So Averil had been right! Mrs. Ashmore was determined to look me over. I felt a resurgence of resentment: Vance’s mother was in for a disappointment, I told myself: I had no intention of being vetted by the local grande dame. ‘Thank you,’ I said coolly, ‘but I’m just settling in, and anyway, I’m supposed to be taking care of Rodney.’
‘But won’t the child be at school during the day?’
I had forgotten about that and was forced to search my mind for a plausible excuse.
‘However,’ he said dryly, before I could think of anything, ‘don’t bother racking your brains for a polite refusal. It’s fairly obvious that, for once, Mother’s not going to have her curiosity satisfied.’
His eyebrows arched in the by now familiar sardonic manner. ‘You know, in lots of ways you’re quite unlike your sister.’
‘I’ve known that for quite some time,’ I said crossly. ‘For one thing, Avail’s beautiful and I’m not.’
He nodded with unflattering acquiescence. ‘At the risk of appearing ungallant, I agree: no, you’re not beautiful—at least, not in the way Averil is. But I’m not speaking of mere looks. You’re different in all sorts of ways.’
I looked at him coldly. Did he really think I gave two hoots for his opinion of me? Yet when he drove off without elaboration I felt vaguely annoyed as I followed Rodney who, his role of interesting invalid forgotten, was dancing along the path towards the house door.
Later that night as I lay under the slanting beams of my bedroom and listened to the tiny creaks and groans of the old house, I found myself speculating concerning the relationship between my sister and Vance Ashmore. It would not be surprising if he had fallen for Averil, for I knew that few men could resist her. For her, too, Vance would hold the attraction of wealth and magnetic good looks: it was the sort of combination that Averil would find irresistible. I was prepared to accept that no matter how romantic she found a shipboard friendship it would end with the cruise. For, in spite of her soft, almost kittenish good looks, she had always had a hard and practical side to her nature that had become intensified since Clive’s death. No doubt when a suitable time had elapsed since his death she would marry Vance Ashmore. Averil was much too level-headed to throw away her chances of becoming the future Mrs. Ashmore by taking any shipboard Romeo too seriously.
My thoughts were disturbed by the sound of footsteps creaking on the old boards outside my door. I sat up abruptly, my heart thudding. Rodney and I were alone in the cottage: our nearest neighbours were the Ashmores who were separated from us by the gardens and woods. I remembered that I had not closed the sitting-room window. Suppose someone had crept in and was now standing outside my door!
I gave a little scream of fear as I saw the knob slowly turn and the door being pushed open. Then the small figure of Rodney stood in the threshhold. He looked young and childish in his pyjamas and his habitual sulky expression was missing.
But he had given me such a fright that I said crossly, ‘Really, Rodney, what do you mean by prowling around at this time of night?’
He twiddled the door knob uncertainly, then said in a subdued voice, ‘I’m sorry if I gave you a fright, but I have a question to ask.’
‘Well, what is it?’ I asked resignedly.
‘I was wondering if I’d better stay away from school tomorrow: I mean, because of the accident?’
If I had been more observant no doubt I’d have noticed the anxiety behind his request and have realized that this was not merely a small boy’s excuse to get off school. As it was, I said irritably, ‘You’ll do no such thing! Go back to bed and don’t make a nuisance of yourself. Anyway, you weren’t really hurt and it was very naughty of you to make me go on a wild goose chase to Dr. Pritchard.’
‘Well, I was hurt, so there! And Dr. Pritchard doesn’t like me because he knows I don’t want him as my new daddy.’
I gazed at him curiously and couldn’t resist asking, ‘What on earth makes you think he might be your new daddy?’
Into his eyes crept the slightly cunning look that made him appear older and wiser than his years. ‘Because,’ he announced triumphantly, ‘I heard him asking Mummy to marry him and Mummy said no, she wouldn’t.’ He wrinkled his forehead in an effort to recall the exact words. ‘She said she’d no intention of settling into the dreary round of a G.P.’s wife.’
It was so typical of the sort of remark that Averil would make that there was no doubting the truth of it, yet the crudeness of her rejection was almost incredible.
