With both her energy and her bank account seriously depleted, she headed for home, surprised to discover that she had barely left herself enough time to get ready, and additionally that not once during her shopping spree had she given the slightest thought to the needs of the other members of her family. In the past such shopping expeditions as she had been able to make on her own behalf had been hurried, tense affairs, when she had ended up buying the first thing that came to hand so that she could rush home and make sure that nothing catastrophic had happened in her absence.
A rather cool silence greeted her when she walked into the kitchen. The expense of a taxi had seemed justified in view of the time, and she was still recovering from the shock of how much it had cost as she opened the kitchen door.
*I thought you had the afternoon off,' commented Ben rather truculently as she walked in.
*Yes, I did, but I had lunch with Annabel and then I decided to do some shopping. Why? Is something wrong?' Beatrice asked worriedly, the possible dire consequences of her self-indulgent afternoon suddenly catching up with her.
*No, nothing at all,' Henrietta told her calmly. *It's just himself here, getting into a fine state because he can't find his dress-shirt.' She made it soimd as though Benedict was about three years old and sulking over the absence of some highly prized and emotionally necessary garment.
*It's in the bottom drawer of your cupboard,' Beatrice told him. 'Don't you remember, you told
me to put it there after the last time you wore it so that you'd remember where it was/
It was obvious that Benedict was not appeased, and she felt her spirits begin to drop. She had feared all along that the dinner party would be Ukely to be a fraught occasion, and now she was being proved right.
Elliott was meeting them at the restaurant—a necessary precaution to ensure that nothing went wrong, he had claimed when Beatrice had accused him of cowardice.
Despite the fact that they would be eating later, William had insisted on having a full tea. Beatrice sat down and had a cup of coffee with him while the others went upstairs to get ready.
^Elliott's up to something/ he pronounced, thoroughly startling her. She put her coffee cup down, hoping that William hadn't seen her sudden tremor of shock.
*What... what do you mean?' she asked.
*It's obvious. Why else would he be taking us all out to dinner?'
*It's his birthday,' Beatrice protested, suddenly feeling extremely guilty as she remembered that she hadn't bought him a present.
*No, it's not,' WiUiam returned calmly. 'His birthday's in November—he's a Scorpio.' He gave her a sidelong look, and added thoughtfully, 'You're Taurus, aren't you? That means that the two of you are sexually compatible. We're doing astrology as part of our General Studies course,' he added kindly. 'It's supposed to give us a broader view of life, that kind of thing.'
*I... I think you must have made a mistake/ Beatrice said weakly.
*Not me. It's nothing to do with me. It's all written in the stars/
'I mean about Elliott's birthday,' she told him, annoyed. 'It can't be in November.'
*Well, it is. But don't worry, I shan't give him away.' He picked up another scone, split it open and buttered it lavishly. 'Do you know, Henry is almost as good a cook as you, Bea...'
'Henry!' Beatrice closed her eyes in supplication. 'Don't let her hear you calling her that,' she warned him.
As she went upstairs to get changed she wondered if William was right. He normally was, which meant that EUiott had invented his birthday as an excuse to put into action his plan for detaching Lu-cilla from her producer.
As she remembered the fuss she always made of each and every member of her family's birthdays, including Lucilla—cake, cards, special party meals, presents, all the family commanded to be present— even enduring charades afterwards—Beatrice felt a wave of sadness, not untinged with guilt, wash over her. How could it have happened that no one apart from WiUiam knew that it wasn't really Elliott's birthday?
As she got to the top of the stairs, Mirry emerged from her bedroom and nearly cannoned into her.
'Help, I need a pair of black tights! Have you got any?'
She had, a replacement pair for the ones Mirry had given her, but by the time she had found and
handed them over, there was even less time left to get ready, and worse, she could hear William pro-testmg that his dinner-suit jacket was too tight*
At last they were all ready and assembled downstairs. Looking at her family as she hurried to join them, Beatrice stifled a faint stab of envy. They were each in their different ways so startlingly physically attractive—she felt Uke a small brown wren let loose in a cage of brightly plumaged parakeets.
