Sister of the Bride (17 page)

‘Well, you’ve no one to blame but yourself,’ I said unsympathetically. ‘For you deliberately let him make a nuisance of himself.’ But even as I spoke I knew I would not be able to resist her plea, for Rodney and I had, during her absence, struck up a rapport that could not be easily broken. I hesitated and immediately she said eagerly, ‘I knew you’d agree. You are an angel, Esther. You’ll tell Bob of the change of plans and go back to the cottage before Rodney gets home, won’t you?’

I felt a sudden weariness. Averil, as usual, had manipulated things to suit herself and she had used my affection for Rodney as a lever. Without answering I left the room feeling nothing but an empty wretchedness. I hurried downstairs. Through the open door I could see Bob waiting for me in the car and it was with a feeling of relief that I saw that the hall appeared to be empty. There was nothing I wanted less than to meet any of the Ashmores at that moment, but just as I crossed the hall the door of a room opened and Vance appeared. He stood in the threshold silently watching me and I paused as though transfixed and for a long moment we regarded each other in silence. Then he said, ‘Well, what is it, Esther? You’re surely not looking at me like this because Averil has sustained a fairly minor injury, are you?’

I didn’t reply but turned and continued almost blindly towards the door. ‘Bob’s waiting for me,’ I muttered.

But with a few quick strides he had caught up with me and had blocked my escape. ‘Look, Esther, it simply isn’t good enough. Why on earth should you be taking this attitude towards me?’ Then he added sardonically, ‘I’m beginning to believe that as far as you are concerned I’ve developed into a sort of Jekyll and Hyde person. At present my Hyde personality seems to be uppermost.’

I hadn’t intended to give any explanation, but in spite of myself, I burst out wretchedly, ‘I overheard what you said to Averil. So it’s true. Clive was in your way, wasn’t he? You had to get him out of the running. As his employer you would have no difficulty in arranging his transfer to the Middle East to leave the coast clear for Averil and yourself.’

I saw the muscles in his face grow taut and his hands bit into my shoulders. ‘I see, so that’s it! No doubt in your estimation I also arranged that he should be convenien
tl
y disposed of. His death would simplify things for Averil and myself—is that what you think
?
And while you’re at it, why don’t you admit that you believe Eric’s story: he also was an obstruction to my plans for taking over the company
!’

When I remained silent, he shook me roughly. ‘A
ll
right then, why don’t you say it?’ he said gratingly.

With a sudden movement I tore free and raced down the steps.

Bob glanced at me briefly as I got into the car beside him. He didn’t speak until we were speeding through the gates and heading back towards the cottage, when he said, ‘You don’t have to tell me. Averil has won out, as usual, and you’re returning to take over at the cottage again. So our arrangements are off, is that it?’

I said a litt
l
e shamefacedly, ‘I’m sorry, Bob, but I simply couldn’t leave Rodney on his own—but it’s only until Averil’s able to take over again.’

‘She jumped at the chance of settling herself in at the Ashmores’.

‘But it will be only for a litt
l
e while,’ I said placatingly.

He laughed shortly. ‘I wouldn’t bet on that, if I were you. She’ll draw out her convalescence as long as possible—until she gets Vance’s engagement ring on her third finger. But at least it gives me a sort of vindictive satisfaction to know that she’s been done out of this modelling affair, she’s so keen on. Apart from that you’ve really got this Vance fellow under your skin.’

‘Oh no,’ I said fiercely. ‘You’re wrong there. That’s all over. It’s just as I say, as soon as Averil’s on her feet again I’ll fulfil my part of the bargain.’

Again I saw Bob steal a glance at me and whatever he saw in my face seemed to satisfy him. He smiled, ‘You know, somehow or other I believe you. All right then, I’m prepared to play it your way, and who knows, by the time you come to me you may come not in the guise of a Girl Friday, but perhaps in a more satisfying and lasting relationship. Perhaps then I won’t have to placate Mrs. Purvis with electric blankets,’ he ended light
l
y.

‘What do you mean by that ambiguous remark?’ I answered, adopting his air of light banter.

