by Valerie Tate
“Horatio, you stink! What have you got in your mouth? Where did you get that fish? You’re not bringing that smelly thing into the house. No, Horatio, not on the rug!”
Chapter 25
The memory of that evening filled his mind for the rest of the week. Chris found himself humming tunes from the piano bar and several times his secretary caught him sitting back, staring into space, a soppy grin on his face. Every day he found some excuse or other to call Alicia, just to hear her voice. Because he was working late every evening to catch up on a backlog of cases and he had a business meeting Saturday, he had to wait until Sunday to see her again, and the week seemed endless.
Chris was whistling as he mounted the steps of the front porch and rang the bell, carrying the small housewarming gift he’d bought in honor of the renovations. There wasn’t much choice in a town the size of Dunbarton and his week had been too busy to go anywhere else, but the clerk in the local gift shop had been most helpful and he thought Alice would be pleased with the Royal Doulton ‘Alice’ figurine she’d suggested.
He was pressing the bell for the second time when Mrs. Stuart came running around the porch from the back. “Oh, Mr. Mallory, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but Alice made me promise not to let you see inside until she was ready. She’ll be here in just a wee minute. You’re a bit earlier than usual,” she added accusingly.
Before he could reply, the front door opened and Alice greeted him. “Hello, Chris. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting out on the porch but I wasn’t ready and I didn’t want anyone else to show you around.”
“That’s perfectly all right. I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you’ve done. Where’s ...?” he peered past her into the hall.
“Alicia’s helping Mrs. Stuart in the kitchen. She’ll be right out.”
“I’ve brought you a little housewarming gift. I hope you like it.”
“How sweet of you!” Much to his surprise, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You really shouldn’t have, you know.”
“Nonsense! I just hope it goes with your new decor.”
“You can judge for yourself. Here’s James now, so come right in.”
She opened the door wide and they entered.
The change was remarkable. The walls above the three foot high cherry wainscoting were a pale gold, with ivory touches on fixtures and molding. Hanging from the second floor ceiling, a glittering crystal chandelier filled the reception hall with light. A gallery of family portraits ran up the wall by the staircase, among them the oil of George Dunbar that had hung over the library fireplace. A long side table over-hung with mirror, corner desk and a Louis XVIth chair fitted snugly against the walls.
“It’s magnificent! You’ve absolutely transformed this place,” he exclaimed.
“But this is only the beginning. You haven’t really seen anything yet.” Flushed with pride and exhilaration, Alice took James’ arm and gave it a gleeful squeeze. “I thought we’d show you James’ den next. There wasn’t too much to be done in there but I think it looks a little brighter.”
The cream-colored drapes had been replaced by red and green plaid.
“It’s the Dunbar tartan,” she explained. “The local Scottish Shop ordered the fabric for us.”
The brown leather chairs and the rugs were unchanged, but cushions in the same fabric as the drapes graced the sofa that faced the fireplace over which now hung a family portrait of Alice, James and Alicia, done when Alicia was, Chris judged, about 10 years old.
The original came in just then and stood beside him. “How do you like it, Chris?” The sound of her voice sent a thrill of pleasure through him.
“It’s wonderful! You’ve done an amazing job. Are you going to show me the rest of the house?”
“Absolutely. Where to next, mom?”
“The kitchen, I think, dear. We’ll leave the parlor and dining room until the end.”
The kitchen was the last word in up-to-date, and Mrs. Stuart was taking a child-like pleasure in her new toys. It was a bright, cheery room now in yellow and white, taking advantage of the large, sunny windows. The old tile flooring had been ripped up and they’d discovered light pine, plank wood flooring underneath. This had been sanded and refinished and gleamed in the afternoon light. The fridge and stove were stainless steel. There was a second oven and a micro-wave in the wall. A granite-topped center island gave extra counter and cupboard space and there was still room for a table and chairs for informal family meals.
Marmalade was quite content with his new toy as well and had spent most of the afternoon going in and out of his own personal cat-door that had been cut into the kitchen door.
