting things ready for the party,’ she announced. ‘And I won’t half be glad when it’s over and done with, for the bairn does nothing but plague me about it!’

Mrs. McAlister sounded severe, but I realized she was
good-naturedly
bent on making it a success and had already planned the sort of menu small boys
delight in.

‘Yes, I expect we’d better do our shopping, I agreed. ‘After all, it will be the day after tomorrow, won’t it?’

‘Well, the cake’s all ready, but for the icing,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘And then there
’
s jellies and biscuits and lemonade and—’ here she produced from her pocket a long list that she had laboriously made out—‘paper hats and balloons and such like.
’

Rodney interrupted, bursting into the room his face aglow. ‘And you will write “Happy Birthday Rodney” on the cake, won’t you, Mrs. McAlister?
’
he asked earnestly.

Mrs. McAlister chuckled, ‘That I will, son, in pink icing. Now you’d better help Miss Esther to get the stuff up from the town, for I won’t have time, I can tell you that much.’

‘All right,’ I said in mock resignation as I went upstairs to fetch my coat. ‘We’ll set off now and see
about supplies.’

It was a beautiful day and I revelled in the clear warm air as Rodney and I, carrying enormous baskets, walked leisurely down the lane. Primroses nestled in the budding hedgerows, their petals moon-yellow against their rough dimpled green leaves. There was at least another week before Averil was due to return and I determined to enjoy these halcyon days to the full without looking beyond them and my return to Wentworth and Judd’s.

Our purchases included a mauve satin ribbon and bell to tie about Marmalade’s neck, as Rodney was determined he should take a prominent part in the birthday celebrations—just how prominent I was later to find out to my cost. However, at that time I had no inkling of what lay in store.

Our baskets laden, we went into a tea-shop for refreshments and had barely seated ourselves when Bob Pritchard drove up. He caught sight of us immediately as the tea-rooms had only a scattering of customers, and came up to our table. ‘May I join you? I’m in between cases and just shot in for some light refreshments—besides, it saves me having to go back to that dragon of a housekeeper of mine. She takes a dim view of snacks between meals.’

‘Of course,’ I said automatically, wondering curiously why he had endured that ‘dragon of a housekeeper
’
so long, instead of marrying.

Had Rodney been childishly mistaken in the conversation he had overheard between Averil and Bob? Somehow Bob Pritchard appeared to me to be an eminently practical young man, unlikely to suffer long from unrequited love. Surely in the whole of Warefield he could find a suitable wife!

He surveyed the bulging baskets stacked on the window-ledge. ‘Well, what’s all this in aid of? You look as if you’ve been buying up the whole of Ware
fiel
d.’

‘It’s for my birthday: I’m going to have a party,’ Rodney announced proudly.

‘Oh, you are, are you! Well, don’t, on any account, call me during the night if you get a tummy-ache,
young man, for I should imagine there
’
s a large amount of indigestible comestibles m these baskets.

Rodney grinned, ‘Oh, I shan’t eat it all myself:
I’m inviting some boys from school.’

Bob looked at me inquiringly. ‘I should have imagined Averil would have vetoed such a plan had
she been on the spot.’

Was he quietly
pointing out to me that I
was deliberately ignoring Averil’s wishes? I wondered
.

‘You seem to know a great deal about Ave
ril,’ I
said resentfully.

He nodded without rancour, then said quietly,
‘Y
es, Averil and I were pretty friendly at one time.’

‘Then perhaps you feel that the party is a mistake on my part,’ I said challengingly.

He shook his head and regarded me levelly.
‘O
n the contrary, I think it an excellent idea. I cou
ld
never see Averil’s point of view when it came to the local families. But then,’ he added without bitterness, ‘she could never see mine. She thought it extraordinary that I should see my future life set in Warefield, turning into “Old Doc Pritchard.” It used to amaze her that I could contemplate such a fate with equanimity. But strangely enough the prospect doesn’t fill me with horror. In fact, I rather look forward to spending my life here. I’ve never been a particularly brainy sort of chap and I realized early on that there was no brilliant future for me in medicine. I’d simply be following in my father’s footsteps. His practice was established here before I was bo
rn
and I’m a bit old-fashioned, I expect, but I like the idea of continuing where he left off, as it were.’

