Whiskers & Smoke (14 page)
Authors: Marian Babson
There was a burst of applause from the audience. The lights returned to their normal brightnessâI had not realized that they had been dimmedâand all the dark shadows disappeared. People were themselves again.
“Some production, eh?” Noah and the children had joined in the applause. I had not.
“Yes,” I said. Lois still looked frightened and worried. I could not blame her. “Quite ⦠spectacular.”
I
rang Celia in the morning to suggest we carry out that long-projected shopping expedition into Boston. All of us. Especially the children. The bright sunshine had not quite dispersed the shadows of the night and I had begun planning ways to wean them away from Camp Mohigonquinâjust in case. I no longer felt that they were in such good hands there.
rang Celia in the morning to suggest we carry out that long-projected shopping expedition into Boston. All of us. Especially the children. The bright sunshine had not quite dispersed the shadows of the night and I had begun planning ways to wean them away from Camp Mohigonquinâjust in case. I no longer felt that they were in such good hands there.
“We might as well,” I urged. Celia was curiously reluctant. “I've given up hoping for cooler weather. Anyway, the stores are all air-conditioned. We'll be more comfortable inside than out. Unless you feel the drive is too much for you?”
“Oh no.” Celia had always hated admitting to weakness. “It's just thatâ” She broke off and I could almost hear her mental calculations.
“You may be right,” she said. “Patrick won't want to comeâcities and crowds make him too nervous these daysâbut I'll bring Luke. There'll be sales on and it isn't
too early to be think about back to school clothes. The only thing is, I'll have to stop and do an errand on the way.”
too early to be think about back to school clothes. The only thing is, I'll have to stop and do an errand on the way.”
“That will be fine,” I said. “We're in no hurry.”
The postman brought another letter from Nancyâand I hadn't answered her first one yet. I was oddly disinclined to open it. It was not that reading about what was going on at home would bring too many memories flooding backâthey had never left me.
Perhaps it was that I simply did not want to be faced with any more proof that my lifeâall the important parts of itâwas out of my control. Now another woman and her family occupied my home and, inevitably, there must be changes. (How much of the hedge was destroyed? Would Lania blame me for allowing strangers to disrupt our quiet little world?) I looked at the smooth curving American writing on the envelope and knew that I did not wish to read any more unsettling bulletins.
Then I reminded myself that Nancy was Patrick's cousin. He was bound to inquire after her. Perhaps she had written to him, too, and he would question me about information we were both presumed to share. With some trepidation, I slid my finger under the flap and ripped open the envelope.
“Dear Rosemaryâ” Nancy wrote with more formality than was usual with her. “I haven't heard from you yet and I hope everything is all right.”
I began to feel somewhat less beleaguered. Nancy, too, must be having her own doubts about turning her home over to strangers.
Don't be afraid to tell me if it isn'tâI know how these things can happen. If Errol has thrown up on the living-room carpet again, don't worry about it. That carpet has spent more time in the cleaners than it has on the floor. We have a charge account there, so just call them up and tell them to come over and collect it.
Errol strolled into the room just then and I looked at him with new surmise. “How's the old tum?” I asked suspiciously. “Feeling all right? If it isn't, you can get right out of hereâI have enough to contend with.”
Errol twitched his whiskers huffily, sharpened his claws on a corner of the sofa just to show me whose territory this was, then turned and made a dignified exit. I went back to Nancy's letter.
I hope I don't sound paranoiac or anythingâbut I haven't heard from a living soul over there since I left. I'm beginning to feel as though some great catastrophe the Powers That Be are keeping from us has wiped the whole continent off the face of the earth and everybody is afraid to admit it. When you see Patrick, tell him he's a lousy fink for not writing.
I found myself smiling and reading the letter became less of a chore. Nancy was sharp and funny, her pen-pictures of my old friends, and neighbors were recognizable, although oddly askew, viewed through her New England eyes. I wondered if she would think the same if I wrote her my impressions of Pixie Toller, Greg, Lois, Noah Peterson and the rest. I must get down to a letter to herâperhaps tomorrow.
