Read Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree Online
Authors: Nancy Atherton
“Will you take Goya and Matisse with you?” I asked.
“Naturally,” he said. “They adore our little jaunts to London.”
“Lucky puppies,” I said, and nodded at the painting. “Thanks for tackling the job, Grant. I think it’s a waste of time, but William doesn’t, and it’s
his
masterpiece.”
“You are a philistine, Lori,” Grant scolded. He swept a hand over the white table. “You can’t pass judgment on a work of art you can’t see. My ministrations may uncover a vital link to Fairworth’s past. Even if it has little or no monetary value, it should be preserved and cherished.”
“If you preserve it, William will cherish it,” I said, laughing, but as I turned back to the window, the laughter died in my throat.
A silver Audi was parked in front of Wysteria Lodge. No one in Finch owned a silver Audi.
“Sorry, Grant,” I said, dashing toward the staircase. “Gotta run. Have a great time in London!”
“Your dust cloth!” Grant called, holding the paper bag out to me.
“Keep it!” I called over my shoulder.
Grant Tavistock was no fool. As I scurried out of the workroom, he darted to the window to find out what had caught my eye. I could feel him and many other people watching me as I hurried across the green, but it wasn’t the sense of being observed that rattled me. It was the telltale jingling sound made by the sleigh bells attached to the Emporium’s front door as it swung open.
Peggy Taxman had finished her breakfast.
Nine
Big ships take longer than small ones to work up a head of steam. Since Peggy Taxman outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds, she stood no chance of reaching the Audi before I did, but even I couldn’t get to it as quickly as Bill. He popped out of Wysteria Lodge like a jack-in-the-box and bent to speak to the driver through the car’s open window.
“
No se preocupe, Señor Cocinero
,” he was saying as I skidded to a halt next to him. “My wife will be glad to show you the way to Fairworth House.”
“It is too much trouble,” the driver protested in heavily accented but fluent English. “I could not ask such a favor.”
“Nonsense!” I gasped and slid into the passenger’s seat so fast that I nearly squashed the Panama hat that was sitting there. I snatched the hat from the seat and held it in my lap as I slammed the door. “I
insist
on guiding you. It’s a courtesy we extend to all of our visitors,” I went on, glancing nervously at Peggy Taxman’s looming figure. “Over the bridge and first turn on the left. Let’s not keep Lady Sarah waiting, Señor.
“Vámonos!”
“De acuerdo!”
he responded amiably and drove off before Peggy was halfway across the green. “You and your husband are most kind.”
“Think nothing of it,” I said, ignoring Peggy’s attempts to flag us down. “Lady Sarah is very dear to us. Any friend of hers is a friend of ours.”
Señor Cocinero expressed what I assumed to be his gratitude in a string of words that meant nothing to me.
“Forgive me, Señor,” I said, “but I speak very little Spanish.”
“Forgive
me
,” he countered. “When in England, I should speak English, no?”
“Sí,”
I said distractedly as I watched Peggy’s furious face recede in the rearview mirror. It had been a close-run thing, but Willis, Sr.’s foresight and Bill’s vigilance had prevented the empress from cornering her quarry. Weak with relief, I leaned back in my seat and took a good look at Sally Pyne’s amigo.
As Willis, Sr., had predicted, Henrique didn’t resemble your average pink-faced Englishman. His swarthy complexion, black mustache, and black, wavy hair made me think of sunny beaches and swaying palm trees rather than hedge-lined lanes and sturdy oaks. He had a round, craggy face webbed with laugh lines, and his dark eyes twinkled genially beneath heavy black brows. His white suit was tailored to fit his short, pudgy body, his black shoes shone, and he wore a gold signet ring on the pinkie finger of his right hand. Though he would never find work as a male model, it was easy to see why Sally had found him so attractive. His voice was deep and rich and he emanated an air of old-world charm.
“You are related to Lady Sarah?” he inquired as we crossed the bridge.
“Only by marriage,” I said. “My father-in-law, William Willis, is her cousin. He comes to see us every summer, but he stays with Lady Sarah because Bill and I don’t have enough room for him in our cottage.”
“Lady Sarah tells me that, to her neighbors, she is known as Sally of Finch,” he said. “I am surprised to hear you use her title.”
“The whole family does,” I said, “out of respect.”
