Hill Manse ... Chapter 10

Chapter 10

How had he let himself be pressurize into having a ‘stylist’, a bloody ‘stylist’ mind you, come to the Manse to bloody ‘shape’ his hair. Alistair had been huffing about the drawing room all morning with an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, grumbling. His behavior was completely out of character.

Duff tried to ignore his father’s burst of temper but finally decided to placate him. “I’m having to have my hair ‘shaped’ as well by the dandified fellow. Four women against two men meant we were outflanked and must suffer the consequences. Even if Portchier hadn’t abstained, we’d have still been outnumbered.” Moving to his father’s side, Duff lowered his voice, “I have to agree with the women, Da. That comb-over you’ve held on to for years, isn’t fooling anybody. It’s time to get rid of it. All of London knows you’ve a shiny pate. You’ll look younger ... more virile, like that Yul Brynner chap ... wait and see.”

“Bloody hell! I’ve nobody to look younger or more virile for. It’s damn nonsense!” Alistair moved to the coffee urn and refilled his cup. “You know damn bloody well we’ll have to let that ‘stylist’ have a go at us again before the wedding ... a bloody nuisance.”

“Be careful, Da. The women will be washing your mouth out with a bar of tar and lye if they hear you swearing like a snoggled sailor.”

“When did it come to pass that the women run Hill Manse, I’d like to know?” Alistair walked into the garden before he lit a match to his cigar. “Your mum knew her place, she did. Women nowadays try to walk all over a man.”

“Apparently, a faulty memory comes swiftly to a man with thinning hair. The mum I knew always had her say about everything and you capitulated more often than not.”

“You’re right there, Son.” He chuckled. “She was a corker, that one.”

“I know, Da. I remember.”

....

“Since you’re not the Mistress of Hill Manse as yet, Cara, tell me what I must do to get permission to invite Charlotte Hamblin to have tea with me some afternoon.” Daisy had finished typing for the day and had joined Cara in the garden to help her deadhead some of the rose bushes at the back of the house. “She’s been so kind to me, I’d like to repay her with tea and scones out here under the willow tree. Our flat is too small for entertaining.”

“Why don’t you tackle Margaret at the tea table later I’m sure she will be graciousness itself.”

When the oven timer began to buzz, Jackson released his wife ... reluctantly.

“Will you hand me the hot pads, Cowboy? They’re right behind you.”

“Hope you made lots of extras, Darlin.” He handed her two scorched padded cotton squares. “Presumably, Mrs. Hamblin won’t eat all that many, anyway. The smell of hot out of the oven scones is enough to make a man weak in the knees.”

“And, here I thought it was canoodling with me in a hot kitchen for the past hour that was causing your meltdown.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to do some comparison testing. Come here, Darlin, you first.”

Mrs. McGillicuddy brought the tray of piping hot tea and scones outside as soon as Daisy led Charlotte Hamblin into the garden to a prettily set table under the lush umbrella of the weeping willow tree.

“How lovely, my dear. The gardens are magnificent. Those floribundas, foxgloves and summer snowflakes were all blooming the day of your wedding and are still flush with blossoms.” Mrs. Hamblin turned around slowly, admiring all the flowers and manicured plantings before sitting down.

“Some of the others may join us later, but let’s begin before tea gets cold.” Daisy poured and handed her guest a cup and saucer. “What have you been doing?”

“I have been cooking all of Richard’s favorite things. Some of the receipts have turned out well, but I’m afraid some have not.” Mrs. Hamblin frowned. “That bubble and squeak concoction was too greasy by half.”

“How is Richard?” Daisy passed her the basket of warm scones. “Haven’t seen him since the wedding.”

“In fact, dear, I am worried about him. He is not sleeping well, not enjoying his

job as much as he used to. He is an unhappy man, Daisy, and I’m very concerned.”

“Yes, I can see that. Have you any idea what the problem is?”

