“I’ve been taking a correspondence course,” he said, extending his arm. “Now, why don’t you buy me a drink?”
As we watched them go, Bridget turned to Peter. “Nicely done, by the way. Not many people know that movie.”
Peter laughed. “I don’t think anyone could hang out with you two and
Bridget nodded. “Elizabeth has Jane Austen; I have Cary Grant.”
“Not tonight, you don’t,” said Colin good-naturedly. “Now if you two will excuse us for a second, I need to introduce Bridget to my cousin.”
Peter turned to me. “Okay, just so I’m clear. I’ve been here only ten minutes and so far someone has informed me that he wants to run away with you, a drunk I just met wants me to hire him, then I had to pass a test on old movies. Is there anything else I need to be worried about for this weekend?”
“Nothing at all,” I said laughing, hugging his arm and feeling warm just standing next to him. “The worst is over.”
What a whopper that turned out to be.
Chapter 4
She was not a woman of many words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the number of her ideas.
At the prompting of the waitstaff, we took our assigned seats. Bridget and Colin settled in at a table with their parents, while Peter and I were seated with the rest of Bridget’s family. I quickly introduced Peter. The first to speak was Bridget’s uncle Avery—Elsie’s oldest son and Harry’s father.
“Elizabeth,” he said as we sat down, “it’s nice to see you again. How have you been?”
“I’m fine, Avery,” I answered. “How have
Avery has a long sad, horselike face, salt-and-pepper hair, and slate gray eyes. Until recently, he ran the Secret Garden, the Matthews family’s business, with workaholic zeal. However, a stroke a few months back had confined him to a wheelchair and left his role as company president in doubt. Seeing him now, I was taken aback by his frail appearance. The stroke had severely damaged his once-lean, athletic body. His left side had been primarily affected, but his right side seemed just as weak. His whole body seemed to have simply given up. He was only fifty-eight years old, but he looked at least a decade older.
He produced a determined smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Getting stronger every day. I’m quite sure I’ll be out of this contraption soon.” He lightly slapped the arm of his wheelchair. “I owe most of my recovery to Roni, really. She’s been my angel.”
Roni, Avery’s much younger second wife, had been married to Avery for only a few years, but for most who knew Roni, that was deemed long enough. With delicately winged eyebrows framing sapphire blue eyes, a flawless complexion, sleek black hair, and a figure that simply has to be man-made, Roni is easy to hate. Happily, her monstrous personality removes any guilt one might feel about such superficial snap judgments. At Avery’s praise, her coral lips curved into a coy smile and she patted his hand. “Oh, Avery, please,” she purred with false modesty. “I haven’t done anything special.”
She was right, of course. Bridget had told me that Avery had been forced to hire a full-time nurse because of Roni’s inability to be of any real use. In fact, she was so worthless that she was even staying in a different room from Avery. Avery claimed the reason for this was his recent difficulty sleeping, but no one believed him. While Roni’s unintentionally honest assessment of her nursing abilities was lost on Avery, it wasn’t on the rest of us. Claire quickly looked down at her lap, Elsie rolled her eyes, and Harry coughed uncontrollably into his napkin. Roni peered suspiciously at her stepson before continuing. “I just know that you’ll be up on your feet by Christmas, honey,” she said.
Only her brother-in-law David was impressed with her performance. He beamed at Roni with all the goofy admiration of a love-struck schoolboy. “That’s right, Avery,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be back at your desk in no time.”
“Well,” said Roni softly, fiddling with the tiny strap of her lavender sheath. The small movement brought everyone’s attention to one (or rather two) of Roni’s most stunning features. For a moment, I thought that David would fall into his lobster bisque, but Roni’s next words righted his posture in a jiffy. “That may never happen, if Avery decides to accept Landscape Garden’s most generous offer.”
Her words threw the table into stunned silence. The Secret Garden had been in the Matthews family for generations. The mere idea that it be sold—and to an impersonal corporate chain such as Landscape Gardens—was dumbfounding.
Elsie broke the silence. Slamming her spoon down, she bit out through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you considering selling the Garden?”
Avery opened his mouth, but it was Roni who answered. “Well, yes, Elsie, we are.” She leaned in close to Avery and slid her arm under his. Avery shifted uncomfortably. “After Avery’s dreadful stroke, I thought it best that he concentrate on enjoying life rather than working so much. With this wonderful offer we could retire, travel, take it easy.”
Elsie fixed her daughter-in-law with a glacial smile. “I wasn’t aware that you
Roni fixed Elsie with a frosty smile of her own. “I just want what’s best for Avery.”
David for once was at a loss for words. Finally, he found his voice. “Selling to Landscape Gardens?” he exclaimed, his usually florid cheeks pale. “But you can’t do that!”
Avery cleared his throat and spoke up. “This is all premature, I promise you. We haven’t made
David was not mollified. He smashed his fist angrily on the table, causing both me and the silverware to jump. “You simply can’t sell the Garden. It’s preposterous!” he boomed. David’s devotion to the Matthewses’ business might have been more touching were it not for the fact that he was virtually unemployable anywhere else. David held his cushy job as vice president of marketing only because he was married to Claire. He might have been an idiot, but he wasn’t so big an idiot that he didn’t realize this simple fact. Claire said something to him under her breath, no doubt trying to calm his temper. For once, he seemed to listen to her. Taking a deep breath, he ran his large hand through his goopy hair. “Besides,” he said in a more sedate tone, “you know what they say about getting back to work—sometimes it’s the best thing for a recovery!”
Roni brushed aside these words with a lofty wave of her bright pink manicured fingers. The small movement sent a wave of Roni’s trademark perfume across the table—a cloyingly floral scent Bridget referred to as Nauseating Narcissus. If Roni was aware of the mounting tension around her, she did a fine job hiding it. “Oh,
Roni’s daughter, Megan, blinked and, turtlelike, raised her head from her salmon. “Dogs
Megan was Roni’s daughter from a previous marriage. At seventeen, she was everything her mother was not, which, to paraphrase Jane Austen, was enough to alone recommend her. She had blotchy skin and limp nut-brown hair and was what is politely termed a “full-figured girl.” Megan also differed from Roni in that she was both smart and nice. But those traits are rarely consolation to an awkward teenager, especially to one with a mother like Roni.