*Come on, otherwise we're going to be late!'
Somehow they all managed to cram into two cars, Lucilla sulking because the skirts of her silk chiffon dress were being crushed. She glanced sneeringly at Beatrice's outfit as she got into the car, but, on her other side, Mirry tugged on her arm and whispered,
*I like it. It makes you look stunningly curvy and sexy!'
Which was more alarming than reassuring, Beatrice decided as she digested her youngest sister's remark.
They arrived at the restaurant on time. Elliott came out to greet them, and managed under the guise of ushering them all inside to murmur to Beatrice, *It's OK. They're both here, but I want to make sure that Lucilla doesn't catch sight of them until we're all sitting down.'
They had been given a table in the centre of the small restaurant, and to judge from the expression on the face of the beaming proprietor Elliott was a favoured and welcome guest.
A little to her surprise Beatrice found that she was seated on EUiott's right, and across the width
of the large round table she saw that Benedict was frowning darkly as he perceived these arrangements.
As though he read the uncertainty of her own personal thoughts, Elliott bent his head and murmured against her ear, ^Benedict is going to make a spectacular Othello one of these days.'
At last they were all seated. Menus were handed round and after a great deal of deliberation orders given.
Beatrice wasn't the only one who had neglected to bring Elliott a gift, she reahsed, and she frowned a little, realising on a swift pang of sadness how carelessly selfish her family could be. Was that her fault? But before she could dwell too much on her thoughts their first course was arriving.
While she realised that the food was deUcious, she was too tense to enjoy it. So far, EUiott's bulk had shielded from Lucilla the sight of the couple sitting in the far corner, and she shuddered inwardly, imagining Lucilla's reaction once that shield was removed.
Elhott waited until they were half-way through their main course before making his move.
The clatter of a dropped fork on the marble floor drew Lucilla's attention, and as he bent to retrieve the object before any of the hovering waiters could do so, she had a clear view of the occupants of that secluded corner table, their attention also drawn by the intrusive noise.
Beatrice's tender heart ached for her half-sister as she saw her face change and the realisation of what she was witnessing dawn there.
Lucilla's full red lips compressed, her dark blue Bellaire eyes shooting dangerous temper sparks.
For one blissfully relieved moment Beatrice thought that that was all that was going to happen, and then abruptly Lucilla stood up and before anyone could stop her she walked over to the other couple and to Beatrice's consternation picked up the plate of food that her lover was eating and dropped its contents into his lap.
Her fury hadn't abated in the slightest when she came back. Pushing Beatrice aside she said bitterly to EUiott, 'I suppose you arranged all this, didn't you? Well I hope you're satisfied.'
'If you'd listened to reason in the first place, none of this would be necessary—but then of course you're a Bellaire,' he added with fine irony, 'and no Bellaire worthy of the name ever listens to anyone else.'
T
o her shock, Beatrice heard William chortle appreciatively.
'William!' she began reproachfully, but her youngest brother cut her off, saying good-humouredly, 'He's right, Bea, and you know it. Lord, but did you see his face?'
'He was going to give me a part in his new series!' Lucilla burst out furiously.
Elliott only looked amused, his voice faintly scathing as he drawled, 'Come on, Lu, no histrionics, please... and wouldn't it have been rather an extortionate price to pay?'
Lucilla stiffened. 'What do you mean? If you're talking about the fact that we're lovers...'
*Oh, hardly,' drawled Elliott. He glanced meaningfully at the other table. *I was referring to your inheritance, Lucilla, not your body. As the old saying goes, pretty women come a dime a dozen, but money—well,^ that's something else, and he does have very expensive tastes!'
Beatrice was making the extraordinary discovery that Lucilla did not always look beautiful. When she was angry her eyes became unpleasantly small, and her face was burning with hot colour that clashed relentlessly with her scarlet dress.
That and the cost in terms of your pride,' Elliott added gently.