He drew up outside the cottage, shut off the engine and turned to me. ‘Look, Esther, if you’re being really genuine about Vance Ashmore not counting any more in your life, why shouldn’t you and I make a go of things? Oh, I admit I won’t be able to offer you any of the wild romantic dreams a girl longs for, and as the wife of a G.P. you won’t find life particularly exciting and glamorous. In fact, if anything the contrary ! I’ve no illusions about some day offering you a brilliant future, for I’m a pretty ordinary fellow, as you probably know by this time, but I’ll do my very best to make you happy.’

His words seemed to fill me with a new sense of humility. He was offering me something not to be despised and I remembered with a sort of wonder Averil’s words when she had said I had been hitching my wagon to a star when I had loved Vance. Bob Pritchard was offering me a life of permanency. What
more could a girl in my position hope for? I turned to him and felt his arms around me, close and comforting.

When Bob had driven off I slowly went along the short path to the cottage, feeling a sense of emptiness. It was as though all I had admired about the cottage had been reduced to a vacuous emptiness. It was now no more than an empty shell, holding no sense of permanency. All feeling of belonging had evaporated. I had already that morning taken farewell of it and I was filled with a longing to be rid of the bondage Averil had imposed on me. Restlessly I went into the kitchen and prepared a meal for Rodney’s return, then took up a book and went into the garden, but I found it impossible to concentrate on the words before me.

CHAPTER NINE

A FEW days later I was sitting in the garden knitting a pullover for Rodney. It was in his favourite colour of a rather violent green and I was working furiously in the hope that it would be ready by the time he returned from school. Marmalade was prancing and pulling at the ball of wool that had fallen in the long grass and I was busy trying to disentangle it from his claws and needle-sharp teeth when I heard the gate open and, looking up, saw Vance’s tall figure walk swif
tl
y up the path.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked apprehensively as I saw the grim set of his jaw. ‘Has anything happened to Rodney?’

‘Nothing whatsoever, except that I’ve collected him from school and driven him up to the farm and dumped him with Mrs. Clarke, with instructions that he’s to be permitted to make as much of a nuisance of himself as he likes, as long as he stays well away from Ashmore this afternoon.’

‘But—but why?’ I began, confused and angry. ‘What right have you to do such a thing
?
’

‘Because, dear girl, you’re coming with me now. You’ll be just in time for a short audience with the maestro before getting into the gown you’re supposed to be modelling.’

‘Things have changed,’ I said abruptly. ‘I don’t want to now. Anyway, Averil’s back for one thing, and—’

‘She can hardly model a gown on crutches,’ he said sardonically.

‘Perhaps not, but it has nothing to do with me. And for another thing,’ I went on, ‘if it hadn’t been for the accident I’d be working for Bob Pritchard. I had agreed to be his receptionist. Actually I was in his office when I heard what had happened.’

‘I see.’ His face was impassive. ‘So Bob has fallen for you, is that it
?
’

‘No, of course not. You know yourself how keen he was on Averil and it’s quite obvious that he needed someone to settle his affairs and, with my training, I was a suitable choice—’ I stopped and bit my lip. After all, I didn’t owe this man any explanation as to my plans.

‘There are several dozen women in Warefield with your qualifications,’ he said coolly. ‘They’re not unique, you know. Why this sudden yen for efficiency on his part anyway, I wonder? He was always a slapdash sort of fellow.’

‘Oh, what does it matter?’ I said wearily. ‘What possible difference can it make to you?’

‘Quite a lot! Yes, strange as it may sound to you, it does make quite a considerable difference to me. You’re much too rare a person, Esther, to allow a man like Bob Pritchard to take you up on the rebound. You should have more pride than to let yourself be persuaded into such a position. Bob couldn’t get Averil, so he turns to you. Probably partly to pay her out and show her he can do without her and probably because he sees in you the makings of a meek amenable wife; someone who will be waiting with warmed slippers when he comes home from an emergency.’

‘How dare you, of all people, take this line with me!’ I blazed, furious at the accuracy with which he had assessed the situation. ‘When Averil married
Cl
ive, you didn’t encourage her to pursue the domestic virtues, did you?’

