Paris appeared with a loaded tray. Cups and saucers circulated, along with a platter of egg sandwiches. I took one and nibbled around the edges. Pretending to eat avoids a lot of outside pressure. Paris picked up his book and was about to leave again, but Mr. Haskell insisted he stay.
“You’re one of the family.” He turned to me. “Paris is very devout. We read the Torah together.”
Ben put down his cup as though it contained poison.
Poppa leaned back in his chair and spread his hands expansively. “We’re a devout family. When Maggie was three years old, she wanted to be a nun; when she married me, she still wanted to be a nun. When we would argue, which sometimes happened in forty years of marriage, I would tell her to make up for lost time and get thee to a nunnery.”
I looked at Ben. If he ever spoke to me like that… but of course he never would.
“And this time”-Mr. Haskell emitted a sigh which sounded horrendously cheerful to me-“this time, for once in her life, the woman listens to her husband.”
The only sound in the room was the whispering of the purple caftan until Ben pounced out of his chair. First he opened his mouth, then he closed it, then jerked round to me. “Ask my father what he means.”
A more experienced wife might have taken the situation in stride. I stared, mute.
It was Paris who answered, imbuing his words with a grandeur worthy of the Old Vic.
“The sad truth, Ben, is that your parents have parted.”
My husband staggered and I helped him to a chair. “You mean
“Was it anything we did?” I stood twisting my hands like Miss Thorn. “Did the wedding feature somewhere in this catastrophe?”
Poppa chuckled. “You young people always have such a big sense of your own importance.” He rose from his chair, smoothed out the bald spot, and spread his hands. “The reality is poor Maggie suspected me of having a romantic flutter with a Mrs. Jarrod, a nice widow lady who makes the best pickled herring in the world.”
“Mum thought you were having an affair?” Ben visibly relaxed. “Why the devil didn’t you tell her she was making something out of nothing; that at seventy years of age you are past making a fool of yourself, in some areas?”
His father stood in front of the fireplace looking like he had come down the chimney.
Paris bent to remove my cup as I said, “I’m sure the personal touch is very important in your business. Did Magdalene perhaps misinterpret?…” I left the question hanging open.
Poppa, brown eyes gleaming, closed it. “That, dear daughter-in-law, is
Kindly be seated, Mrs. Woolpack.
Oh, surely, must we be so formal? Please call me Beatrix!
Christian names are not permitted at emergency sessions, summoned only at moments of gravest crises. Our president being out of town, I, in accordance with Article Six, Section C, of the Bylaws, will preside. All board members are present, saving Mrs. Shrimpton, who is indisposed. Mrs. Howard, kindly pass Mrs. Woolpack that box of tissues so she may proceed to answer the charges that she willfully rescued a Subject To Be Retired. Tonight being the final episode of the BBC’s serialization of
As you say, Mrs. Woolpack, a job well done-until you forgot duty, loyalty, and sisterhood and snatched him off the line.
I don’t know what came over me! The noise from the train filled up my whole head, and those lights-charging! I was hypnotised. I couldn’t think of anything, see anything… except the butcher’s scraps I had fed my cat at breakfast, all bloody like Mr. Daffy would be…
You were instructed never to put a name to the S.T.B.R.
I know, but-
Consider, if you will, Mrs. Woolpack, how you would have felt if the person charged with the office of dispatching your husband had been overcome with such sentimentality.
You volunteered for this assignment.
Indeed I did. But it was stressed to me during my briefing that murder is not an exact science. I was told there was only a fifty-fifty chance that I would succeed. Don’t think I am excusing myself, but I do ask for a little understanding.
Mrs. Woolpack, had the operation gone awry through no fault of yours or had you unwittingly bungled, you would have met with profound sympathy. As it is, the Board and I will bear in mind the excellent job you did in Correspondence. However, I feel it my duty to advise you before we convene, Mrs. Woolpack, that to err is human, to rescue is unforgivable. All rise.
9
… Primrose’s blue eyes misted. “Ben must have been seriously alarmed about his mother’s state of mind.”
“He was upset for her, but he didn’t believe she would jump off a bridge, if that’s what you are thinking. For one thing, her religion frowns on such behaviour. For another, Ben was certain she wouldn’t want to make things easy for Mrs. Jarrod.”
“Ben didn’t think his father was showing off, in regard to Mrs. Jarrod?” Hyacinth’s earrings hung motionless.
