‘No, thanks,’ I said stiffly. ‘I can ring for a taxi.’ I had no intention of letting Dr. Bob Pritchard any further into my confidence. I had no idea then, of course, how short a time it would be before I was desperately seeking his help.
‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ he said. ‘My car is outside and Cherry Cottage is quite near my house. Why can’t you and I be friends? After all, we’re bound to knock into each other occasionally, and if I’ve seemed to be too analytical blame my profession and also the fact that I’m a bachelor and an orphan,’ he added solemnly.
In spite of myself I laughed. ‘You don’t look like an orphan to me,’ I told him.
‘That goes to show how little you really know about Bob Pritchard,’ he grinned good-naturedly and, catching my elbow, steered me towards his rather shabby car. ‘By the way,’ he continued as he got behind the wheel, ‘I think I forgot to mention that. I’m on the look-out for a kind and sympathetic female to confide in.’
‘Well, you’ve got the wrong female in me!’ I retorted.
We drove through a thriving market town with traces of olden days in occasional lath-and-plaster houses. An old coaching inn had obviously taken pride in preserving the cobbled yard and pointed roof of the seventeenth century. Soon the town gave way to suburban villas of red brick and Bob pointed out his, identical with the others, except for a large brass plate on the gate, and Venetian blinds on the windows. ‘That’s my domain,’ he announced. ‘Pretty dismal, isn’t it, though no doubt the dainty hand of a woman would work wonders.’
‘You’re not pretending you do your own housework, are you?’ I asked severely.
‘Well, no,’ he conceded, ‘but my housekeepers rather a poor cook and I’ll return to cold viands in a deserted dining room followed by an evening attending the ailments of most of the population of Warefield. Now don’t you pity me?’
‘No, I don’t—and what’s more I expect you’re perfectly content with your life and would be like a fish out of water in any other job.’
‘You’re a hard and unfeeling female,’ Bob returned, ‘and for that I shan’t tell you any of the interesting scandals of the neighbourhood.’
He spoke lightly, and it was only afterwards I was to realize how sharply the interesting scandals he referred to were to impinge on my own life.
He had turned the car down a narrow rutted lane and now pointed to fields lying behind the bordering hedges. ‘All this is Ashmore property. The entrance to the house is further along the main road and you can get only a glimpse of it from Cherry Cottage. In the old days the Ashmores believed in keeping their menials well out of sight.’
‘The present Ashmores, from what you tell me, are doing the same,’ I returned.
He frowned. ‘Perhaps I’m prejudiced, but Vance Ashmore is not one of my favourites.’
I was too busy scanning the hedgerows for my first I glimpse of Cherry Cottage to take more than passing heed of the fact that he singled out Vance for his disapproval.
I gave an exclamation of pleasure as he drew up in front of a rustic gate. A path of crazy paving bordered with masses of golden forsythia and clumps of daffodils led up to a steep-roofed cottage with glittering diamond-paned windows and porch covered with starry white clematis: it looked as perfect as a gingerbread cottage in a fairy tale.
‘I’ll leave you here,’ Bob said hastily when he had deposited me and my cases inside the gate. I was too entranced by the beauty of Cherry Cottage to notice the speed with which he made his departure.
When I reached the door I found it opened immediately into what was obviously the living-room of the cottage. It stood slightly ajar and inside I glimpsed Averil kneeling on the floor feverishly packing a cabin trunk.
As I came in she looked up briefly through a cloud of soft golden hair, but there was no, welcoming smile in her azure blue eyes. ‘Thank heavens you’ve arrived,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’ve just received a telegram from Sheila: she wants me to meet her tonight: it seems she’s giving a big party before we sail and I’d simply hate to miss it.’
I let my cases drop and surveyed her in blank dismay. ‘But I understood you weren’t leaving for a few days. It will take time for you to brief me: there will be all sorts of things I’ll have to know before you go.’
Impatiently Averil returned to her packing. ‘I might have known you’d raise objections. Do be reasonable! After all, you can learn the ropes as you go along, and there’s nothing mysterious about housekeeping in Warefield, I can assure you. We don’t lead a particularly hectic life down here. That’s one of the reasons I’m so terribly keen to get away: sometimes I feel I’ll die of boredom: you’ve no idea how incredibly hideous life in the country can be. Sometimes I feel I’m being buried alive!’