I had relaxed too soon. Nancy's PS carried a sting in the tail:
By the way, I'm awfully sorry about thisâbut you know that Victorian jardiniere in the hall? Well, the kids were trying their new roller-skatesâit had to be inside, because it was raining as usualââand Donald crashed into it. It's good and sturdy. When I picked it up, there were just a few chips missing (I'm afraid Donna crushed them to powder under her skates before she could stop herself.) But I rubbed over the chipped places with my green eyeshadowâit was almost a perfect matchâand, really, you'd never notice it was damaged. Of course we'll buy you a new oneâI mean, a replacement. I do hope you'll forgive us. It was an accident and couldn't be helped.
For a start, she could have kept her little monsters from making a skating rink out of my front hallâ
“Mummyâ” Tessa had been watching outside. “Auntie Celia's here.”
“Fine, darling.” I pulled myself together and determined to stop worrying about what couldn't be helped. “Call Timothy and we'll be off.”
Patrick was in the front seat, along with Luke. Celia was driving. “You lot get in back,” she said. “Patrick is just hitching a lift to town with us. We'll leave him off and then we won't be so crowded.”
“I have a message for you, Patrick,” I said, getting in. “Someone thinks you're a lousy fink.”
“You've heard from Nancy!” He turned round, eyes alight with pleasure. “How is she? What does she think of things over there? What else did she say?”
Celia ground the gears as we leaped away from the kerb.
“Here, read it for yourselfâ” I handed the letter to
him. He took it eagerly. “She wants a letter from you.”
him. He took it eagerly. “She wants a letter from you.”
“She hadn't sent me one.” His voice was aggrieved. “Unlessâ” he brightenedâ“it's in the post. Maybe she's had a letter-writing session and sent off a lot at once. Look, Celiaâ” he waved the missive at her. “A letter from Nancy! Isn't that great?”
“Yessss,” Celia hissed.
“Do you mindâ” Patrick turned back to meâ“if I hold on to this and read it later?” He fingered it appreciatively. “It feels nice and thick.”
Celia hurtled around a corner with unnecessarily violence.
“Quite all right,” I assured him, deciding not to mention the earlier letter. “You can give it back when you're finished with it.”
“Here we areâ” Celia slammed on the brakes. She glared at her oblivious husband. “This is where you get off!”
“Oh, yes, thanks.” Patrick got out, displaying more animation that I had yet seen in him. “And thank you, Rosemary, thanks a lot.”
“Don't bother doing supper for us,” Celia snapped. “We'll eat in Boston.” She sent him a deadly smile. “That will give you more time to write to Nancy.”
“Good idea.” He was left staring after us blankly as we roared away.
The children didn't seem to have noticed anything, so I held my peace. In any case, I knew better than to cross Celia when she was in this sort of mood. I was surprised, though. I had had the impression that she and Nancy were
good friends. It was beginning to look as though all the friendship was on Patrick's sideâand bitterly resented by Celia.
good friends. It was beginning to look as though all the friendship was on Patrick's sideâand bitterly resented by Celia.
We drove through town in silence, except for the prattle of the children. Just before we reached the turn for the main highway, Celia slowed down.
“I just have to run in here for a minute.” She pulled up in front of the Singletons' antique shop. “It won't take long.”
“Oh, good.” I started to get out. “I haven't seen this place yet. I've been wanting toâ”
“Can we come too?” Tessa and Timothy tried to crowd out behind me.
“You can all wait here!” Celia snapped. “There are too many of us. The shop isn't big enough.” She reached over and took a small wrapped parcel from the glove compartment before getting out. “And it's the kind of placeâ” she warned meâ“where, if you break anything, you've bought it.”
“You'd better stay here,” I told Tessa and Timothy. “We won't be long.”
Celia gave me a venomous look and I smiled at her blandly. “Don't worry,” I said. “I won't break anything.”
The shop bell tinkled as we opened the door and stepped inside. I was immediately glad that we had left the children in the car. It was one of those artfully-cluttered places, lacking only fake cobwebs sprayed in corners, that set warning bells ringing at the back of one's mind. Viv and Hank would know the placement of every
item to the fraction of a millimeter and the cost of breakage would be excessively high.
item to the fraction of a millimeter and the cost of breakage would be excessively high.
