The Thin Woman (6 page)

As the only man with whom Vanessa had previously seen me was a porter at Charing Cross Station, I decided to maintain a dignified silence. Let Ben introduce himself. He was quite happy to do the talking. Shaking hands all round, he agreed that the weather was shocking and then, like the pendulum of his namesake, swung back to my lovely and unprincipled cousin. Ben would have to be reminded at a very early date that chatting up the enemy was not in his contract.

My rescuer was bland, paunchy Uncle Maurice. He reached for a decanter of port and poured some into a rather grimy glass, wondering in his rather booming voice whether it had been two years or three since he had last
seen me. I wasn’t paying attention. The man from E.E. was embarking on a witty account of our journey, in which I did not figure strongly. Vanessa has a sneaky habit of being a superb listener when a man is doing the talking.

The fire, like a tired old volcano, belched forth more smoke than heat. But standing as close to it as he was, Ben’s trouser legs were beginning to steam, and from the smouldering light in his eyes, so were his thoughts. Aunt Sybil murmured something a little harried about roast beef sandwiches and tea, and took off for the kitchen—not quite closing the door behind her.

“That draught”—Aunt Astrid winced—“will be the death of me.”

“Oh, come now, Auntie!” Freddy had shrunk down into a crouching position and was bouncing off the soles of his feet. “If your sciatica, lumbago, heartburn, and other assorted ailments have not finished you off yet, a little chill won’t do the trick. Didn’t Mum say something last month about your having a nasty case of piles?”

“Must you be so vulgar!” Aunt Astrid drew herself up in fury.

“Sorry, Auntie! Should have known you wouldn’t take that one sitting down,” Freddy replied cheerily, while pulling at the tufts of his beard with both hands.

“For heaven’s sake, Frederick,” snapped Uncle Maurice, “stop tweaking yourself. One would think you were moulting. And if it is not too much to ask, either stand up or sit down properly. Stop bobbing about like a jack-in-the-box! You make me feel seasick.”

Freddy did stand up but remained unrepentant. He gave me a playful poke in the middle. “Ever tried losing weight, Ellie?”

“Ever tried finding a job, Freddy?”

He looked reproachful. “
Certainement!
But employers are never prepared to meet my conditions—that I work from twelve to one with an hour for lunch.”

“What a great grief your son and heir must be to you, Maurice, and our poor Lulu,” interjected Aunt Astrid bitingly.

“Speaking of the fond mother,” I said, looking round, “where is Aunt Lulu?”

“Upstairs, chasing bedbugs around her room to relieve the tension. The old girl’s in a bit of a state.” Freddy rolled his eyes and thumped a resounding fist against his chest. “As you might guess, it’s all my fault. Vanessa has shown me up again, may her teeth rot! There she goes telling your boy friend all about her current success. Mother just couldn’t take it.”

“Lulu went up to bed with a migraine,” bristled Uncle Maurice. But no one paid him any attention.

“What’s the scoop, Vanessa?” My voice was supposed to portray inviting curiosity, but I am not much of an actress. Didn’t anyone want to hear that I had recently designed a Danish sunroom for Mrs. Hermione Boggsworth-Smith?

“Oh, Mummy, why did you go and tell them! You know I hate all this fuss.” The beautiful hypocrite sank down on the arm of the sofa. Lifting her lovely supple arms above her head, she ran long slim fingers through the heavy waves of chestnut hair in a gesture both tentative and beguiling.

“Liar.” Freddy cheerily spoke my thought out loud.

Aunt Astrid and (worse) Ben were both eying Vanessa with the besotted adulation properly reserved for little gold idols and fatted calves. Speaking of cattle, where were those roast beef sandwiches?

“Vanessa,” intoned Aunt Astrid reverently, “has been formally asked to model for Felini Senghini.”

“Who?” I croaked over Freddy’s guffaw.

Ben’s appalled expression informed me he considered me public embarrassment number one. “Ellie, you must be joking! Everyone has heard of Felini Senghini!”

“I never joke on an empty stomach.” My voice rose dangerously, but reminding myself that this man was supposedly my sweetheart, I put my arm possessively through his and bared my teeth in a friendly smile. “Is he the man with the olive oil complexion whose face is on the box of spaghetti?” I asked hopefully. “No, I’ve got it! He’s the opera star who brought down the house singing
Figaro
wearing only his moustache and a bowtie.”

