September (1990) (48 page)

"Do you know where I can find Mrs. Steynton?"

"Try the marquee."

Picking her way through the confusion, Virginia made for the library and saw, for the first time, the gargantuan tent that had been erected on the lawn the day before. It was very tall and very wide, and took most of the daylight from the rooms inside. The French doors of the library had been removed, and house and marquee were joined by the umbilical cord of a wide, tented passageway. She went down this and stepped into the aqueous, filtered gloom that was the interior of the marquee, saw the soaring tent-poles, tall as masts, the yellow-and-white-striped lining. On the top of tall ladders, more electricians were perched fixing the overhead lights, and at the far end a couple of burly men were constructing, with trestles and planks, a platform for the band. There was the smell of trodden grass and canvas, rather like an agricultural show, and in the middle of it all she found Verena with Mr. Abberley, who was in charge of the entire operation, and apparently being given a piece of Verena's mind.

. . but it's ridiculous to say we've got the measurements wrong. You took the measurements."

"The thing is, Mrs. Steynton, that the floor comes in prefabricated units. Six by three. I explained when you ordered my largest tent."

"I never imagined there would be a problem."

"And there's another thing. Your lawn's not level."

"Of course it's level. It used to be a tennis court."

"I'm sorry, but it's not. Sinks down in that corner a foot or more. That means wedges."

"Well, use wedges. Just be certain the floor doesn't collapse."

Mr. Abberley looked hurt. "My floors never collapse," he told her, and took himself off to mull over the situation.

Virginia said, "Verena." Verena turned. "I don't seem to have come at a very good time."

"Oh, Virginia." Verena ran fingers through her hair in a most uncharacteristic fashion. "I'm going demented. Have you ever seen such a mess?"

"I think it looks fantastic. Terribly impressive."

"But it's so huge"

"Well, you're having a huge party. When it's full of flowers and people and the band and everything, it'll be quite different."

"You don't think it's all going to be the most dreadful flop?"

"Of course not. It'll be the dance of the century. Look, I've brought the flower vases. If you tell me where to put them, I'll bring them into the house and then get out of your way."

"You are a dear. If you go into the kitchen, you'll find Katy and some friends of hers. They're making silver stars, or streamers, or something, to decorate the night-club. She'll show you where to put them."

"If there's anything else you're needing . . ."

But Verena's attention was already wandering. "If I think of anything, I'll call you. . . ." She had too much on her mind. "Mr. Abberley! I've just remembered. There's something else I want to ask you. . . ."

Virginia drove home. By the time she reached Balnaid again, it was nearly two o'clock. She was beginning to feel ravenously hungry, and decided that before she did anything else, she must have something to eat. A cold beef sandwich, perhaps, some biscuits and cheese, and a cup of coffee. She parked the Subaru at the back door and walked indoors and into her kitchen.

All thoughts of food instantly flew out of her head. She stopped dead, her empty stomach contracting in a spasm of shock and outrage.

For Lottie was there. Waiting. Sitting at the kitchen table. She did not look abashed in the very least, but smiled as though Virginia had asked her to drop by, and Lottie, graciously, had taken up the invitation.

"What are you doing here?" This time Virginia made no effort to keep the irritation out of her voice. She was startled but she was as well enraged. "What do you want?"

"Just waiting for you. And I wanted a wee word."

"You have no right to walk into my house."

"You should learn to lock your doors."

Across the kitchen table, they faced each other.

"How long have you been here?"

"Ooh, about half an hour." Where else had she been? What had she been doing? Had she been snooping around Virginia's house, gone upstairs, opened cupboards, opened drawers, touched Virginia's clothes? "I thought you'd not be long, leaving the doors open like that. Course, the dogs barked, but I soon quieted them down. They can always tell a friend." -

A friend.

"I think that you should go at once, Lottie. And please don't ever come back unless you are asked."

"Oh, Miss Hoity-Toity, is it? Am I not good enough for the likes of you?"

"Please go."

"I'll go in my own time when I've said what I have to say."

"You have nothing to say to me."

"But that's where you're wrong, Mrs. Edmund Aird. I have plenty to say to you. Up to high doh you were, when I met you out a walk on the bridge. Didn't like what I had to say, did you? I could tell. I'm not stupid."

"You were telling lies."

"And why should I tell lies? I have no reason to tell lies because the truth is black enough, 'Whore' was what I called Pandora Blair, and you buttoned up your lips as though I'd said a dirty word, pretending to be so pure yourself, and high and mighty."

"What do you want?"

"I want to see no evil and fornicating," Lottie droned, and she sounded like a Wee Free minister promising his congregation Eternal Damnation. "The vileness of men and women. Lustful practices . . ."

Infuriated, Virginia cut her short. "You're talking drivel." ^ "Oh, drivel, is it?" Lottie became herself again. "And is it drivel that when your man's away, and you're rid of your wee boy, you bring your fancy men home with you and take them to your bed?" It was impossible. She was making it up. Letting her crazy twisted imagination feast on her own carnal fantasies. "Aha, I thought that would silence you. Mrs. Edmund Aird indeed. You're no better than a street-walker."

Virginia took hold of the edge of the table. She said, and kept her voice quite cold and quite calm, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"And who's-lying now, may I ask?" Lottie, with her hands clasped in her lap, leaned forward, her strange eyes fixed on Virginia's face. Her skin was waxy as a candle and the faint shadow of her moustache darkened her upper lip. "I was there, Mrs. Edmund Aird." Her voice dropped, and now she spoke in the hushed tones of a person telling a ghost story, and making it as scary as possible. "I was outside your house when you came home last night. I saw you coming back. I saw you, switching on all the lights and making your way up the stair with your fancy man. I saw you at the bedroom window, leaning out like a pair of lovers and whispering between the two of you. I saw you draw the curtains, and shut yourselves away, with your lust and your adultery."

