Sunday Best

by Edward O. Phillips

  Charles appeared at my elbow. “Are you starving, or can we talk?”

  “We can talk. What’s on your mind?”

  “Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had today. It’s the only offer I’ve had today. But I still think you’ve been reading too many spy stories.”

  I followed Charles up the staircase. From the landing I glanced around the ground floor. Patrick was still nowhere in sight. I continued on up, past the white bedroom where the ladies could freshen up. Beyond the master bedroom lay a guest bedroom furnished in Quebec colonial pine, Laura Ashley coordinates, and an infinity of flounces. Charles led the way into a small-d den, the kind of room that howls its understatement. A large Chippendale console with folding doors concealed a television set. Prints of racehorses, spaced with geometric precision, circled the walls. A pair of striped wing chairs with matching footstools faced the console, on either side of which Two indirectly lit alcoves with glass shelves held Lois’s collection of antique decoy ducks.

  I sat. “I’m listening.”

  “Okay, but first let me say I thought your toast was cool. Not the usual happiness crap. You never mentioned the speech at lunch.”

  “I didn’t know about the speech at lunch. I didn’t know about it until Lois spoke my name. That toast was the quintessence of spontaneity.”

  “The Sugar Plum Fairy strikes again?”

  “She’s more of a not-so-sweet nutcracker.” Even as I spoke I knew I had betrayed a member of my generation to someone of a different age group. Them and Us. But I no longer cared. “Now what’s this cloak and dagger meeting all about?”

  “You won’t think me a crank?”

  “Yes, I think you’re a crank. I’ve thought so from day one. I repeat, what’s it all about?”

  “Remember that talk we had in Toronto, about why I didn’t think Douglas should get married?”

  “Clearly.”

  “Well, I was right. I said it was only a matter of time before he learned the truth about himself.”

  “Has he?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know it yet.”

  I looked down at Charles, perched on the edge of the other wing chair, and screwed my face into an expression of scepticism.

  “You’ve lost me. Your turn of phrase is decidedly Irish. Please clarify.”

  In spite of his intense seriousness, Charles broke into a giggle. “Sit down, Geoffry, I have something to tell you.”

  Unable to resist the magnetic pull of the soap opera situation, I put my hand to my throat. “I am sitting down – Charles.”

  “Okay. Douglas has been really turned on – probably for the first time in his life – by your nephew. As far as I can tell, the feeling is mutual.”

  “Charles, not only have you been reading too many espionage novels, you obviously watch too much daytime TV.”

  “Stop condescending to me, you prick! There, I stopped you. Sorry, Geoffry, I don’t wish to be rude, but you were just doing another of your easy G. Chadwick putdowns. I have been living in the house with them. You haven’t. Nor am I a total moron, even if I do have the colossal misfortune to be young. Use your own eyes. When I first met Richard I thought he was a real stick, the kind who watches TV only for the commercials. Now, have you ever seen him as animated as he was at lunch?”

  “Come to think of it, no.”

  “In all the years I have known Douglas I have never seen him so turned on. I thought he was going to jump right out of his skin. All those asshole arguments they were having. And they carried on that way for the rest of the afternoon. They were still at it while Douglas shaved and Richard took a shower. They haven’t made it in the sack yet, only because I happened to be in the picture. I watched the way Doug greeted Jennifer, like she was about to serve him a summons. Now, what are we going to do about it?”

  “We are going to do nothing at all,” I replied, looking sadly at the melting ice cubes at the bottom of my glass. The bar seemed light years away. “It’s none of my business. In spite of your crack about age, I still consider you an adult, as are Douglas, Richard, and Jennifer. They will have to work things out for themselves. I am not about to go downstairs and make another toast to Douglas and Richard. What will we do with all those embossed napkins and matchbooks? Correct them with a ballpoint pen? Finally, I have to confess, I would feel very foolish walking down the aisle wearing a morning coat with Richard on my arm.”

  “You know something? For an intelligent man you can be an awful jerk.”

