A Family Likeness

“But do you really enjoy it here?” she asked, suddenly anxious to hear his answer. “I mean, looking after the hotel for me and keeping things running smoothly, is that enough of a challenge for you?”

“At my age, I don’t want challenges anymore, Gina. What I want is comfort. And I find my life here very comfortable.”

“Good,” she said in relief. “Sometimes I’m afraid you’re getting restless.”

“You’re supposed to quit saying things like that,” he reminded her, then pushed his chair back and got up to open a cupboard door. “What happened to the banana loaf Mary baked this morning?”

“The guests gobbled every last crumb with afternoon tea.”

“Too bad,” he muttered, still peering moodily into the cupboard. “Where is the woman, anyhow?”

“She’s at choir practice. You’ll get as fat as Annabel if you keep eating Mary’s baking,” Gina warned him, though from the look of his long angular body she doubted there was much fear of that.

She paused suddenly and narrowed her eyes. There was something different about Roger tonight.

“Why are you here now?” she asked. “You don’t usually come over after supper.”

“I needed to pick up something.”

“What?”

“Just some tools,” he said evasively.

“Why?” Gina asked.

“I’m working on something.”

“But you don’t even have a workbench at your house, do you? I thought you did all your woodwork here at the hotel.”

“What is this?” Roger asked mildly. “An inquisition? Am I not free to drop by the hotel after hours if I want to?”

“Of course you are,” Gina said. “But you look…different tonight, that’s all.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know.” She studied him. “Maybe you’ve changed your hairstyle.”

He chuckled. “And you, young lady, are becoming far too impertinent.”

Gina smiled and returned to her task, while Roger poured himself a second cup of coffee. For a while there was a companionable silence in the kitchen.

But after a few minutes the peace was broken by the closing of a door, a noisy storm of barking and a gentle tread in the hallway. Mary entered the room, laden with books. Annabel tumbled at her heels and yelped hysterically.

“For God’s sake,” Roger said. “Feed that animal, won’t you? She’s being even more annoying than usual.”

Mary lowered her books onto the table and gave him a level stare. Then she sniffed dismissively and turned away. Gina smiled to herself.

“How was your choir practice, Mary?” she asked.

“It was exciting.” Mary crossed the kitchen and took a can of dog food from the cupboard. She opened it and measured the contents into a bowl with calm deliberation, while Annabel writhed on the hardwood floor in an agony of anticipation.

“Choir practice was exciting?” Roger asked.

Mary washed her hands at the sink and continued to address Gina as if he hadn’t spoken. “Mr. Bedlow gave the soprano solo to Marianna Turner.”

Gina’s eyes widened. “No kidding. Even though everybody knows?”

“What does everybody know?” Roger asked, watching with a bemused expression as Mary put Annabel’s bowl on the floor and the animal began to wolf it down as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“About Mr. Bedlow and Marianna Turner,” Gina explained.

“What about them?”

“Oh, Roger,” Gina said. “How could you have possibly missed such a juicy tidbit of gossip?”

His look of surprise was almost comical. “Dried-up old Cecil Bedlow? And that plump young schoolteacher? There’s gossip about those two?”

Mary forgot she was no longer on speaking terms with the caretaker. “There certainly is,” she told him, tying on her apron, then began opening doors and cabinets, assembling the ingredients to prepare batter for the next morning’s fruit crepes.

“Was Marianna embarrassed?” Gina asked.

“I think so. Whatever’s happening, it’s more on his side than hers, in my opinion. I think poor Marianna just doesn’t know what to do about him.”

“You’re always so generous, Mary,” Roger said. “Other women would probably be catty about a situation like that.”

Mary ignored the compliment. “So we didn’t get much of anything else done,” she concluded, “except for the opening bars of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ We’re singing it at the Canada Day picnic next weekend.”

“Well, of course,” Roger said solemnly. “That’s a rousing picnic song. Handel should blend right in with the fried chicken and the kids’ sack races.”

Mary gave him a stern glance. “Well, that’s good. Because your chamber-music group is booked to do four sets of Elizabethan madrigals on the entertainment stage by the hamburger tent.”

“Elizabethan madrigals!” he exclaimed, recoiling in alarm. “You’re joking.”

“It’s right there on the program, next to the Tiny Tots Highland Dancing.”

Roger subsided behind his coffee mug again. “This town is a mad, mad place,” he said sadly. “Utterly insane.”

“Oh, come on,” Gina said. She left the worktable to get herself a mug of coffee, pausing on the way to drop a kiss on the top of Roger’s shiny bald head. “You love living here. And you have lots of fun at the picnic every year, no matter how much you complain and make fun.”

“My goodness.” Mary paused with a sifter of flour in her hand. “I almost forgot,” she said, staring at Gina. “The choir practice wasn’t the only exciting thing this afternoon.”

Gina carried her mug back to her table and began construction of another yellow nymph. “So what else happened, Mary?”

“I got some library books.”

“How does the woman ever survive her days?” Roger asked with a grin. “Fraught as they are with such drama and excitement.” He rolled his eyes eloquently in Gina’s direction, making her giggle. Unruffled by his teasing, Mary began to mix the batter for her crepes in a big blue enamel bowl.

“I went to the library,” she repeated, “and picked out a lot of books for myself. I also got some new books on gardening and furniture restoration for you, Gina, in case you ever have time to read.”