Femmes Fatal (14 page)

“Vicar said she didn’t need me because her husband just loved to do housework. Can you believe that?”

“Well …”

“I’d say love came into it, but not for scrubbing floors and the like, Mrs. Haskell. Yesterday, I heard Mr. Spike having a go-round with Gladys Thorn and it was plenty clear to me there was something between them. What’s more, he
knew
I heard. You should have seen the flash in his eyes. Talk about if looks could kill! And what do you know? A couple of hours later me and that trollop, Miss Thorn—we both get our walking papers.”

Exhausted by this spate of words, Mrs. Pickle fell silent, the duster dangling limp in her hands.

“I suspect you’re right,” was all I could say.

“And I know you should be at Marriage Makeover.” She spoke, if possible, even more slowly. Stepping around me, she plodded down the stairs to stand in the pool of light from the skylight above us both. “Mrs. Haskell”—Mrs. Pickle folded her duster and laid it over the banister rail—“I want to tell you why Reverend Foxworth asked to be relieved of his duties at St. Anselm’s. It was all on account of you.”

“Me?”

“Bless his shiny white collar, he fell in love with you the day you came to Merlin’s Court.”

“No!”

“He said to me, ‘Mrs. Pickle, I can’t go on like this, one eye on my sermon, one on her. I’m going to speak
to the Bishop and beg him to send me away, anywhere, so long as I can be free from the torment of her face.’ ”

“Believe me, I had no idea.” Standing on that staircase, I was in no-man’s-land. There was no upstairs or downstairs, there was only the realization that kind, sensitive, handsome Rowland Foxworth had cherished for me a Grand Passion.

“Was a time when I hated you, Mrs. Haskell, but I come to see you never meant to hurt him. Life can’t be a Fantasy Special Edition Romance for everyone. Take me for an instance. I’ve been in love with your gardener, Jonas Phipps, since time began.”

I left her dusting the banister in slow motion, and wended my way up that spiral staircase. Never in my life had I felt more Fully Female than at that moment. I knew myself to be the object of Rowland’s Unrequited Regard. I never gave another thought to Mrs. Malloy’s gun. What hit me like a bullet between the eyes when I reached the top stair was the memory of the vicar’s surprised expression on meeting me last night. Now I understood she had been anticipating someone much different—a real femme fatale.

Marriage Makeover was taking place in the dining room, which like every apartment in this Hollywood-style house redefined geometric space. Early Druid, Ben would have called it. I followed the sound of voices and entered with the whimsical feeling that I was taking an elongated peep at the room and its occupants through a keyhole. Bunty was seated at the far end of the mile-long table. Ranged down both sides, at strategic intervals, their chins down to their waists, sat a dozen or so members of Fully Female.

I was tiptoeing toward a vacant chair when our
leader held up a hand. A hush fell like a blanket over a birdcage.

“Fellow Females, say hello to Ellie Haskell.”

“Hello, Ellie!” The voices charged at me as I dropped quivering onto my seat. Everywhere I looked were smiles. I was beset by smiles.

Bunty’s smile was as shiny bright as her blonde curls. “No need to break out in a cold sweat, love! All we do here is talk.”

My worst fears realised. They would hold me prisoner until I had spilled every last bean concerning my intimate life … or present lack thereof. Bunty went on talking in a rush of words that went spinning around my head. My eyes darted here, there, and everywhere, searching for a break in the cover, and finally spied the familiar face of Jacqueline Diamond, wife of my favourite TV celeb, Norman the Doorman. How magnanimous! The great lady was removing her dark glasses to take a better look at me.

My mistake. She was pushing back her chair and rising to her feet. Finally, Bunty’s spiel caught up with me in a sort of instant replay. Jacqueline, being one of the new members present, was to get the ball rolling by revealing what had brought her to Fully Female.

