Village Affairs (43 page)
Authors: Cassandra Chan
“I’ve been looking forward to it all evening,” admitted Astley-Cooper. “Now, what was I saying?”
“Losing your temper with Reverend Tothill.”
“Oh, yes, yes.” Astley-Cooper nodded. “I was doing a great deal more listening than talking, you understand, but then Richard happened to say something about the sanctity of the marriage vows. So I said, ‘Well, if they’re so sacred, I don’t see why her breaking one of them gives you leave to break any of the others. You did vow to take her for better or worse, you know.’ And he fell silent at once and seemed to actually be thinking. Which I thought was very good because I don’t believe he’s been doing much of that. Thinking, I mean.”
“No,” agreed Bethancourt, chewing industriously. “And in any case, she
hasn’t
broken her vows, so he has even less reason to break his. There must be some way to convince him.”
Astley-Cooper took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich. “Half his complaint is that he can’t go on without her,” he said slowly. “In truth, I think he’d eventually take her back even if she had betrayed him. I knew him, you know, before he was married, when he first came here. He’s always been quite a practical chap—I liked that about him right away, while everyone else was still complaining about how young he was. This has been a great shock to him, but he’ll come to his senses once he’s had time to think it all over. At the moment, though, it’s rather as if his favorite dog has bitten him and he can’t quite believe it’s happened.”
“If half his complaint is that he can’t go on without her,” said Bethancourt around a mouthful of mutton, “he should be relieved to realize he doesn’t need to.”
“As you say,” agreed Astley-Cooper. “And I’m sure I hope he comes around by morning. I tell you, it’s very difficult being the man’s only confidant. I’m not at all suited to it, really.”
“Well, you’ll have some help tomorrow,” said Bethancourt. “Apparently the vicar is quite close to his father-in-law, and he’ll be arriving in the morning.”
“That’s true,” said Astley-Cooper, cheering slightly. “Richard lost his own father while he was still in his teens, you know, so he was glad to be adopted by Leandra’s. Yes, I daresay Michael will sort it all out.”
Bethancourt, finishing the last of his sandwich, could not help wishing that someone would take this much interest in reconciling him and Marla. But he pushed that thought aside; Marla was always more impressed by actions than she was by words, and there was no action he could take until he returned to London.
“I was thinking of going back tomorrow afternoon,” he told Astley-Cooper. “If you think you can cope, that is.”
“My dear boy,” said Astley-Cooper, “you must do exactly as you like. You’ve been a tower of strength through all this upset and I don’t mind admitting to you that I’m not awfully fond of houseguests as a rule, but I’ve enjoyed your company thoroughly. You must come back sometime when no one has been murdered or anything unpleasant like that.”
Bethancourt laughed. “By all means,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”
“Because,” added Astley-Cooper, “Chipping Chedding is normally a very quiet, ordinary sort of place. Prettier than most, but quite ordinary otherwise. I don’t feel you’ve got at all a proper impression of us on this visit.”
“I don’t know, Clarence,” said Bethancourt. “Some places and people show their best side in adversity. I’d say Chipping Chedding was that sort of place.”
“Very good of you to say,” said Astley-Cooper, beaming, but in the next moment his smile had become a yawn.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said. “Perhaps it’s time for bed, what do you think?”
“I’m with you there,” replied Bethancourt.
They left their plates and bottles for Mrs. Cummins to clean up, and mounted the beautiful Jacobean staircase, whose newel posts were considered a particularly fine example of their period.
“G
ood God,” said Marla, as she entered her sitting room.
On the table to her right was an arrangement of two dozen red roses, received that morning, and around her throat was a jade necklace which had arrived from Asprey’s the day before. Bethancourt had been back in town for almost a week, and although she had yet to speak to him, the evidence of his return was all around her. Presents had arrived with regularity, always accompanied by romantic notes (mostly plagiarized from the great poets). There was a new silk scarf in her drawer, and a framed charcoal sketch of her face was propped up on her desk. She couldn’t imagine who he had found to do that in such a hurry. In the kitchen was a box of her favorite chocolates, also accompanied by flowers.
But none of this was what attracted her attention now. She thought she had heard some noise from the street, and the cause of this was now apparent. Outside her window, which was tightly closed against the inclement October weather, Bethancourt was standing on the fire escape. Behind him, pressed up against the railings, was another man with a guitar who was accompanying Bethancourt while he sang “Greensleeves” in a quite passable voice.
Marla simply stared at him for a moment. She toyed briefly with the idea of leaving the flat by the back entrance, but she knew she had been relenting in any case, and in another moment she began to giggle. She crossed to the window and opened it.
“ … and who but my lady Greensleeves?” Bethancourt sang at her.
“How on earth did you get out there?” she demanded.
“I bribed the woman downstairs,” he responded. “Are you tired of ‘Greensleeves’? I wasn’t sure how well you could hear through the window.”
Marla squinted out in the darkness at the man behind Bethancourt, who was still playing the tune.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“This is Jim, a friend of mine’s younger brother.” Jim smiled and nodded as he continued to play. “He’s at university and is an aficionado of English folk music. Perhaps,” he added to Jim, “we had better go on to the next one. She doesn’t seem too taken with ‘Greensleeves.’”
“I think,” said Marla, “you had better come in. It’s going to rain.”
Bethancourt bowed. “My lady,” he said, “we had not hoped for so great an honor.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” she said, standing aside as they climbed in. She paused while Jim politely closed the window behind him. “The necklace is beautiful, Phillip,” she said softly.
He shrugged. “Less than you deserve after the disgraceful way I behaved,” he answered, but he eyed the necklace as he spoke. It had not come cheap, nor had the roses or the scarf, and even Jim had had to be bribed before he would consent to drag his guitar out on a damp night and spend his evening perched on a fire escape. No one, Bethancourt reflected, seemed to believe in romantic love anymore.
“Excuse me,” said Jim, “but if we’ve finished playing, I think I’d better get on. It was very nice to meet you, Marla.”
“Delighted,” said Marla vaguely, while Bethancourt thanked his musician and ushered him swiftly out the door. As he turned back, he found Marla standing close beside him, a smile playing about the corners of her perfect mouth.
“Phillip,” she said, “I think I’ve decided to forgive you.”
“Have you, Marla?” he replied. “I’m awfully glad.”
But his last words were lost as she reached to kiss him. And as he gathered her into his arms, he decided that winning her back had not really been so expensive after all.
The Young Widow
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
VILLAGE AFFAIRS. Copyright © 2006 by Cassandra Chan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eISBN 9781429934664
First eBook Edition : February 2011
First Edition: November 2006