Sister of the Bride (6 page)

It was impossible to refuse the appeal and I slipped on my dressing-gown and took Rodney back to his bedroom. When I had tucked him up I crossed to the small window under the eaves. In the clear cloudless sky a full moon shone down on the orchard turning the blossoms on each charcoal-black branch to clusters of delicate silver filigree. Through tree tops I saw the lights of Ashmore House. Probably the socially prominent Mrs. Ashmore was entertaining. No doubt the wealthy and attractive Vance Ashmore would be the centre of interest. I turned away, irritated that my thoughts had so easily swung to Vance Ashmore, especially as he was the arrogant, didactic type of man I particularly disliked. Rodney was already half asleep and muttered a drowsy goodnight as I closed the door gently behind me.

When I got back to Averil’s room I noticed that the drawer of the tallboy which I had pushed to earlier that evening when I had heard Rodney scream was still slightly open, and before getting into bed I crossed the room and tried to push it shut. However, something had become wedged at the back and was preventing me from closing it properly. I pulled the drawer out fully and discovered that a small buckled snapshot had become lodged behind it. As I straightened it, I was thinking that it was out of character for Averil to gather photos or mementoes of the past. Even when we were children she had not attempted to collect any of the useless junk and knick-knacks that children treasure. With a sense of shock I saw Vance Ashmore glance out at me with the familiar saturnine expression. He had his arm about Averil
’
s shoulders and she had her head thrown back in laughter. With one
hand
she was catching at the strands of hair that formed a windblown halo about her head. She looked happy and very beautiful. Then, with a sense of shock, I saw the date that was scrawled along the foot in Averil’s wide, almost childish, handwriting. It was a few months before Clive had been killed in the Middle East. So already, even before his death, Averil had known and, from her expression, obviously loved Vance Ashmore.

Slowly I replaced the snapshot under the
lining
of the drawer. Clive had not left Averil well off, and I remembered the vague surprise I had felt at the display of expensive cosmetics I had seen in the medicine cabinet that afternoon when I had frantically searched for a salve for Rodney’s non-existent bu
rn
.
Did
Vance, as head of Clive’s firm, then deliberately contrive to get Clive out of the way by sending him on a mission to the Gulf? His absence would mean that he and Averil would be free to meet as often as they liked. I glanced around the room with new eyes, noting the silver hairbrush and hand-mirror delicately enamelled, the tiny clock set in a block of rock crystal: discreet but obviously expensive, they were the kind of present a man like Vance Ashmore would give to a woman, I thought contemptuously. How providential then Clive’s death must have been for them both. Averil had never bothered to pretend that her marriage had been a success, and I remembered how my mother, a stickler for the conventions, had disapproved of Averil’s refusal to adopt the role of sorrowing widow.

I lay awake for a long time feeling a growing sense of disappointment that I realized was connected solely with Vance Ashmore. It was stupid and irrational considering I didn’t like the man. Suddenly my thoughts swung to my conversation with Bob Pritchard in the
train. He had said something about Vance’s half
-
brother Eric being crippled in a shooting accident and about their having their eye on the same woman. He hadn’t exactly started it as a fact, but it had been clear
that
he believed the shot had been fired by Vance. Was it possible Averil was the woman the brothers had quarrelled about? I shivered. What a horrible situation—but one that, knowing Averil as I did, I realized she would relish. As to Vance Ashmore, it was obvious that he could be calculatedly ruthless when he was determined to get his own way.

CHAPTER FOUR

I AWOKE to the sound of the fire crackling cheerfully in the range downstairs and the strains of ‘Annie Laurie’ in a loud and very cracked voice accompanied by the sound of cups and saucers being rattled. So already Mrs. McAlister had arrived and was preparing breakfast. I lay back with a feeling of luxury. The translucent light of early morning flooded the room and through the open window a soft sweet-scented breeze puffed the lavender shirred valance of the dressing-table. I blinked lazily at the white clouds that floated past like mounds of stiffly beaten egg-white. It was wonderful to feel I needn’t hurry down to breakfast or keep an eye perpetually on the clock in case I should be late for work. I heard Rodney thump downstairs, his voice raised in shrill altercation, and the broad uncompromising Scottish tones that answered him.