She seemed such an urbane woman with her sweep of ash-blonde hair, Lauren Bacall eyes, and twenty-two-inch waist, shown off to perfection by her rhinestone cowboy outfit. It seemed all wrong that she should bare her soul to a bunch of yokels such as us. Across the vast table Mrs. Wardle, the librarian, sat bolt forward as if someone had grabbed the strap of her forty-four triple D, ready to catapult her across the room. Two seats down from her sat Mrs. Thirsty, the headmistress of the village school, click-clicking away with her steel knitting pins like a bloody revolutionary waiting for the guillotine to come slicing down. Not on my neck, by heck! But
of course I was deluding myself. As soon as Jacqueline Diamond was through doing a mental striptease, it would be my turn. Desperate for some sort of emotional support, I searched that sea of faces for someone I could even loosely regard as a friend. But Moll Bludgett hadn’t made it up here after her talk with Miss Thorn, and Edna Pickle would still be dusting.

Jacqueline Diamond stood behind her chair, gleaming red nails gripping the knobs. “First up, ladies, let me say I’m a perfectionist.” Her sleepy eyes roved the table. “My motto has always been, If you can’t do it right, kiddo, don’t do it at all: which is why Normie and I have never had too much sex.”

Bunty got the applause going. “Everyone, give Jacqueline a big hand for honesty!”

I slid lower in my chair.

“Normie jokes that I’m the sort of person who sprays air freshener outdoors. That’s the way I am. Everything has to be just so, especially when we … have a party, as we call it. I want fresh flowers and dripless candles, the works. Normie’s different, he …”

“Yes?” The word buzzed like a bee around the table.

“Normie …” The red nails picked at the chair knob. “He used to toss his shoes in the air and say, ‘How about it, old chum?’ But since he got the role of Norman the Doorman …”

“Yes?” This time the word was a roar.

“Now he’s the one with the headache. He’s so into that bloody part, he never takes off his cape. He refuses to have sex with me because he thinks thousands of kiddies would be shocked out of their socks if they suspected their hero was up to tricks when he should be out leaping over rooftops in a single bound in pursuit of the evil Toy Snatcher.”

Looking spent, Jacqueline resumed her chair.

“Young woman,” Headmistress Thirsty said as she laid down her knitting pins, “you need to be doing your homework.”

“But your problem is not insurmountable,” warbled Mrs. Wardle.

“Any suggestions from the floor?” Bunty asked.

To my horror, a treacherous right hand inched upward. Mine. Immediately, the eyes of all present zoomed my way. Stumbling to my feet, I bleated out an apology for my forwardness … my very existence.

“And you are …?” inquired the librarian.

“Ellie Haskell.”

“Our other new member,” supplied Bunty.

“It just sort of occurred to me that if Mrs. Diamond were to enact a fantasy in which she was the dolly in need of rescue, Mr. Diamond might feel comfortable in resuming the husbandly role.”

The air quickened with the sharp intake of breath. Was I destined to be banished on the spot? Alas, not so. The room was suddenly asqueal with congratulations on my brilliant contribution. What Mrs. Diamond thought was lost in the crush of excitement. Several women left their seats to rush over and hug me.

“Mrs. Haskell, welcome to our little group!”

“You’re going to be such an asset!”

“A breath of fresh air!”

“Such insight!”

When the hubbub ebbed a little, Bunty called the meeting back to order. “New members, each week all Fully Female candidates are required to do a homework assignment. Jacqueline, you might like to consider Ellie’s suggestion as a possibility. Which brings us to the moment when our second new person will tell us what brought her to Fully Female.”

Sunlight came slicing down on the table in the shape
of a golden guillotine, but enveloped in the mantle of friendship, I stood undaunted, ready to meet my fate. To be truthful, my only regret as my Fellow Females settled back into their chairs was that my saga would sound tame after Jacqueline’s.

Perhaps if I doctored it up by stating my Christian name in its entirety.… “I’m Giselle Haskell and I reside at Merlin’s Court, Chitterton Fells, with my husband Bentley, our twins Abbey and Tam, and our gifted cat Tobias. These last few months I have been unhappy with my performance as a wife … as a human being. I am failing everyone—even my plants …”

The going was easier than I thought, but at the crucial moment, when I was all braced to confess that I was not as highly motivated sexually as one might wish, I was jarred out of myself by the distant pealing of a bell.

