Sunday morning would be reserved for church and Sunday afternoon could be filled with a trip to the Longwood Gardens near Kennett Square. Monday, presumably, the senior Martins would depart for Florida. All should go well. Mirelle did not actually expect it to, but with so much to be done, there might not be time for the usual nastiness. And this Wilmington house was large, with several levels on which one could escape. The kids' noise from the gameroom was deadened by the acoustical tile so they wouldn't be a nuisance. Mother Martin made a special study in dominating conversations and any sound of off-stage enjoyment was promptly squelched if it interfered with her monologues.
The boys objected strenuously to camping in Tonia's room. But Mr. and Mrs. Martin did not share a bedroom in their own home and never considered sharing one when visiting either of their sons. Tripling up did not improve the kids' attitudes towards the impending visit.
"If they're going on to Florida, why don't they just go?" Nick asked sulkily. "I want to stay at the Bazaar all the time and watch you work. I could be a help instead of having to stay here and listen to Grandmother yak."
"Nicholas LeBoyne Martin, you will listen politely to your grandmother and you will be damned careful about what you say in her presence," Mirelle said repressively.
"You better, too, mother. 'Cause she don't stand for cussing."
"Doesn't, not don't, and I was emphasizing."
"You could of used 'darn'. "
"That's exactly what I mean about being polite, Nick."
"Ahhh!"
"Nick?" Mirelle issued a blanket warning with that word.
Nick pouted and made a pattern in the rug with his sneaker toe.
Roman was more rebellious. His recollections of his grandparents were considerably more acute than his young brother's but he could be counted on to hold his peace when necessary. Mirelle prayed that Tonia's physical resemblance to her grandmother might be distraction enough. Tonia had no pre-conditioned opinions and looked forward with delight to the visit. However, Tonia's perceptions were sharper than her brothers' in the area of human relationships and, as her tongue was quick, no one was ever sure what the child might say next. In most circumstances, she could be amusing but, during such a critical period, she could as easily devastate all Mirelle's careful schemes.
And there was absolutely no way to safeguard against it, Mirelle sighed to herself Tuesday morning after breakfast. Her cleaning lady was coming on Wednesday this week, having obliged by shifting Tuesday lady with Wednesday lady. Overnight the house had a chance of staying neat for the Thursday arrival.
Mirelle ranged through the house again, trying to look at it with unfamiliar eyes, hoping to spot delinquencies. When Sylvia breezed in, she made her go over the house again before they sat down to coffee.
"If you'd warned me, I'd've brought white gloves," Sylvia said after she had reassured Mirelle for the fourth time that the house looked perfect. "I couldn't find so much as a spot of dried clay in the studio."
"Not that they'd bother looking in there."
"I see you vacuumed the crawlway. Honest to God, Mirelle, it's ridiculous…"
"It may seem so to you but you don't have my mother-in-law."
"I'll trade you my mother for her any day. In fact, there's still time for her to visit you. Mother'd spot your deficiencies as a housekeeper in short and scathing order. What I find reprehensible in you, Mirelle, is that you bother to conform to her standards. You don't like, you don't really care for her opinions…"
"Sylvia! Don't YOU houseclean like crazy before your mother visits?"
Sylvia's expression froze. "My mother lives with me. Or 'resides', to use her precise expression, when she is not bringing other relatives up to the mark." Sylvia sighed deeply but the sound was not all for effect. "She's been on an extended visit to her younger sister in Boston. Aunt Agatha is recently widowed and mother wished to be certain that she knows the new regulations of a relict. Can you imagine naming a child 'Agatha'? I'm afraid that Agatha will have learned all she needs to know very soon, unfortunately. The peace at home has been divine." Sylvia grinned impishly. "While the cat's away, the mice will play, you know." Then she leaned over and patted Mirelle's hand, smiling warmly. "So I know chapter and verse about maternal visitations, my dear. In fact, I have frequently thought of writing a book one day, 'Living With Mother' or 'Enduring In-laws'? Hmmm. Therefore I am A-Number-One qualified to appreciate, guard, defend…"
"Sylviaaaah!" Mirelle put her desperate plea into the elongation of the last syllable.
Sylvia cocked a sardonic eye at her. "All right. All right. I'll behave myself even though I'll be dying to tell the old bat off." She jumped almost as much as Mirelle when someone knocked at the door. "Expecting them today?"
Mirelle couldn't see the driveway and dashed nervously to the front door. "It's only Tuesday."
"I cannot force another morsel of pot roast down my throat and calf's foot jelly nauseates me. Lady, can you make an omelette?" It was James Howell, looking well tanned and himself again.
"Well, if that's your father-in-law…" drawled Sylvia from the dining room.
"You know perfectly well it isn't," Mirelle replied. "I don't think that you've met Sylvia Esterhazy before. This is James Howell."
"I see that the beef tea did you some good," Sylvia said, shaking hands.
"Ah ha, I was right. You were one of the cackling females in my kitchen," Jamie exclaimed in mock vindication.
"Pneumonia affected your hearing."
Mirelle brought another cup for him and noticed, as he lifted it, that the muscles in his hand were twitching. He noticed her glance. "Not weakness, my dear, from lack of a balanced diet but from a strenuous session of practise. Since Mahomet could not come to the mountain, and I do not exaggerate (he made a ballooning gesture out over his lean stomach), the mountain came to Mahomet."
Mirelle laughed, catching his reference, but Sylvia looked bewildered.
"I'm to accompany a rather famous soprano…"
"Who had best remain anonymous after that slighting description," said Mirelle.
"… In her Academy of the Arts recital, and due to my semi-convalescent state, she condescended to come to the wilds of Wilmington for a much needed rehearsal."
"When's the concert?" Sylvia asked, shooting Mirelle a glance.
"The eighteenth. By the way, Mirelle, I have tickets for you and your husband."
"The eighteenth? I think Steve has to be at a convention. Would you come with me, Sylvia?"
Sylvia professed herself to be delighted but she'd have to check with her diary as she had so many political meetings right now.
"I'm a ward-heeler," she told Jamie, "and heeling the Referendum, over, preferably."
"I thought ward-heelers had to be rotund, rotten and male."
"Not in my party. Of course, if you've only encountered Republicans, I can see where such misconceptions might arise."
Jamie laughed. "Are you all atwitter?" he asked Mirelle.
She looked at him blankly, having missed the reference.
"Your mother-in-law, he means," Sylvia said. "You don't happen to have a pair of white gloves, do you, Jamie?"
"In my pocket," and Howell reached into his coat and flashed something white.
"It may seem silly to you, Sylvia," and Mirelle was piqued by her flippancy, "and to you, Jamie," she glared at him, "but there is nothing the least bit laughable about it."
"You need to change your perspective, that's all, Mirelle," Jamie said. "If what the old bitch said and thought made no difference to you or you could convince her that it didn't, she'd have no power to affect you."