When Enemies Marry

‘As a matter of fact I believe you, Justin. I’ve even thought she has a certain horsey look about her—nothing less than a chestnut thoroughbred with wonderful lines, of course!’ she finished with a grin. ‘As for upsetting her,’ she added, ‘I wish you would tell me how to, because it doesn’t seem possible.’

They stared at each other—rather, Lucy found it suddenly impossible to evade his gaze or to understand why it made her suddenly feel a bit small, but it did and she said at last, ‘Oh, all right! I won’t upset Sasha—so far as it’s humanly possible for me not to!’

‘Good.’ He said nothing more but moved out of her way.

‘Am I being dismissed now?’ she demanded.

‘Why not?’

‘There are times, Justin Waite, when you irritate the life out of me,’ she said precisely. ‘And what with you and Sasha telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t do, it will be a miracle if this weekend doesn’t turn out to be a disaster—’ She broke off and made a disgusted sound.

‘And there are times, Lucy, when it’s impossible to tell you anything—I wouldn’t be too happy about this weekend turning into a disaster, so if you have any doubts tell me now.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I suppose the proof of that will be in the pudding,’ he said drily, and studied her. ‘By the way,’ he said, flicking his gaze over her denim overalls, and the two pigtails she wore her hair in, ‘Would you mind not wearing your hair like that over the weekend?’

She blinked. ‘Why not—as if I would, anyway.’

‘I could be accused of cradle-snatching, that’s all. Off you go.’

‘Perhaps you are!’

‘Now, Lucy, we both know I’m not. Don’t we?’ His grey gaze bored into hers until she reddened and turned away abruptly and angrily but without words.

Fortunately for her seething state of mind, there was enough to be done to calm her and force her to concentrate—and not only that. There was the knowledge that both Justin and Sasha had doubts about her capabilities as a hostess. In her less angry moments she recognised that it was a useful spur, in her more angry moments she told herself she would certainly show them a thing or two. And by Friday midday the fruits of her labour and Mrs Milton’s were very evident. The house was polished and shining and filled with flowers. The guest bedrooms were impeccable, with not a wrinkle in their bedspreads, and the cold room was filled with a selection of pies and pastries, cold meats, quiches, fruits and vegetables and three splendid, plump ducks hung there, ready to be roasted for Saturday night’s dinner.

It was also not long past midday when disaster struck, in the form of a distraught phone call from Mrs Milton who’d gone to pick up her sister to take up residence in the staff quarters for the weekend.

‘...Your mother? Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Milton,’ Lucy said into the phone and a moment later, ‘Yes, of course if it’s that serious, I do understand. Um...you and your sister must be worried sick and will want to be with her... Look, if there’s anything I can do, please—’

‘You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, pet,’ Mrs Milton said down the line in tones quite unlike her normal cheerful ones. ‘I’ve been racking my brains and all I can come up with is my niece, Shirley. How would it be if I send her up, Miss Lucy? She’s a good cook, that I can guarantee, and doesn’t mind what she turns her hand to. There’s only one problem and that’s—’

‘Oh, Mrs Milton, please do,’ Lucy said into the phone. ‘I’d be so grateful, and between us we’ve done most of it, haven’t we? What’s the problem?’

‘Well she’d have to bring her son, Adrian—’

‘That’s no problem!’

‘Mmm, I haven’t told you about Adrian, have I? Look, just...if you’re firm with him he’s fine, but his father ran off when he was two, so... And Shirley worships the ground he walks on.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll tie him up if...no, of course not, Mrs Milton, I wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m sure we’ll be able to cope with him between us. Now you just worry about your mother and give her my love—I’ll be thinking of you all.’

She put the phone down and took several deep breaths, then remembered she’d forgotten to ask how old Shirley’s Adrian was.

He was ten, with red hair, prominent blue eyes and buck teeth. He walked with a swagger and didn’t reply when spoken to. His mother had faded blonde agitated-looking hair but otherwise was clean, neat and presentable and obviously anxious to do her very best.

‘well, Shirley,’ Lucy said with a dazzling smile, half an hour before the guests were due to fly in, ‘I guess the important thing is not to panic. Everything in the buffet is either cold or only needs heating up so tonight will be quite simple, and I’ll nip in later to give you a hand.’ And she took Shirley step by step through the eventing’s requirements. Then she showed them to their room and showed Adrian the television and even fetched some of her old books and games for him.