At her side Beatrice heard William give a soundless whistle of appreciation and murmur, *Game, set and match to Elliott. That was really neat!'
Over in the corner waiters fussed and the hum of conversation momentarily silenced by Lucilla's retahatory action now rose again.
Out of the corner of her eye Beatrice saw the producer and his lover get up and leave, but Lucilla was too busy arguing hotly with Elliott to notice.
Much to her surprise, Beatrice discovered that they weren't asked to leave themselves. The proprietor of the restaurant was Italian, Elliott explained drily to her, observing her covert and anxious looks in the direction of the door into the kitchens, and therefore used to such emotional displays.
Benedict, who had become very thoughtful and withdrawn after Lucilla's outburst against Elliott, now suggested that they should order a bottle of
champagne to celebrate Lucilla's return to sanity, and it took quite some time to subdue the resultant outbreak of hostilities.
Benedict and Lucilla were surprisingly aUke in temperament, Beatrice observed, surprised that she had never noticed before how similar Lucilla* s acid remarks often were to Benedict's more skilled but just as cruel barbs. It was a disquieting discovery and one that made her look rather thoughtfully at her eldest brother.
Benedict was the image of their father, and it struck her for the first time that because of that she had perhaps invested him with virtues that he did not possess. Their father, while feckless, had always been an open-hearted, generous man. Benedict ... Benedict had a darker side to his nature, she recognised now, a driven obsessiveness about certain things that he shared with Lucilla.
They had reached the coffee stage before Lucilla grew tired of venting her wrath on ElUott. She was quiet for several minutes and then turned to Beatrice and said acidly,
*I suppose you're the one who's responsible for this. I suppose you went crawhng to Elliott to tell him how much you disapproved of Don...
'Poor Elliott,' she went on maliciously, glancing at her half-brother. 'Was it very difficult holding her at bay? Inexperienced virgins of a certain age can be such an embarrassment, can't they, darling? Honestly, I sometimes wonder what on earth Bea's going to drag home next, she's so obviously man-hungry. You won't get what you want from Elliott, darUng,' she told Beatrice with a venomous purr.
*He*s very choosy about the quality of the ladies he takes to bed. And the embargoes he sees fit to place on the rest of us don't, it seems, apply to himself. What happened to Sally Frenchman, Elliott? She was positively all over you the last time I saw her. Did her husband finally object?'
Nothing would be achieved by giving in to her desire to just get up and simply run, Beatrice told herself, gritting her teeth together resolutely, but it was hard to convince herself that Lucilla was simply acting out of chagrin and pain, and that her barbs really had nothing personal in them, save for an instinctive reflex to hurt someone more vulnerable than she was herself, but none of that helped her to deal with the growing sensation of nausea clawing at her stomach, and when Lucilla added savagely, *Look, Bea's even bought a new outfit for you, Elliott. Where on earth did you buy it, Bea?' she purred to Beatrice. *'It looks positively vile! You know your figure is far too top-heavy for you to draw attention to it like that, and besides, Elliott is a legs man, aren't you, darling?'
It was awful... unendurable •.. horrible... and the more so because Lucilla's taunts held just enough hint of the truth for her to feel appallingly conscious of what a complete fool she was making of herself. She had bought the outfit for tonight, and at the back of her mind had been the thought that Elliott would see her in it and perhaps... perhaps what? Indulge her in a repeat performance of those moments in his car when his mouth had... She gagged on the sickness rising inside her, but knew that she couldn't give in to it.
To do SO would be to reinforce the truth underlying Lucilla's bitchy remarks, and so she had to sit there and smile calmly, and pretend she thought Lucilla's comments sprang from nothing more than her own hurt pride.
In the end, surprisingly, it was Elliott himself who stopped it, his voice cool, but holding a steely underlying thread of savagery that made Beatrice's face burn as it told her how little he relished being connected with her, even in so remote a context,
TuU yourself together, Lucilla,' he ordered his half-sister. ^Or isn't making a fool of yourself once tonight enough? And while you're at it you can apologise to Beatrice.'
