Withering Heights (26 page)

“Well, that was interesting.” She enthroned herself in the chair Val had vacated. And to think I hadn’t even requested an audience. “Of course I’d not the least intention of listening, Mrs. H. I came looking for you to see how your talk with Mrs. Cake went.”

“How much did you hear without your ear trumpet?”

“No need to be snippy; I didn’t want to move in case she heard me and got extra embarrassed. Too sensitive to other people’s feelings, I am, but isn’t it a relief all’s cleared up for you and Mr. H? I can tell you now I was worried meself, for all I made light of things to you. It kept coming back to me what the real Madam LaGrange said about an old girlfriend showing up and causing problems for a woman with the name beginning with
E
.”

I sat back down. “When you saw my reaction, you said it might have been a
B
. Did Madam LaGrange add that, or did you throw it in to make me feel better?”

“If I told you she said it, then she did,” Mrs. Malloy replied huffily; then her painted eyebrows shot up. “I see what you’re getting at! It was
Betty
that Madam was talking about. She has the gift for sure! Now I’m back to being worried about what else she said.”

“That’s understandable.” My mind had drifted to Ben and what I would say to him.
Wives are such fools
might be a good beginning. When I said this to Mrs. Malloy, she poked me with her finger.

“You’ll continue being one if you believe everything you hear. I’ll tell you, now you’re so keen on Val, that there’s something about her gets right up my snout.”

I changed the subject. “Any more tries to get hold of Madam LaGrange?”

“Still getting her voice mail. Mrs. Cake say anything interesting?”

“I expect it was much the same as what she told you. Did she mention that your sister, Melody, does have a gentleman friend?”

“She did, but I couldn’t get a name out of her. Said it wasn’t for her to say. My guess is he’s the friend Mel was seeing Saturday
night but canceled to spend time with me. She made it sound like it was a woman.”

“That’s probably because she talked about a shared love of knitting.”

“I suppose.” Mrs. Malloy pursed her lips. “If she wants to keep him interested, she needs to do something about her appearance. Wear bright colors and stay away from black.”

“No, I don’t suppose it suits her as well as it does you.”

“Never did. Even when Mel was a baby she didn’t look good in black.”

“And maybe if she were to do something about that bad perm.” It was something to say, rather than a desire to be catty. I was wondering if I had been too eager to believe Val when she’d assured me Ben had no feelings for her.

“Melody doesn’t need a perm. That’s her natural curl.”

“Conditioner,” I murmured.

While my mind continued to float, Mrs. Malloy recounted her conversation with Mrs. Cake. When she finished, I said that when it came to the main points the story was the same. Forcing myself to concentrate, I asked if she had managed to connect with Milk Jugg on the phone.

“He wasn’t what you’d call thrilled to hear from me, but I soon put him in his place, Mrs. H, the upshot being that he’s going to check into whether Lady Fiona was married to this other man, who from what Mrs. Cake said would be Mr. Gallagher’s cousin. I told Milk as how you and me needed all the particulars he could come up with, and we didn’t want to be left tapping our feet too long. ‘Course, he went on about how strapped he is for time right now.”

“That may well be true.” I was once more convinced Val had told me the unabridged truth.

“Whatever, Mrs. H! The best I could get out of him was that he’d get back to me in a few days.”

“There’s an idea that came to me while I was talking with Mrs. Cake. It has to do with Melody and her desire to get into Mr. Scrimshank’s safe and have a look at his records of the Gallaghers’ finances. Mavis told me yesterday when I stopped to chat with her in the hall that her husband is a locksmith. According to her, he’s so good he can break into anything. I’ve also learned, via Mrs. Cake, that Mavis is extremely fond of her ladyship. Perhaps if Mavis were to speak to her husband and got his okay, Melody could phone and ask the husband to come to the office and try and open the safe at a time when Mr. Scrimshank won’t be around. What do you think?”

“Maybe it’d be best to say as little as possible to the man, in case he refuses for fear of getting into trouble with the law. I’m going to see Melody later; she told me this evening would suit her. I’ll tell her what we’ve been thinking, and if she’s for it you and me can have a word on the subject with Mrs. Cake tomorrow.”