“My guess is ... Fiona.” After wiping her fingers on her napkin, she frowned. “Several weeks ago ... actually, it was the Saturday after that fiasco at the Continental Ballroom. He told me that he might be in love with Fiona. He’d talked to her that night after he’d left you and suggested they get back together. She would have none of it and I don’t blame her. He’s been despondent ever since.”

“If he truly loves her, I’m sorry for him. It is possible Fiona is seeing someone else.” She laid her hand on top of Mrs. Hamblin’s. “If so, she has moved on ... Richard is in the past.”

“I think you may be right, dear. I’m sure he’ll rally ... in the course of time.”

“Mrs. Hamblin, dear lady ... your summer frock puts my garden to shame.” Alistair Gregor gallantly bowed over her hand, his mustache brushing lightly across her fingers. Ladies, may I join you?”

So as not to draw attention to her astonished gaze and dropped jaw, Daisy dipped her head and swallowed before taking up the teapot. “Please, excuse me a moment. I’ll just get a fresh pot and more scones ... be right back.”

Halfway down the path, Daisy peeked back at him, marveling at his dapper appearance. He looked wonderful. Instead of the tawdry wool weskit and tweed trousers he usually wore, he sported a summer weight suit in grayish-green, a new white shirt and a patterned silk tie. His head shone gloriously.

“How nice to see you again, Mr. Gregor. I must say that your garden is quite wonderful. What a delightful place to spend a portion of each day.”

Pulling his chair around in order to face her, Alistair Gregor set forth an appeal. “It would please me very much, madam, if you would call me Alistair. May I call you Charlotte?”

“Yes, of course, please do.” Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were pink and her smile was warm and pleasant. She was a lovely woman.

Alistair noted all of the above and felt quite cheerful. “We’ve been acquainted for some twenty odd years, I believe. Formality was strictly adhered to in the thirties and early forties, but times have changed since the war ... attitudes regarding social rank, for example, are much more relaxed ... even though many in the ton hold on to their inherited titles and monied positions like barnacles on a sinking ship.” He smiled at Daisy as she poured fresh tea. “My son and I are considered in the latter category, I suppose, so I shouldn’t debunk a system that keeps us in the style we’ve taken full advantage of.”

“It is known by all, sir, that you are a philanthropic family ... to a degree that staggers and should shame others of equal, and of greater wealth”, Charlotte remarked, passing the basket of scones to her host.

Watching the older couple converse with such decorum triggered Daisy’s quixotic imagination. She felt time shift backward to another era in a social sphere where good manners and comportment were paramount and passions were held in check. Women were possessions to be cosseted; men were lords of the manor ... to be obeyed. Their conversation ebbed and flowed flawlessly. She knew her unconventional behavior would have shocked this couple only a decade ago ... maybe even today. She was thinking about her impassioned ‘comportment’ the night after the ‘fiasco’, as Mrs. Hamblin had put it, in Jackson’s arms. She blushed ... then smiled at the memory.

....

“The opera? ... Aida? Mum ... when did he invite you to the opera?” Richard was frowning at his mother. “And, why you? You barely know the man.”

“At two twenty this afternoon. Mr. Gregor, a gentleman of my acquaintance for over twenty years, called me up on the telephone ... you know, that black blob sitting there on the spindled table at the foot of the stairs ... and asked me to attend the opera with him, his son and his son’s fiancé, Mrs. McNally.” Charlotte Hamblin was more than just a little piqued at her son’s ill-mannered questioning. “As to ‘why’ he asked me ... I’d say it was because he may have enjoyed my company at tea the other afternoon. But, if you doubt that explanation, call him and ask him why on earth he would invite your dull, frumpy mother to the opera.” Mrs. Hamblin flounced up the stairs to her room, closing the door soundly.

Gawd! She must be going through ‘the change of life’ or something. Practically everything I say puts her over the edge. I’ve never thought of Mum as being dull or frumpy. And, why shouldn’t I ask when and why? To my knowledge, she’s never accepted invitations from men before. I’m not even sure she’s even received any. Mum’s pretty old to start dating ... not that I dare say anything.

