“Soup? What kind of soup?”
“I don’t remember, and I can’t see what difference it makes,” Fenella said. No amount of deep breathing was going to help now. She could feel herself getting fed up with the man on the other end of the phone line.
“So my suit is at the dry cleaners?”
“Maybe. You were meant to pick it up months ago. They might have given it away by now.”
“They can’t do that!”
“I think they can. I stuck the ticket from them on the board in your kitchen. I’ll bet there’s some fine print that says how long they have to keep abandoned items.”
“I didn’t abandon that suit, you did.”
“Yes, well, all the more reason to be glad you’ve seen the last of me, right? Look, I really have to go. I hope you find your suit. And I hope you find someone lovely who doesn’t mind looking after you. Bye.”
Fenella put the phone down and looked over at Mona, who rolled her eyes.
“Ten years?” Mona asked.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Fenella muttered. She sat down in front of the makeup mirror in the corner of the room and began to dig through her makeup.
“You should take a quick shower first,” Mona told her. “Then you can put your hair up when it’s wet.”
“I wasn’t going to put it up.”
“You should. It’s that kind of evening.”
Fenella glanced at the clock. She would have to rush if she was going to fit a shower in before Donald arrived. Looking back in the mirror, she tried pulling her shoulder-length bob into a twist. Half of it fell down immediately and the rest stuck out at awkward angles.
“Once it’s wet, it will go up easily. Use the silver clip in the bottom drawer,” Mona said.
As she headed for the shower, Fenella wondered how she’d reached the point where she took nearly all of her advice from the ghost of a ninety-one year-old-woman. Half an hour later, after Mona had talked her through applying her makeup and pinning up her hair, Fenella couldn’t help but smile at herself in the mirror. Mona might be old and dead, but she knew a lot about hair and makeup. And she had fabulous clothes.
“I look wonderful,” she said softly as she smoothed away a fold in the dress.
“You do. Donald should be impressed,” Mona said.
“I doubt it. I’m sure he’s used to dating gorgeous supermodel types in their twenties.”
“He has done, in the past,” Mona agreed. “Maybe he’s grown up a little bit lately. You aren’t at all his type, but he seems determined to win your heart. Or maybe it’s just your body he’s after.”
“I’m not sure what he’s after,” Fenella said, feeling a rush of apprehension. “I’m nearly fifty and at least ten pounds overweight. He could do so much better.”
“Nonsense,” Mona snapped. “You’re pretty enough, but more importantly, you’re smart. Donald likes beautiful young women because they make him feel younger, but he’s interested in you because you challenge him. He knows he can’t just buy you a few trinkets and get you into bed. He’s going to have to work hard to gain your affection and the man loves a challenge.”
“I don’t like feeling like a prize to be won,” Fenella complained.
“It’s better than being an item that can be bought,” Mona said. “You’re just playing with Donald, anyway. We both know that, even if you won’t admit it to yourself yet. You’re not really interested in him, you’re just enjoying the attention after all those years with that horrid professor.”
“I’m not playing with him,” Fenella protested.
Mona shrugged. “It wasn’t a criticism,” she said. “Men love these sort of games.”
“I hate games.”
“Yes, and I can’t imagine why. Life is too short to take it seriously.”
“Says the woman who died at ninety-one.”
“Yes,” Mona said wistfully. “I was hoping for considerably longer. I was meant to be having dinner with a new man the day after I passed. I hope he was devastated.”
“Shall I look him up and ask him?”
“There’s a thought. But no, what if he’s found someone else and forgotten all about me? I’m probably better off not knowing. This way I can imagine that he’s sitting at home every night pining for me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Fenella muttered.
Mona laughed. “I left more than one man pining for me over the years,” she said. “I should look a few of them up now and see what they’re doing with their afterlives.”
“I’m not even going to ask you if you can really do that or not,” Fenella said. “You won’t give me a straight answer, anyway.”
“My dear girl, has it occurred to you that you really don’t want to know?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if I were totally honest with you about what happens after death, dying would lose all of its mystery. It is your last great adventure and you should go into it without any knowledge of how it will turn out.”
“I hate surprises,” Fenella replied.
Mona laughed again. “You don’t, really. I remember when you were maybe ten and I came to visit. I brought you…” A knock on the door interrupted the story.
Fenella crossed to the door and opened it.
“You look wonderful,” Donald said, his eyes moving from her pinned-up hair down to her strappy shoes. As they made their way back up again, very slowly, Fenella felt herself blushing.
“Come in,” she invited. “I just have to give Katie her dinner and I’ll be ready to go.”
Donald followed her into the kitchen. As she filled Katie’s food and water bowls, the tiny, mostly black kitten darted into the room.
“Merow,” she said in a conversational tone.
“I told you I’m going out tonight,” Fenella replied. “I won’t be terribly late and I’ll try not to disturb you when I come in.”
“Mereww” Katie answered, nodding her head.
“You two understand each other,” Donald said with a laugh.
