Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax (32 page)

Miss Hartshorne looked shaken. “Why—why, no,” she said in an astonished voice. “No, I don’t believe we have.”

Mrs. Pollifax pushed wide the door and walked inside. “Do sit down, I’ll put some water on to boil and then I’ll join you.” Leaving package and newspaper on the couch she hurried out to the kitchen to fill the tea kettle. “There,” she said, returning, “that won’t take but a minute.” From where she sat she could see the headline on the newspaper that Miss Hartshorne had given her:
RESCUED SCIENTIST GAINS STRENGTH
,
DR
.
HOWELL TO MEET PRESS TOMORROW
. Mrs. Pollifax smiled contentedly.

“Your package,” pointed out Miss Hartshorne.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The package. Aren’t you dying of curiosity or is it something you ordered from Mexico?”

Startled, Mrs. Pollifax turned to eye the box beside her. “No, I didn’t order it and yes, I
am
curious. Would you hand me the scissors on the table beside you, Miss Hartshorne? I’ll attack this right now.”

Scissors in hand she cut the strings. The box inside bore the label of a very expensive shop near the Hotel Reforma Intercontinental. “What on earth,” she murmured, and eagerly tore it open. “Serapes!” she gasped.

“How beautiful,” said Miss Hartshorne in a hushed voice. “A gift? How many friends you must have made, Mrs. Pollifax.”

Mrs. Pollifax lifted out first one and then another until the couch was aflame with their brilliant colors.

“Six!” cried Miss Hartshorne.

“Why so there are,” beamed Mrs. Pollifax. “One for each grandchild, one for Roger, one for Jane and one for myself. Isn’t that lovely?” Then she saw the card that had been slipped
between the folds of the last serape. It read very simply, “With mingled gratitude and apologies, Carstairs.”

Carstairs.… A great warmth filled Mrs. Pollifax at the thoughtfulness of such a busy man. She glanced around her apartment at the familiar furniture, the sunshine striping the rugs, the atmosphere of quiet security, and just for a moment a procession of unusual people trouped through her thoughts: a goatherder and his wife, a Genie who talked of life’s choices being like intersections on a road map, Colonel Nexdhet of the walrus moustache, Lulash, Major Vassovic and a man named John Sebastian Farrell who faced pain with gaiety. She said with a smile, “I met a great many unforgettable people on my trip, Miss Hartshorne. Somewhat eccentric people, perhaps, but extremely unforgettable, all of them.

Simultaneously the tea kettle began to sing and the telephone rang. Mrs. Pollifax said hastily, “Oh, Miss Hartshorne, would you pour the tea? The tea bags are in the cupboard over the stove and so are the cups. Do you mind?”

Miss Hartshorne laughed. It was the first time that Mrs. Pollifax had ever heard her laugh. “How casually you live, Mrs. Pollifax. This takes me back to my college days. No, of course I don’t mind, this is really quite fun.” Over her shoulder she called, “Call me Grace, won’t you?”

But Mrs. Pollifax had already picked up the telephone. “Why Roger!” she exclaimed with pleasure. “How wonderful to hear from you, dear. Yes, I got in only a moment ago.” She listened attentively to her son. “Worried?” she repeated. “You worried about me when I telegraphed I was staying longer? Yes, I fully intended to write but I was so busy.” Mrs. Pollifax laughed suddenly and delightedly. “Roger dear, what possible trouble could I have gotten into at my age and in Mexico of all places.…” Her gaze fell to the serapes lying on the couch. With a small, very private smile Mrs. Pollifax picked up the card that had arrived with them and slipped it into her pocket.