Extra cupboards had been built in the butler’s pantry that led from the kitchen into the dining room and a new counter had been outfitted with a burner base to keep food hot while waiting to be served.
When the last of the new kitchen gadgets had been proudly displayed, Alice led the way through the hall and foyer to the living room where she dramatically flung open the doors.
She was justifiably proud. The room was beautiful. Casually elegant, it retained the warmth and hospitality of a home. The walls were ivory but here there were splashes of rose and green. The elaborate plaster moldings in the ceiling also showed touches of color. The new sofas and the drapes were in a chintz, with an ivory background and a floral pattern in pale rose and green with touches of gold. The chairs were upholstered in rose velvet. They had retained the original tables and some of the chairs, and the lovely Persian carpets. The clutter of bric à brac, antimacassars and urns full of dried foliage were gone, and for the first time he was able to appreciate the true dimensions of the room.
Alice watched his reaction with relish and then, without a word, went and opened the doors to the dining room. There the rose tones were predominant, carried through in a gleaming satin wallpaper with the same chintz drapes that were in the parlor. A large mirror over the sideboard reflected the mahogany table, set with silver and fine china. It was a dramatic room and contrasted with the cool tones of the parlor.
Chris looked around in appreciation. “It’s fantastic!”
Alice took a relieved breath. “I’m so glad you’re pleased. I was worried about the expense.”
“Don’t be. You’ve made this house, Dunbar House, a showplace. That’s what it should have been all along.”
James hugged his wife proudly. “She’s done a marvelous job, hasn’t she?”
“Incredible. You are going to set this town on its ear the night of your party. What have you planned?”
“Come and sit down in the parlor and I’ll tell you. Mrs. Stuart, would you please bring us some refreshments?”
“Of course, dearie. Don’t you worry your pretty head about anything. Just you go and enjoy yourself.”
It was to be a Music Night, the first Saturday in September. There were more than sixty people invited. Alice and Mrs. Stuart had decided on a hot and cold buffet, and the latter would begin cooking a week in advance.
The cream of local society was invited, which meant mainly the old families, and the Dunbarton Music Society had arranged for a number of guest soloists. Alicia, he was surprised to learn, was to be the pianist.
“Oh yes, she’s quite a good one.” James patted his daughter’s hand fondly. “Mother insisted she have lessons and the teacher told us she was quite talented.”
The pianist laughed ruefully. “Well I, for one, am not looking forward to the entertainment. I’ve heard some of those old cats ...”
“Alicia!” Alice broke in, shocked.
“Excuse me,” Alicia corrected herself in mock horror. “Those ladies. I’ve heard some of them sing before. Let’s just hope they choose short selections or, better still, come down with laryngitis.” Curled up in the curve of Chris’ arm, she smiled cheekily. “Actually, I wanted to play the bagpipes but Mother said it wasn’t suitable for the occasion,” she continued.
He thought she was joking. “The bagpipes!” he
said laughing. “I can just see you, swathed in the Dunbar tartan, standing before a dramatic night sky, your hair billowing out behind you in the wind, blowing for all your worth into the pipes.”
“Don’t laugh,” she said reproachfully, “I did. Until I went away to school I was a member of the Dunbarton Pipe Band.”
He shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me. Why the bagpipes, of all things?”
“It’s the thing to do here. Kids learn to play the chanter first - that’s the part you blow into with the finger holes. When you’ve mastered that, you add the bag. That’s the hard part. It’s really exhausting.”
“I can imagine,” he said, looking at her in wonder. “You’ll have to play for me sometime.”
As the words were coming out of his mouth he saw frantic, wide-eyed head-shaking from James and Alice, but Alicia jumped up happily and said, “I’ll get them right now,” and ran upstairs to fetch them.
Two pairs of reproachful eyes met his. “Well, now you’ve done it!” the proud parents hissed.