As I was about to get up there was a knock on the door and a dumpy figure with a round apple-red face marched in bearing a laden tray. ‘Ah, you’re awake,’ she announced breezily. ‘I’ve brought up your breakfast, so don’t you stir. I thought as it was your first day here I’d gie you breakfast in bed.’

When I thanked her, her face glowed with pleasure. ‘It’s no trouble at all, dearie. Anyway, it’ll gie you a rest from Rodney. I know I’m thankful to see the back of him when he goes off to school.’

There was a thunderous bang as the front door
slammed and Mrs. McAlister nodded significantly. ‘There you are! Do you see what I mean? He
’
s a terrible spoiled bairn, there’s no doubt about it. I
’
m feared you’ve no idea what you’ve let yourself in for.
’

‘Oh, but I have,’ I laughed. ‘Rodney came to stay with my mother and me and he raised Cain.’

She nodded understandingly. ‘But I expect his granny didnae mind.’

‘I’m afraid she did,’ I told her dryly. ‘In her case absence makes the heart grow fonder.’

I had used the very words Averil had quoted when referring to Vance and for a passing moment I wondered vaguely if, in his case, the aphorism was true. Was Vance the type of man to wait patiently for her return, or would she have the mortification of discovering that she had been supplanted?

‘I’d never have taken you for Mrs. Etherton’s sister
,’
Mrs. McAlister was saying as she stood, her fat arms akimbo, and surveyed me closely. ‘You’re no ways like.’

‘No,’ I agreed ruefully. So once again the difference between us was being remarked on, and I had no illusions that the comparisons were to my advantage.

‘My, your sister wasn’t half keen to be off on her travels,’ she chuckled. ‘Though to tell the truth I’d have thought she and Mr. Vance would have fixed things up before now. It was easy to see she was dead keen on him—but then nearly all the lassies round and about would give their eye teeth to be Mrs. Ashmore: though I’ll say this for her, there’s not one of them could hold a candle to her for looks—’ Here she paused slyly as though judging the wisdom of continuing.

I suppose at this stage I should have shown firmly
that I had no intention of discussing Averil’s affairs. But an almost overwhelming curiosity possessed me.

I buttered a slice of toast and Mrs. McAlister went on happily, ‘All the lassies were buzzing about Mr. Vance like flies around a honey-pot until one fine day down he drives with Mrs. Etherton, and one look at them together was enough to put the tin lid on all their fine plans, for truth was you could see right away they were mad about each other.’

So I had been correct in the interpretation I had put upon the snapshot!

Mrs. McAlister drew in her breath with an air of satisfaction. ‘Of course, everyone wondered who she was to catch Mr. Vance’s fancy, for he’s a braw laddie and has pots of money forbye, and some said that Mrs. Ashmore would never have her across the door of Ashmore House, for she’s the kind of lady who w
o
uld have to know your seed and breed before she’d as much as give you the time of day. Anyway, Mrs. Etherton wasn’t long at Cherry Cottage before she was invited to a party at Ashmore House, and then everyone knew they’d marry, for it was easy to see that Mr. Vance was behind it, for though Mrs. Ashmore’s high and mighty she doesn’t get her own way with him, I can tell you. That’s why,’ she concluded, her bun-like face thoughtful, ‘I can’t understand Mrs. Etherton tearing off of a sudden, cruise or no cruise, for goodness knows, men are all alike and Mr. Vance along with them. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if some other lassie didn’t fancy her chances with him, now that she’s away.’

Her estimation of Vance Ashmore’s character coin
c
ided so closely with my own that in an effort to change the direction of the conversation I put in
quickly, ‘Mr. Ashmore has a half-brother, hasn’t he?
’

She nodded. ‘That he has, although the poor soul is only able to get around with a pair of sticks. They say he hates Mr. Vance like poison and doesn’t care
w
ho knows it. Oh, he has a real wicked tongue in his head, I can tell you, and sometimes when I go up to oblige Mrs. Ashmore when she’s giving one of her parties I take care to keep out of his way, for you
’
d not know from one minute to the next what he
’
d say to you if the mood was on him, and that
’
s a fact. But then no doubt the poor soul has good cause for the way he feels about Mr. Vance—’ She stopped abruptly as if aware that her garrulousness was leading her into
an indiscretion.