We agreed it was a plan, and I went into the house to face my husband. He was in the kitchen and fortunately alone. Not for the first time, I wondered how many men looked as wonderful as he did in a pair of faded jeans and an equally old sweatshirt, especially when holding a saucepan in one hand and a couple of tomatoes with the other. On seeing me, he laid these items down and came toward me.

“You and Valeria talked?” He placed his hands on my shoulders.

“She said you insisted she do so.”

“I should never have made that promise not to tell you about her and Tom. I have this thing about keeping my word, even if it’s nonsense.”

“I know.”

“At first it seemed to make sense. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable every time you looked at Tom and Betty when
Valeria was there or her name was mentioned. What I overlooked was the fact that you were bound to figure out the state of affairs for yourself and wonder why I was in collusion with a woman I barely knew.”

“I thought you did know her . . . very well. I convinced myself that you were in love with each other.”

“
What?
”

I pressed my fingers to his lips. “That’s the way it looked to me, the way you froze before walking blindly toward her. How your face shut down when your eyes met mine.”

He gently removed my hand. “Ellie, I was trying to contain my shock. Here was the girl—the woman Tom had been madly in love with. She was right there in his house, and Betty obviously didn’t have a clue. I felt as though I were in the middle of a minefield. If I were to so much as change expression, there’d be an explosion.”

“It’s all clear as glass now, but . . . I was a fool.”

“Don’t say that.” He spun a chair away from the table and sat down, drawing me onto his lap. “I can see now how it may have looked.”

“You called her Valeria when no one else did.”

“It has to be one of the worst names ever. Rhymes with
malaria
.”

“That’s what Ariel said.” I laid my cheek against his and stroked his dark hair.

“And why it stuck in my mind.” He kissed me slowly, and I melted into his warmth, loving his tenderness, his strength, our knowledge of each other that was the reward of having been together for so long, coupled with the feeling of beginning all over again.

I continued to nestle in his arms when speaking about Tom and Betty. “Do you think he had forgotten that you’d met her and was appalled when he saw you recognize each other?”

“Tom has always had the ability to block out what he didn’t want to remember, but in this case it isn’t that surprising that he’d forget. I only saw him with Val, as she’s now called, on a few brief occasions. But I happen to be good with faces.”

“Hers is particularly beautiful.” I was able to say this without rancor.

“Yes, she’s lovely.”

“She’s also a great decorator.”

“There’s no better judge of that than you.” He kissed me again.

“Mmm!” I savored the taste and texture of his lips. “Ben, I don’t think I would have been quite so ready to leap to the wrong conclusion about Val if we hadn’t had the evening we did, before leaving home. I said all the wrong things about that review in
Cuisine Anglaise
and then got in a snit, as Mrs. Malloy would say, when you went off to the Dark Horse with Freddy.”

“I was the one in a foul mood.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to Mrs. M’s spending the night, when it was our first chance to be alone with the children gone.”

“It all worked out for the best. We’ve discovered from being here with Tom and Betty how very blessed we are.” He gathered me closer and the kitchen was really heating up when the door creaked open. We got to our feet as Betty came in. He had been right; I did feel uncomfortable with her, knowing what I did. I would probably have blushed regardless of my tousled appearance. Fortunately, she appeared oblivious. Was that her Achilles’ heel? Did she generally fail to see what was right in front of her, I wondered, or was she exceptionally good at hiding her true emotions?

She asked me if I would like to join her and Ariel on a shopping trip.

“Please come, Ellie. We’ll stop somewhere fun for lunch,
and then we’ll scour every boutique we can find for an outfit for Ariel to wear on Thursday. I think she’d like it better if you’re with us.”

“Don’t you think the two of you should have the time alone?” I was hesitant to intrude, but at the same time it would be a good idea to get over the hump of being around any of the Hopkinses, especially Betty.

“Getting Ariel to agree to the outing is triumph enough for me. I don’t intend to rush things by foisting myself on her without any distractions.”

“Ellie is the best of distractions,” Ben assured her. “You need to take her with you if I’m going to get started planning the food for the garden party.”

