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Authors: Dorothy Cannell
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her hands and endeavoured to hold them steady. “I’m being absolutely hateful about all this. The fact that Vanessa and I never got along doesn’t mean she won’t make your son a marvelous wife and that you won’t come to love her dearly as a daughter-in-law.”
“That’ll be the day!” Mrs. Malloy was forced to resort again to the purple hankie. “The time I met her at your wedding, the woman treated me like I was the hired help.”
“That’s the way she treats everyone,” I soothed, “but let’s hope she makes an exception with George and that the fire he has ignited in her heart will thaw the ice in her veins. Everyone has their good points, and I’m sure that if I rack my brains all day and all night, I will remember some instance of Vanessa’s lovableness.”
“You’re breaking my heart!” Mrs. Malloy returned the hankie to the pocket of her black taffeta frock and pressed a hand loaded with rings against her substantial bosom. “This is my punishment for keeping quiet about George.”
“We all have our little secrets.” I turned away and began filling up the sink with hot, sudsy water. Watching one of the saucers float upon the surface like a survivor from a shipwreck, I thought about Eligibility Escorts and how much I would dislike having the commercial aspect of my first meeting with Ben surface. The fact that he nevercashed the check I wrote for the privilege of having him escort me to the family reunion at Merlin’s Court and pass me doting looks guaranteed to turn Vanessa as green as the watercress in the sandwiches wouldn’t stop the tongues from wagging in Chitterton Fells. And wasn’t it possible that in the process, the certainty of Ben’s loving me devotedly would become tarnished?
Trying to shake off my unease along with the suds from my hands, I told myself that the likelihood of my past catching up with me was infinitesimal. And then it hit me, like a spray of soapy water, that in the space of the last dozen or so hours I had been made aware of the inexorable link between what was and what is.
First there had been the arrival of Gerta, at the behest of my former flatmate Jill, and now there was Vanessa, not actually on my doorstep, but soon to arrive in an ebony swoop of mink coat. Stepping back from the ominous
gloog-gloog
of the sink emptying itself, I wrung my hands on the dish towel and wondered: Was it too far-fetched to picture myself colliding with Mrs. Swabucher, the owner of Eligibility Escorts, in the village High Street? Mrs. Swabucher, with her hair tinted a delicate shade of rose to match her tulle-swirled hats, was a figure impossible to miss. Who wouldn’t gawk, were this miracle of corseting and cosmetics to stop traffic by dashing across the road, with a speed that belied her advancing years, to envelop me in her flamingo-pink feather boa and cry: “Ellie Haskell! How could I forget you—the success story of all time at Eligibility Escorts! And how is that lovely young man you rented for a weekend and ended up marrying?”
A chill invaded the kitchen to worm its way into my soul, but the cause was innocent enough. Gerta had come in through the garden door with Abbey and Tam in tow. And a merry little trio they made! Abbey dancing around the woman as if she were a pine tree straight from the mountain slopes and Tam squealing gleefully as he jigged up and down.
“Gerta, I show you my choo-choo train!”
“Soon, my little munchkin! But first we have the breakfast of cereal that goes popsy-daisy!”
“Ja!”
shrieked my darlings.
It was a joy to realize my offspring were both so welladjusted that they did not feel the need to rush over to me and bury their shy little faces in my skirts. Gerta was proving to be a treasure. She did not even turn white as her frilly apron when Tobias pounced out of nowhere to take a shortcut through her legs to the hall door, and a friendly smile appeared on her apple-dumpling face when I introduced Mrs. Malloy.
“It is
“That’ll be the day!” Mrs. Malloy was forced to resort again to the purple hankie. “The time I met her at your wedding, the woman treated me like I was the hired help.”
“That’s the way she treats everyone,” I soothed, “but let’s hope she makes an exception with George and that the fire he has ignited in her heart will thaw the ice in her veins. Everyone has their good points, and I’m sure that if I rack my brains all day and all night, I will remember some instance of Vanessa’s lovableness.”
“You’re breaking my heart!” Mrs. Malloy returned the hankie to the pocket of her black taffeta frock and pressed a hand loaded with rings against her substantial bosom. “This is my punishment for keeping quiet about George.”
“We all have our little secrets.” I turned away and began filling up the sink with hot, sudsy water. Watching one of the saucers float upon the surface like a survivor from a shipwreck, I thought about Eligibility Escorts and how much I would dislike having the commercial aspect of my first meeting with Ben surface. The fact that he nevercashed the check I wrote for the privilege of having him escort me to the family reunion at Merlin’s Court and pass me doting looks guaranteed to turn Vanessa as green as the watercress in the sandwiches wouldn’t stop the tongues from wagging in Chitterton Fells. And wasn’t it possible that in the process, the certainty of Ben’s loving me devotedly would become tarnished?
Trying to shake off my unease along with the suds from my hands, I told myself that the likelihood of my past catching up with me was infinitesimal. And then it hit me, like a spray of soapy water, that in the space of the last dozen or so hours I had been made aware of the inexorable link between what was and what is.
First there had been the arrival of Gerta, at the behest of my former flatmate Jill, and now there was Vanessa, not actually on my doorstep, but soon to arrive in an ebony swoop of mink coat. Stepping back from the ominous
gloog-gloog
of the sink emptying itself, I wrung my hands on the dish towel and wondered: Was it too far-fetched to picture myself colliding with Mrs. Swabucher, the owner of Eligibility Escorts, in the village High Street? Mrs. Swabucher, with her hair tinted a delicate shade of rose to match her tulle-swirled hats, was a figure impossible to miss. Who wouldn’t gawk, were this miracle of corseting and cosmetics to stop traffic by dashing across the road, with a speed that belied her advancing years, to envelop me in her flamingo-pink feather boa and cry: “Ellie Haskell! How could I forget you—the success story of all time at Eligibility Escorts! And how is that lovely young man you rented for a weekend and ended up marrying?”
A chill invaded the kitchen to worm its way into my soul, but the cause was innocent enough. Gerta had come in through the garden door with Abbey and Tam in tow. And a merry little trio they made! Abbey dancing around the woman as if she were a pine tree straight from the mountain slopes and Tam squealing gleefully as he jigged up and down.
“Gerta, I show you my choo-choo train!”
“Soon, my little munchkin! But first we have the breakfast of cereal that goes popsy-daisy!”
“Ja!”
shrieked my darlings.
It was a joy to realize my offspring were both so welladjusted that they did not feel the need to rush over to me and bury their shy little faces in my skirts. Gerta was proving to be a treasure. She did not even turn white as her frilly apron when Tobias pounced out of nowhere to take a shortcut through her legs to the hall door, and a friendly smile appeared on her apple-dumpling face when I introduced Mrs. Malloy.
“It is
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