If what Rodney had overheard had been interpreted correc
tl
y it was not surprising Averil had turned Bob
down, I thought. Had he really imagined that beautiful, wilful Averil would settle down and turn into a staid and sober G.P.’s wife? But then when a man is in love it is natural for him to indulge in wishful thinking. But just how much had he been in love? And how much was his judgment of Vance Ashmore biased by his jealousy of the man who had won the girl he had naively thought would be willing to be his wife?

Afterwards the conversation turned to generalities and soon Bob hurried off. When he had consumed three cream cakes Rodney reluctantly agreed that it was time to return with the supplies to Mrs. McAlister.

To my relief Rodney’s birthday dawned bright and clear, without a hint of a cloud or suggestion of rain. I had planned to keep the boys outdoors as much as possible and later on, when it was dusk, to switch on the lanterns which workmen from the Ashmore estate had already set up. The prospect of six sturdy schoolboys in the small sitting-room should it rain made me quail.

While Rodney was at school I slipped down to town and bought him the roller-
s
kates that he had set his heart on. Then Mrs. McAlister and I set to and prepared the room. When it was ready we stood back and surveyed our handiwork with satisfaction. From the dark rafters hung clusters of crimson, mauve and yellow balloons and gaily-coloured crackers were piled around an epergne on which was fruit, the whole topped with a spray of golden daffodils. Apart from the highly-coloured and indigestible fare that small boys delight in, there was Mrs. McAlister’s cake, a magnificent tiered confection in pink and white icing with ‘Happy Birthday, Rodney’ elegant
l
y inscribed on the top.

‘It looks a fair treat, doesn’t it?’ Mrs. McAlister said with pride. ‘And nothing indigestible either, so they won’t be able to blame me if they feel poorly afterwards.’

‘If they don’t feel poorly after some of these I’ll be surprised!’ I pointed to the quivering jellies and trifles that dotted the table.

‘Here they come,’ Mrs. McAlister announced, glancing through the window, then added in an astounded voice, ‘And if he hasn’t that young scamp, Phillips, with him!’

‘Yes,’ I laughed. ‘I was under the impression when I first saw them locked in combat that Phillips was his worst enemy, but he insisted on inviting him. So you can never tell with small boys, can you?’

Mrs. McAlister pursed her lips as she went towards the door looking extremely disapproving. ‘All the same, he’s a right little demon and not at all the type that should be playing with Rodney. His mother’s a widow, a real gadabout, and lets the boy run wild. You mark my words, there’ll be trouble before the day’s out.’

I laughed, ‘Oh, don’t be such a pessimist, Mrs. McAlister. Surely he can’t be such a little monster. Anyway, I’ll keep them busy after the party. I’ll arrange games in the orchard: that should work off their energy and keep them out of trouble.’

But Mrs. McAlister shook her head and muttering dire warnings of trouble to come, opened the door.

Rodney marched in proudly followed by six sheepish, freshly-scrubbed boys and soon afterwards Mrs. McAlister departed.

To my relief Phillips looked comparatively mild. I discounted Mrs. McAlister’s grim warnings: no doubt his snub nose and pugilistic expression had given her a bad impression. The meal passed without incident and when they had pulled the last cracker and demolished the last jelly, the boys eagerly trooped after me into the orchard where I kept them occupied in a series of energetic games. However, after a while, to my dismay, the sky began to darken and some drops heralded an approaching rain storm. As I hustled them indoors, I was thinking that six small boys, still full of unexpended energy, were far too many for the small sitting-room to contain comfortably.

Marmalade, complete with mauve ribbon and bell, had been dozing comfortably in front of the fire after partaking of a dish of custard in honour of Rodney’s birthday and he now sprang to his feet nervously as the boys clattered in.