“Bloomin’ heck!” Bunty was on her feet and heading out of the room. “That must be the new vicar. She rang up this morning and insisted on coming round to bestow her blessing on the Fully Female program.” Still talking, Bunty vanished. She returned seconds later, followed by a black-garbed figure in lace mitts and a flower-seller’s hat.

My emotions were in a turmoil. I resented being stopped midstream, and I was embarrassed at having the Reverend Mrs. Eudora Spike catch me in a place like this. I was beyond thought when I looked into her face and found myself bathed in the sunshine of that smile. Sinking down onto my chair, I clasped my hands in prayer.

“Blessings, dear ladies.” Her features shadowed by the hat brim, the vicar swept to the far end of the mile-long table and inducted herself into Bunty’s seat. The buzz of voices subsided as the black lace mittens were
raised. “My friends”—she paused to allow our hearts to become one—“let us reach out our hands in the circle of friendship and let the love flow.”

Love be damned! I ground my teeth in helpless recognition. The “vicar” was none other than my traitorous kinsman!

“And now”—Cousin Freddy piously bent his black hat—“let us talk of multiple orgasms.”

Isn’t life wonderful? Horror may fade into memory but there is always some new, exciting torment waiting to take its place. On the morning following my Marriage Makeover session, Mrs. Malloy telephoned to lay down the law.

“Mrs. H, I trust you have your homework assignment prepared?”

“What?” Instantly I was back in the Upper Fourth at St. Roberta’s frantically trying to write an essay on the Hundred Years’ War during algebra class, all the while knowing that the heavy hand of Miss Clopper would soon descend on my shoulder. “What homework assignment?” I implored.

Mrs. Malloy’s heavy breathing turned the receiver into a blow dryer. I had to hold down my hair. “Fantasy night at the old homestead, Mrs. H!”

“That’s right!” I slumped down on a chair, mounded with the babies’ outdoor togs. “We’re to put
on a real seduction production—turn the bedroom into an Arabian Nights’ tent, spread satin sheets on the bed and dance the Rumba of the Seven Veils …”

“You can’t have that one,” Mrs. Malloy interrupted.

“What one?”

“The Salome schmozzle.”

“But …”

“I’ve already taken me net curtains down, so there’s no point in blubbering, Mrs. H, you’ll just have to come up with your own fantasy.”

“What I was about to say,” I fumed into the phone, “is that I can’t possibly arrange a tryst with Ben for this evening. I have a million things to do. I have to take the babies in for their checkups; I have to write to my in-laws and Dorcas and Jonas; I have Mr. Bludgett coming this afternoon to repair the washing machine; I have to weed the rockery—”

“You’re breaking me heart!” I suspected Mrs. Malloy of sarcasm, but she went on with a break in her voice. “I thought we was in this together. You was the one who suggested Fully Female in the bloody first place, when I’d far rather have put an end to me misery—a gentle squeeze of the trigger and peace, perfect peace.”

“Enough!” I cried, as memory of the misplaced gun rose up to haunt me. Getting it back from Lionel Wiseman must be added to my Do list, but first things first, the mollification of Mrs. Malloy. “Truly,” I assured her, “I am committed to Fully Female, but do I have to do my homework
tonight
?”

“Our reports have to be in tomorrow.”

Impossible to tell her that much of what was said at Marriage Makeover had gone in one ear and out the other after the vicar had put in her … 
his
appearance. By going to the afternoon session, Mrs. Malloy had missed Cousin Freddy, the wolf in clerical clothing.

“You there, Mrs. H?”

Rising from my chair like a phoenix from the ashes, I promised to do my part for the honour and glory of Fully Female.

“I can’t wait to see my Walter in the rude.” On which grizzly note Mrs. Malloy hung up, leaving me wracked with despair.

Was there no escape, no loophole in the fabric of my existence? Was I destined to cheapen a love which in its glorious heyday had rivaled that of some of the great duos of all time … Paris and Helen … Tony and Cleo … Charlie and Di? Thus might I have stood all morning, waxing morose in the hall at Merlin’s Court, but a reprieve came in the form of an imperious summons from the nursery.