Sister of the Bride (3 page)

I wondered if I had only imagined a slight dryness in his tones. ‘And does he live there alone?’ I asked curiously.

He shook his head. ‘There’s his mother, Mrs. Ashmore, who is in her own way as autocratic as her son, although it’s said that he is the only person she can’t get the better of.’ He hesitated a moment, then added, ‘Then there’s Eric, his half-brother. He was crippled in a shooting accident. No one quite knows how it happened and the Ashmores aren’t the kind to display their skeletons in the closet, but it’s said that Eric and Vance had their eye on the same woman. It’s all rumour, of course, but all in all Vance is considered rather a dark horse. I expect it’s because we see him so seldom: his business interests keep him in London a lot. However, his mother keeps up the old hospitable habits and is given to throwing parties that are the highlight of Warefield social life.’

He smiled. ‘Much as some of us may disapprove of the Ashmores, yet the invitations are much sought after and you’ve no idea of the mortification we feel if we’re left out. It’s a slight that takes a good deal of living down.’ His eyes twinkled good-humouredly. ‘However, I needn’t bore you with all this gossip. You won’t be very long at Cherry Cottage before you’ll be
au fait
with all our local scandals and eccentricities.’

‘I don’t expect I’ll have much time for gossiping,’ I said. ‘From what I know of my nephew I’ll be kept pretty busy, and when Averil leaves he’ll be even more of a handful.’

‘Your sister is leaving Cherry Cottage?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Yes, she’s going on a cruise. An old friend has invited her and naturally she’s keen to avail herself of
the opportunity.’

‘Is she?’ He sounded astonished and incredulous.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, puzzled. ‘Who wouldn’t be keen to see those lovely places?’ I was curious. Why did his manner change so obviously when Averil was under discussion? ‘I can’t imagine any girl not being delighted at the change,’ I went on, ‘especially Averil: she was always so gay and lighthearted and ready to
enjoy everything.’

‘Not like you, of course. You’re the serious type,
aren’t you?’ he said mischievously.

He was teasing me, I knew, but still I felt vaguely resentful. ‘Perhaps I never had the opportunity to be anything else,’ I said, and immediately regretted the outburst. Of course, he would think now that I was jealous of my beautiful sister.

‘But perhaps you didn’t want the opportunity,
’
he said quietly, and I found myself staring at him in
shocked surprise.

‘What do you mean?’ I demanded.

‘Exa
ctl
y what I say. Perhaps you really prefer a back seat. Frankly, I’m that way myself. But then I recognize that I’m ne
v
er going to cut a swathe through life and am quite content in my own particular niche.
’

By this time I had gathered my self-possession. ‘Indeed?’ I returned flat
l
y, and once again focused my gaze on the passing countryside. To my relief I saw that he had no intention of pursuing the conversation. He relapsed into a thoughtful silence, then picked up his newspaper and became immersed in it until we
drew into Warefield.

Typically, Averil had forgotten to make arrangements to have me met. I stood beside my luggage for a while, then
as
the platform began to clear wandered around and peered over the railings into the station yard, but there was no sign of the taxi she had promised to send for me.

I fo
und
that Bob Pritchard had materialized at my side. ‘May I drive you to Cherry Cottage? I see you’re alone and palely loitering.’

‘No, thanks,’ I said stiffly. ‘I can ring for a taxi.’ I had no intention of letting Dr. Bob Pritchard any further into my confidence. I had no idea then, of course, how short a time it would be before I was desperately seeking his help.

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ he said. ‘My car is outside and Cherry Cottage is quite near my house. Why can’t you and I be friends? After all, we’re bo
u
nd to knock into each other occasionally, and if I’ve seemed to be too analytical blame my profession and also the fact that I’m a bachelor and an orphan,’ he added solemnly.

In spite of myself I laughed. ‘You don’t look like an orphan to me,’ I told him.