‘Then why didn’t you refuse Vance Ashmore’s offer in the first place?’ I asked in bewilderment.
For a moment I saw her pause in her hectic packing and her back stiffen as though with shock at my words, then without answering my question she said in a slightly artificial voice, ‘I’m sure you’re dying for a cup of tea: the kettle’s boiling in the kitchen: do be a dear and fix things up for yourself, won’t you? I’d have had something ready for you to eat if I weren’t in such a desperate hurry. I ordered a taxi to call for me here in about half an hour.
I refrained from pointing out that while she had remembered to order a taxi for herself she had forgotten to arrange for one to meet me at the station. Anyway, I realized that a complaint wouldn’t really make much impression on her.
Feeling bewildered and frustrated, I did as she asked. The kitchen was much bigger than the living-room with an inglenook fireplace that in olden days must have blazed merrily with log fires that roared up the wide chimneypiece, but now the hearth was filled with a range on which bubbled a gleaming aluminum kettle. In the oaken dresser that seemed to have grown into the walls I found sugar and tea, but in spite of a thorough search in the cupboards and in the small pantry I found no traces of milk. However, I made tea in the ancient china pot I found on the top shelf of the dresser. I was too tired to bother searching further. With a sigh of relief I sat down in an old wooden-backed kitchen chair and sipped the bitter brew. Through an open window I caught a glimpse of the delicate pink blossoms of flowering cherry outlined against a china blue sky. As Bob Pritchard had said, the cottage was a little gem, and I felt a rising happiness as I investigated the twisting and blackened staircase that led to the upper story.
If only Averil had given me time to settle in and feel my way around at my leisure instead of hurling me into the mysteries of country life without the smallest preparation!
It was not long before Averil wandered into the kitchen, looking as calm and unruffled as though she hadn’t been quite recently in the throes of feverishly packing.
She lit a cigarette and filling a mug with tea perched herself on the edge of the table, then made a disgusted moue when she found there was no milk. ‘I’ve sent Rodney to the Ashmore farm for milk. They have an enormous dairy and usually supply us, but I expect Rodney has dawdled: he should have been here ages ago.’
She glanced at me with idle curiosity. ‘Sorry, in the excitement of getting Sheila’s telegram I forgot to send a taxi for you. I suppose you managed to get one at the station.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ I returned a little acidly. ‘A Doctor Robert Pritchard drove me: we travelled down together.’
Averil gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Bob Pritchard! How amusing—especially when he disapproves of me so thoroughly!’
I gazed at her in astonishment. ‘But why on earth should he disapprove of you?’
She shrugged and slid from the table. ‘Perhaps I’ve wounded his pride. Who knows? Men are peculiar creatures. Anyway, who cares about Bob Pritchard’s opinions!’ she added contemptuously. ‘If you come up to my room I’ll try to answer some of the questions I can see hovering on your lips.’
I followed her up the narrow staircase to her room. The sloping beams were blackene
d with age and the tiny panes of glass in the window under the eaves sparkled in the sun, but I knew it was not Averil’s doing that the valance about the dressing-table was crisp and white and that the old furniture had the rich glow of well-polished chestnuts.
Averil crossed to the dressing-table and began to rummage in a box of make-up. ‘By the way, Mrs. McAlister from the town comes up every morning and sees to things generally. She does the shopping, which is handy as we’ve no car so far. She’s really an angel, for you know how hopeless I am when it comes to cooking and I simply loathe housework. She leaves everything in apple pie order, so at least you’ll be saved that bother. Anyway, it will give you more time to take care of Rodney. He really is rather a little demon, but I expect he’ll grow out of it in time. By the way,’ she added casually, ‘if I were you I wouldn’t take anything Mrs. McAlister says too seriously: she’s an inveterate gossip and rather prides herself on being a bit of a character: I find it’s best to take her remarks with a pinch of salt.’ She gave a short laugh, but her eyes met mine in the mirror and I noticed the sharpness of her glance and for a moment I wondered vaguely why Averil of all people should bother to warn me against a loquacious household help.