  “For an intelligent young man you can be an awful pain in the neck. What astonishes me is how deeply conservative you really are. You don’t think Douglas should get married because he may be gay or at least bisexual. I can’t begin to tell you how many marriages I have encountered where the husband has a wandering eye, and not for girls. Are you certain how Jennifer feels about the situation? You are presuming to make judgements on and for other people. And if you’re not careful you’re going to turn out just like Lois.”

  “Holy shit!”

  Suddenly we were both laughing, my previous good humour entirely restored. I had to admit this engagement party was breaking new ground.

  “Seriously, Charles, what can we do? Outfit Richard with a chastity belt? Threaten Douglas with the stocks? For my part, if any of them seeks me out I shall hear him out, or her as the case may be. If advice ought to be forthcoming I shall offer it, to the best of my ability. I suggest you try to be as good a friend to Douglas as you can. If what you say is true he’s going to need one. I wouldn’t want to be in his Guccis when Lois finds out. Now it’s time for me to get a drink.” I stood and went to the door.

  “Geoffry?” I stopped. “Is the man you came with, the va-va-voom jacket – is he the competition?”

  I looked directly at Charles. “No, he’s not. When I told you there was no one, I was not being coy. It’s time to get back to the party and turn on the charm.”

  I left the den and went downstairs, Charles following. Patrick stood at the bar, waiting for a drink. I joined him.

  “Do you come and go in a giant bubble, like Glinda the Good Witch of the North? I haven’t seen you since we arrived.”

  “Good. I hope no one else has.” He spoke low. “I sneaked off to use the toilet and kept right on going. Got lost in the servants’ quarters, as it were. The maid and the cook live in a wing behind the kitchen, but the chauffeur has a room and bath in the basement. I checked it out. Very monastic. Nothing at all to suggest he does anything more than drive the car.”

  We moved from the bar to stand close to a group of men arguing noisily, the volume of their conversation a soundscreen for our own.

  “It makes sense,” Patrick continued. “If you have someone coming in to do out your room, make the bed, change the towels, and so forth, you would leave nothing telling to be accidentally discovered.”

  “Did you check the garage?”

  “Yes. Fortunately, the door leading in from the basement is unlocked. But again nothing. It figures, though. Anybody can have access to the garage – gardeners, garbage men, the household staff.”

  “What is it exactly that you hope to find? Scissors? Paste? A magazine with pages missing?”

  “I’m not fully certain. Most likely drugs, more specifically cocaine. If there is any to be found, I suspect it will be a large amount.”

  The volume beside us continued to screen our conversation. “Patrick, I am reminded of an Edgar Allan Poe story in which a critically important letter was effectively concealed by altering its appearance and leaving it out in full sight. If I was the chauffeur and I wanted to hide a package, I would tuck it away somewhere in that vulgar limousine. Nobody has any real access to the vehicle but he. Passengers simply get in and out of the back seat. And whatever he might be concealing would be under constant scrutiny.”

  “We think alike. Only the car is in constant use tonight because of the weather. And even if the limo is in the garage, he will still
be on call.”

  From the corner of my eye I could see Victor and Carol McPherson edging in my direction. “Let’s hang loose and hope something will turn up. I must find the terl.”

  I ducked out of the library and around the staircase to the powder room, the one I had been prevented from using on my first visit to the house. How did I know, with absolute certainty, that the small room would be done in the foil wallpaper so beloved of decorators who favour sectional furniture? It was like taking a pee in a decompression chamber, but for those few precious seconds I was safe from Victor and Carol. I was glad to see someone else had used the guest soap, shaped like a rosebud, and had crumpled one of the carefully ironed towels. I washed my hands; I always do after shaking hands with a lot of people, even though I am quite willing to believe Lois Fullerton’s guest list is relatively germ free.

  I stepped out of the shiny loo and almost collided with Audrey Crawford, who claimed to be looking for me so I could escort her around the buffet table. I was not hungry, nor did I wish to dull the Glenlivet edge I had been working on since I arrived. Furthermore, it is difficult to be a moving target while holding a dinner plate, particularly one that would cost about two hundred and fifty bucks to replace if dropped.

