Every Woman for Herself (21 page)

‘I’d better go and start dinner,’ Em said. ‘See you later. Come on, Chris.’

Flossie followed them out and upstairs. She clearly saw the Parsonage kitchen as her spiritual home now, to the point where I was thinking of moving her igloo up there.

Gloria seized her chance to descend with tea and dire warnings, before leaving by the veranda door, her basket over her arm.

I assumed she was going home early, and went up to see if Walter was still about.

Chris was standing by the Aga stirring something and reading
Hard Times
, so even love hadn’t yet cured him of Dickens.

Walter was still there, so I asked him to fix a bolt on the door at the bottom of my staircase.

He didn’t ask me why, just did it, regarding his neat handiwork at the end with a pleased smile, while passing a pink hand over his shiny pate.

Apart from Father’s study, and Anne’s bedroom, Rhymers didn’t lock doors on each other, but I wanted to be able to if I felt the need … Or
didn’t
feel the need for yet another cup of tea.

Before I got the chance to use it, Anne and Em trooped past me, saying they were going out for some fresh air before dinner, which I thought was very odd, especially since they didn’t ask me to go, too. Em said Chris was watching dinner, so not to worry.

‘It’s cold out there,’ Walter said, gazing after them worriedly. ‘Especially without a hat.’

‘Yes, but they’ve both got lots of hair,’ I pointed out.

After that we went upstairs and he showed me the walking sticks he’d been carving for the little girls for Christmas – including one for Caitlin, which was a nice thought. Then he hid them away in the cupboard by the fireplace and locked the door, before putting the key under his wig on the stand.

There were shavings neatly brushed into a little heap on the carpet; but then, there usually were shavings around Walter.

Em and Anne couldn’t have had much of a walk, for they were already back. Em was talking in a low voice to Chris by the stove, while stirring something into the big cauldron (probably the Dickens). Anne was sitting at the table with a glass of whisky in her hand, marking possible Christmas gifts in
Extreme Terrain: The Catalogue
.

‘Drink?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks – I’m just going back down to stretch another canvas for tomorrow.’

‘Dinner in one hour,’ Em said over her shoulder.

‘Where are the girls? It’s very quiet.’

‘Out at a friend’s. So’s Jess. Bran’s doing a jigsaw puzzle in his room, and Father’s in the study, snoring.’

I went down, resolutely picked up the envelope of money, put on my coat, and set off down the track in the dusk to throw it back in Mace’s face – metaphorically speaking.

Or maybe even literally speaking, for I was still angry enough: laid off and paid off.

By the time I got there, though, I’d remembered Mace’s scarier aspects, and my nerve for a confrontation had pretty well ebbed away, though the money still lay like lead on my heart.

So I sat down on his doorstep and scribbled on the envelope with a stub of pencil I found in my pocket: ‘I don’t
want
your money …’

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, since that pretty well summed it up, so I quietly lifted the flap of the letter box and slid the envelope through the rectangle of yellow light.

As I straightened up, the door swung suddenly and silently open. Backlit in the doorframe stood Mace like the Demon King, the envelope in his hand.

‘Oh no, you don’t!’ he said, and, reaching out a long arm, yanked me inside and closed the door.

Still gripping me with one hand he glanced down at the envelope. ‘Terse,’ he said. ‘Admirably to the point. But why not?’

‘I – just don’t,’ I said lamely.

‘Why? I’m not paying you off for services rendered, if that’s what you think,’ he said sardonically. ‘I just owed you your wages for looking after Caitlin, and I thought you might need them.’

‘Well, I don’t. I’m selling paintings again, now I’m over Dead Greg.’

‘Is it because I didn’t write?’ he said, gazing at me, brows knitted. ‘But I
did
send you a message. Didn’t you get it?’

His beautiful mouth quirked up at the corners.

‘The coconut trees?’

‘Of course.’

‘To say what, exactly, Mace? Nuts to you?’

‘No, to say I’m nutty
about
you. Isn’t it evident?’

‘No, it isn’t. I think my first interpretation was right – it was a “thank you and goodbye” present: but you needn’t have bothered. I don’t think Gloria really needs to bother with the potion she made for you now, either,’ I added.

He frowned. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re talking about.’

