by Valerie Tate
“He’s a character, all right. But, you know, I miss him. Those days he spent with me he used to wait for me in the window, and the first thing I’d see going up the walk was his lop-sided smile.”
As they reached the bottom step, the orange ball of fur stretched out and scrambled up Chris’ leg to his arms.
“Well hello, Marmalade, and how is the Howard Hughes of the feline set?” His answer was a contented purr. “It seems to me you’re putting on a little weight.”
“He is,” she said ruefully, clucking the cat affectionately under his double chin. “I’m afraid he’s the original moocher, with a regular round of houses to visit, and everybody feeds him. We’ve stopped giving him table scraps, but we can’t stop others from doing so. Anybody we’ve approached has said that when he sits there looking at them with such big, sad eyes, they haven’t the heart to refuse him, and they won’t believe us that the big sad routine is just an act. The one night we tried keeping him in again, he howled so long we were afraid the neighbors would think we were torturing him. Grandmother always let him come and go pretty much as he pleased.”
“Alicia, dear,” Alice’s voice came from the kitchen, “take Mr. Mallory out and show him the gardens before dinner. The roses are especially beautiful this year.”
They went through the parlor into the dining room where French doors led to the garden. This was a room Chris had been in many times, large and ornate, but like every other room he’d seen, old-fashioned and over-crowded.
The garden was as lovely as Mrs. Dunbar had said, fragrant and humming with life, and he was more than pleased to have more time alone with Alicia. Marmalade had important business of his own to attend to and went to skulk among the golden-petaled branches of the Forsythia bushes.
“Mother thought it might be nice to have dinner out in the Gazebo since it’s such a pleasant evening.”
He looked across the garden to that white frame structure where a small round table was set with china. A Victorian ‘folly’, it was delicate in design and craftsmanship with a sloping roof and intricate railings, and surrounded by flowering bushes.
“I’ve been wondering about something that perhaps you can explain. Your grandmother would have been born after Queen Victoria died ...”
“And you’re wondering why the decor of the house is from that period?”
“Exactly.”
“You have to understand something about small towns. It takes a long time for styles and ways of life to change. Not so much today, with television and the internet, of course, but in the past. This was the style Grandfather grew up with, was comfortable with, and in fact, most of the older pieces you see belonged to his parents and grand-parents. Many of them are museum pieces now. Anyway, when Grandmother and Grandfather were married, he brought her to this house. It had been decorated originally by my great-grandmother. My grandmother, as the new bride, made some changes but she couldn’t radically alter things. Over time, even though things like the wiring and plumbing have been brought up-to-date, the decor hasn’t. Grandmother would repaint and replace draperies but not the furnishings. Mother hates it,” she added, quite unnecessarily. “I think that was part of the reason that Grandmother refused to let her make changes.”
“And how do you feel about it?”
“Me? I hardly notice. My room is very comfortable. I know the parlor isn’t but, then, I’m rarely in there.” She smiled absently and he could feel her slipping away. The same frustrating thing happened every time he attempted to ask a personal question. She kept him at arm’s distance, never letting her guard down, never letting him past the wall. “Here’s mother with dinner.”
Dinner was superb: spinach salad with sliced strawberries and pine nuts, prime rib au jus with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, creamed peas and pearl onions, and a delicious sherry trifle for dessert.
The night was filled with the scent of roses and the shrill whirr of cicadas. From off in the distance, came the muffled pounding of waves on the shore.
And Marmalade was nowhere to be seen.
With the evening progressing so well, Alice relaxed, and in the mellow candlelight, Chris could see the young girl James Dunbar had married twenty-six years before.
“Are you sure you won’t have anything more, Mr. Mallory?”
“No, I couldn’t possibly eat another bite. Everything was marvelous. And, please, won’t you call me Chris?”
“Why, yes, if you’d like. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Chris, I’ll just run in and bring out the tea.” She walked back through the garden along a path lined with coach lamps, across the veranda and in the kitchen door.
“I can’t remember when we’ve spent such an enjoyable evening.” James smiled happily. “I want to thank you, Chris. This has been a difficult situation and you’ve been so very helpful.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’d begun to doubt it.”
“I assure you, you have. And I know Alice feels so too. Look, she’s even using her grandmother’s tea service. That’s a real honor.”
They looked up as the kitchen door banged shut. Alice was walking towards them carrying a silver tea service and four delicate china cups and saucers on a silver tray with Marmalade trotting behind.
“No, don’t get up. I can manage this. But would you please clear a space on the table. Marmalade, stay away from my ankles. You are such a pest. Get away! Alicia, would you come and get this animal?”
Alicia ran down the steps to where Marmalade was playing cat and mouse with Alice’s feet. She was too late. Just as she reached them, the inevitable happened. Alice tried to push the cat away with her foot, lost her balance and stumbled forward. The tea pot rocked and went crashing to the ground, sending china flying in all directions.
“Alice, are you all right, my dear?” James dashed to where Alicia was attempting to brush the hot tea off her mother’s gown.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she snapped. “Stop fussing over me. Just look at that mess. And my china, it’s ruined! This is the last straw! God help that cat if I get my hands on him.”