The kitten had dashed into Fenella’s apartment only a few days after Fenella had arrived on the island. She’d made herself at home, and now Fenella couldn’t imagine living without her. “She’s very good at communicating with me,” she told Donald. “And at getting her way.”
Donald laughed. “But these are for you,” he said, handing her a bouquet of beautiful red roses.
“You shouldn’t have,” Fenella said. She put the flowers on the counter and began to look around the kitchen for a vase.
“Try the cupboard next to the refrigerator,” Mona said. “On the top shelf.”
Fenella pulled down an expensive-looking crystal vase. “Isn’t this lovely,” she exclaimed. The apartment had been fully furnished when she’d inherited it, right down to plates and pots and pans in the kitchen. She knew she ought to go through everything, just to see what all she had, but she also enjoyed discovering things she didn’t know were there, like the stunning vase.
“Mona had exquisite taste,” Donald said.
Fenella filled the vase with water and then carefully unwrapped the flowers and added them. “They’re beautiful, thank you,” she said, glancing at the man. He looked even more handsome than usual in a tuxedo that had clearly been custom-tailored for him. His grey eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he watched her looking at him.
“I hope I’ll do,” he said after a moment. “The tuxedo is a new one, just arrived from my tailor yesterday. If you don’t like it, I can rush home and change into a different one.”
“You look very distinguished and sophisticated,” Fenella said. “I’m terrified of you.”
From behind Donald, Mona shook her head. “Never let the man know he has the upper hand,” she said.
Donald chuckled. “Fear is the last thing I want you to feel when we’re together,” he said. He crossed to her side and pulled her into his arms. “Maybe I can set your mind at rest.” He ran a finger down her cheek and then slowly lowered
his lips to hers. When he lifted his head, he gave her a satisfied smile. “Better now?” he asked softly.
“So much worse,” Fenella replied, feeling as if she were drowning in a sea of emotions.
“Stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush,” Mona hissed in her ear. “Take a deep breath and pull yourself together.”
Fenella followed her aunt’s orders, as that was far easier than trying to work out what to do by herself. She took a small step backwards, away from Donald, and smiled. “I think we should be going,” she said.
“If we must,” Donald replied. “We could skip the party and just stay here, getting better acquainted,” he suggested.
“Laugh and then say something about maybe already knowing him too well,” Mona spoke in her ear again.
Fenella chuckled. “I think we might already know each other too well,” she said, hoping Mona knew what she was doing.
Donald laughed. “Not even close,” he told her. “But let’s get to the party. It should be an interesting one.”
Picking up her handbag, Fenella followed the man out of the apartment. She wasn’t surprised to see the limousine waiting at the door for them.
“Everyone will be using them tonight,” Donald said as the driver shut the door behind them. “Like all of these charity events, tonight is about making the right impression.”
“On whom?”
“No one in particular,” Donald said. “The island’s elite social circle, I suppose. We all know how we’re meant to behave at such events, and arriving by limousine is the first step. Of course, having a beautiful woman on my arm is important as well.”
“Oh, dear, and you’re stuck with me,” Fenella blurted out.
Donald laughed. “If you’re fishing for compliments, I’m happy to supply them. You look stunning in that gown and I love what you’ve done with your hair. I’m sure I won’t be the only man at the party tonight who won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”
Fenella blushed again and shook her head. “I wasn’t fishing,” she said. “I have a mirror.”
“Then you know I’m right,” Donald said. “In some ways you remind me of your aunt. Even in her eighties, when she was at a party she was the center of attention. She had a way of walking into a room and making everyone take notice. In that dress, you could do the exact same thing.”
“It’s Mona’s dress,” Fenella said dryly.
“Why am I not surprised?” Donald grinned at her. “Just promise me you won’t flirt too outrageously with all the other men tonight.”
“I won’t flirt with anyone,” Fenella promised. “Not even you.”
“And sometimes you’re nothing like your aunt at all,” Donald told her. “She flirted with everyone all the time.”
The car pulled up in front of the Seaview a moment later. The hotel’s doorman pulled open the car door and helped Fenella out of the car. A few flashbulbs popped as Donald took her arm.
“Press?” she questioned.
“For the back pages of the glossy magazines about the island,” he told her. “They always feature photos from charity events.”
Inside the sumptuous lobby of the hotel, they were greeted effusively.
“Donald, darling, thank you so much for coming,” a tall blonde woman who looked around thirty said, offering her hand and then pulling Donald into a hug. “It’s going to be quite an evening. We have some wonderful auction items. I’m counting on you to bid early and often.”
“Melanie, meet Fenella Woods,” Donald said, taking a step away from the woman. “Fenella, this is Melanie Anderson-Stuart. Her mother founded the Manx Fund for Children, and Melanie has been working with the charity since she could walk.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Fenella said politely. She offered her hand and the other woman touched it lightly.
“Mother would like me to take over in the next year or two,” Melanie said. “But I’m not sure I can live up to her legacy.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job,” Donald replied.
“Do you really think so?” Melanie asked, gazing into Donald’s eyes. Fenella felt an irrational urge to slap the other woman.
