“I do have a way with writs.” Teddy smiled. It gave her face an elusive charm.
Reaching across the table, Bunty flipped at a strand of my hair. “You look the romantic sort, Ellie, a bit like Lady Godiva with clothes. Don’t you think Teddy has lived?”
Ann looked at me, I looked at Teddy, who was her monochromatic self again. But Bunty was off and running.
“So what does brother Walter do after he gets to be earl? He sells the estate to Dr. Bordeaux (who rents it out for a while, then turns it into a rest home) and whips off to the south of France with his ugly wife, Wanda-the woman who asked Teddy if it wasn’t nifty never again having to worry about being married for money.”
A leaden pause. The three of them might not be deliberately avoiding my eyes, they might not be wondering if Ben had married me for my money, they might… simply be looking around, thinking what a pleasant room this was.
“Are we ladies ready?” Mrs. Hanover spoke from beside us.
I ordered a Gorgonzola sandwich.
“Ughh!” said Bunty.
Exactly. I wouldn’t be tempted to eat it. While the others decided, I studied the horse brasses on the walls.
“And so,” Bunty continued, “Teddy was thrust out in the world with her suitcase and typing diploma and if that isn’t ’orrible enough”-she stopped and drummed her fingers on the table-“she was the victim of blighted love.”
“It wasn’t as exciting as that.” Teddy’s voice was flatter than usual. “Let’s hear about a romance with a happy ending. Ellie, how did you and your husband meet?”
They were all looking at me expectantly. “We were introduced by a friend.”
“Oh,” Bunty shrugged. “I thought it was something more dramatic than that. Teddy, you knew your bloke from the cradle, didn’t you?”
Silence. Again, that touch of a smile on Teddy’s face.
“A son of friends of the family, that’s who he was,” Bunty said, answering her own question. “Interestingly older…” Mrs. Hanover returned and began sliding plates onto the table. “All those long summer days ogling young Galahad in his cricket pads and romping through the buttercups, and what does he do but grow up and marry another.”
Bunty slipped an arm around Teddy’s shoulders. “Final scene is a real tearjerker. They met again-in another city-years later, shortly before she came to work for Li. Love flared anew, but in the way of this wicked world he was still married, and they were forced to crush their passion underfoot, knowing they were doomed never to be together on this earth.”
A hush. Ann’s lips parted and I had this terrible fear that she would start singing again. “How terribly sad.”
“Isn’t it,” enthused Bunty. “Just like something out of one of Edwin Digby’s books.”
This time the hush went pit deep. I couldn’t look at Teddy. What woman wants her grand passion likened to the works of anyone less than Shakespeare? Surprisingly, the atmosphere at our table seemed to be affecting the rest of the room. People stopped talking and stared toward the window.
Bunty giggled. “Don’t all be surprised that I’m literary minded. Ex-chorus girls do read, you know. I even like poetry that doesn’t rhyme.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man lean forward in his chair and twitch back the curtain. We weren’t the cause of interest after all. Something was happening in The Square.
As I started to turn, Bunty tootled her fingers down the back of my hand. “Li spotted me from the balcony when I was in Music Maestro, Please.” She fanned her face. “He steamed up the thee-ater so much the radiators had to be turned off. All things considered, I don’t think I could have done better. He’s good to look at, I have a lovely house, spiffy clothes, and jewels.” She tucked two fingers under her neckline and pulled out a bauble. “Li grumbles sometimes that I’m going to ruin him, but he always manages to pull something out of his pocket. Besides, like Teddy here, I have a job. A pretty classy job.”
No one answered.
Mrs. Hanover had come out from behind the bar, and other patrons were converging toward the windows. There were exclamations of “What in the world?” And from outside came shouts, feet pounding.
Bunty peered around and shrugged. “I’m a teacher. Aerobics. Every Thursday afternoon at the church hall, St. Anselm’s, which is superconvenient for you, Ellie. Didn’t you just lose a lot of weight?”
I hate that expression. I hadn’t misplaced part of me. I’d starved it to death an ounce at a time.
Now the patrons of The Dark Horse were piling toward the glass doors. All except the Raincoat Man; he was standing at the bar, his back to me… and he was so familiar in that stance that I couldn’t move, even when I heard someone ask whether Lloyd’s Bank had been burgled. I shut my eyes and saw myself looking into our drawing room in the middle of the night and seeing a man in front of the fireplace.
The pub door crashed open; a voice broke over the gabbling. “Terrible accident… building under reconstruction… half the bloody floor caved in… poor devil fell forty feet! Someone said his wife was here in town… anyone seen her?”
I forgot the Raincoat Man. My legs felt like they were dissolving. The carpenters had warned Ben that the attic floor of Abigail’s was unsafe.
From the Files of
WRITTEN REPORT FROM MRS. M. SMITH RE:
MRS. SHIRLEY DAFFY, 15th December
I trust the Board and our venerable President will appreciate I imply no criticism when reporting that Mrs. Daffy is upset over the failure of The Widows Club to admit her to its ranks. As her contact, I have explained that some men cling to life after everything humanly possible has been done to remove it from their grasp.
I have attempted to boost her spirits with the old adage, third time lucky. But I feel that Mrs. Daffy is in need of special moral support. I, therefore, request that we make an exception and allow her to participate in club functions even though she has not been initiated or received her badge. Inclusion in the bus trip to Skegness might do her the world of good.
Respectfully submitted,
Mabel Smith
Notation by Millicent Parsnip, Recording Secretary:
Suggestion vetoed by the Board, but a basket of fruit sent to Mrs. Daffy.
12
… “The accident victim, was, of course, neither Ben nor cousin Fredrick,” supplied Hyacinth. “It was that cat-o’-nine-lives, Mr. Vernon Daffy. He had gone to look at a house scheduled to be condemned and suffered only a few fractured ribs in the fall, I understand.”
“According to his receptionist, as reported in The Daily Spokesman, someone had telephoned to say the town council might change its mind about demolition. Mr. Daffy could get lucky, if he put in a quick bid on the building.”
“His wife was where?” Hyacinth separated a couple of pages in the notebook which had stuck together.
“Having her hair done at Sidney’s, but apparently she quite frequently stopped at The Dark Horse. She and Mrs. Hanover are chummy.”
“The man in the raincoat interests me.” Primrose adjusted the shawl around her narrow shoulders and fingered her Mickey Mouse watch. “Foolish creature to be so conspicuous but men don’t have our flair for disguise…”
We were in the drawing room sipping our predinner sherry. Freddy had joined us for dinner, yet again, that evening. After discussing Mr. Daffy’s close call, I mentioned Miss Thorn’s news concerning Vanessa’s recent trips to Chitterton Fells, notably St. Anselm’s. Freddy scratched at his chef’s hat (which he wore everywhere these days, even on the motorbike) and said, “Guess this means we’ll have to invite dear old Vinegar for Christmas; can’t have the neighbors chinwagging about our neglect.” He licked the inside of his glass. “Ah, well, shouldn’t be too bad if we include the worthy Reverend Rowland and the gruesome church organist. It might even be fun watching Vin hone her wit on their deadly dull lives.”