"You had no right to be in my garden. Just as you have no right to be in my house. It's called trespass, and if I wanted I could call the police."

"The police." Lottie gave a cackle of laughter. "Fat lot of good they are. And wouldn't they be interested to know what goes on when Mr. Aird is in America. Missing him, were you? Thinking of him and Pandora? Told you about them, didn't I? Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Makes you wonder who you can trust."

"I want you to go now, Lottie."

"And he's not going to be too pleased when he knows what's been going on."

"Go. Now."

"One thing's for certain. You're no better than the rest of them, and don't try to convince me you're not guilty, because your face gives you away. . . ."

Virginia finally lost her cool. Through clenched teeth she screamed at Lottie, "get out!" She flung out an arm, pointing at the open door. "Get out and stay out and never come back, you creeping old bag."

Lottie was silenced. She did not budge. Across the table, she stared at Virginia, her eyes hot with hatred. Virginia, dreading what might happen next, stood, tense as strung wire. If Lottie made one move to touch her, she would turn the heavy table on top of the old lunatic and squash her flat as a beetle. But, far from becoming physically violent, Lottie's face assumed an expression of deep complacency. The glitter went out of her eyes. She had said her piece, achieved what she'd set out to do. Without hurry, in her own time, she got to her feet and neatly buttoned up her cardigan. "Well," she announced, "I'll be off then. Bye-bye, doggies, nice to have met you."

Virginia watched her go. Lottie, on her high heels, tapping jauntily across the kitchen. At the open door she paused to look back. "That's been very nice. No doubt I'll see you around."

And then she was gone, quietly closing the door behind her.

Violet, in her own little kitchen at Pennyburn, stood, aproned, at the table, and iced her birthday cake. Edie had made the cake, which was large and had three tiers, but Violet had been left to do the decorating. She had made chocolate-butter icing and with this had stuck the three tiers together. Now she was engaged in spreading what remained of the sticky goo over the outside of the cake. She was not an expert at cake decorating and, when it was completed, it had a fairly rough-and-ready appearance, more like a newly ploughed field than anything else, but by the time she had stuck a few brightly coloured Smarties into the icing and added the single candle that was all she allowed herself, it would be quite festive enough.

She stood back to eye the finished cake, licking a few gobs of icing off her fingers. At that moment she heard a car coming up the hill and then turning into her own driveway. She looked up and through the window and saw that her visitor was Virginia, and was pleased. Virginia was on her own, and Violet was always gratified when her daughter-in-law unexpectedly dropped in, uninvited, because it meant that she wanted to come. And today was specially important, because they would have time to sit down and talk, and Violet would be able to hear all about Henry.

She went to wash her hands. Heard the front door open and close.

"Vi!"

"I'm in the kitchen." She dried her hands, reached to untie her apron.

"Vi!"

Violet tossed her apron aside and went out into the hall. Her daughter-in-law stood there at the foot of the stairs, and it was immediately obvious to Violet that something was very wrong. Virginia was as pale as paper, and her brilliant eyes were hard and bright, as though they burnt with unshed tears.

She was filled with apprehension. "My dear. What is it?"

"I have to see you, Vi." Her voice was controlled, but there was unsteadiness there. She was not far from weeping. "I have to talk."

"But of course. Come along. Come and sit down. . . ." She put her arm around Virginia and led her into the sitting-room. "There. Sit down. Be quiet for a moment. There's nothing to disturb us." Virginia sank into Vi's deep armchair, laid her head back on the cushion, closed her lovely eyes, and then, almost immediately, opened them again.

She said, "Henry was right. Lottie Carstairs is evil. She can't stay. She can't stay with Edie. She must go away again."

Vi lowered herself into her own wide-lapped fireside chair. "Virginia, what has happened?"

Virginia said, "I'm frightened."

"That she will do Edie some harm?"

"Not Edie. Me."

"Tell me."

"I ... I don't quite know how to start."

"Everything from the beginning."

Her quiet tones had effect. Virginia gathered herself, visibly making some effort to keep control and stay sensible and objective. She. sat up, smoothing back her hair, pressing her fingers to her cheeks as though she had already wept and was wiping tears away.

She said, "I've never liked her. Just as none of us has ever liked her, or been happy with the fact that she's living with Edie. But, like the rest of us, I told myself that she was harmless."

Violet remembered her own reservations about Lottie. And the frisson of panic she had experienced, sitting with Lottie by the river in Relkirk, with Lottie's hand closed around her wrist, the fingers strong and steely as a vise.

"But now you believe that we were all wrong?"

"The day before I took Henry to school . . . Monday ... I took a walk with the dogs. I went to Dermot's to buy something for Katy, and then on and over the west bridge. Lottie appeared out of nowhere. She'd been following me. She told me that you all knew -all of you-you and Archie and Isobel and Edie. She said that you knew."

Violet thought, oh, dear God. She said, "Knew what, Virginia?"

"Knew that Edmund and Pandora Blair had been in love with each other. Had been lovers."

"And how did Lottie know this?"

"Because she was working at Croy at the time of Archie and Isobel's wedding. There was a dance that night, wasn't there? She said that she followed them upstairs in the middle of the party, and listened at Pandora's bedroom door. She said that Edmund was married and had a child, but that made no difference, because he was in love with Pandora. She said that everybody knew because it was so blatantly obvious. She said that they are still in love with each other, and that is why Pandora has come back."

It was even worse than Violet had dreaded, and for once in her life she found herself at a total loss for words. What could one say? What could one do to comfort? How to salvage a single grain of comfort from those muddy depths of scandal, stirred up by a madwoman who had nothing to do with her pathetic life but make trouble?