“Mmm!” I savored the taste and texture of his lips. “Ben, I don’t think I would have been quite so ready to leap to the wrong conclusion about Val if we hadn’t had the evening we did, before leaving home. I said all the wrong things about that review in
“I was the one in a foul mood.”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to Mrs. M’s spending the night, when it was our first chance to be alone with the children gone.”
“It all worked out for the best. We’ve discovered from being here with Tom and Betty how very blessed we are.” He gathered me closer and the kitchen was really heating up when the door creaked open. We got to our feet as Betty came in. He had been right; I did feel uncomfortable with her, knowing what I did. I would probably have blushed regardless of my tousled appearance. Fortunately, she appeared oblivious. Was that her Achilles’ heel? Did she generally fail to see what was right in front of her, I wondered, or was she exceptionally good at hiding her true emotions?
She asked me if I would like to join her and Ariel on a shopping trip.
“Please come, Ellie. We’ll stop somewhere fun for lunch, and then we’ll scour every boutique we can find for an outfit for Ariel to wear on Thursday. I think she’d like it better if you’re with us.”
“Don’t you think the two of you should have the time alone?” I was hesitant to intrude, but at the same time it would be a good idea to get over the hump of being around any of the Hopkinses, especially Betty.
“Getting Ariel to agree to the outing is triumph enough for me. I don’t intend to rush things by foisting myself on her without any distractions.”
“Ellie is the best of distractions,” Ben assured her. “You need to take her with you if I’m going to get started planning the food for the garden party.”
“Well, if it’s like that!” I pretended to glower at him in lieu of kissing him good-bye. Somehow that wouldn’t have seemed kind in front of Betty.
Ten minutes later, she and I met up with Ariel on the drive in front of the coverted carriage house, now used as a garage. Betty proved to be a relaxed and skillful driver. I had been quick to get in the back so Ariel could sit beside her. The expedition began well. They chatted, almost like any other mother and daughter, bringing me into the conversation and occasionally pointing out passing places of interest. Lunch was everything to be hoped: delicious food in a charming Georgian house converted into restaurant and gift shop.
It was while we were eating our treacle pudding and custard that Betty brought up her husband’s name for the first time.
“The thought has crossed my mind a few times, Ellie, since you and Ben came to Cragstone, that maybe Tom and I should consider converting the west wing into a place similar to this one. He’s so handy he could do much of the remodeling himself. Also, he did have that experience working in Ben’s uncle’s restaurant in London. I know he was at the cash register, not in management or involved with the meals. I think he may regret having gone in a different direction. He had a lot going on at the time.”
“Oh?” I spooned up custard while blocking out Val’s image.
“That’s when he was about to get married.”
“Really?”
“To Angela.” Betty looked at Ariel.
“My mother.” The girl continued a composed demolition of her pudding.
“That would have preoccupied him,” I said, wondering if it would appear odd if I jumped up and suggested we explore the gift shop.
“As I’ve said, Tom knows the restaurant environment and I’ve seen him watching Ben while he’s cooking. Maybe he’s thinking he might like to have a go at learning to be a chef.”
Was that the only reason for those looks? Or was her mild-eyed husband inwardly seething with jealousy and resentment over Val? If so, was this why Tom had said he didn’t feel well in church and had gone outside for some air? I felt sorry for him, even while thinking he had brought most of his problems on himself by buckling under to his parents instead of waiting for the right woman to turn up. Angela would probably still be alive, married to someone else, and Betty might be with a man who worshiped her, from the top of her red head to her Barbie-doll shoes. But of course there wouldn’t have been Ariel.
Half an hour later, she said she wished she were home; she was bored, she was tired, and she was sick of looking in stupid shops at stupid clothes. It didn’t matter, anyway, what she wore to the garden party; nobody would be looking at her even if she did go outside for it. And Betty needn’t expect her to play any childish games, or run any three-legged races, because she wouldn’t. She’d just sit at a table under an umbrella and pretend she was having a wonderful time in school doing algebra.
My patience was soon exhausted and Betty, having showed magnificent restraint, flared at her. “Keep this up,” she said, “and it will be boarding school for you.”
“You don’t think I’d like that?”
“At this point I really don’t care, Ariel.”
“Well, isn’t that nice, after you pretended to be so sympathetic when I was upset about Mr. Tribble dying!”
Betty pressed a hand to her brow, and we returned to the car. This time it was Ariel who nipped into the back and we made the return journey to Cragstone House in silence. Anything I could have said would have been jarring. I truly felt sorry for both of them. Ariel had been a little snot, but there was something about her current quiet that tugged at my heart. It seemed fitting that it should start to rain as we drove between the gateposts.
“Probably only a shower,” said Betty, as we pulled into the garage.
But she was wrong about that. Mother Nature having been dry-eyed and eager to show her best colors, by being sunshine and light over the past few days, decided on making up for it by being utterly miserable. It drizzled continuously for the rest of that day and evening.
There was a brief letup the next morning, which was particularly welcome because a team of gardeners arrived and got to work, as apparently they did every other Tuesday. The lawns were too damp for mowing, but there was plenty of weeding and clipping to keep them occupied until the skies, which had darkened rapidly, unleashed a deluge that sent them scurrying into their vans. I watched this from the conservatory windows while halfway occupying myself arranging cut flowers in vases. Tom ambled in and said the gardeners had promised to return early Thursday morning, weather permitting, to do the mowing and set up the marquees and umbrella tables that would have been delivered by then. I had the feeling that he would have liked to follow this up with something more but didn’t know how to begin. After shifting from one foot to the other, he wandered out. Mrs. Malloy, who came in to tell me about her evening with Melody, replaced him.
“She’s got a nice little flat. The furnishings wouldn’t be my choice, but they suit her. I don’t care for knitted curtains.”
“Although interesting,” I commented.
“Or wall arrangements of tea cozies. ‘Course I didn’t let on. I said she’d fixed the place up a treat and asked if her gentleman friend had contributed his handiwork. She shied away from that one, and I knew there was no use trying get more out of her about him. Mel always did clam up when she’d the mind. But that had its good side last night.”
“How?”
“It gave me the chance to bring up Mavis’s husband. I told Mel she was like a safe that only a locksmith could open without knowing the combination. And I’m pleased to tell you, Mrs. H, that she was all for the idea of phoning him up. She’s going to choose her time, when Mr. Scrimshank is out of the office.”
“Yes?”
“She’ll tell Mavis’s hubby as how there’s some important papers she needs on the double but can’t get into the safe because she’s forgotten the numbers.”
“Have you run this by Mrs. Cake?” I asked, feeling more and more doubtful, being the one who had come up with the idea.
“Just now. She don’t think it would be right to drag Mavis and her husband further in than necessary by telling them what’s really going on. She thinks Mel should just say the papers have to do with Lady Fiona’s future financial welfare. Seeing as Mavis is so fond of her ladyship and eager to see her back on her feet, Mrs. Cake is sure that’ll