Like her heroine, Queen Victoria, Aunt Astrid was not amused. Nobody made cracks about Vanessa and her career.

“I realize it must be difficult for you, Ellie, having a cousin like Vanessa,” she grated, looking above my head, “but spitefulness is never becoming.”

Freddy winked at me. “I like Ellie when she’s feisty. What is unbecoming is that frightful purple get-up. Looks like you just escaped from a harem, or did the sheikh run first?”

Aunt Astrid was talking over us. “Felini Senghini is considered by people in the know to be the couturier of this century.”

“Ellie, dear,” mewed Vanessa, “aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

I was spared this fate worse than death by the arrival of Aunt Sybil with the supper tray. Finding a vacant spot to set it down took a little ingenuity. Ben came to the rescue, clearing a space on the buffet between two brass candlesticks and a tarnished silver bowl filled with hair clips, sugar cubes, and a knot of grey wool.

“What’s up with you?” he breathed in my ear. “I’m beginning to enjoy myself.”

“Don’t get in the habit,” I replied through clenched lips.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning—if you don’t stop cuddling up to Vanessa you can kiss your pay cheque goodbye.”

Ben had the audacity to look surprised. Before he could reply Freddy crept up behind us. “Let’s talk about you two, all the gory details—where you met, etc.”

Ben and I watched each other, momentarily united in an uneasy truce. “Where was it, Ellie?” mumbled my conspirator through a mouthful of stale sandwich. “We’ve known each other … a while, and with everything else … the details rather …”

And the man considered himself a creative genius!

“Singles club?” suggested Freddy.

I trod down hard on Ben’s foot to let him know he could safely leave the story-telling to me. His subsequent gasp might have been from relief or agony, but his eyes
were a little glazed when I looked soulfully up into them. For added reassurance I gave his hand a tender squeeze, which produced a silent
ouch
and a flash of white teeth, hastily converted into a beaming smile for Freddy’s benefit.

“Ben really doesn’t have amnesia on the subject,” I said, “but our meeting came under rather unhappy circumstances. We met at a rally, protesting cruelty to children outside the Hallelujah Revival Chapel.”

“Met at church!” Aunt Sybil handed me a jug of lukewarm water to heat up the coffee pot. “How very nice. Such a change from all those discos and swingles places. What denomination are you, Mr. Handel?”

“Haskell
. A confirmed ath …”

“Every child should be confirmed,” intruded Aunt Astrid portentously letting Ben know he had won no points with her. “Why can’t everyone be Church of England? What’s good enough for Her Majesty is certainly good enough for me!”

I carefully avoided looking at Ben. “Aunt Sybil,” I asked, “when will we see Uncle Merlin?”

“Probably not until tomorrow evening.” Aunt Sybil was trying to hand three people coffee at once. “You young people must remember that poor Merlin is not growing any younger.”

“That’s not exactly unusual,” murmured Freddy.

Fortunately, Aunt Sybil did not catch this rude aside. She continued, “Mornings bother him. He says the light hurts his eyes.”

“Turning into Dracula, is he?” quipped my incorrigible cousin. He and Ben grinned at each other like a pair of delinquent schoolboys.

“Is that the explanation for all this subdued lighting?” Uncle Maurice was pacing ponderously up and down on the worn hearthrug, hands clasped behind his back.

“I am sorry you find the gas lighting oppressive.” Aunt Sybil looked deeply wounded as she joined the group that had recircled the hearthrug.

Ben offered her his most charming smile. “Has a fuse
blown? In a house of this age, so isolated, and with a snowstorm, I’d be surprised if one hadn’t gone.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Hamlet. But we are not suffering from any electrical deficiency. As I said, Merlin does not care for bright lights; but his motive for not using electricity on this floor is purely selfless. He may live somewhat removed from the world, but he does read the newspapers—not those dreadful scandal sheets trumpeting wife-swappers and sex-change operations, but
The Times
and the
Telegraph
. And Merlin feels that he must make a contribution to the energy crisis.”

“Balderdash!” roared Uncle Maurice.

“I disagree.” Ben turned and regarded him coldly. “I think the man is to be respected.”

“Self-crifice is all very well,” chimed in Aunt Astrid as though hers would necessarily be the last word on the subject, “so long as it does not become fanatical. While rocket ships are whizzing back and forth like long-distance lorries, I hope no one will have the temerity to ask me to give up the necessities becoming a gentlewoman.”