  Not surprisingly I lied. “I’d love to, Audrey, but Jennifer asked me to chow down with her. She wants to talk about something.”

  “Women of all ages at your feet,” she replied haughtily.

  “Oh, I hope not. Men who have women at their feet always trip, sooner or later.”

  “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

  I knew perfectly well Audrey had worked the party, holding a series of five-to-eight-minute conversations with everyone she knew, chats which began with “Darling, how wonderful to see you!” and ended with “Isn’t that Priscilla (or Peter or Poppy) over there? I must go and say hello.” Audrey Crawford was bored and wanted to go off in a corner and shaft the hostess.

  “Jennifer is the guest of honour,” I replied. “I must defer.” Audrey was peeved. “I suppose you’re going to give her a shower?”

  “As a matter of fact I am, a bathroom shower. Someone is bringing a bathtub, someone else a bidet. I’m giving her the shower, with adjustable nozzle. If you’ll excuse me …” I began to back away, smiling my retreat, like royalty fading from a balcony, when I saw Jennifer coming down the stairs.

  Even making allowances for the fact that I was by now a little tight, I still thought she looked shell-shocked.

  “Uncle Geoffry,” she said quietly, “do you think I could have a word with you in private?”

  Another last-minute reprieve!

  “Certainly, but if you want to be private we had better go upstairs. You pay a price for being the star of the evening.”

  As if to underline my words, a woman bustled up to Jennifer, one of those kindly, motherly types men marry for security. She took Jennifer’s hand, wished her well, and said how sorry she would be to miss the wedding but she had to be in Boston for her daughter’s graduation. It was all well meant, but Jennifer failed to respond on any level beyond the purely automatic. It seemed odd.

  I led the way upstairs, past the Snow White bedroom, past the terminal colonial guest room, into the Field and Stream den. The television set had been switched on, with the volume turned low. Probably someone had wanted to check the weather and get a report on the blizzard. Using the remote control, I switched it off.

  “Would you like me to close the door?”

  “Yes, please, Uncle Geoffry.”

  Shutting the door entailed moving one of the chairs. The latch failed to catch properly, but the position of the door would discourage casual entry. I sat in my customary wing chair and prepared to listen. For a moment I feared there might be tears, but I was spared. I am totally incapable of dealing with weeping women, of any age. My first reaction to a sobbing female is to push her head into a bucket of water, not a standard feature of the drawing rooms and restaurants where women generally cry at me. I fully realize women have been obliged to fight with whatever weapons they have at hand, but as a youth I was manipulated by tears once too often. Now the surest way to lose my attention is to permit that crystal tear to trickle down the alabaster cheek.

  I was relieved to see Jennifer’s eyes were dry. As I waited for her to begin, I noticed her toying with a long string of perfectly matched pearls, which I had not seen when she arrived. Perhaps they had been concealed by the ruffles on her blouse.

  “That’s an impressive string of pearls, Jennifer. Even from here they look as though a lot of cross oysters worked overtime.”

  “They’re an engagement present. Mrs. Fullerton gave them to me on the stairs, after you finished your speech.” She looked at the beads resting in the palm of her hand, then let them drop. “The gift was a bit premature. I mean – Douglas has just broken off the engagement.”

  My heart leaped up, even though I compressed my mouth into a straight line. “That’s a big one, Jennifer. And I am naturally curious why and how.”

  “There’s not much to tell. No sooner had you finished the toast to the happy couple than Douglas whispered he had to speak to me. We sneaked up to the top floor. To be honest, I was a bit reluctant. I mean, with the party going on downstairs …”

  “You still thought it would be one in the eye for Lois.”

  She shrugged. “I guess you’re right. But it turned out to be one in the eye for me.”

  “What did he say? He certainly has an impeccable sense of timing.”

