by Joyce Cato
Although Jenny had no idea what was going on, she had the sudden and unshakeable feeling that Alicia Greer was being very spiteful indeed. ‘Have you brought the rest of the flowers with you?’ she carried on, glancing over his shoulder to the driveway, where a dark green van was parked. ‘I see you have. I hope they’re all as lovely as these.’
‘They’re just what you ordered, Alicia. Would I ever dare bring anything else?’ His voice was very nearly amused.
Jenny began to sidle around them, a little difficult for a woman of her stature to accomplish, but luckily the pair seemed too intent on their business to pay her much heed.
‘Orchids, lilies, loads of roses of course, carnations.’ The man was ticking them off on the fingers of his left hand – not easy when his other hand encased what looked like a whole Borneo jungle.
‘And freesias. Lots of freesias,’ Alicia prompted. ‘I adore their scent.’
‘I’ve emptied the greenhouses of them,’ the unusual and mysterious Arbie assured her.
Jenny, having gained the stairs, nipped smartly up them and then began to knock on doors. At last, from behind one, a small voice piped up. Jenny entered and stared at an empty room. Just then, Babs emerged from the bathroom, her hair swathed turban-like in a towel, a Japanese silk bathrobe wrapped around her curvaceous body. ‘Ooh, lovely. Put it in the sitting room, will you? Wasn’t it thoughtful of Justin to give me a suite?’
Jenny didn’t think a comment was called for, and did as she was told, mainly because she felt such a sudden and strong sense of pity for the woman. She was so desperate to make the move from working to upper class; so needy for all the good things in life. And so determined to appear to be something she so obviously was not, and could never be. Jenny could only hope that when the time came, Justin would let her down lightly, but she rather doubted it. She doubted it a lot.
She’d just put the plate of foul sandwiches on a rather nice table when she heard a knock on the door and Babs grunt in exasperation. An instant later, she heard the door click open.
‘Hello, Babs. Guess who?’
Jenny instantly recognized the voice as belonging to the man with all the flowers.
‘Arbie! What the hell are you doing here?’ Babs’s voice suddenly lost all the imitation dulcet qualities, and the raw edge of real anger grated through.
‘Why wouldn’t I be here? I’ve known the Greers for years. It was me who introduced you to Justin, remember?’ The pause between the last two words was a distinctly bitter one.
‘Arbie,’ Babs sighed, and a cajoling note crept quickly into her next words. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be invited. Surely you don’t want to come? Wouldn’t it be easier on everyone if you stayed only for a little while, just to be polite, and then went home?’
‘Better for whom?’ Arbie asked, his voice so soft and yet so full of repressed rage that Jenny actually shivered. A caterpillar of real fear and unease began to creep up her spine.
‘For all of us, of course,’ Babs said, her tone of voice full of coo and confidence. It made Jenny shake her head in amazement. Was the girl blind or just without any common sense at all? Couldn’t she tell she had a tiger by the tail in there? Obviously not, for Babs carried on as blithely as a butterfly. ‘You know it’s no good, don’t you? Be a little angel, Arbie, and, oh, are these for me? They’re lovely, really.’
Evidently Arbie had handed over the blooms in an attempt to forestall her, for she saw Babs briefly cross the open doorway in order to lay the bouquet on a table by the window before turning back to her visitor.
‘I’m glad you like them. They always remind me of you.’ Arbie’s voice was softer now and genuinely smitten.
‘Oh, Arbie, don’t,’ Babs said. ‘It’s all over. Please, just accept it.’
‘No.’
It was that simple. Jenny knew it, even though she couldn’t even see the expression on his face. He was not the kind of man who said one thing and meant another. Moreover, he was obviously the kind of man who could become obsessive. Babs would have to tread warily. Very warily indeed, she thought.
‘Well, you’ll just have to,’ Babs snapped, her voice rising as her temper did likewise. ‘Justin and I are to be married. So you’ll just have to accept it.’
‘Do you want me to do the wedding flowers?’ Arbie asked, his voice so mockingly amused and vicious now that even Babs, at last, seemed to get the message.