“I am glad,” said Henrique. “Lady Sarah, she deserves this respect. You are a close family?”
“We are,” I said. “Very close.”
“I like this very much,” he said. “I am not as lucky as you. My wife died ten years ago and my children live far away. Life is lonely without them. You are fortunate to have those you love near you.”
I was so touched by his story that I almost forgot where we were going.
“We turn here, Señor Cocinero,” I said hastily.
“You must call me Henrique,” he said, executing a neat left-hand turn into Willis, Sr.’s drive. “As you say, Lady Sarah’s friends are my friends, and friends are not so formal.”
“Then you must call me Lori,” I said.
“A pretty name for a pretty señora,” he said, smiling. “You are not English, I think.”
“Bill and I are American,” I said, “but we’ve lived in England for so many years that it’s become our second home.”
“It is good to feel at home when one lives overseas,” said Henrique. “And what a beautiful home Lady Sarah has. Is this indeed Fairworth House?
Estupendo! Es un paraiso!
”
I didn’t know exactly what he’d said, but I’d caught the gist. Bathed in sunlight and framed by the drive’s leafy trees, Fairworth did look like a paradise. I was too preoccupied to appreciate it, however, because it had just dawned on me that I’d forgotten to warn Willis, Sr., of Henrique’s imminent arrival. I could only hope that Bill had called ahead from Wysteria Lodge. If Henrique caught Lady Sarah practicing her deportment, he might wonder what was going on.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “That’s Fairworth House.”
“The gardens have been hurt by drought, perhaps?” he said, gazing at the immature plants sprouting from mulch the landscapers had laid less than a week before the housewarming party.
“Lady Sarah is trying something new,” I improvised, wondering if Sally had even noticed the gardens. “She likes to experiment with color and texture and, um, scent.”
“Ah,” said Henrique, nodding his understanding. “Lady Sarah has the restless spirit of a true artist.”
“We never know what she’ll do next,” I said, with feeling.
A curtain in the attic apartment twitched as Henrique and I got out of the car, so I knew that at least one of the Donovans had noted our arrival. I hoped the lookout would use the staircase instead of the elevator to alert the others. The elevator was convenient, but slow.
I handed Henrique his hat, we climbed the steps to the front door, and I rang the bell while he stood back with a look of pleasant anticipation in his dark eyes. A moment later, Deirdre opened the door, with Declan at her side. I couldn’t tell which one of them had raced down from the apartment because neither seemed flustered or short of breath. Deirdre was dressed in what seemed to be her housekeeper’s uniform—a full-skirted white shirtdress and black snood—and Declan was wearing another short-sleeved shirt with a pair of khaki trousers. They both appeared to be as fresh as daisies.
Deirdre began to greet Henrique in fluent Spanish, but he held up his hand to stop her.
“Muchas gracias, Señora,”
he said, “but I prefer to speak English while I am here. I need the practice.”
“No, you don’t,” I chided him. “You speak English beautifully.”
“I would like to speak it better,” said Henrique, “which requires practice.” He smiled at Deirdre. “Please, indulge me.”
“As you wish, Mr. Cocinero,” she said.
“If I might have your car key, sir?” said Declan, stepping forward. “I’ll see to your luggage and move your vehicle to the garage. We don’t want to leave it sitting unprotected in the hot sun.”
“The sun is much hotter in my country, young man,” said Henrique, “but I take your point.”
Henrique dropped a folded five-pound note into Declan’s hand along with the car key. Declan seemed surprised by the gift, but he tucked it into his pocket and said nothing as he ran off to look after the Audi.
Having successfully delivered Henrique into Deirdre’s safekeeping, I could have excused myself and returned to the village on foot to pick up the Mini, but I didn’t want to spoil a lovely morning by butting heads with Peggy Taxman, who would drop whatever she was doing in order to reprimand me—loudly and publicly—for ignoring her attempts to foil our escape. Given a choice between a contentious confrontation with an irate empress and a ringside seat at the romantic reunion of Sally Pyne and her Mexican gentleman, I did not hesitate to choose the latter.
“If you’ll follow me?” said Deirdre. “Lady Sarah is expecting you.”