“Hi, thereâ” Viv emerged from a room at the rear of the shop and came forward beaming. “You finally made it!” she greeted me, while her eyes slid sideways to the parcel in Celia's hand.
“Sorry it took so long,” I told her. “But I'm here now.”
“Wonderful!” She couldn't care less. Long experience had undoubtedly taught her the difference between a buyer and a browser. A seller, however, was another matter. She transferred her welcoming smile to Celia, allowing a slight pre-bargaining chill to creep into it, but she could not hide the acquisitive gleam in her eyes.
“I'd like to speak to you for a minuteâ” Celia was not prepared to waste time. “If my sister will excuse us.”
“Don't bother about me,” I said. “I'm quite content to browse.”
“Certainly.” Viv answered us both, a certain sardonic tilt of one eyebrow betraying that I had answered as expected. She continued to look with favor on me, however. Celia's home was a storehouse of potential profit; who knew what goldmine her sister might possess back in England?
Not even I knew that. Nor would I know until Nancy and her tribe had finished their dilapidations and I got home to see what had been left intact.
Celia and Viv disappeared into the back and I heard a brief murmur of voices before the door was firmly closed. With a mental shrug, I began my browsing.
After I had picked up the thistle-etched Jacobean drinking glass and looked at the price, I didn't pick up anything else. My fingers had gone quite weak at the sight and I didn't want to tempt Providence. I contented myself with twisting my head to try to read the price tags; those I could decipher made me feel increasingly giddy. The more exclusive items were priced in code, still others were unpriced: the universal code for
If you have to ask, you can't afford it
.
If you have to ask, you can't afford it
.
I moved over to the other side of the shop where an opulently unobtrusive butler's tray and stand held a selection of delicate porcelain. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at.
The set of Four Seasons figurines, the Lalique lampâeven the butler's tray itselfâwere all too familiar. The last time I had seen themâapart from photographsâwas when I had helped Celia to pack them.
It was no more than I had suspected, but it was still disconcerting. Previously I had felt guilty for harboring such suspicions, now I felt worse for having proved them. With Celia right in the next room, too.
I moved away rapidly before she could return and discover me discovering her. It was just as well I did. I had hardly reached the neutral zone of Early American milk glass when the door at the rear of the shop opened and Celia and Viv came back to join me.
“See anything you can't resist?” Viv asked archly.
“Not really,” I smiled. “I'm afraid it's all too rich for my blood.”
“You mustn't tempt her now, Viv,” Celia scolded. “We're on our way to Boston for a shopping spree.”
Unconsciously she patted her handbag with a little smile of satisfaction. “We're looking for clothes this trip.”
Unconsciously she patted her handbag with a little smile of satisfaction. “We're looking for clothes this trip.”
“You'll find them. The stores will be unloading their summer lines now to make way for the Fall stock. I wish I could come with you, but Hank's off on a buying tour and someone has to keep the home fires burning.”
I glanced at her sharply, but she appeared unaware of any double entendre in what she had just said. Probably it had been said in all innocence, but if I were one of the native inhabitants of Edgemarsh Lake, I'd be a bit more careful about my language these days.
“Come on.” Celia nudged me forward. “The kids will be getting restless.”
“Have fun,” Viv called after us.
“There!” Celia said, as the screen door swung shut behind us. “That's a good job done. I've been bored with those old miniatures for years and Viv's been longing to get her hands on them.”
“Oh, Celiaânot those lovely âAfter Gainsboroughs'?!”
“I'm planning to redecorate,” Celia said firmly, “and they won't go with my new color scheme. Besides, Viv finally made me an offer too good to refuse. Mind you, she'll get a lot more than that for them, even though she has to send them to her New York shop to do it. There just isn't that sort of money around here any more.”
“It does seem a shame.” Celia had always maintained that the beauty of paintings was that they transcended color schemes. However, it was done and there was no point arguing.
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