‘Don’t be so cruel!’ she gasped. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you. Do you think I’m so heartless?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ Arbie said, and in that moment Jenny realized that she should never have pictured him as a meringue. A meringue crumbled at the onset of a spoon, but there was nothing soft about Arbie the florist. Rock cake, perhaps.
‘Not that it matters, of course,’ he carried on, and from the sitting room Jenny could picture him prowling around the room. ‘Because he’ll never marry you, not in a million years. I know Justin. Better than you do, it seems.’
‘Liar!’ Babs shot back. ‘You’re just saying that, hoping I’ll take you back.’
‘Hoping you’ll settle for a rather less rich, less handsome catch, you mean,’ Arbie corrected her. ‘You might as well say it. You see, Babs, I know you too. Inside and out. And it still doesn’t matter.’
Jenny glanced at her watch. Damn! She was behind schedule again. She’d never had a job go so unevenly before. Why couldn’t Babs Walker have the good sense to marry Arbie and have done with it? He must have money to have attracted her in the first place, and he evidently loved her something stupid. He’d put up with her infidelities, shower her with gifts and never cheat on her. An ideal husband, in fact. But no, she had to try for Justin Greer, of all men. Just because of his pretty face and lean, sexy body.
‘Get out,’ Babs said, her voice wavering. Perhaps, at last, she was beginning to see the real Arbie, not the fool she thought she’d hooked and then discarded for a better catch. For now there was something approaching real fear in her voice.
‘Oh, I’ll go for now. I have to oversee the flowers, but as you can see, I’m already dressed for the banquet, so I won’t even need to go home to change. Oh yes, Alicia invited me to it. Didn’t you know?’
And with that excellent parting shot, the door opened and then slammed shut. Taking a big breath, Jenny stepped out into the bedroom. Babs Walker stared at her, her pansy eyes widening in dismay as she watched the Junoesque cook bolt for the door and realized she must have heard every word.
‘Oh, Alicia.’ Jenny, having just escaped Babs Walker’s room, noticed Alicia and Justin coming out of the library. ‘I need you to check the cake. I’ve iced it in a way I hope you’ll like.’
‘Oh, lovely. Where is it? In the ballroom?’
‘No, the kitchen.’
‘Oh. Well, I think Justin should be the one to check it, don’t you? Then it can be a surprise for me,’ she said with an offhand laugh, and promptly disappeared back into the library. Jenny sighed deeply. Honestly, anyone would think Alicia was allergic to the kitchen.
‘Lead on, Macduff,’ Justin said, giving her a knowing grin. ‘And don’t try to domesticate my sister. It’s a wasted effort.’
Jenny shot him an arch look. ‘My dear Mr Greer. I wouldn’t dream of trying to teach your sister, or yourself for that matter, anything at all.’
Justin was still laughing when he stepped into the kitchen and looked around with impressed eyes. ‘Everything seems to be going well. Hello, gorgeous,’ he said to Vera, who blushed to the roots of her hair. If they’d been able to see them, her toes would probably have been beetroot too. ‘So where’s this cake of my sister’s?’
‘In the back pantry, keeping cool,’ Jenny said, and led the way. Justin looked first at all the crates of champagne, and then his eyes saw the cake, and widened. He stepped closer. It was six layers, artfully held up by white columns, almost like a wedding cake. Except that the icing was a lovely deep cream colour, and was decorated with lemon and ora
nge icing sugar roses. On the bottom and largest tier, in flowing orange lettering, were the simple but exquisitely rendered words: Happy 21st Birthday Alicia.
He held out a finger, intending to snitch an orange rose, and found his wrist smartly encased in a grip of steel. He turned and found himself not two inches from Jenny’s nose. For the first time he really noticed her eyes, and was amazed at their deep blue beauty.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jenny advised him, and smiled sweetly.
Justin straightened up and grinned. ‘You know, Jenny Starling, if you were six stone lighter, I think I’d marry you.’
Jenny, mortally offended, stared at him for a shell-shocked instant, then spun on her heel and stormed into the kitchen. The grey cat, prowling around the waste bucket for scraps, took one look at her and hissed massively. Jenny hissed back.
Marry her indeed, Jenny fumed. Hah! Did she look as if she had so little taste that she would actually marry a man like Justin Greer?