Chapter 26
No more fish! This time he was playing it smart. The guy in the pet shop said cats went crazy for these treats. He’d just sprinkle a few around, wait for him to show up, and into the bag with him.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” he whispered in what he thought was an irresistible tone. “Come and get your nice little treat! Here kitty, kitty!”
It didn’t take long for his plan to get results. Gotcha, he thought smugly as a cat sauntered across the lawn heading for the cat treats. He was about to bag it when he realized it was the wrong cat.
“Get outta here, they’re not for you!” He kicked at the cat who spat at him and left.
Just in time - another was on its way. And another! And another! That guy at the pet shop was right. Hoards of cats. But not one of them was the right one.
“Damn cats!”
Chapter 27
The night of the party arrived, cloudless and star-filled, and the front walk was scented with roses and nicotine and the woodsy odor of pine. Through the French doors drifted piano music like heavenly echoes, haunting, yearning, drawing Chris irresistibly to its source. Light streamed from the windows, illumining the shadows and marking his way as he crossed the lawn to the conservatory door. Inside, Alicia played lightly, so deep in concentration that she failed to hear him as he passed through the conservatory into the parlor, pausing in the doorway to watch her unobserved. She was like the moonlight, entrancing, bewitching, and he knew that he loved her.
Almost as soon as the realization struck, the world came to drive it away again. Alice walked into the room, carrying a vase full of chrysanthemums and spotted him.
“Why, Chris, I didn’t hear you come in.” Alicia stopped playing mid-bar and turned to him, smiling self-consciously. “Alicia, dear, why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
“I didn’t know myself.”
“That’s my fault. I heard the music and came around the side and in through the conservatory. It was so beautiful.”
“Thank you. I was practising my pieces for the party. I don’t want to make any mistakes and it’s been years since I performed in public.”
“It sounded perfect to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t, but I’m glad you thought so.” She smiled gratefully.
A man could drown in those eyes. Turning abruptly to Alice, he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help? I came early, just in case. I don’t want to just stand around, getting in everyone’s way.”
“Thank you. To start with, you can go into the butler’s pantry and bring out the other vase of flowers and put it on that table over there. And if James is in there, tell him to stay away from the meatballs. Honestly, if I didn’t keep my eye on him, there wouldn’t be a single one left.” She was beginning to look a little frazzled and Chris said so. “Don’t worry about me. We’ve almost an hour until the guests start arriving and I’m all ready except to put on my dress. I’m going upstairs right now. You just get those flowers, and keep James away from the meatballs.”
“Okay. Where’s Marmalade?”
“He’s in the kitchen with Mrs. Stuart. She’s going to keep him out there all evening.”
“Good idea. I’ll go get those flowers.”
James, who was finishing off another meatball as Chris walked in, gulped guiltily, hiding the plastic skewer behind him.
“Oh, it’s only you, Chris. I thought it was Alice.” He grinned sheepishly and speared another meatball.
“She told me to keep you away from those. Are they good?”
“Um, try one.” He handed him one, his mouth full.
“You’re right. They’re great.”
He was reaching for another one of the mouth-watering little gems when the kitchen door opened.
“Mercy me, are you in the meatballs again?” Mrs. Stuart rushed in and put the silver cover back on the chafing dish. “Now the pair of you, out! Anyone would think we starved you all week. Away wi’ ye!” Grabbing the flowers as he went, Chris retreated to the safety of the living room.
Alice had gone to dress, so Alicia took the flowers and placed them on an end table, rearranging the ones dislodged in his flight from the pantry.
The evening began beautifully. The guests began arriving at eight o’clock and eyebrows were definitely raised. All the guests were visibly impressed with the house and fevered whispering could be heard from the silver-haired brigade.
“It’s about time.”
“It should have happened decades ago.”
“They must have spent a fortune.”
“Yes, Amanda Dunbar’s fortune.”
“I heard that Alice has been dying to do this for years but old Mrs. Dunbar wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Well, no love lost there, you know.” With knowing looks they sipped their wine and scanned the room to see who had and, more importantly, had not been invited.