Rodney seemed delighted with the effect of his words. ‘I bet you didn’t think I’d remember, did you?’
‘You certainly have a good memory,’ I admitted, and realized that his talents weren’t altogether an unmixed blessing. Very little could be done or said that wouldn’t be observed and recorded in his small inquisitive head. ‘Do go back to bed, Rodney. You’re most certainly going to school tomorrow, so you can make your mind up for that.’
He turned away resignedly, then said in a small plaintive voice, ‘Will you please tuck me up, Aunt Esther? Mummy sometimes promises me she will, but most times she forgets.’
It was impossible to refuse the appeal and I slipped on my dressing-gown and took Rodney back to his bedroom. When I had tucked him up I crossed to the small window under the eaves. In the clear cloudless sky a full moon shone down on the orchard turning the blossoms on each charcoal-black branch to clusters of delicate silver filigree. Through tree tops I saw the lights of Ashmore House. Probably the socially prominent Mrs. Ashmore was entertaining. No doubt the wealthy and attractive Vance Ashmore would be the centre of interest. I turned away, irritated that my thoughts had so easily swung to Vance Ashmore, especially as he was the arrogant, didactic type of man I particularly disliked. Rodney was already half asleep and muttered a drowsy goodnight as I closed the door gently behind me.
When I got back to Averil’s room I noticed that the drawer of the tallboy which I had pushed to earlier that evening when I had heard Rodney scream was still slightly open, and before getting into bed I crossed the room and tried to push it shut. However, something had become wedged at the back and was preventing me from closing it properly. I pulled the drawer out fully and discovered that a small buckled snapshot had become lodged behind it. As I straightened it, I was thinking that it was out of character for Averil to gather photos or mementoes of the past. Even when we were children she had not attempted to collect any of the useless junk and knick-knacks that children treasure. With a sense of shock I saw Vance Ashmore glance out at me with the familiar saturnine expression. He had his arm about Averil’s shoulders and she had her head thrown back in laughter. With one hand she was catching at the strands of hair that formed a windblown halo about her head. She looked happy and very beautiful. Then, with a sense of shock, I saw the date that was scrawled along the foot in Averil’s wide, almost childish, handwriting. It was a few months before Clive had been killed in the Middle East. So already, even before his death, Averil had known and, from her expression, obviously loved Vance Ashmore.
Slowly I replaced the snapshot under the lining of the drawer. Clive had not left Averil well off, and I remembered the vague surprise I had felt at the display of expensive cosmetics I had seen in the medicine cabinet that afternoon when I had frantically searched for a salve for Rodney’s non-existent burn. Did Vance, as head of Clive’s firm, then deliberately contrive to get Clive out of the way by sending him on a mission to the Gulf? His absence would mean that he and Averil would be free to meet as often as they liked. I glanced around the room with new eyes, noting the silver hairbrush and hand-mirror delicately enamelled, the tiny clock set in a block of rock crystal: discreet but obviously expensive, they were the kind of present a man like Vance Ashmore would give to a woman, I thought contemptuously. How providential then Clive’s death must have been for them both. Averil had never bothered to pretend that her marriage had been a success, and I remembered how my mother, a stickler for the conventions, had disapproved of
Averil’s refusal to adopt the role of sorrowing widow.
I lay awake for a long time feeling a growing sense of disappointment that I realized was connected solely with Vance Ashmore. It was stupid and irrational considering I didn’t like the man. Suddenly my thoughts swung to my conversation with Bob Pritchard in the train. He had said something about Vance’s half-brother Eric being crippled in a shooting accident and about their having their eye on the same woman. He hadn’t exactly started it as a fact, but it had been clear that he believed the shot had been fired by Vance. Was it possible Averil was the woman the brothers had quarrelled about? I shivered. What a horrible situation—but one that, knowing Averil as I did, I realized she would relish. As to Vance Ashmore, it was obvious that he could be calculatedly ruthless when he was determined to get his own way.