She made a grab for Marmalade who, oblivious to the chaos he’d created, was placidly lapping cream from a pitcher that had somehow remained upright.
“Alice, you can’t!” Chris shouted while James tried to run interference for Alicia who had scooped up the cat. “Remember the will. If you harm him, you’ll all have to leave.”
His warning must have penetrated her rage, because she stopped short and visibly checked her angry impulse. Turning to him, white-lipped with anger, she said furiously, “Mr. Mallory, I’d advise you to keep that animal out of my sight for the next few hours,” then strode off towards the house, across the veranda and inside, slamming the door behind her.
Chris took the now irate cat from Alicia, carried him spitting and clawing to the garage, and shut him in. Ignoring the cat’s outraged howls, he turned back to find James waiting alone. “He’ll be all right there for a while. That should give Alice time to cool off.”
James nodded wearily. “I think I’d better go in and try to calm her down. The only other time I’ve seen her this livid was the day the will was read. Good-bye, Chris. I’m sorry the evening has ended this way.”
“So am I. Did Alicia go in after her mother?”
“No, she wandered off into the garden. There’s a little ring of birches at the foot of that path. That’s one of her favorite spots. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found her there. Now you’ll have to excuse me ...”
“Of course.” Chris watched him go and followed the flagstone path he’d indicated.
Alicia was sitting on a little wooden bench beneath the birches, a pale, golden wraith in the moonlight. She seemed as unapproachable as the stars she watched. He stood there, looking at her, not knowing where to begin, or what to say. Finally, “Why did you run away?”
She turned dreamy eyes towards him and smiled. “It’s such a beautiful night, clear and tranquil. And those stars! They’re so remote and untroubled.�
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Not to be side-tracked, he repeated his question softly.
Sighing, she brought herself back from the heavenly to the mundane. “I hate unpleasant scenes and try to avoid them whenever possible. With mother, unpleasant scenes are a regular occurrence.”
“If you feel that way, why did you come home from college when you mother sent for you?”
“It seemed easier at the time than opposing her. Mother can be a bit of a steam-roller and I learned years ago that there are only two things you can do when a steam-roller comes barreling towards you - get out of its way or get crushed. I chose the former. Father didn’t. Poor dear, he was never the man mother thought he should be. He’s a very artistic person and always more interested in craftsmanship than commerce. Mother couldn’t see this, and the more she pushed, the more he ... crumbled. Grandmother saw what was happening and hated her even more for it, and so she made Mother’s life miserable. As for Mother, she always thought she was doing the right thing, giving him the push he needed. In her own way, she really loves him. What he really needed, though, and still needs, is to succeed on his own. I think Grandmother understood that.”
“And what do you need?”
“Me? All I need is to be left alone.”
“Do you know what you grandmother said about you?”
She shook her head.
“She said you were a Sleeping Beauty, waiting for a prince to come and awaken you. What happened to the prince, Alicia?”
Angry color flooded her cheeks. “That, Mr. Mallory, is none of your business. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going in.” She stood and turned to go.
Recklessly, he went on, knowing he’d never get another chance. “The Sleeping Beauty could only be awakened with a kiss. Let’s see if it works.” And before she could protest, he pulled her to him and covered her lips with his own. For several seconds, too stunned to resist, she lay softly against him. Then, suddenly, she pulled away, and before he knew what she intended, sent him staggering with a right hook to the jaw. Without another word, she stalked back down the path.
Chuckling softly and rubbing his stinging jaw, Chris walked slowly back to the house, remembering all the while the warm softness of her lips and the fire in her eyes as her fist struck his cheek.
Some sleeping princess!
Chapter 10
He stood alone, an obscure figure, tucked away in the shadows of the black walnut tree by the gate at the end of the driveway, well-hidden from any prying eyes.
‘This should be a piece of cake’, he thought. ‘Everyone in town knows that spoiled rotten cat comes and goes whenever he wants. Just wait until he comes out, pop him into the bag and be gone, with no-one the wiser. Dumb animal won’t know what hit him. Piece o’cake!’
Chapter 11
Chris awoke the next morning with the very pleasant sensation of something wonderful having happened, and it was a glorious two minutes before complete remembrance came flooding back and he burrowed back into the comfort of his pillows, cursing the day he’d first laid eyes on a large orange cat with a crooked ear and a girl with a mean right hook.
The weather did little to lift his spirits as he drove to the office. Chill and damp, with thick black clouds billowing overhead, it mirrored the great, black slough of despair he was drowning in.
And the day seemed endless. Usually when he had a problem, Chris could lose himself in work, but not that day. The nagging thought of the Dunbars and their problems constantly intruded with scenes from the previous night’s fiasco flashing relentlessly before his eyes. Finally, he gave up all attempts at other work and turned his full attention to the core of the problem - Alice Dunbar.
Taking a sheet of paper, he listed all the things that were making her life and, consequently, everyone else’s life miserable.
1. The cat.
That went without saying.
2. Her lack of a social life.
He didn’t see what he could possibly do about that.
