she didn’t like when it showed up in the van. Poor Dad; she made him move it from place to place before sending it back. He’d get fed up, but most of the time he didn’t say anything, because she goes off at the drop of a hat, just like she did at Mavis.”
“We all lose our tempers from time to time.”
“Not the way she does.”
“Let’s discuss why she was on edge.” I shifted farther around to face her squarely.
“Why?”
“That business about the phone call to the catering firm. The one Betty said she didn’t make, canceling the arrangements for the garden party on Thursday.”
“What about it?” Ariel was now scraping the tortoiseshell comb along the edge of the dressing table.
“Who would have made that call?”
“How would I know? She should have kept her temper when she rang yesterday and got the news, but no! She had to go into one of her screaming rages. I’ll bet she was the one who threw the dishcloth at Mavis.”
“And now she’s been forced to invite us to stay so Ben can take on the catering.”
“Well, I didn’t set that up, but only because I didn’t think of it,” Ariel replied defiantly. “Maybe it was Mavis, out to get back at Betty for not letting her bring her son to work. That’s pretty scummy, don’t you think?”
“Not if he’s as destructive as she said.”
“Oh, I might have known she’d get you on her side!”
I looked at her, still fiddling with the comb, and, despite the rudeness, felt a pang of pity. Why wasn’t something done about her hair? A more attractive cut and frequent washing could make all the difference. And then there were the oversized spectacles and the clothes, which did nothing to give her life and color. I had been far from a childhood beauty, but my parents-my mother in particular-had always boosted me up, pointed out my good points, made sure that what I wore suited me and helped me feel good about myself. And they hadn’t had the money that was now at the Hopkinses’ disposal. Again I was making judgments. Suggestions, especially if coming from Betty, were apt to be summarily spurned by Ariel.
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” I said gently, “but I don’t think you should criticize your stepmother to me. Last night was a little different; you had to give me your account of why you ran away. Now I’m a guest in her home. Isn’t there someone else you can talk to about your feelings?”
“Such as a psychiatrist?” She pounced to her feet to stand glaring at me, skinny arms folded. “You’re saying I’m crazy, aren’t you?”
It was too much… the scared look in her eyes, the quiver of her lips before she tightened them; the sight tore at my heart. I could have been looking at one of my own children, but I didn’t dare go over and put my arms around her. She would have pushed me away, become even more upset. Her pride was something she held on to grimly. I understood. I’d been there. And my childhood had been a day at the seaside compared to hers. No devastating loss of a parent in a tragic accident.
“That’s not it at all,” I said crisply, setting my mood to hers. “We all need to get things off our chests from time to time. Have someone really listen to us. What about one of your teachers at school?”
Ariel hunched a shoulder.
“What about your church?” I asked.
“What about it?”
“Is there anyone there you could talk to? The vicar’s wife, for instance?”
“We go to the Catholic church, remember? And Mr. Hard-castle, the Anglican vicar who’s coming to tea tomorrow, doesn’t have a wife. She ran off with one of the altar boys.”
“No!” I stalled on my way to the door, having heard Mrs. Malloy’s heels clicking down the gallery.
“You’re right.” Ariel trailed after me. “I remember now; it was one of the vergers. Okay! I’m kidding. Mr. Hardcastle hasn’t ever been married. Mrs. Cake says many a woman has pricked her little fingers to the bone embroidering altar cloths and kneelers, but it hasn’t got them measuring for curtains at the vicarage. She said he’s a confirmed bachelor. And I told her he should be. A bad example if he wasn’t
“That’s nice.” I opened the door carefully, not wanting Mrs. Malloy to have a black eye on meeting her sister. “We’ll have another talk later, if you like, Ariel.”
“I asked Mrs. Cake if Mr. Hardcastle knits like Seargent Walters does. She said it wouldn’t surprise her, seeing it’s getting popular again with both women and men. She prefers a night out at the Bingo hall.”
“Bingo?” Mrs. Malloy uttered the word in throbbing accents. She stood facing us at the top of the stairs, but had she been in Angola she would have overheard just as well. Not only is Bingo one of her consuming passions, she obviously grasped the implications of Mrs. Cake’s being a fellow enthusiast. A way had been provided to open up a conversation that would weave its way to the recent unsettling events at Cragstone.
“Oh, no!” Ariel exclaimed as we rounded the final curve of the staircase and saw the group below us in the hall. “It’s them!”
“Who?” I lowered my voice, hoping she would take the hint and do likewise. Alongside Tom and Betty I saw two people, neither of whom was Ben. Mrs. Malloy, equally interested, strained to see over my shoulder. We must have looked like those ghouls who stop to stare at an accident: for the thrill, not to offer assistance.
“The Edmondses. Frances and her husband, Stan.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Mrs. Malloy asked, out the side of her mouth.
“Frances steals stuff; she’s a klepto. Stan’s a weasel. Ugh! Just look at him hugging and kissing Betty. It’s not like he’s even keen on her. No chance of
That would have been extreme in my case; so far I’d only seen a squidge of profile and an ear. Tom was blocking most of the view, preventing a full sight of Frances as well. But when Mrs. Malloy and I reached the hall, Ariel having ducked back upstairs, he stepped aside and beckoned us forward.
“Come and meet our friends the Edmondses.” He might have been telling us that the doctor had arrived to take out his tonsils.
Stan, who did look like a weasel, stopped squeezing Betty’s hand to flash a sharp-toothed grin and wave a paw. His slicked-back brown hair and small darting eyes were enough to make me hope he wouldn’t decide to hasten over and kiss me. His wife made a better picture. True, she had a lumpish figure, her complexion wasn’t great, and her hair too brassily blond, but there was something appealing about her bright eyes and broad smile.
I didn’t look at Mrs. Malloy to try to assess her opinion of the Edmondses. We needed to get off to see Melody and perhaps even get a glimpse of Mr. Scrimshank. Betty explained that she and Tom had lived next door but one to the Edmondses in London. Stan poked Tom playfully in the ribs, saying some got lucky after playing the lottery only once, while their friends who played every week never won a bean.
Just as I was starting to miss Ben, he came into the hall from the other end of the house, which made for another buzz of greetings and a flurry of handshaking. I wove my way toward him, intent on telling him that Mrs. Malloy and I were heading out the door. He looked up from listening to something Frances Edmonds was telling him, but he didn’t catch my eye.
The front door had opened, a woman came into the hall, and all conversation and movement stopped. It would have been impolite to go on talking. But there was more to it. Any entrance by this woman would have had a similar impact. Impossible for all eyes not to be drawn to her. She was wearing a peasant skirt, which swirled softly with each step, and an off-the-shoulder lawn blouse. Her legs were bare, and she was wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes with narrow crisscrossed straps. I knew they had a gold-leaf design on the back, because Mrs. Malloy had a pair exactly like them. My cousin Vanessa is a fashion model and stunning, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone this lovely. Hair the color and shine of blackberries, skin like cream, eyes bluer than any sky, and cheeks brushed with rose. The ideal of Irish beauty proclaimed in soulful ballads.
“Hello, Val.” Tom shifted his gaze between Mrs. Malloy and me. More introductions, he had to be thinking.
“Have I come at a bad time?” The voice had the slightest of lilts. Betty said something, I didn’t catch what, because Ben brushed past me without a glance. It seemed to me that what happened next did so in slow motion. I saw him take hold of the woman’s hands, heard the surprised query in his voice.
“Valeria? How do you come to be here?”