‘He’s not much of a reader,’ his mother said with an apologetic smile, ‘but it’s lovely of you to bother, Miss Lucy. Now, Adrian, you will be a good boy, won’t you?’

At five-thirty, the long, lovely veranda room played host to the glow of lamplight, the chink of glasses and some exuberant conversation. And despite the fact that part of her mind was elsewhere, Lucy was in the thick of it.

She wore slim scarlet trousers, matching flat shoes and a cream pullover with a wonderful red, green and cream scarf worn shawlwise. Her hair was loose and she was faintly pink from some of the extravagant compliments she’d received—most on the subject of new brides and early wedded bliss. Their guests were of course all older than she was, the two women in the same mould as Sasha, elegant late twenties or early thirties, experienced and articulate and both with careers of their own. But apart from that aspect of it, it was a milieu she was very familiar with and one her father had taught her to hold her own in some years ago. She’d been hostessing his parties since she was about eighteen, after all. And if she had fewer resources to hand than she’d ever had before, plus one Dennis the Menace on hand, she was damned if anyone was going to know it. Least of all Justin, although she’d caught him looking at her once or twice with something oddly alert in his eyes. But he’s not a mind-reader, she reassured herself, and there’s no earthly reason for him to go into the kitchen tonight, anyway. The longer I can keep him in the dark and still cope, the better, she reasoned—somewhat obscurely, she realised briefly, but didn’t have the time to elaborate.

All the same, at six-thirty, when she suggested to everyone that they might like to freshen up although not to worry about changing, she breathed a sigh of relief when they all took themselves to their bedrooms and she repaired to the kitchen as unobtrusively as she could. To find Shirley standing in the middle of the room looking wild-eyed and tearful.

‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.

‘He’s gone!’

‘Who?’

‘Adrian! He could be anywhere out there! He’s not a country boy, Miss Lucy; we’re just spending a holiday with Auntie Vera!’

‘The little...um, calm down, Shirley. I’ll find him. You just keep on with the buffet. We’ve got an hour.’

It took her half an hour to locate Adrian in the loft above the garage. And the mild lecture she gave him brought no visible reaction from him even when she told him he’d frightened the life out of his mother. ‘Now just stay put,’ she admonished as she marched him back to his room. ‘Tomorrow you can go out and see the horses, I’ll organise a ride on a tractor for you, whatever you like—and your dinner’s coming in a moment.’

‘Are you all right, Lucy?’

‘Fine, Justin,’ she said brightly, finding him alone in the lounge. He’d added a sage-green sweater to his informal gear and his hair was brushed and tidy, his grey eyes watchful. ‘No one down yet?’

‘No. Have you been running somewhere?’

She laughed. ‘No. Why?’

‘You look a little—harassed. Are Mrs Milton and her sister coping all right?’

‘Everything’s fine. If you could just have some confidence in me, it would be a big help.’

‘Very well, Lucy. Ah, here are the first of our guests.’

The buffet went off smoothly and with plenty of compliments and afterwards for a while they played music and all chatted together, and then the men tended to group together at one end of the room, leaving the women at the other and Sasha looking for once in her life as if she didn’t quite know which group to join.

Lucy seized the opportunity and murmured in her ear that she’d be grateful if she could deputise for her for a moment, while she checked that all was well behind the scenes. Sasha looked gratified, as much, probably, Lucy reflected, that ‘behind the scenes’ should need checking. But she did as she was asked.

Behind the scenes, there was another story. The dining-room was cleared, the kitchen was tidy and a tea tray was set out but there was no sign of Shirley. What she was doing in fact, was swabbing out the staff bathroom and passage leading to it because Adrian had allowed the bath to overflow. He’d got so wrapped up in the television programme he’d been watching, his mother explained, he’d forgotten.

Lucy closed her eyes and counted to ten. And, on opening them, noticed Adrian watching her interestedly. Why, he’s testing me out, she thought, the little wretch.

‘Isn’t it time he was in bed?’ she said as mildly as she could.

By the time she got back she was feeling decidedly limp—it had taken the two of them a good twenty minutes of vigorous mopping to dam the flood, her feet were damp inside her shoes and she had trickles of sweat running down her back, but no one appeared to notice and the party had come together again and was dancing to the CD player.

‘Oh damn,’ she muttered to herself.

But two hours later her ordeal was ended, or so she thought. The party broke up at last and everyone went up to bed appearing happy and contented with their stay on Dalkeith so far.