CHAPTER FOUR
I AWOKE to the sound of the fire crackling cheerfully in the range downstairs and the strains of ‘Annie Laurie’ in a loud and very cracked voice accompanied by the sound of cups and saucers being rattled. So already Mrs. McAlister had arrived and was preparing breakfast. I lay back with a feeling of luxury. The translucent light of early morning flooded the room and through the open window a soft sweet-scented breeze puffed the lavender shirred valance of the dressing-table. I blinked lazily at the white clouds that floated past like mounds of stiffly beaten egg-white. It was wonderful to feel I needn’t hurry down to breakfast or keep an eye perpetually on the clock in case I should be late for work. I heard Rodney thump downstairs, his voice raised in shrill altercation, and the broad uncompromising Scottish tones that answered him.
As I was about to get up there was a knock on the door and a dumpy figure with a round apple-red face marched in bearing a laden tray. ‘Ah, you’re awake,’ she announced breezily. ‘I’ve brought up your breakfast, so don’t you stir. I thought as it was your first day here I’d gie you breakfast in bed.’
When I thanked her, her face glowed with pleasure. ‘It’s no trouble at all, dearie. Anyway, it’ll gie you a rest from Rodney. I know I’m thankful to see the back of him when he goes off to school.’
There was a thunderous bang as the front door slammed and Mrs. McAlister nodded significantly. ‘There you are! Do you see what I mean? He’s a terrible spoiled bairn, there’s no doubt about it. I’m feared you’ve no idea what you’ve let yourself in for.’
‘Oh, but I have,’ I laughed. ‘Rodney came to stay with my mother and me and he raised Cain.’
She nodded understandingly. ‘But I expect his granny didnae mind.’
‘I’m afraid she did,’ I told her dryly. ‘In her case absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
I had used the very words Averil had quoted when referring to Vance and for a passing moment I wondered vaguely if, in his case, the aphorism was true. Was Vance the type of man to wait patiently for her return, or would she have the mortification of discovering that she had been supplanted?
‘I’d never have taken you for Mrs. Etherton’s sister,’ Mrs. McAlister was saying as she stood, her fat arms akimbo, and surveyed me closely. ‘You’re no ways like.’
‘No,’ I agreed ruefully. So once again the difference between us was being remarked on, and I had no illusions that the comparisons were to my advantage.
‘My, your sister wasn’t half keen to be off on her travels,’ she chuckled. ‘Though to tell the truth I’d have thought she and Mr. Vance would have fixed things up before now. It was easy to see she was dead keen on him—but then nearly all the lassies round and about would give their eye teeth to be Mrs. Ashmore: though I’ll say this for her, there’s not one of them could hold a candle to her for looks—’ Here she paused slyly as though judging the wisdom of continuing.
I suppose at this stage I should have shown firmly that I had no intention of discussing Averil’s affairs. But an almost overwhelming curiosity possessed me.
I buttered a slice of toast and Mrs. McAlister went on happily, ‘All the lassies were buzzing about Mr. Vance like flies around a honey-pot until one fine day down he drives with Mrs. Etherton, and one look at them together was enough to put the tin lid on all their fine plans, for truth was you could see right away they were mad about each other.’
So I had been correct in the interpretation I had put upon the snapshot!
Mrs. McAlister drew in her breath with an air of satisfaction. ‘Of course, everyone wondered who she was to catch Mr. Vance’s fancy, for he’s a braw laddie and has pots of money forbye, and some said that Mrs. Ashmore would never have her across the door of Ashmore House, for she’s the kind of lady who would have to know your seed and breed before she’d as much as give you the time of day. Anyway, Mrs. Etherton wasn’t long at Cherry Cottage before she was invited to a party at Ashmore House, and then everyone knew they’d marry, for it was easy to see that Mr. Vance was behind it, for though Mrs. Ashmore’s high and mighty she doesn’t get her own way with him, I can tell you. That’s why,’ she concluded, her bun-like face thoughtful, ‘I can’t understand Mrs. Etherton tearing off of a sudden, cruise or no cruise, for goodness knows, men are all alike and Mr. Vance along with them. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if some other lassie didn’t fancy her chances with him, now that she’s away.’