‘I do hope you can get that monstrosity into the ballroom without an accident.’ Justin’s laughing voice followed her across the room, and a little while later he emerged from the pantry, closing the door behind him. ‘I’d hate to see that marvellous edifice, like Humpty Dumpty, having a great fall.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Jenny said grimly. ‘I’ll see to it. It only needs myself and one other to handle it. Perhaps the florist. He looks as if he could handle anything,’ she said, more to herself than to anyone else. She was still subconsciously worrying about Arbie and the grasping Babs.
‘Florist?’ Justin said, his voice sharpening.
‘Hmm. Arbie-somebody-or-other.’
‘I doubt he’ll be around for long. You’d better be quick. I saw them unloading the last of the flowers just now. Daphne’s in seventh heaven.’
‘But he’s staying to the banquet,’ Jenny said, looking around in surprise. ‘Your sister invited him.’
Justin stared back at her, his handsome face darkening. ‘Did she now?’ he said, his voice suddenly low and ominous, all good humour vanishing. ‘Did she really?’
Jenny turned and began rattling pots and pans in a tellingly loud manner. ‘I imagine Alicia felt that she could invite who she liked,’ she said diplomatically, her voice deliberately vague. From behind her, Justin laughed harshly.
‘No doubt she did, the little mischief-maker. But then, two can play at that game. And I can invite who I like as well.’
Jenny spun around sharply, not at all sure she liked the sound of that, but he was already halfway out the door. Jenny threw her head back and gave a yell. Vera dropped the pan she was stirring and the cat shot two feet in the air, turned, landed, and streaked to the door.
After her shriek of pure frustration had finished rattling around the rafters, Jenny felt much better, and calmly began seeing to the various sauces, while Vera watched her anxiously.
She’d be glad when this damned party was over. But she didn’t realize, then, just how permanently ‘over’ the party was going to be – for someone.
Seven
‘HELLO IN HERE. Anything I can do to help?’
Jenny looked around and smiled vaguely at Mark Greer as he came down the few steps that led into the kitchen and took a deep, appreciative sniff.
‘Thanks, no. Everything’s just about ready, final touches notwithstanding.’
‘Ah, it’s those final touches that sent me down. Alicia wants to make sure that the flat wines are uncorked and breathing. She doesn’t trust the wine waiters to do it, apparently.’
Jenny, taking a delicate taste of her cherry sauce, nodded and then quickly showed the elder Greer to the back pantry. ‘Look at all that champagne!’ Mark gasped, turning a shade green. Then he forced a laugh. ‘I’d better get someone to take a few crates into the ballroom. My daughter must think people are going to bathe in it.’
Jenny smiled distractedly, her mind on her Prawns Magenta. She mustn’t forget the final squeeze of lemon.
‘These are the reds then. And the whites are, oh yes, over there. Why are these two dozen champagne bottles set aside?’ Mark asked.
Jenny glanced in, and shrugged. ‘I don’t do wine,’ she said firmly.
‘I believe, Mr Greer, that Al wants those for the toast.’
Both Jenny and Mark jumped at the unexpected interruption, with Mark going slightly stiff-backed at the sight of the young man in front of him. Not that Keith Harding didn’t polish up well in an evening suit. He did. The black and white ensemble only served to make his hair more richly thick, his athletic body more manfully elegant and his handsome face even more pronounced and undeniable.
‘Oh. Ah, right. I’d better leave it here then.’
‘I saw you come in,’ Keith said, by way of explanation, ‘and wondered if there was something I could do. Al asked me to come early. I daresay she thought an extra pair of hands around the place wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Er, no. Well, perhaps you could lug a crate of this champagne into the ballroom for me then?’ Alicia’s father obliged. ‘We can’t have the waiters traipsing in and out of the kitchen too often tonight.’
‘No,’ Jenny said quickly and loudly. ‘We can’t.’ She went to the fridge to check on her mousses.
As the two men left, Keith Harding carrying the crate with a telling ease, Jenny watched them go, her eyes troubled. Things were all topsy-turvy in this house. Nobody wanted Alicia and Keith to marry, except Alicia and Keith. Arbie-the-florist was a powder keg getting ready to explode, and Justin, unless she missed her guess, was about to pull a fast one on his sister. It all made her deeply uneasy. She sighed, trying to talk herself out of her doom-laden mood, and checked her watch. One hour until the banquet was due to begin.