I saw his face darken. He reached down and snatching the knitting from my hand tossed it into the long grass, then pulling me to my feet, drew me close. ‘Is it not then possible for a man to love you, Esther,’ he said, ‘simply for your own sake?’

His
lips were dose to mine and for a moment I felt overwhelmed by his nearness. Then remembering that hideous conversation that I had overheard outside Averil’s bedroom door, I stiffened resentfully. He had managed to make Bob sound calculating and cynical—and it wasn’t true, I told myself. Vance Ashmore was a sophisticated and highly experienced man: he was trying to transform Bob’s proposal into nothing more .than a sordid business arrangement. Was it simply a cruel game he was playing with me, a deliberately calculated plan to see if he could entrap me into the mawkish and uncritical devotion that he had inspired in Sybil Wilson? But then, I told myself fiercely, I knew a great deal more about Vance Ashmore than poor deluded Sybil did!

He regarded me frowningly, then said tightly, ‘Very well, I see I’ll have to explain things to you: you’ve obviously let your imagination run away with you. All right, so you overheard the conversation between Averil and myself and drew your own peculiar conclusions. Well, to a certain extent you were right. I did arrange for Clive Etherton to be transferred to the Middle East.’

I felt my face whiten with shock. I had known all along, of course, but somehow the putting of it into words gave it a truth and immediacy that filled me with revulsion. I tried to pull back, but he held me inexorably. ‘No, you must listen, Esther. It’s not quite as simple as you imagine.’

‘To me it all seems quite simple,’ I answered huskily. ‘You wanted another man’s wife, with no strings attached, or the possibility that an open scandal might damage the image of the respectable Ashmore Company with its background of a youth centre, and other charitable works. You’re nothing but a hypocrite, Vance Ashmore!’ I cried passionately. ‘It would have been more honest to have conducted your affair with Averil in the open. But no, you had to dispose of Clive to keep the Ashmore image unsullied. Oh, I know his death was an accident: you could hardly have foreseen it, but your motive was to get him out of the way; You can’t deny it—and the consequences didn’t concern you particularly.
’

‘Again you’re right,’ he said harshly. ‘I did want him out of the way—but for a completely different reason. Clive had been systematically defrauding the Ashmore Company for a number of years and, when it was discovered, he appealed to us for the sake of his wife and child to save him from imprisonment. We dropped the charge and discreetly transferred him to the Middle East, where his activities would be more restricted. When he died Averil of course was left penniless, and I offered her the cottage until she would be able to get her affairs into some sort of order.’

I listened to him with the growing conviction that what he was saying was more than probably true. And of course it would be typical of Averil to think that the best way of establishing her future and solving her financial problems would be by ensnaring the wealthy and influential Vance Ashmore; it all sounded so plausible! Yet a part of me still distrusted him and resisted the obvio
u
s explanation. No doubt he would be able as easily to explain Eric’s convenient accident and the fact that he himself became the head of the Ashmore firm.

He regarded me whimsically for a moment, then said laconically, ‘All right, keep your reservations, Esther, but is that any reason why you should let Mother down? After all, will it compromise your principles so terribly if you should model the gown? There’s no one available who can even squeeze into it. Do come, Esther,’ he said cajolingly. ‘After all, it won’t prevent you hating me. Afterwards you can go on loathing me as much as you like.’

But then I didn’t hate him, I thought helplessly. Things would have been so much simpler if I did. The idea of accompanying him back to Ashmore to appear before his exquisitely dressed guests was a pleasure that was more than I could resist. ‘Very well,’ I said, with a show of reluctance, ‘but only if you think your mother won’t mind.’

‘But of course she won’t,’ he said briskly. ‘Why on earth should she, anyway?’

Because, I thought, for the very good reason she had selected Averil as a suitable wife for her son and would fight tooth and nail to see that her plans materialized. She would not brook even the smallest competition, I knew, and I wondered what my reception would be when I reached Ashmore House and she heard the news that, after all, I was to take Averil’s place.