But for the most part, the response was overwhelmingly positive.
Alice, beaming with pleasure, was the perfect hostess, a role she clearly gloried in.
The entertainment began at nine o’clock. Everyone sat around the piano and Alicia took her place at the keyboard. The program began with a trio who did a medley of Andrews Sisters hits, and then a baritone with a truly magnificent voice excelled in ‘Old Man River’, ‘They Call the Wind Mariah’, and ‘The Impossible Dream’. Musically, Dunbarton was still firmly lodged in the last century. A couple of less-than-magnificent performers followed, Alicia played an exquisite solo selection - Chris categorically denied any bias in that observation - and then it was time for the highlight of the evening, a soprano soloist from Guelph who was visiting her cousin, the President of the Music Society.
Mrs. Harold Johnson was a large woman in her mid-sixties who, they’d been assured by several gushing women who had never had the pleasure of hearing her before, but who had been like-wise assured by an unimpeachable source - that same Music Society President, had the voice of an angel.
And perhaps she had, twenty or thirty years ago, but now ... discordant, ear-piercing, glass-shattering - any one of those words would have been a more accurate description of a voice that sounded like the noon whistle at the furniture factory.
Alicia and Chris were exchanging a significant look when the most awful noise began to proceed from the kitchen. Mrs. Johnson, trooper that she was, didn’t miss a note, but a brilliant crimson wave began rising up her neck. And still the raucous sound continued, growing louder with each high note. Chris felt himself going red and glanced over to see Alice hiding her face behind her program. She rose suddenly, and James and Chris quickly followed her into the kitchen, hoping to prevent what they were sure would be a massacre.
The explosion came as they had expected, but not as they had feared. It was an explosion of rippling, uncontrollable laughter. James and Chris watched in helpless disbelief as she sat down and gave into it. Even Marmalade, who had been sitting in the middle of the floor, his open-mouthed ca
terwauling filling the room, sat back on his haunches to watch.
“I’m so sorry, Alice, dearie,” Mrs. Stuart fluttered anxiously. “I tried to keep him quiet but each time that old hen cackled it seemed to set him off worse than ever.” She gave the feline music critic a baleful scowl and returned to loading trays with little tarts and cream-filled buns. Chris made a mental note to make sure he had one of the buns.
“Oh, you barmy beast!” When Alice could speak, she sat up, wiping her streaming eyes. “You have the world’s worst timing, but you’re so right.” Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she said, “But be that as it may, I’m afraid it’s the garage for you until everyone’s gone.” She picked him up and, instead of spitting as he usually did, he curled himself around her arms and purred. “Chris, will you please take him out. I want to rush upstairs and fix my make-up before I have to face those people again.” She headed for the back staircase, muttering, “I can’t imagine what I’ll say to Mrs. Johnson. I wonder if she’d believe the hot water heater sprang a noisy leak. Honestly, between cats singing in the kitchen, and singing cats in the parlor, what next?”
Chapter 28
What were they doing to that animal? All that screeching! It sounded like it was being tortured. It would be just his luck if they killed it before he could catch it.
No hope of getting him tonight, anyway. Too many people around. He might as well go home. Get some sleep for a change.
He’d come back again tomorrow.
Chapter 29
The invitations flowed in fast and furiously after that - parties, clubs, committees. Alice joined the bridge club, garden club and music society, became a volunteer with the hospital auxiliary, and provided and delivered a hot meal once a week to several shut-in senior citizens in the Meals-on-Wheels program. She was never busier and never happier.
And that applied to Alicia as well. The ‘Behind the Footlights’ group had taken off and they were busy with a production of ‘The Boyfriend’. Alicia was producing and directing, as well as playing a small part. It was scheduled to open the following July, and to run Friday and Saturday nights for four weeks. If it was a success, they were planning on approaching the Town Council with an application to turn the old Pavilion by the lake into a permanent summer theater.