“Don’t worry, Auntie,” consoled Freddy, “the days of the outside lavatory are long gone.”

“Must everyone keep complaining?” Vanessa spoke for the first time in a while. (No doubt it takes a lot of concentrated effort to look gorgeous for hours on end.) “I thought we were all going to have such a heavenly weekend together.” Moistening her dewy lips, she tilted her eyelashes alluringly up at Ben.

“I’m not complaining,” I said sourly. “The dim lighting doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it.”

“Naturally!” purred Vanessa. “We can only see half of you.”

Silence thickened the air, and something dark and sinister took possession of my brain. “Really? That must be why Ben said he couldn’t get enough of me that moonlit night when he proposed. Oh, I’m sorry, darling.” I turned to my new fiancé with a deprecating lowering of my stunted lashes. “I know we meant to wait until Uncle Merlin was
here before we broke our ecstatic news but I just couldn’t resist. Isn’t anyone going to congratulate us?”

“You’re getting married?” intoned Aunt Astrid as if I had single-handedly turned a sacrament into an obscenity. The rest of the tableau had frozen. The relations all looked marvellously funny with their mouths hanging open. I wanted to laugh until I saw Ben’s face. What a shame he wasn’t enjoying himself. It’s not every day that a man gets a new fiancée, without even asking.

“Well, this is very nice,” said Aunt Sybil. “Not that I was ever that anxious to get married myself, but things are so much easier these days of course with divorce so readily available. Now we are all tired, so goodnight. Each of you must take a candle to light your way upstairs. You will find a light switch to the right when you reach the landing. I will see you all in the morning.”

“Class dismissed!” whispered Freddy, reaching for the biggest candle. Force of habit, no doubt; as a child he had always grabbed for the cake with the cherry on top. The one I wanted. At the door I turned to see if Ben was following me ready to commit murder the moment we were happily alone, but he was saying a prolonged goodnight to Vanessa. If their candles got any closer they would both go up in smoke. To a vague murmur of belated congratulations I went disconsolately out into the hall and bumped smack into Uncle Maurice, who had been lurking by the stairs waiting for a word with me. He set our candles down on a small marble table and clasped my hands in his moist spongy ones. His face was very close to mine. I could smell his hair cream and his breath hot and heavy with port.

“Ellie, my dear,” he said, “forgive an old buffer collaring you like this, out with your father chasing sheep in the Outback, I feel you need the advice and affection of a mature man of the world. Is this sudden engagement wise? A woman with your outstanding qualities could do rather better than your Mr. Haskell. Something about that fellow I don’t trust. A touch of the Arab there I would say.”

“Come now, Uncle, what do you think he is going to
do? Drop his candle and burn the house down so he can buy up the land cheap?” Ben was a shallow creature given over to the lure of Vanessa’s flesh but one of us had to be loyal to our relationship.

“Now, now, Ellie.” Uncle Maurice squeezed my hands again and chuckled reprovingly, a twinkle appearing in his bulging eyes. “Don’t you think, my dear, you could call me Maurice? At my age, ‘Uncle’ makes a chap feel old. Besides, it is only a courtesy title. Our relationship is really quite distant. What was your mother to Merlin, a second cousin?”

“Something like that,” I said, wondering how soon I could make my getaway. Uncle Maurice seemed to be having a little trouble breathing.

“Ellie,” he wheezed, moving closer still. I could feel his waistcoat buttons pressing through the purple silk. “Some of my friends call me Maury, you know.”

Before I could respond with “Oh really!” the drawing room door opened and Ben came out with Vanessa hanging onto his sleeve. Rather shamefacedly, he drew away from her.

“There you are, darling,” I said. “Were you telling Vanessa that I want her to be my bridesmaid?”

My cousin paled and Uncle Maurice dropped my hands, backing towards the stairs. With a little less than his usual aplomb he picked up his candle and bade us goodnight. Vanessa trailed gracefully after him up the stairs.

When they had gone Ben said, “Don’t glare at me. I had to be polite to the girl, didn’t I? Mrs. Swabucher’s instructions were that I enchant your relations with my sauvity. What she didn’t advise me was that I was going to be trapped into an engagement.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be consummated.”

“Nothing connected with marriage is funny.”

“Fiddle! No one is going to handcuff you to the altar. This is an innocent pretence. Besides, you brought this on yourself salivating every time you looked at Vanessa. Not part of our deal.”