When we reached the house the wide drive was jam
-
packed with cars: people were wandering in and out of the drawing-room on to the terrace and when we went into the drawing-room it was crammed to suffocating point with fashionably dressed people gathered in small groups laughing and talking while Sybil and two uniformed maids, bearing trays, hustled and pushed their way through the maze of furniture, dispensing brimming glasses. In a small oasis in the centre of the room, stretched out on a yellow velvet chaise-longue, was an emaciated Mephistophelean-looking man, a crimson, patterned kerchief knotted to one side of his scraggy throat, his suit a symphony in cerise crushed velvet. Huge intense eyes surveyed the seething crowd with a look of unutterable contempt.

Mrs. Ashmore, elegant in pleated dove-grey chiffon, fluttered about him paying assiduous court, which he studiously ignored. It was not hard to guess by the too-loud voices and high trilling laughter of some of the more elegant young girls that they were anxious to catch his attention; they were to model his creations and they obviously hoped to win his approbation. However, all their efforts seemed to be in vain, for Monsieur Lacroix seemed to be sinking deeper into a gloomy reverie.

‘That, in case you don’t already know it, is the famous Andre Lacroix,’ Vance told me with mock solemnity. ‘Should you by any chance catch his eye, you can consider yourself signally honoured.’

It was just then that Sybil, her face flushed with exertion, glanced up and caught sight of him. Her plump features lit up with an eager smile and laying down her tray on a low table she eased her way towards us.

‘I’d better slip up and see how Averil’s getting on,’ Vance said hurriedly, as he saw her advance. ‘Sybil will show you the ropes. I’d only be in the way anyhow at one of these affairs. Somehow they’re not quite my cup of tea.’ He turned and quietly slipped from the room.

Sybil’s eyes followed him as he ran upstairs; I guessed she was bitterly disappointed at his sudden departure. However, a smile remained stiffly on her face. ‘I must take you up to the room where the models will change,’ she said gushingly, ‘but first you must meet Monsieur Lacroix. Mrs. Ashmore’s still terribly upset about Averil’s accident. However, I’m sure he’s dying to know who’s going to take her place.’

I felt little confidence that Monsieur Lacroix would have any interest in meeting me and I felt apprehensive as Sybil’s small, burly figure edged a path out of the seething crowd.

‘Ah,’ Mrs. Ashmore trilled as we approached, ‘Monsieur Lacroix, may I present Esther? She’s taking poor darling Averil’s place. It was all too disappointing for the poor girl, but I’m sure Esther will do your wonderful gown justice. She is rather thin, compared to Averil, of course—’ her voice trailed off as Monsieur Lacroix swivelled his hypnotic eyes in my direction and I tried not to look too flustered as he regarded me in a petrifying silence, scanning me from head to foot.

‘She’s thin, yes,’ he said abruptly, ‘but I should not say altogether skinny, by any means. Of course she’s not as beautiful as Madame Etherton, but the bones are definitely interesting. Yes, there are great possibilities—’

I could hear Sybil in the background twittering nervously at this devastatingly frank appraisal.

‘I’m so glad you approve, Monsieur Lacroix,’ Mrs. Ashmore said with an air of faint surprise.

Monsieur Lacroix now turned his eyes on Sybil, who giggled nervously at his devastating glance, and said quickly, ‘I’d better run along, Mrs. Ashmore. I’ve a hundred and one things to see to.’ I could see she was trying to grasp any excuse to escape from the baleful glare being directed on her.

‘What do you mean, a hundred and one things?’ Monsieur Lacroix’s French accent became more pronounced. It was obvious that for so
m
e reason or other Sybil was enraging him beyond endurance. ‘Do the young ladies not already know what is expected of them? I cannot stay here all day. All should have been organized before I arrived.’

‘Oh, but it is, dear Monsieur Lacroix,’ Mrs. Ashmore put in eagerly. ‘Sybil is really a wonderful organizer: in fact, I call her my little P.R. girl. I really don’t know what I’d do without her.’

Sybil beamed happily at this accolade and turning, trotted off on her short, stumpy legs.