  “I guess your speech really spooked him. It startled me. All of a sudden the engagement seemed so public, so official.” She fell silent. “Anyhow, Douglas said he understood it was going to be difficult, but he didn’t feel he was ready to settle down for good.” She smiled, a wan smile but a smile nonetheless. “He asked me, did I really mind.”

  “Do you?”

  “To be honest, Uncle Geoffry, I don’t. That’s the odd part. I suppose I should feel like the jilted woman. Isn’t that the word I’ve read? But now that it’s out in the open I feel nothing but relief. Stunned but relieved.”

  Jennifer could not have been more relieved than I. To think she would not be marrying that dipshit Douglas, with his secondhand opinions and ambivalent sexuality, not to mention that ten-miles-of-bad-road mother who came with the package. If Jennifer were out of this engagement, she was well out. However, I knew young people were mercurial; they split up only to come together again like pond water creatures under a microscope. How many parents have bad-mouthed the discarded fiance only to have egg on their faces when the couple reconciled and the wedding went ahead on schedule? It was advisable to proceed with caution.

  “Did he give you a reason, other than he didn’t feel ready to settle down?”

  “No. Perhaps I should have asked him to be more specific. But all I could think of was that we’d come this far and how were we going to stop the machine. Mrs. Fullerton will have to be told. Mother” – Jennifer rolled her eyes – “will have to be told. That’s going to be a treat.”

  “It’s your life, Jennifer, not hers. Unless you and Douglas are both completely sold on the idea of marriage, you are far better advised to call it off. Don’t allow yourself to be pressured by family. What the neighbours may or may not think doesn’t matter a damn. My opinion, for what it’s worth, is that I’m delighted you are postponing the wedding, perhaps scrubbing it entirely. You both have some living to do before you settle into the slow lane.

  “However.” I paused for a sip of the drink I had been rationing so it would last me through the interview. “For the rest of the evening let’s carry on as though it were business as usual. Let the engagement party run its course. Flaunt your pearls. Now is not the time to quell the enthusiasm. Go and find Douglas and tell him to behave as though you had not had your little talk. Tomorrow will be time enough for truth. Lois has put far too much time and thought and effort into this party to have it spoiled, even by her immaculate son.”

  I
went to move my chair so I could open the door. To my surprise, Jennifer embraced me, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. I responded in kind, holding her close and rocking her gently until she loosened her grip. It was perhaps the first time we had touched fondly rather than formally.

  Jennifer went off in search of Douglas, and I followed her downstairs so I could touch base with Patrick. I caught sight of the jacket in the dining room.

  “I’m grabbing a bite to eat,” he confessed with a grin, “to keep my strength up. There’s no chance of getting near that limo at the moment. Several of the guests are leaving because of the blizzard, and I overheard that all the cab companies have taken the phone off the hook. So the chauffeur is driving people home.”

  “In that case, relax and enjoy yourself. Take the rest of the night off, and I speak as your employer.”

  A mountain of shrimp having been reduced to a foothill, one of the maids carried in a freshly heaped platter. The size and quality of the buffet bordered on ostentation, protein at its least caloric and most expensive, set out around a low silver bowl where three lonesome gardenias floated in a vain attempt to suggest less is more. I looked at the tissue-thin slices of rare beef, the split lobsters carefully cleaned out and filled with lobster salad, the chafing dish fragrant with beef bourguignon, hesitated, almost weakened, then resolutely made my way back to the bar for at least one more dividend. There would still be food when I felt like eating; Lois did not stint. Best of all, she had avoided those old buffet standbys, slippery ham and tepid turkey. The easiest thing in the world to give up cold turkey is cold turkey.

  By now the party was beginning to thin out. Since most of the guests were of sober age, they had begun to head home after eating. The storm continued to perform outside; one’s own home seemed like a good place to be.

  I pushed the subversive idea of leaving to the back of my mind. By now the bartender reached for my glass without speaking. A tall, handsome young man came to stand beside me.

  “Geoffry, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you this evening. I looked for you, but you keep disappearing.”