“Well, if it’s like that!” I pretended to glower at him in lieu of kissing him good-bye. Somehow that wouldn’t have seemed kind in front of Betty.

Ten minutes later, she and I met up with Ariel on the drive in front of the coverted carriage house, now used as a garage. Betty proved to be a relaxed and skillful driver. I had been quick to get in the back so Ariel could sit beside her. The expedition began well. They chatted, almost like any other mother and daughter, bringing me into the conversation and occasionally pointing out passing places of interest. Lunch was everything to be hoped: delicious food in a charming Georgian house converted into restaurant and gift shop.

It was while we were eating our treacle pudding and custard that Betty brought up her husband’s name for the first time.

“The thought has crossed my mind a few times, Ellie, since you and Ben came to Cragstone, that maybe Tom and I should consider converting the west wing into a place similar to this one. He’s so handy he could do much of the remodeling himself. Also, he did have that experience working in Ben’s uncle’s restaurant in London. I know he was at the cash register, not in
management or involved with the meals. I think he may regret having gone in a different direction. He had a lot going on at the time.”

“Oh?” I spooned up custard while blocking out Val’s image.

“That’s when he was about to get married.”

“Really?”

“To Angela.” Betty looked at Ariel.

“My mother.” The girl continued a composed demolition of her pudding.

“That would have preoccupied him,” I said, wondering if it would appear odd if I jumped up and suggested we explore the gift shop.

“As I’ve said, Tom knows the restaurant environment and I’ve seen him watching Ben while he’s cooking. Maybe he’s thinking he might like to have a go at learning to be a chef.”

Was that the only reason for those looks? Or was her mild-eyed husband inwardly seething with jealousy and resentment over Val? If so, was this why Tom had said he didn’t feel well in church and had gone outside for some air? I felt sorry for him, even while thinking he had brought most of his problems on himself by buckling under to his parents instead of waiting for the right woman to turn up. Angela would probably still be alive, married to someone else, and Betty might be with a man who worshiped her, from the top of her red head to her Barbie-doll shoes. But of course there wouldn’t have been Ariel.

Half an hour later, she said she wished she were home; she was bored, she was tired, and she was sick of looking in stupid shops at stupid clothes. It didn’t matter, anyway, what she wore to the garden party; nobody would be looking at her even if she did go outside for it. And Betty needn’t expect her to play any childish games, or run any three-legged races, because she wouldn’t. She’d just sit at a table under an umbrella
and pretend she was having a wonderful time in school doing algebra.

My patience was soon exhausted and Betty, having showed magnificent restraint, flared at her. “Keep this up,” she said, “and it will be boarding school for you.”

“You don’t think I’d like that?”

“At this point I really don’t care, Ariel.”

“Well, isn’t that nice, after you pretended to be so sympathetic when I was upset about Mr. Tribble dying!”

Betty pressed a hand to her brow, and we returned to the car. This time it was Ariel who nipped into the back and we made the return journey to Cragstone House in silence. Anything I could have said would have been jarring. I truly felt sorry for both of them. Ariel had been a little snot, but there was something about her current quiet that tugged at my heart. It seemed fitting that it should start to rain as we drove between the gateposts.

“Probably only a shower,” said Betty, as we pulled into the garage.

But she was wrong about that. Mother Nature having been dry-eyed and eager to show her best colors, by being sunshine and light over the past few days, decided on making up for it by being utterly miserable. It drizzled continuously for the rest of that day and evening.

There was a brief letup the next morning, which was particularly welcome because a team of gardeners arrived and got to work, as apparently they did every other Tuesday. The lawns were too damp for mowing, but there was plenty of weeding and clipping to keep them occupied until the skies, which had darkened rapidly, unleashed a deluge that sent them scurrying into their vans. I watched this from the conservatory windows
while halfway occupying myself arranging cut flowers in vases. Tom ambled in and said the gardeners had promised to return early Thursday morning, weather permitting, to do the mowing and set up the marquees and umbrella tables that would have been delivered by then. I had the feeling that he would have liked to follow this up with something more but didn’t know how to begin. After shifting from one foot to the other, he wandered out. Mrs. Malloy, who came in to tell me about her evening with Melody, replaced him.