Crisp muslin fluttered at the open window, and through it I could see the tops of trees hazed with the pale green of opening buds. Through a gap in the curtain of green I glimpsed tall chimneys and a jumble of roofs. ‘Is that the Ashmore house I see through the trees?’ I asked.
She swung round on the little petit-point stool before the dressing-table. ‘Yes, but how did you guess?’
‘Bob Pritchard was telling me about it.’
She shrugged and returned to her meticulous application of eye-shadow. ‘I’ll bet he wasn’t too complimentary. He hates Vance like poison.’
‘But why?’ I asked, puzzled. It seemed strange that Bob Pritchard with his placid equable ways should take a dislike to another person without a good reason.
‘Oh, who knows? Perhaps because Vance is rich and important and he isn’t. And then,’ she added slowly, ‘there’s probably another very good reason why there’s no love lost between them—’ She stopped abruptly as though she had been on the point of revealing more than she meant to and with a shrug returned to the mirror.’
‘From what I gathered Vance Ashmore doesn’t appear to be a particularly attractive character,’ I remarked.
‘Oh, indeed!’ Averil applied lipstick and examined the results critically in the mirror. ‘And what gave you that impression?’
‘Well, Bob Pritchard described him as arrogant and overbearing—’
‘Really, must you take everything Bob says as infallible? I’ve already told you he’s envious of Vance. But in a way it’s true of Vance: he has a certain arrogance. But then why not? He’s master of all he surveys. I’ve no time for people like Bob, easygoing and unambitious: the woman who marries him will wind up in that ghastly red-brick house and be the wife of a struggling G.P. until the end of her life.’ The picture would be quite different for the woman who married Vance Ashmore, I thought, and wondered what exactly was the relationship between the master of Ashmore and his tenant.
‘And don’t put on that prissy, censorious air,’ Averil said irritably. ‘It was perfectly natural that Vance should offer me the cottage: after all, he owed it to Clive. He worked himself to the bone for Ashmore Shipping and if he hadn’t been sent on that trip to the Persian Gulf I wouldn’t have been in the position of having to accept charity from Vance.’
‘But you’ve always hated the country: couldn’t you have taken a job and stayed in town?’
Averil got abruptly to her feet. ‘Really, why this interest in my welfare?’ she asked angrily. ‘And anyway, suppose I am interested in Vance, what about it? You don’t expect me to remain a sorrowing widow to the end of my days. It’s the sort of role, I suppose, that you’d like to see me in: it would satisfy that sentimental heart of yours to imagine my heart was in the grave with Clive. Well, for your information, my marriage was a mistake in the first place. Oh, Clive was handsome and dashing-looking, but it was only a front. It was too late when I discovered that he was only another Bob Pritchard, content to slog along in the same old rut.’
‘Then you find Vance Ashmore more your type of man?’ I asked dryly.
‘Let’s say I’ve a feeling that absence might make the heart grow fonder: that’s why I jumped at Sheila’s offer in the first place. I’ve a feeling that by the time I return from the sunny Caribbean Vance will have come up to scratch. Not, of course, that I’d turn up my nose at a little dalliance under the tropical moon, but what I feel for Vance is a different matter. Vance can offer me all the things I’ve ever wanted out of life. I’m sick of scrimping and saving. I’ll send Rodney to a really decent school, not that seedy little preparatory school he goes to now. I’ll have decent clothes and a place in London. In fact, Vance is the type of man I should have married in the first place.’
‘What about Mrs. Ashmore? According to Bob Pritchard she’s a bit of a dragon: she may have different ideas.’