3. The state of the house with its nineteenth century decor and its nineteenth century comfort, or, rather, lack thereof.
He had unpleasant memories of that himself.
4. Having to care for that large house with only Alicia for help.
He couldn’t blame her for that. He had enough trouble keeping his flat clean. Just recently he’d had to resort to employing a weekly cleaning woman.
A cleaning woman? Well, why not? There was nothing in the will that forbade it and Mrs. Dunbar had said he was to use his own judgment. What had Alice said about the staff when Robert Dunbar was living – ‘a cook, housekeeper, maid and gardener on full-time staff’? That would be out of the question today. But just maybe ...
After giving the idea more thought and rechecking the provisions of the will, Chris called James at the factory, not daring to approach Alice just yet, and made arrangements to pay a visit after dinner that evening, promising to explain why when they were all together.
* * *
By seven o’clock that evening it was pouring with rain. James let him in, and hustled his raincoat and umbrella into the kitchen to dry. When he returned they joined the ladies in the library where they were sitting before a crackling fire. It was the coziest room in the house and Chris appreciated the warmth and cheerful chatter of the fire. Marmalade, he learned, was shut in the kitchen for the time-being, and since the night was no more fit for beast than man, was snoozing peacefully in his bed by the radiator.
Alice greeted him with a curt, “Good evening, Mr. Mallory,” her expression grim. James pulled up two more chairs, and Chris sank gratefully into its over-stuffed splendor. James had been wise in making this room his domain. It was the most comfortable one in the house as far as Chris could tell.
“I’m grateful that you were willing to see me this evening, and I want you to know how truly sorry I am about what happened yesterday. I hope you understand that I was sharp with you only because I wanted to stop you from doing something you’d later regret.” He could see Alice was thawing a little and so rushed on to press his advantage. “I know that it must be very difficult for you, taking care of this house yourself, looking after your family, and now the cat, and doing all the cooking. It’s remarkable that you manage so well, but I know that it doesn’t leave you a great deal of time for yourself to pursue your own interests and have a social life. You shouldn’t have to be a slave to this house.” She nodded, gratified, and he now had Alicia’s puzzled attention as well. “I’ve been giving this situation a lot of thought and I think I might have a solution to this problem, and a way to give more supervision to Marmalade, to avoid any other unpleasant incidents such as the one that occurred that night.” He now had their undivided attention and so went on confidently. “I realized some time ago that part of the reason there have been so many accidents was the size of the house. There’s just no way that you can possibly watch him all the time, and he does seem to take an almost diabolical pleasure in creating chaos. Since it isn’t possible to shrink the size of the house, then the obvious solution is to increase the size of the household.”
Alice looked bewildered. “Just what are you suggesting, Mr. Mallory?”
“I’m sorry. I realize I haven’t made myself very clear. I’m suggesting that it is possible for you to have some help with the house if you wish.”
“But that’s wonderful!” Alice exclaimed. “Can you really arrange this?”
“Yes, I can. I looked over the will again and it is within my power as trustee. Mrs. Dunbar left a great deal to my judgment. Now, I have considered this carefully and I feel it would be possible to hire a full-time housekeeper, live-in if you like, to help with the general housework and cooking, and a cleaning woman to come in weekly to take care of larger chores such as floors, windows, and whatever else is necessary. That should free you and Alicia for your own pursuits, and still leave someone here to keep an eye on Marmalade.”
“Why, Chris, this is marvelous! It’s just what we’ve needed. I can
’t thank you enough.” Alice positively glowed and he hadn’t failed to notice her use of his first name.
“You’re quite welcome. Now, I’ll leave the arrangements to you. Hire whomever you wish. The bills will be paid by our office from the estate. I hope this will make things easier for all of you.”
Not to mention for a certain harassed, young attorney.
Chapter 12
God-damned rain - would it never stop?
It wouldn’t be so bad if he had an umbrella like that Mallory chap who’d left a while ago but, no, he had to stand there like a fool with water running down his head and neck and under his collar. Pretty soon he’d be soaked right through. Damn rain! Probably just wasting his time, too. That cat won’t come out on a night like this. He’ll be sitting inside by the fire, all warm and dry. No soaking wet feet for him.
Hold on - what’s that? It’s that nosy neighbor next door. Why’s she coming out?
“OK, Horatio. I know it’s raining but you still have to go out and do your little duty. Go quickly so you don’t get too wet.”
Damn, it’s the yappy little mutt. What’s he up to?
Horatio seemed to be on a mission, heading straight for the hedge by the driveway.
“That’s good, Horatio. Go tinkle over there by the hedge.”
Horatio lifted a leg and a jet-stream flowed through the branches directly at him. He didn’t dare move as it soaked his shoe and pant-leg.
“Good boy, Horatio!”
Oh, shit!
Chapter 13
It was almost two weeks before Chris set foot in the house again. The following Saturday was his mother’s birthday and he’d spent a long weekend in Toronto with his family. He had thought to be able to get over one night during the week, but his case load was especially heavy just then and it was necessary to work late most nights. It was encouraging, though, that during those two weeks there were no reports of new disasters.