When she spoke again it was merely to tell me what she was planning to
cook for lunch, and when I nodded agreement she disappeared downstairs still exuding an air of ineffable good humour.

When I had finished a leisurely breakfast I slipped into a light cotton frock and sandals and wandered into the garden that lay to the back of the cottage. It was even prettier than I had imagined it: at the end of the orchard a tiny thread of water ran through a coppice of slender birches and wild, hyacinth grew in clumps through the smooth turf. I wandered towards the woods and followed a narrow well-worn path. It must have been this path that Averil had used on her visits to the Ashmores, I was thinking, as I emerged from the woods and found myself on the verge of .an expanse of lawn that extended as smooth as a roll of green felt towards the wide flight of shallow steps that led on to a terrace bordered by a stone balustrade. The house itself was an enormous sprawling affair with unexpected turrets, gables and stained-glass windows. Architecturally, no doubt, it was a disaster but it was certainly imposing and conveyed an air of comfortable security.

Banners of blue smoke emerged from the chimneys and I suddenly became aware that, although no one appeared to be about, I could easily be observed from the many windows. The very idea of being seen
stari
ng inquisitively at the Ashmores’ house made me scuttle back into the woods.

I turned left and followed a path that skirted a
l
arge meadow that lay to the side of the house. The ground began to slope upwards and it was with a rasp of relief that I reached the top of a lit
tl
e hill and flung myself down on the smooth grass.

‘
Quite a pull up, isn’t it?’ a drawling voice said almost at my ear.

I jerked upright. One of the handsomest men I had ever seen was sitting in the shade of a dense green bush topia
ri
ed in the shape of an eagle
.

I laughed ruefully. ‘I didn’t realize when I took this path that the climb would be quite so long.’

He nodded with an air of satisfaction. ‘Yes, I could see that you were undecided whether you should push on or return to the cottage.’

I gazed at him in astonishment. ‘But how on earth could you read my thoughts?’

He tapped the binoculars that hung about his neck
. ‘
These are extremely powerful, and physiognomy is easy when the subject thinks she is unobserved.’

‘Oh!’ I felt uneasy that, unaware, I had been under
hi
s surveillance.

‘One gets a remarkably good view of the countryside up here,
’
he continued. ‘It’s one of my favourite spots.
’

It was true. There was a magnificent sweeping view of Ashmore House, its outbuildings and its surrounding acres and an extremely comprehensive view of Cherry Cottage. Even as he spoke I saw in the distance Mrs. McAlister’s substantial figure go into the orchard and hang out a brilliant blue garment on the washing line. ‘You’re bird-watching?’ I ventured.

He shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t claim to be a nature-lover. I’m simply nosey. I’ve no other reason for being here than the pure unadulterated pleasure of snooping on my neighbours.’ His answer left me speechless, but he appeared to be totally indifferent to the effect this extraordinary confession had on me.

‘There’s no necessity to look shocked,’ he remarked coolly. ‘What else were you doing but snooping on Ashmore House?’

I flushed with embarrassment, then said lamely, ‘Well, it is rather a show-piece in this part of the country, isn’t it?’

‘And what conclusions have you come to? Goodness knows, you examined it keenly enough.’

I twiddled uncomfortably with a piece of grass. ‘Well, it’s very large and imposing, but it’s a bit of a hotch-potch. Personally I prefer Cherry Cottage.’

He gave a little crow of malicious laughter. ‘Wait until I tell Mother what you think of her precious palace! She thinks it’s wonderful, you know, and that everyone’s speechless with admiration.’

‘Oh!’ I drew in my breath with dismay. ‘Why didn’t you let me know who you were?’

He reached into the foliage at the foot of the bush and for the first time I saw the protruding crooks of two stout walking sticks. Slowly and painfully he pulled himself to his feet. There was something shockingly incongruous about the pale classical features and the shattered and distorted legs.