‘The other night – you don’t need to feel guilty about it, it was just the love philtre. But I’m sure the effects have worn off now, so we need never mention the whole unfortunate episode again.’

‘Guilty? Why should I feel
guilty
? And I told you – I don’t believe in magic potions, or Sabrina the Teenage Witch, or the Tooth Fairy, or—’

‘You don’t
have
to believe in them, they work anyway. And just look at me.
I
only had one sip and I did something totally out of character.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘What, that I only had one sip?’

‘No, that you don’t jump into bed with every passing man.’

‘Oh? Well …’ I looked at him uncertainly. ‘You may not believe in it, but perhaps you ought to have the antidote, just in case?’

‘Have
you
had it?’

‘No – I didn’t tell Gloria I’d had any love philtre in the first place and, anyway, it was just a temporary blip in my sanity. It’s worn off.’

‘Has it? So, let me get it straight:
you
only slept with
me
because Gloria’d spiked the sherry with a bunch of herbs picked naked by the light of the full moon?’

‘Something like that,’ I agreed. ‘But not naked; she’d catch her death.’

‘Why do I not feel too concerned about that?’ he asked himself aloud.

‘I love Gloria! She’s been like a mother to me.’

‘I think we have a different understanding of the word “mother”,’ he said wryly. ‘So you believe that
I
only slept with
you
because I’d had a mega-dose of the brew? And you only had a tiny bit, so it’s worn off: but if I still fancy you, mine hasn’t? Right?’

‘Er – yes.’ I found his expression very disquieting … And the way he was standing so close to me, looking down thoughtfully, even more disturbing.

‘So, darling, does that explain why the bottle of whisky your father just sent me, delivered with suspicious cheerfulness by your Gloria, had its seal broken? I thought maybe she’d just had a swig and topped it up with water.’

‘Gloria wouldn’t do that!’ I said indignantly. ‘She can help herself to any drink she wants, she doesn’t have to sneak it.’

‘Including your father’s single malt?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, astonished. ‘But if Gloria was nice to you – and she brought the whisky down herself …’

‘As a thank-you for giving Ran and Jessica a lift to London. Mind you, I could have done with it before I set
out
for London, to dull the sound of Jessica’s non-stop twittering.’

‘Her voice is a bit high-pitched,’ I agreed. ‘But you’re right about Gloria – she must have wanted to give you the anti-love philtre she’s been brewing as soon as possible. It won’t do you any harm.’

‘All’s well that ends well?’ he said sardonically. ‘So, I drink the whisky and what? I think you’re an absolute dog, and never look at you again?’

‘Yes,’ I said coldly.

‘But how do I know it isn’t some insidious poison that will send me white-haired and raving?’

‘Because she wouldn’t do anything like that,’ I said, with more conviction than I actually felt, because there
were
situations where I was pretty sure Gloria would … but I was certain this wasn’t one of them. ‘You’d better drink it.’

‘I already have, and so have your sisters. And if it’s so harmless, you can prove it by having some too.’

‘What – Anne and Em?
When
?’

‘Just after Gloria left; that’s why I haven’t been up to see you yet. My visitors have been arriving in shifts since I got home. Here,’ he added, handing me a tumbler of neat whisky.

‘A likely story,’ I said coldly, and defiantly drank the contents of the glass. ‘And why would Anne and Em visit you?’

‘Em said she was seeing things clearly now, and she felt Gloria was putting the wrong interpretation on the leaves. She stared at me a long time, but she didn’t say much.’

‘Strangely enough, her powers have increased since she fell in love with Chris. Did Anne say anything?’

‘Not a lot, just implied that she’d break every bone in my body if I hurt you in any way. But I told her that was the last thing I wanted to do – and then we all had some whisky.’

‘You all had it? I hope Em …’ I thought about it. ‘No, it won’t affect her, because she was falling in love with Chris before she drank the love philtre, so she won’t fall out of love with him now. It just sort of hastened things on. And Anne didn’t have any in the first place, so it won’t affect her, either. But you—’ I broke off and stared at him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Pouring the rest of it down the sink.’

‘But what a waste of good whisky!’

