Read Online The Snow Globe by Judith Kinghorn - Free Book Online Page B

in,” said Dosia. “I’m a fervent believer in free expression . . . And I don’t in the least blame you for wanting to slap my brother. I’ve longed to for years. In fact, there are very few men I’ve met that I have
not
wished to slap,” she added, winking at Daisy.
    Everyone laughed, including Mabel, who beckoned Daisy over to where she was sitting and then took hold of her daughter’s hand. “Let’s say no more about it. But perhaps it would be nice if you went and bid your father good night. I think he’d like that.”

    It was close to midnight and Mabel had been at her desk for some time when her husband opened the door of her lamplit boudoir. It was a small, cluttered room with lace-draped French doors leading out onto the garden, situated on the eastern side of the house, next to the morning room and opposite Howard’s study and the billiard room.
    Mabel stared back at her husband’s bewildered face. “I’ve told you, Howard, I have absolutely no idea. I rather think
you
should know what you did to upset her, not me. Did she come and say good night to you? I asked her to.”
    Howard shook his head.
    â€œWell, you must have done or said
something
.”
    He appeared to be genuinely mystified. He looked tired and, Mabel noted, rather hurt.
    â€œWe had been chatting . . . about nothing in particular as I recall, wishes and secrets . . . the usual sort of Daisy stuff . . . ,” he began hesitantly, remembering. “Then she went off to fetch me some ice. I thought she was taking a while, and then . . . when she returned, well, you saw.”
    â€œPerhaps it was that. Perhaps it was the fact that you sent her off for ice,” Mabel suggested with a shrug of her shoulders. “You know how she disapproves of people drinking.” She cast her eyes to the clock on the wall and then to her paper-strewn desk. It was much too late for any inquisition. “You of all people should know by now how emotional—dare I say
passionate
—we women can sometimes be.”
    â€œAnd what do you mean by that?”
    â€œMy dear, think of your own mother . . . your sister, your daughters . . .” Mabel went on, taking care not to include herself in the lineup. “I’m quite sure it’ll all be forgotten in the morning . . . and she’ll explain, apologize. And if not, well, you must ask her directly why she behaved toward you in that way.”
    Howard nodded. He bent down, kissed his wife’s forehead. Mabel watched the door close; she listened to the sound of hisfootsteps fade. “Good night, Howard,” she whispered. Then she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and reminded herself not to dwell on him or on the past. It was Christmas, another family Christmas, and they had to get through it.
She
had to get through it. And this year she had a special surprise for Howard.
    She smiled and returned to her lists.
    Benedict Gifford was to be collected from the 12:26—along with Lily’s husband, Miles; which would make them nine for luncheon . . . and dinner—or eleven, if Patricia and Bernard Knight made it through the snow. Then she remembered: Reggie. “Ten . . . or twelve,” she said aloud, relieved.
    Aside from meal plans, numbers and menus, there was on Mabel’s small desk a list of Christmas presents—those wrapped marked with a capital
W
, the initials of the recipient next to each item. There was a list of rooms allocated to guests with dates in and dates out and notes on specific needs—such as Miles’s desire for coffee instead of tea to be brought in to him at eight, and her mother’s need for a chamber pot (to be emptied each morning). There was a “Laundry” book, a “Mending” book and a “Dressmakers & Tailors” book, a ledger for staff wages and another for