Monsieur Lacroix gazed after her with a look of loathing. ‘Deplorable, deplorable,’ he muttered. ‘The face so like an over-ripe Camembert, the figure—how shall I say it—like a bed of feathers, and the legs—’ He waved his hands helplessly. ‘I demand you do not let her approach me again. She is utterly lamentable. I am desolated!’ He shuddered elaborately.

‘But she’s most devoted and breeds basset-hounds,’ Mrs. Ashmore said soothingly.

Monsieur Lacroix swung upright at the words, as though electrified, and yelled triumphantly, ‘Basset
-
hound! Basset-hound! Ah, there you have it,
madame
. That is exactly how I should have described her legs,
so like those of a basset-hound.’ Then, flinging himself back on the chaise-longue, he added moodily, ‘But then I do not design for basset-hounds.’

I moved away trying to hide a smile, and seeing Sybil was at the other side of the room with Eric, I crossed over. Already it was obvious that my existence had been wiped from Monsieur Lacroix’s consciousness.

Eric’s usually pale face was animated: he seemed pleased with himself and was evidently enjoying the bustle and excitement of the crowds who swarmed around his chair, exchanging jokes and small-talk. But the old malice was in his eyes as he said, ‘Well, I’ve been watching you with Lacroix. Does he approve of you, Esther? He has the reputation of having exotic tastes.’

I smiled. ‘With certain reservations, perhaps.’

‘But I bet he said you’d good bones: he says that to all the medium good-looking girls and is downright insulting to the ugly ones.’

I felt a wave of relief that at least good-natured Sybil had escaped before Monsieur Lacroix exercised his cruelly caustic tongue at her expense.

‘Oh, but he’s a genius,’ Sybil enthused. ‘I only wish it was possible to model one of his gowns.’ Then she added humbly, ‘But of cours
e
that for me is out of the question.’

An uncomfortable silence followed her self-revealing remark. Then Eric said with uncharacteristic gentleness, ‘What about taking Esther up and showing her the ropes, Sybil? She hasn’t prepared her entrance, but at least Averil has practised here once too often,’ he added with a return of his old malice.

I noticed that rows of gilt chairs were being arranged in the wide hall by a number of men. As I followed Sybil up the broad oak stairs she explained that the models would descend the sweeping stairs backed by the amber and crimson leaded
glass
windows. We would descend in historical order, she explained, starting with the Tudors. The last model will represent Queen Victoria as a young bride.’ She took me into a large room in which enormous cavernous wardrobes held the costumes enshrouded in tissue paper. Long cheval mirrors lined the walls and Sybil with her flair for organization had arranged a table with every type of make-up.

‘You may as well slip on the dress,’ she said. ‘It will give you a chance to rehearse a little. When they all come in it will be pandemonium.’

She took the dress from its enfolding tissue and laid it on an enormous double bed which filled the centre of the room. ‘Beautiful material, isn’t it?’ she said, stroking it lovingly with her fingertips. ‘How lucky you are, Esther, that you’re able to wear such lovely clothes.’ She said it wistfully and without envy and I found myself shamed that I had been unconsciously adopting the general attitude towards her. Her own good nature and the fact that she wore her heart on her sleeve as far as Vance was concerned
had
turned her into a figure of fun.

While I slipped into the dress she took down the wig that was part of the costume. It was beautifully coiffured: caught up in a fillet of brilliants, the ringlets fell down in the Grecian style of the period. She chatted away as she helped me dress, but I could see that in spite of her efforts to keep the conversation general it was continually reverting to Vance and I felt a growing pity that she was unable to rid herself of this obsessive love she had for him.

Suddenly I became alert, no longer only half conscious of Sybil chattering in the background as she tidied up the dressing-table. ‘Of course, people were only too keen to talk scandal about the Ashmores—especially about Vance,’ she was saying. ‘I mean, the shooting accident was a wonderful opportunity for them to gossip. It’s no use telling them the truth of the matter, for they simply don’t want to listen. They’d rather wallow in their rotten, beastly gossip. The fact that I was an eye-witness to the accident simply doesn’t cut any ice with them.’