‘That goes to show how lit
tl
e you really know about Bob Pritchard,’ he grinned good-naturedly and, catching my elbow, steered me towards his rather shabby car. ‘By the way,’ he continued
as
he got behind the wheel, ‘I
think
I forgot to mention that. I’m on the look-out for a kind and sympathetic female to confide in.’

‘Well, you’ve got the wrong female in me!’ I retorted.

We drove through a thriving market town with traces of olden days in occasional lath-and-plaster houses. An old coaching inn had obviously taken pride in preserving the cobbled yard and pointed roof of the seventeenth century. Soon the town gave way to suburban villas of red brick and Bob pointed out his, identical with the others, except for a large brass plate on the gate, and Venetian blinds on the windows. ‘That’s my domain,’ he announced. ‘Pretty dismal, isn’t it, though no doubt the dainty hand of a woman
would work wonders.’

‘You’re not pretending you do your own housework, are you?’ I asked severely.

‘Well, no,’ he conceded, ‘but my housekeepers rather a poor cook and I’ll return to cold viands in a deserted dining room followed by an evening attending the ailments of most of the population of Warefield. Now don’t you pity me?’

‘No, I don’t—and what’s more I expect you’re perfectly content with your life and would be like a fish out of water in any other job.’

‘You’re a hard and unfeeling female,’ Bob returned, ‘and for that I shan’t tell you any of the interesting
scandals of the neighbourhood.
’

He spoke lightly, and it was only afterwards I was to realize how sharply the
interesting
scandals he referred to were to impinge on my own life.

He had turned the car down a narrow rutted lane and now pointed to fields lying behind the bordering hedges. ‘All this is Ashmore property. The entrance to the house is further along the main road and you can get only a glimpse of it from Cherry Cottage. In the old days the Ashmores believed in keeping their
menials well out of sight.
’

‘The present Ashmores, from what you tell me, are
doing the same,’ I returned.

He frowned. ‘Perhaps I’m prejudiced, but Vance Ashmore is not one of my favourites.’

I was too busy scanning the hedgerows for my first I glimpse of Cherry Cottage to take more than passing heed of the fact that he singled out Vance for his disapproval.

I gave an exclamation of pleasure as he drew up in front of a rustic gate. A path of crazy paving bordered with masses of golden forsythia and clumps of daffodils led up to a steep-roofed cottage with glittering diamond-paned windows and porch covered with starry white clematis: it looked as perfect as a gingerbread cottage in a fairy tale.

‘I’ll leave you here,’ Bob said hastily when he had deposited me and my cases inside the gate. I was too entranced by the beauty of Cherry Cottage to notice the speed with which he made his departure.

When I reached the door I found it opened immediately into what was obviously the living-room of the cottage. It stood sligh
tl
y ajar and inside I glimpsed Averil kneeling on the floor feverishly packing a cabin trunk.

As I came in she looked up briefly through a cloud of soft golden hair, but there was no, welcoming smile in her azure blue eyes. ‘Thank heavens you’ve arrived,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’ve just received a telegram from Sheila: she wants me to meet her tonight: it seems she’s giving a big party before we sail and I’d simply hate to miss it.’

I let my cases drop and surveyed her in blank dismay. ‘But I understood you
weren’t
leaving for a few days. It will take time for you to brief me: there will be all sorts of things I’ll have to know before you go.’

Impatien
tl
y Averil returned to her packing. ‘I might
have known you’d raise objections. Do be reasonable! After all, you can learn the ropes as you go along, and there’s nothing mysterious about housekeeping in Warefield, I can assure you. We don’t lead a particularly hectic life down here. That’s one of the reasons I’m so terribly keen to get away: sometimes I feel I’ll die of boredom: you’ve no idea how incredibly hideous life in the country can be. Sometimes I feel I’m being buried alive!’

‘Then why didn’t you refuse Vance Ashmore’s offer in the first place?’ I asked in bewilderment.

