My nose tingled. I was about to be overtaken by a gigantic sneeze. My hand flapped feebly at the tissue box. There was a positive side to all this-during the past weeks I had stopped picturing my mother-in-law with prayer sores on her knees. Indeed, she had acquired a cherished place in my heart. This was the woman who had brought Ben into the world. So she hadn’t jumped for joy when he married me! Who could blame her! It wasn’t anybody’s fault that Ben had found that girl Angelica Evangeline from Crown Street somewhat sexually repellent.
Speaking of things repellent, my bedroom door handle was turning-slowly. A sneeze stalled. In anguished immobility, I watched another quarter revolution.
“Whob there?”
A muffled, almost animal grunt; a metallic click, like a safe being cracked.
“I hab a gun amb a red-hot poker.”
The door opened an inch. My lungs squeezed shut and my mouth opened in a soundless scream. Then luckily I came to my senses. The trick in this sort of situation is to stay calm. My options were numerous. I could play dead. I could make a break for the window and dangle from all that lovely ivy outside… No, no! First place the intruder would look. Ditto under the bed. But if I could wedge myself between the mattress and box spring… Too late, too late! I was floundering off-side when the door opened wide. A man with a blackened sack hoisted on his shoulder staggered drunkenly toward the bed. A handkerchief mask flattened his features. I opened my mouth to scream.
“For God’s sake, Ellie!” The sack tumbled onto the hearth and Ben ripped off the mask. His next words were lovely and concerned. “My poor darling-you look even worse than this morning.”
Actually I felt pretty good. Mary Birdsong was the real culprit. I had let my imagination run away with me. Propped up on one elbow, I pointed to the sack. “Have you come selling turnips?”
I couldn’t tell whether he was amused. His black head was bent, and he was rubbing a finger. “Coal, actually. I thought you might enjoy the cheer of a fire. My difficulty with the door was that I didn’t want to set the sack down and get coal dust on the carpet and I have never been very adept with my elbows.”
“What’s wrong with your finger?”
He stopped bending it and held it up to the light. “Tobias scratched me just now when I told him he still couldn’t come in here.”
“Poor pet.”
“I’ll live.”
I had meant Tobias. But I did so love the way Ben’s eyes darkened when he was being noble. Even more wonderful was that he showed no signs of being repulsed by my bloated visage. True, only the reading lamp was lit, but I was so gratified I decided not to utter a word of complaint about his sending for Dr. Melrose.
Such a loving evening. Firelight bathed the walls with a roseate glow and set red-gold angels to dance upon the ceiling. Dinner on a tray and Ben didn’t expect me to eat a lot. Beatles records on the stereo. The two of us talking, laughing. I didn’t miss my friends in America. I even loved Freddy. I hoped Jill would give him a reprieve and swoop him off to a guru who did weddings, but not immediately-Ben was anticipating between four and five hundred people at Abigail’s premiere.
When Ben touched me, looked at me, his eyes glowing hotter than the fire, my blood started flowing backward in my veins and I turned all floaty, light as tinsel. It wouldn’t have surprised me a bit if I had levitated off the bed. Tonight would definitely have been the night for violins. A pity about my nasty colb.
“Goodnight, Ellie.”
“Goodnight, Ben.”
Did ever a man look more heart-stoppingly debonair as he adjusted his surgical mask and turned out the light?
My dreams should have been all humming bees and sun-drenched meadows. Instead, Mrs. Amelia Bottomly filled up my mental screen. A dozen identical men in raincoats took to stalking me, round and round for hours. I would be exhausted in the morning. A ghost with Ben’s features wearing a black lace mantilla and a rosary strung over her arm was beckoning me to follow her into the mist, which turned thick and hot. Toss and turn as I might, I could not escape being sucked into it.
When I unglued my eyes the next morning I found that the brass candlestick, which usually stood upon the mantelshelf, had levitated to the window sill. Even more eerie was the fact that the candle was alight. For a ghastly moment I suspected a nocturnal visit from The Raincoat Man, until I saw the candle wax on my hand.
Sunday afternoon found me sufficiently recovered in body and soul to begin convalescence on the drawing room sofa. Ben came and stood in my light as I was deep in the pages of another Edwin Digby/Mary Birdsong book.
“My finger still hurts.”
“What finger?”
“The one your damn cat scratched.”
“Oh!” Prying my eyes off the page, I saw he was holding the affected digit to the light.
“How positively heinous!” The inane caretaker had kidnapped Lady Lucinda.
“Ellie, I don’t think you give a damn about my finger.”
I closed the book. My mother used to complain she never got any enjoyment out of an illness because my father always stole the limelight with his near-death experience.
At three o’clock, Freddy rapped on the open window, pushed the curtains aside, and entered bearing gifts: a plate of eccles cakes. Mark you, they weren’t the greatest (the ratio of currants to dough was a little low), but feelings, which I had thought dead, stirred. There were six on the plate; one for each of us now, leaving three for later. One for Ben, one for me, and a spare.
“Not bad, Freddy.” Ben tossed a sample in his hand. “Keep this up and in a year, possibly six months, you will be able to hold your own against the competition.”
“Thanks, boss.” Standing on the hearth, Freddy flung his arms along the mantel, causing candlesticks and clock to jump. “Ellie, that nose does nothing for you.”
I smiled. “Come over here and let me kiss you.”
He smirked through his beard. “I never get colds. Mind over mucus.” He kicked the fire tongs. “Anyone want to hear what Jill has to say in her letter?”
“Can’t think of anything I would enjoy more.” Ben settled in a chair and studied his finger. I held my book negligently in front of my face.
Freddy let out a sigh, directed at my heartstrings, then read aloud, “ ‘To whom it may concern: Answer remains the same-marriage with strings attached.’ ”
Good for Jill. But unfortunately Freddy was about to give us his interpretation of reading between the lines.
“Hark!” I cried. “Is that the doorbell?” And merciful heavens, it was! Ben went out into the hall and returned ushering two people into the room. For a moment I thought I was having a setback. It couldn’t be… but, as with nightmares, it was. The Reverend Rowland Foxworth and Vanessa.
“Ellie, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” Ben wiggled his eyebrows into question marks. I lay on my couch, fanned myself with my book, and said everything that was trite and insincere.
“Good God, Vanessa, what brings you here?” Freddy inquired. “Didn’t you see the cross on the door? We’ve all got the plague.”