“Of course I do,” Donald told her. “And I’m sure your husband thinks so as well. Where is Matthew?”
“I thought everyone knew that Matthew and I aren’t together any longer,” Melanie said lightly. “He decided he wanted children and I simply couldn’t go along. I’ve spent my entire life working with underprivileged and abused children. I simply couldn’t imagine having one of my own.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Donald replied.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Melanie said. “It just means I’m single again, which is exhausting. I think I’m too old to go through all of this again.”
Donald laughed. “My dear, you’re a mere child. I’m sure you have men beating down your door at all times.”
Melanie shrugged. “Not the right ones,” she said. She leaned toward Donald and smiled up at him. “Maybe I need an older man,” she said softly.
“I’ll see if I can think of any that might suit you,” Donald said heartily. “Or maybe Fenella knows someone? What do you think, darling?” he asked, slipping an arm around Fenella’s shoulders.
Fenella hid a smile as Melanie’s face fell. “I can’t think of anyone immediately, but I’ll certainly give it some thought,” she replied.
“Gee, thanks,” Melanie replied sarcastically.
“Look, there’s Carl,” Donald said. “I’m sure you need to speak to him. We mustn’t keep you from doing your job.”
Melanie frowned and glanced at the door. A short, bald, and portly man had just entered. He stood in the doorway, scratching his head. “Carl,” Melanie said with clearly fake enthusiasm. “How are you?” She took a step toward the man. Donald quickly began to lead Fenella down the corridor away from her.
“Sorry about that,” he told her as they walked. “Melanie is a bit of a handful. She always has been.”
“She’s beautiful,” Fenella replied.
“I’ve known her since she was two,” Donald said. “She’s only a few years older than my son. I have no interest in getting romantically involved with her, although I get the impression she doesn’t share my sentiment.”
“She was definitely flirting.”
“And I only have eyes for you,” Donald said. They’d reached the ballroom now and Fenella’s breath caught when she saw the beautifully decorated room. She’d been there before, but she’d forgotten how gorgeous it was.
“Let’s get some champagne before we mingle,” Donald suggested.
An hour later, Fenella was quite tired of mingling. Donald had introduced her to dozens of people, and she’d already forgotten all of their names. A few men had tried flirting with her, but Donald had interrupted every attempt. Equally, a few women had made suggestive remarks to him, but he always made sure that they understood that he was not interested.
“Are you bored yet?” he whispered to Fenella as they exchanged empty glasses for full ones.
“A little bit,” she replied.
“I’m sorry. Things will pick up once the auction starts,” he assured her.
“Donald? How are you, darling?” a voice said from behind them.
The pair turned around. Fenella smiled at the elderly woman in the long black dress. She had to be over eighty. Her hair was white and gathered on the top of her head into what looked like a cloud. She was wearing thick glasses and too much lipstick.
“Phillipa, how lovely to see you,” Donald said. “And Paulette, don’t you look lovely tonight,” he added. “Fenella, this is Phillipa Clucas and her daughter, Paulette.”
Fenella shook hands with the older woman and then her daughter. Paulette was also wearing a long black dress. She was probably around sixty, with dark hair liberally streaked with grey, pulled back in an unflattering ponytail. She smiled at Fenella as they shook hands, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Who did
you say this was?” Phillipa asked Donald.
“Fenella Woods,” he replied. “She’s Mona Kelly’s niece.”
Phillipa took a step backwards and stared at Fenella. “And you have the nerve to stand there, acting like it doesn’t matter,” she shouted. “Acting like you’ve no idea who I am, or what harm has been done to me.”
2
Fenella felt her jaw drop. She looked over at Donald, but he looked as confused as she felt. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met before,” she said hesitantly.
“I’m sure your aunt has told you all about me, though, hasn’t she? No doubt she’s bragged to you about how much time my husband spent in her bed, and how they probably laughed about me, sitting at home, totally unaware of what was happening,” the woman said, nearly yelling the accusations.
Conscious that nearly everyone the room was watching, Fenella struggled to work out how to reply.
“Mona passed away in January,” Donald said, taking Fenella’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “Fenella moved to the island in March.”
“And you don’t mind living in the flat where she seduced other women’s husbands,” the woman retorted, her eyes flashing. She took a step closer to Fenella. “You should be ashamed.”
“Now, Phillipa, that’s hardly fair,” Donald said. “You’ve never even met Fenella. Take it from me, she’s nothing like Mona.”
“No? She’s here with you, isn’t she?” Phillipa snarled.
“Mum, you have to stop,” Paulette said, pulling on her mother’s arm. “Remember what the doctor said about your heart. It isn’t good for you to get upset, remember?”
“How can I not get upset?” the older woman shot back. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.” She shook her head. “I should have stayed home and mourned your father, but that doesn’t feel right. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He wasn’t the man you thought he was, either.”
Paulette nodded. “I know, Mum, but it’s no good shouting at Fenella. She never even met my father. What her aunt did isn’t her fault.”
Encounters and Enemies Page 2