'What for?' Lucilla demanded sulkily, at least acceding to his first demand. Telling the truth?'
*You wouldn't know the truth if it got up and bit you,' Elliott told her sardonically.
Her nausea was starting to retreat, Beatrice discovered thankfully. For the first time since Lucilla had started on her outburst, she felt strong enough to remove her gaze from the point where she had fixed it on the restaurant wall and look at something human.
Mirry was the first one to catch her eye, and she gave her a sympathetic grimace that bolstered her overstrung nerves.
Somehow Beatrice was aware that both Benedict and Elliott were looking at her, but she couldn't bring herself to glance in either direction.
Elliott was speaking again, his voice dry and very controlled as he said suavely, 'Oh, and by the way, Lucilla, for your information, two points. The first
is that Sally Frenchman is simply the wife of a friend, nothing more, and if I find you spreading gossip about her, I promise you PU make sure you regret it/
*And the second?' Lucilla demanded angrily, holding her head at a challenging angle as Elliot paused.
*And the second,' he told her, catching Beatrice's unwary eyes, and giving her an extremely quiz2dcal and amused look, Ms that you're quite wrong about my sexual preferences—legwise, that is/
Before signalling to the fascinated audience of hovering waiters, he glanced thoughtfully and extremely deliberately at the decollete neckline of Beatrice's suit jacket, and there, in front of them all, he allowed his interested glance to make a leisurely and thorough inspection of her feminine curves, before adding softly, 'Quite definitely wrong.'
Beatrice couldn't bear to look at anyone. Inside she felt as though she was being torn apart by pain and humihation. How could Elliott have done that to her? What on earth had he hoped to achieve? From someone else, such behaviour would have been gallant, but Elliott knew her and her family too well to suppose they would ever be deceived by such a display.
All of them right down to William knew of their mutual antagonism, and all that Elliott's behaviour now would have done would have been to raise unwanted speculation concerning her own feelings towards him. Beatrice knew that as well as she knew her own name, and she was bitterly convinced that
Elliott knew it as well. Given that, his actions were those of an extremely cruel and vindictive man— and yet, for all the ant
ipathy that existed between them, she had always considered that ElUott thought of himself as above such petty behaviour as afflicted the rest of the human race.
Somehow she managed to endure the last half-hour of the dinner party, but at last she was free to get up and go.
Just as she was about to join Mirry and Benedict by the door, EUiott caught hold of her arm and, in full view of the whole family, said caressingly, looking at her but speaking to them, *ril bring Beatrice home.*
She ought to have refused to go with him, but he had caught her off guard and, other than wrenching her arm out of his grip, there was no way she could get away from his side.
The Bellaire clan had caused enough emotional^ fireworks for one night, she decided tiredly, and besides, what did it really matter who drove her home? The damage had aheady been done. Tonight Lucilla had held up to her own inspection and that of her family a cruel mirror image, and one that would haunt her for a long time to come. She still flinched when recalling Lucilla's gibe about her virginity. She could have pointed out that at the time when other girls her age were experimenting with sex, she had been bringing up a family, but in her own heart she knew that that defence was weak, and that somewhere deep inside her she still clung to the foolish feminine myth of the dashing prince
who would come to claim her and awaken her with the magic of his kiss.
Childish daydreams that ought to have been discarded years ago, she derided herself, as the others left and Elliott paid the bill.
She was stiff with resentment and misery when they got outside, and Elliott's calm, 'Don't let Lu-cilla get to you. She's hurt and like any wounded creature her pain makes her want to lash out, preferably in the direction of someone weaker and more vulnerable than she is herself,' didn't help. Only by taking a deep breath and holding it in her lungs was she able to keep her voice even.
*Yes, I am able to work that out for myself, Elliott.'
*Mm... Well, if it's not Lucilla, who's made you so tense and on edge? It must be me.'
'How observant of you!' Now her voice did tremble, her attempt at sounding sarcastic woefully ineffective.
Some Sort of Spell Page 7