Her estimation of Vance Ashmore’s character coincided so closely with my own that in an effort to change the direction of the conversation I put in quickly, ‘Mr. Ashmore has a half-brother, hasn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘That he has, although the poor soul is only able to get around with a pair of sticks. They say he hates Mr. Vance like poison and doesn’t care who knows it. Oh, he has a real wicked tongue in his head, I can tell you, and sometimes when I go up to oblige Mrs. Ashmore when she’s giving one of her parties I take care to keep out of his way, for you’d not know from one minute to the next what he’d say to you if the mood was on him, and that’s a fact. But then no doubt the poor soul has good cause for the way he feels about Mr. Vance—’ She stopped abruptly as if aware that her garrulousness was leading her into an indiscretion.
When she spoke again it was merely to tell me what she was planning to cook for lunch, and when I nodded agreement she disappeared downstairs still exuding an air of ineffable good humour.
When I had finished a leisurely breakfast I slipped into a light cotton frock and sandals and wandered into the garden that lay to the back of the cottage. It was even prettier than I had imagined it: at the end of the orchard a tiny thread of water ran through a coppice of slender birches and wild, hyacinth grew in clumps through the smooth turf. I wandered towards the woods and followed a narrow well-worn path. It must have been this path that Averil had used on her visits to the Ashmores, I was thinking, as I emerged from the woods and found myself on the verge of .an expanse of lawn that extended as smooth as a roll of green felt towards the wide flight of shallow steps that led on to a terrace bordered by a stone balustrade. The house itself was an enormous sprawling affair with unexpected turrets, gables and stained-glass windows. Architecturally, no doubt, it was a disaster but it was certainly imposing and conveyed an air of comfortable security.
Banners of blue smoke emerged from the chimneys and I suddenly became aware that, although no one appeared to be about, I could easily be observed from the many windows. The very idea of being seen staring inquisitively at the Ashmores’ house made me scuttle back into the woods.
I turned left and followed a path that skirted a large meadow that lay to the side of the house. The ground began to slope upwards and it was with a rasp of relief that I reached the top of a little hill and flung myself down on the smooth grass.
‘Quite a pull up, isn’t it?’ a drawling voice said almost at my ear.
I jerked upright. One of the handsomest men I had ever seen was sitting in the shade of a dense green bush topiaried in the shape of an eagle.
I laughed ruefully. ‘I didn’t realize when I took this path that the climb would be quite so long.’
He nodded with an air of satisfaction. ‘
Yes, I could see that you were undecided whether you should push on or return to the cottage.’
I gazed at him in astonishment. ‘But how on earth could you read my thoughts?’
He tapped the binoculars that hung about his neck. ‘These are extremely powerful, and physiognomy is easy when the subject thinks she is unobserved.’
‘Oh!’ I felt uneasy that, unaware, I had been under his surveillance.
‘One gets a remarkably good view of the countryside up here,’ he continued. ‘It’s one of my favourite spots.’
It was true. There was a magnificent sweeping view of Ashmore House, its outbuildings and its surrounding acres and an extremely comprehensive view of Cherry Cottage. Even as he spoke I saw in the distance Mrs. McAlister’s substantial figure go into the orchard and hang out a brilliant blue garment on the washing line. ‘You’re bird-watching?’ I ventured.
He shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t claim to be a nature-lover. I’m simply nosey. I’ve no other reason for being here than the pure unadulterated pleasure of snooping on my neighbours.’ His answer left me speechless, but he appeared to be totally indifferent to the effect this extraordinary confession had on me.
‘There’s no necessity to look shocked,’ he remarked coolly. ‘What else were you doing but snooping on Ashmore House?’
I flushed with embarrassment, then said lamely, ‘Well, it is rather a show-piece in this part of the country, isn’t it?’
‘And what conclusions have you come to? Goodness knows, you examined it keenly enough.’
I twiddled uncomfortably with a piece of grass. ‘Well, it’s very large and imposing, but it’s a bit of a hotch-potch. Personally I prefer Cherry Cottage.’
He gave a little crow of malicious laughter. ‘Wait until I tell Mother what you think of her precious palace! She thinks it’s wonderful, you know, and that everyone’s speechless with admiration.’
Sister of the Bride Page 5