‘I like to know exactly what I’m drinking,’ he said shortly, tossing the empty bottle into the rubbish bin. ‘Right, that’s that. So now I’m just my usual self, and you’re
your
usual, highly irritating, self, and we start again?’ He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

‘Yes. Only I’m not going to look after Caitlin,’ I said, edging towards the door.

‘I don’t see why, now you’re not afraid I’m going to jump on you. Though of course, there’s no guarantee that the real, untampered-with Mace might not want to jump on you anyway. And Caitlin’s going to miss you.’

‘I’ll miss her, too – but I expect she’ll be coming up to see the twins, won’t she? We’re bound to see each other then.’

‘Charlie – I’m sorry I suspected you of having told everyone what Kathleen said about Caitlin,’ he said unexpectedly.

‘That’s all right.
I
thought you’d buried Kathleen in the woods.’

‘I’ve had that test done – the one Jessica was going on about – to see if Caitlin is mine. I couldn’t decide if I really wanted to know. Even if I wasn’t really her father – well, I don’t think anything could alter the way I feel about her. I’m waiting for the results.’

‘I never thought she wasn’t yours for a minute, and I don’t suppose Kathleen did, either; it was just something hurtful to say. Has she turned up yet?’

‘No, there’s no sign of her.’

‘I wonder where she’s got to?’

‘I don’t know. And I haven’t managed to get hold of Rod Steigland, the man she’s going to marry, yet either. He’s still in the States, but he’ll be flying over soon for the wedding, so wherever she is she’s bound to surface some time. She called a friend just after she tried to run me down, that’s where
Surprise!
got the information, so she drove off under her own steam.’

‘I really did search the woods,’ I confessed.

‘Why? Do you think I’m that kind of man?’ he asked incredulously, and I looked away.

‘Well … Gloria told me about your first wife’s accident, and that you had to marry Kathleen when she refused to get rid of the baby …’

‘Bloody magazines! They take a particle of truth and blow it out of all proportion!’ he said angrily. ‘It’s true I had an argument with my first wife – we married young, and we fought all the time – and yes, she slammed out in a temper and crashed the car. I’ll always feel guilty about that, just as I expect you’ll always feel guilty about being the cause of Greg’s death. Is that what you want to hear?’

‘But Gloria says you argued because she found out about all the other women.’ (And she’d said his reputation with women stank, but I didn’t repeat that; his temper looked balanced on a knife edge as it was.)

‘There weren’t any other women, Charlie. I’m strictly a one-at-a-time man, believe it or not. The magazines don’t tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth – and what they said about Kathleen was a damned lie! We had a short affair, and I married her simply to stop her aborting the baby. She didn’t want Caitlin, she wanted a career.’

I looked at him – it all seemed pretty sordid to me. Maybe I’d led a sheltered life?

‘I don’t know what to believe. It’s all a totally different world from the one I’m used to. And I don’t know what kind of man you are, either – except it isn’t my kind.’ I turned to go.

‘Charlie,’ he said softly.

‘Yes?’

‘Tell Gloria not to give up the day job, because her concoctions don’t work: you still look pretty good to me.’

I closed the door with a slam and set off up the track in the darkness, engrossed in my thoughts … until the night was shattered by the deafening roar of a car engine right behind me.

The headlights were turned full on, pinning me in their twin beams like a frightened rabbit – except that I wasn’t a rabbit. I leaped sideways into the ditch just in time, and slid down to the icy bottom.

The car roared past, then pulled up with a squeal of brakes.

As I clambered out, a door slammed.

‘I
thought
I would have felt it if I’d hit you,’ Angie said regretfully, picking her way towards me in her stilettos. ‘Pity. And it’s a pity no one round here wants to know anything about what you’re really like, not even the local paper. What
is
it with the Rhymer family? Some sort of rural Mafia?’

I got to my feet, gingerly. ‘No, the family came from round here originally, so when Father moved back we weren’t incomers: we belong. The churchyard’s full of Rhymers.’

‘I was hoping to add one more!’ she said viciously. ‘I—’

But that was all she had time to say, before I realised the car tail-lights behind her weren’t stationary but slowly moving back, and I pushed her into the ditch before landing on top of her.

The car slowly careered onto the rough verge and stopped at an angle, one wheel hanging over us.