‘Hello. Alicia sent me down for some champagne.’
Jenny swung around, annoyance leaping across her face. The kitchen was like Piccadilly Circus tonight.
‘Sorry,’ Arbie said, obviously and accurately reading her expression. ‘I wouldn’t bother you otherwise – I know how annoying it can be when you’re trying to work – but Alicia insisted. Champagne?’
‘In there.’ Jenny nodded to the pantry and watched him go, then gave a start and rushed to the oven to check the various meats. They were, as she’d really expected, cooking perfectly. Arbie appeared a little while later, puffing slightly, just as Mark and Keith came back.
‘Hello, Arbie,’ Mark said cheerfully. ‘Alicia has you working as well, I see. She seems to think guests are invited for her private whims, rather than to be entertained.’
Arbie smiled such a knowing smile that Jenny felt disconcerted. Here was a man who missed very little, and understood a great deal about human foibles, she thought. She wondered how such an obviously sensitive and intelligent man coped with life’s blunt instruments. She wondered, too, how he felt about Alicia Greer and her cruel little games. As she watched his white-suited, comical figure stagger under the weight of the wine, she wondered even more how he felt about Justin Greer’s golden beauty, inherited wealth and easy elegance.
‘I don’t mind,’ Arbie, the easygoing friend of the family said lightly. ‘I daresay I shall be drinking my fair share of the stuff tonight, anyway.’ And he laughed, joining in Mark’s happy acknowledgement.
Jenny nodded, finding it all very interesting. Arbie was obviously a ‘good sort’ to Mark Greer. To Alicia he was a joke. To Babs Walker he was a meal ticket. Jenny got the weird feeling that he could be all things to all men. But when he looked in a mirror, who did Arbie see?
As he struggled up the steps and nudged open the door to the hall, Jenny sighed in relief at the sight of a gaggle of catering staff coming their way.
‘Well, I suppose we’d better let you get on with it,’ Mark said jovially to the impressive cook. ‘We’ll leave the champagne for the toast until the final minute, if you don’t mind. Ah, here they come. Don’t they look smart,’ Mark said as the waiters and waitresses, indeed looking very smart and crisply clean and tidy, filed past.<
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Keith Harding, looking and no doubt feeling uncomfortable, pressed back into the wall to let them pass, then suddenly froze. Jenny clearly saw his eyes widen and his face muscles collapse in total surprise. And a moment later, she saw why.
Margie Harding, carefully standing at the back of the group and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, stared grimly at the floor in front of her. And then Jenny remembered seeing her frizzy blonde head earlier on that afternoon, in the garden. Hard on the heels of that memory came another. Jenny’s glance fell to the rounded collar of her blouse. The one she’d been buying in the jumble sale. The one that she had indeed dyed, for her uniform looked exactly the same as the others. But surely legitimate members of the catering firm had their uniforms supplied? Jenny felt a cold chill run down her spine. What the hell did she think she was doing?
Margie glanced up at her husband, who was staring at her blankly, a peculiar expression in his eyes.
‘You wanted to speak to us, Miss Starling?’ The head waiter, a very competent individual named Georges, grabbed her attention, more with his fake French accent than with his actual words. Jenny smiled automatically, dredging up her pep talk from memory, and out of the corner of her eye saw Mark Greer leave the room. Keith Harding, she noticed, stayed exactly where he was.
‘Er, yes. I’m sure you all know the routine. And the party co-ordinator has gone over things with you.’ There was a general, well-repressed groan of agreement. ‘However, I just want to go over the menu, just to get the timing right. The soup needs to be served quickly, so I suggest …’ Jenny rattled through the procedure, her mind and her eyes on the husband and wife standing only yards, but light years, apart.
Georges, knowing and always impressed by professionalism when he heard it, listened intently, but Jenny, who would normally have been pleasantly flattered, hardly noticed. When she was finished, Georges reassured her that he would follow her instructions to the letter then clapped his hands imperiously and collected his brood. As they trailed past him, Keith reached out and grabbed Margie’s arm. She didn’t, Jenny noticed, make any move to pull away.