For a moment I saw her pause in her hectic packing and her back stiffen as though with shock at my words, then without answering my question she said in a slightly artificial voice, ‘I’m sure you’re dying for a cup of tea: the kettle’s boiling in the kitchen: do be a dear and fix things up for yourself, won’t you? I’d have had something ready for you to eat if I weren’t in such a desperate hurry. I ordered a taxi to call for me here in about half an hour.

I refrained from pointing out that while she had remembered to order a taxi for herself she had forgotten to arrange for one to meet me at the station. Anyway, I realized that a complaint wouldn’t really make much impression on her.

Feeling bewildered and frustrated, I did as she asked. The kitchen was much bigger than the living-room with an inglenook fireplace that in olden days must have blazed merrily with log fires that roared up the wide chimneypiece, but now the hearth was filled with a range on which bubbled a gleaming aluminum kettle. In the oaken dresser that seemed to have grown into the walls I found sugar and tea, but in spite of a thorough search in the cupboards and in the small pantry I found no traces of milk. However, I made tea in the ancient china pot I found on the top shelf of the dresser. I was too tired to bother searching further. With a sigh of relief I sat down in an old wooden-backed kitchen chair and sipped the bitter brew. Through an open window I caught a glimpse of the delicate pink blossoms of flowering cherry outlined against a china blue sky. As Bob Pritchard had said, the cottage was a little gem, and I felt a rising happiness as I investigated the twisting and blackened staircase that led to the upper story.

If only Averil had given me time to settle in and feel my way around at my leisure instead of hurling me into the mysteries of country life without the smallest preparation!

It was not long before Averil wandered into the kitchen, looking as calm and unruffled as though she hadn’t been quite recently in the throes of feverishly packing.

She lit a cigarette and filling a mug with tea perched herself on the edge of the table, then made a disgusted moue when she found there was no milk. ‘I’ve sent Rodney to the Ashmore farm for
milk.
They have an enormous dairy and usually supply us, but I expect Rodney has dawdled: he should have been here ages ago.
’

She glanced at me with idle curiosity. ‘Sorry, in the excitement of getting Sheila’s telegram I forgot to send a taxi for you. I suppose you managed to get one at the station.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I returned a little acidly. ‘A Doctor Robert Pritchard drove me: we travelled down together.’

Averil gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Bob Pritchard!
How amusing—especially when he disapproves of me so thoroughly!’

I gazed at her in astonishment. ‘But why on earth should he disapprove of you?’

She shrugged and slid from the table. ‘Perhaps I’ve wounded his pride. Who knows? Men are peculiar creatures. Anyway, who cares about Bob Pritchard’s opinions!’ she added contemptuously. ‘If you come up to my room I’ll try to answer some of the questions I
can
see hovering on your lips.’

I followed her up the narrow staircase to her room. The sloping beams were blackened with age and the tiny panes of glass in the window under the eaves sparkled in the sun, but I knew it was not Averil’s doing that the valance about the dressing-table was crisp and white and that the old furniture had the rich glow of well-polished chestnuts.

Averil crossed to the dressing-table and began to rummage in a box of make-up. ‘By the way, Mrs. McAlister from the town comes up every morning and sees to things generally. She does the shopping, which is handy as we’ve no car so far. She’s really an angel, for you know how hopeless I am when it comes to co
oking
and I simply loathe housework. She leaves everything in apple pie order, so at least you’ll be saved that bother. Anyway, it will give you more time to take care of Rodney. He really is rather a little demon, but I expect he’ll grow out of it in time. By the way,’ she added casually, ‘if I were you I wouldn’t take anything Mrs. McAlister says too seriously: she’s an inveterate gossip and rather prides herself on being a bit of a character: I find it’s best to take her remarks with a pin
c
h of salt.’ She gave a short laugh, but her eyes met
mine
in the mirror and I noticed the sharpness of her glance and for a moment I wondered vaguely why Averil of all people should bother to warn me against a loquacious household help.