Almost immediately I noticed a change come over Rodney and his guests. Phillips, a paper pirate hat atop his red hair, commandeered Rodney’s birthday skates and began to career around the table. It was obvious that he was a bo
rn
leader, for soon the others became infected by his recklessness and dashed about in a wild game of tag, scattering the chairs and making the glass and china in the delicately carved display cabinet tinkle ominously.

I made an attempt to control them, but I had underestimated the power Phillips seemed to have over his companions and with a feeling of despair I saw Rodney’s party disintegrate into a wild orgy of destruction that I was powerless to halt. I looked on with mounting horror as Phillips with a whoop sped across the floor. No doubt he intended to swoop past the china cabinet, but at that moment Marmalade, with a squawk, his bell tinkling wildly, scuttled across the floor and Phillips, in an effort to avoid him
,
careered headlong into the cabinet. There was the appalling sound of rending wood and crashing china and glass as the fragile piece of furniture disintegrated.

A silence fell on the room as the children, frightened and sobered by the disaster, gazed wide-eyed on the resulting chaos. Slowly Phillips got to his feet, his usually ruddy face pale with shock, his pirate crown askew, and I could see he was on the verge of tears. For once he was at a loss for words, and I was on the point of opening my mouth to tell him exac
tl
y what I thought of him when the door opened and Averil stood on the threshold.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FOR a moment she gazed at the paper-hatted boys, the untidy table still bearing the debris of the meal; the half-eaten trifles, the broken straws and the general chaos that results from a children’s party. Then her gaze moved to the floor, its glossy patina rowled with the marks of roller-skates, and finally to the delicate cabinet and its shattered contents. Gradually, as realization dawned, I saw her face darken with rage.

‘So this is what goes on as soon as my back is turned! Get these children out of here immediately!’

Miserably I began to organize their departure. The children themselves seemed anxious to escape as quickly as possible from this angry adult with the blazing eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Vance, would you
lik
e to see the havoc my dear sister has made of your quaint old-world cottage while I was away?’

To add to
my dismay I saw Vance’s tall figure come into view behind her shoulder. He surveyed the scene impassively as I hurried out the subdued children. Rodney, sobbing despairingly at the fiasco of his birthday party, scuttled upstairs.

When the last child had departed, Averil flung off her coat and swung on me angrily. ‘You invited these wretched children behind my back, although you know how I object to them as playmates for Rodney. They
’
re not at all the type I want him to
mix
with especially that ghas
tl
y Phillips boy.’

‘Oh, come now, Averil, the child isn’t so bad! A bit wild, perhaps, but it will do Rodney good to learn how to be a good mixer,’ Vance said. ‘I agree,’ he added ruefully, ‘that they’ve caused a great deal of damage, but after all, Esther is hardly to blame. How could she know how things would turn out?’

‘She should have known,’ Averil snapped, throwing herself into a chair and reaching for a cigarette. ‘Anyone with the smallest scrap of common sense could have told that Phillips for one is a common, underbred child. And, according to Mrs. McAlister, his mother is never at home. In fact, by all accounts, she has quite a bad reputation in Warefield.’

I saw a smile gradually crease Vance’s face. ‘It’s not like you to take the moral tone.’

‘Oh, don’t be so annoying, Vance,’ Averil replied crossly. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘Yes, I think I do. You’re not so concerned about Mrs. Phillips’s morals as you are about the fact that the Phillips come from the wrong side of the tracks. Esther, I suppose, was less interested in the social implications. Perhaps she felt it was time Rodney had some fun out of life.’

‘So you’re backing up Esther, is that it?’ Averil’s eyes narrowed.

‘Come, come, Averil,’ Vance protested, his dark eyes sardonic, ‘you’re not suggesting that anyone as correct and precise in her ways as Esther would let a common and underbred child set foot across your threshold! I’ve always found her a perfect model of sense and discretion. In fact, if anything, I’ve found her to be—
’