Henrique removed his hat and allowed Deirdre and me to proceed him into the entrance hall. His courtliness would, I knew, find favor with Willis, Sr., who exuded a similar brand of old-world charm. Deirdre relieved Henrique of his hat, knocked twice on the morning room door, opened it, announced us, and stood to attention just inside the doorway. When Henrique motioned for me to go ahead of him, I was treated to an unimpeded view of the opening scene in Aunt Dimity’s drama.
The walls of the morning room were a delicate shade of apricot and the tall windows were hung with gold brocade drapes, which had been drawn to allow natural light to flood the room. An Aubusson carpet protected the fine parquet floors, and the ceiling was decorated with a restrained yet intricate pattern of plasterwork. A white marble fireplace faced the door to the entrance hall, and a white-painted door in the corner led to the dining room.
The furnishings were distinctly feminine, with slender cabriole legs and embroidered upholstery. The settee had, for reasons unknown to me, been shifted from its position near the center window to one nearer the fireplace. The change made the room seem slightly off balance, but the effect as a whole was still subtly sumptuous.
Sunbeams fell like spotlights on the room’s occupants. Willis, Sr., stood before the inlaid rosewood writing table that held the Murano paperweights. He was dressed like a country squire, in a lightweight tweed suit and thick-soled brogues. Lady Sarah Pyne sat ramrod straight in the exact center of the settee. She was dressed like a sugary parfait.
Sally was enveloped from neck to ankle in a cloud of orange and yellow chiffon edged with rhinestones at the collar and cuffs. She wore dainty white leather slippers on her feet, which dangled a good five inches above the carpet. A small tiara glittered discreetly among her short, silvery locks and the snowflake-shaped silver pendant Henrique had given her in Mexico glinted among the soft folds of chiffon.
An old, leather-bound book lay beside her on the settee, as if she’d spent the morning improving her mind, and her plump hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She looked absolutely petrified, like an actress who’d forgotten her lines. Bill’s comment about stage fright had, I thought, been spot-on.
“Lady Sarah,” I said encouragingly. “Look who I found in the village.”
Sally took a wavering breath and held out a trembling hand.
“H-Henrique,” she stammered, in an accent that hovered precariously between the queen’s and a fishmonger’s. “H-how good of you to c-come.”
“How good of
you
to welcome me to your splendid home,” Henrique returned. He crossed to kiss Sally’s hand, then held it between both of his. “
Mil gracias por su hospitalidad,
Lady Sarah. Or, as I will say from now on: Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Sarah.”
Pink patches appeared in Sally’s cheeks and a girlish giggle escaped her.
“Don’t be silly, Henrique,” she said. “I simply
adore
it when you speak Spanish.”
“I will speak it for you,
querida
, but you must allow me to speak English to everyone else,” he said. He gazed down at her upturned face and stroked the back of her hand lightly with his fingertips. “How else will I learn to say all that I wish to say to you?”
Sally’s lips parted and her bosom gave a discernible heave, as did mine, but Willis, Sr., ruined the moment by clearing his throat. Recalled to duty, Sally withdrew her hand from Henrique’s and introduced her American cousin.
“A pleasure, sir,” said Willis, Sr., coming forward.
“Also for me,” said Henrique, bowing. “We are to be fellow house-guests, I am told.”
“We are,” said Willis, Sr. “My cousin has been kind enough to allow me to stay with her for the summer.”
“Your cousin is kindness itself,” said Henrique, locking eyes with Sally.
“Mrs. Donovan,” said Sally, “would you please show Señor Cocinero to his room? He’ll be wanting a wash after his journey.”
Sally made it sound as though she expected Deirdre to scrub Henrique down with soap and water, but Henrique didn’t seem to notice.
“Kindness itself,” he repeated in what amounted to a purr.
“We’ll have brunch in the conservatory,” Sally went on. “When you’ve finished with Señor Cocinero, Mrs. Donovan, please meet me in the kitchen to discuss the menu.”
“Very good, my lady,” said Deirdre. “Will you come with me, please, Mr. Cocinero?”
Henrique gave Sally a smoldering look, then followed Deirdre out of the morning room. Willis, Sr., closed the door and a moment of silence ensued.
“Isn’t he just ...,” Sally murmured dreamily.
“He
is
,” I agreed, sighing.
“Ladies,” Willis, Sr., said sternly, “need I remind you that the point of this exercise is to discourage Señor Cocinero from making future visits to Fairworth House? It will be difficult for us to achieve our aim if you continue to behave like a pair of moonstruck adolescents.”