She slipped into a light travelling coat before answering. ‘Yes, the present mistress of Ashmore is rather a harridan: she dresses as though she were twenty years younger and loads herself down with masses of jewellery. She sees herself as the leading social fight in these parts and has her finger in all the local affairs. I’m not foolish enough to cross swords with her, for I know I wouldn’t stand a chance. After all, I’m only the tenant of Cherry Cottage and she’s used to having the whole district fawning on her and cutting each other’s throats to get an invitation to her ghastly parties. She sees herself as a swinging hostess and I play up to her: butter wouldn’t melt in little Averil’s mouth. I drink in every word she utters as though it were a pearl of wisdom. In fact, she’s now quite prepared to consider me as a suitable daughter-in-law. But just wait till Vance carries me over the threshold of Ashmore House as its new mistress and that old witch will be in for a surprise.’ Averil’s clear blue eyes narrowed coldly as she visualised her revenge. ‘I’ll make life as miserable for her as she would make it for me if I didn’t toady to her. I don’t see you getting on particularly well with her: you can be so frightfully forthright at times, Esther.’
I looked at her in surprise. ‘But why on earth should I come in contact with Mrs. Ashmore in the first place? From what you say of her I imagine she’d hardly be aware of my existence.’
‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. Warefield is frightfully parochial in ways: everyone’s bursting with curiosity about newcomers. As soon as I told her you were taking over while I was on the cruise, she as good as gave a royal command that you should call on her. I expect she wants to look you over and see if you’re suitable material to add to her list of hangers-on.’
‘Well, I’ve no intention of letting the redoubtable Mrs. Ashmore look me over,’ I said firmly, ‘and I can’t understand how she could imagine I would agree to such an invitation.’
Averil packed her handbag with quick expert movements. ‘Because, of course, she’s an Ashmore and like her son Vance, lord of all she surveys, which, may I remind you, includes Cherry Cottage.’
‘Well, he may own Cherry Cottage, but he certainly doesn’t own me.’ I felt angry and antagonistic towards this man who apparently had such high-handed mailers towards his tenants.
For a moment Averil paused and considered me as though, for the first time since my arrival, I had really impinged. ‘Do try to co-operate, Esther. If you stand on your dignity you’ll only make things difficult for me. If you deliberately make yourself unpleasant she’ll complain to Vance. Not that he’s tied to her apron-strings, for I can’t imagine Vance being under any woman’s thumb, but I don’t want the wrong atmosphere created.’
‘You’re the one who’s keen on Vance, not me! I don’t intend to act the sycophant, just to keep Mrs. Ashmore happy,’ I replied obstinately.
Averil gave the slight dismissing shrug that was characteristic. ‘Oh, ve
ry well, if you’re going to be pig-headed about it! Anyway, I don’t imagine he’s your type—or you his, for that matter.’
Just then there was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs and Rodney burst into the room. He regarded his mother blankly for a moment, then his pale, rather pudgy face screwed up ominously and he gave a howl of rage and frustration. ‘You said you weren’t going till tomorrow, and when I came in from the dairy I saw your cases packed downstairs.’
‘Hush, darling,’ Averil said soothingly, completely unperturbed. ‘Mummy has to leave sooner than she expected. But Aunt Esther has come to take care of you while I’m gone. After all, it won’t be for so very long—only three weeks. And I want you to promise you’ll be a good boy while I’m away, won’t you?’
Rodney’s pale rather protuberant eyes slowly swivelled in my direction and he set his jaw mulishly. ‘But I don’t want to stay with Aunt Esther,’ he said flatly and, reverting to his grievance, added, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going? Then I wouldn’t have gone to the farm for the milk.’
‘Oh, did you fetch the milk, dear?’ Averil said vaguely.
If it was an effort to distract Rodney, she succeeded only too well. ‘Yes, I did,’ he replied belligerently. ‘But old Mrs. Clarke at the dairy said I was a young varmint and a limb of Satan.’
‘You weren’t being mischievous, were you, darling?’ Averil crossed to the window and scanned the lane, her mind obviously on the expected taxi.
‘Not really,’ Rodney returned reluctantly. ‘I only put a little stick in the milk separator to see if it would grind it up.’
‘Oh, Rodney, you didn’t! When you know how cantankerous old Mrs. Clarke can be!’ For the first time, Averil seemed really perturbed by her offspring’s activities. ‘Now she’ll rush to tell Mrs. Ashmore, and she was quite sarcastic and unpleasant to me the time you pulled up one of her prize rose bushes: she kept bringing it up time and again until I thought I’d scream.’
Sister of the Bride Page 3