Pouring himself a large whiskey and soda, he plopped into his favorite wing-backed chair to ponder the situation.

Hell, I’ve offended the old girl, again. Don’t know if I can handle her going out with anyone. Gregor’s a topnotch fellow, indeed. But what if, sometime down the line, he decides to ‘court’ her? It’s only a night at the opera, you stupid ass ... don’t be marrying her off already. I’ve offended Fiona and Daisy, too. Although Daisy could care less since she’s duly married and too engaged in post wedding bliss to give me any thought. Fiona, on the other hand, seems to hate my guts! Dammit ... wish I could stop thinking about her. First things first ... apologize to Mum ... again.

“It’s been at least twenty years since I’ve attended the opera, Daisy. Then we wore long gauzy gowns with fur coats or fox fur wraps while fluttering oriental fans ... depending on the season, of course.” Mrs. Hamblin pulled out one dated gown after another tossing them onto her bed. “None of these will do. They are ancient and, sadly, a few sizes too small. I refuse to be girdled into a size ten.”

“Nothing for it, dear lady, but to go on a shopping spree. You’ll need a gown, a light-weight wrap, new shoes and a smart evening bag.”

“Oh, Daisy ... do you really think so?”

“Absolutely! I’ll take you to the shops in the MG if I can snag it from Jackson for a few hours. Just like every other man I know, he, too, shudders at the thought of me driving through the streets of London ... the pig!” She smiled and winked. “My most precious pig.”

....

“Beautiful Mum. The dress ... what’s it called ... lilac? It surely was made for you.” He kept a good-humored expression on his face while watching his mother do a slow pirouette.

“Daisy helped me pick it out. She said it went well with my eyes and the silver strands that have managed to streak their way into my up-swept hair-do. I actually feel pretty ... it has been a long time since I’ve felt pretty.” She tugged at the scalloped hem of the long sleeved jacket that fell a few inches below the waist of the silky floor-length skirt.

Moving to answer the doorbell, Richard hesitated. Looking back at his mother he smiled and said, “You look smashing, Mum ... smashing!”

Alistair helped Charlotte into the back seat of the Bentley, his grin was broad and his eyes were twinkling. Victor had the night off so Duff drove, moving his hand to cover Cara’s after shifting gears at every intersection. Finding no parking space close to the Royal Opera House, he’d let Cara, his father and Mrs. Hamblin out near the front portico, found an empty spot a block and a half away and trotted back to join them. There was plenty of time to spare. Duff put his arm around Cara, hugging her close to him. They watched his father’s courtly manner toward his attractive guest.

“Da seems quite smitten with Mrs. Hamblin. What do you think, love?”

“You are probably right. I’ve never seen him in such a good mood. She is a lovely woman and seems to be smitten with him, as well.”

“She’s a gentler specimen than Mother was, but at Da’s time of life, a moderately tempered woman would likely be a good thing.”

Peering up at her husband-to-be under arched brows, Cara replied, “Fortunately for me, as you are a much younger man, you should not require mollycoddling for a good long while yet.”

Duff kissed the tip of her nose. “We’ll see, love ... we’ll see.”

....

“I had a wonderful evening, Daisy ... just wonderful. Alistair ... uh, I mean Mr. Gregor ... is a gentleman from forelock to shoe tips. As it happens, he no longer has a forelock, nevertheless he is a gentleman through and through.” She was sitting on a stair step while speaking into the receiver of the ‘black blob’ resting on the spindle table.

“Richard took me to see the movie Aida, that starred Sophia Loren, a year or so ago. It was in Italian, like the Opera, but it had English subtitles now and again to help the moviegoer keep up with the plot. I doubt many operas have happy endings, my dear. Verdi, like in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, killed off the lovers in the forth act very dramatically.

“Yes, as a matter of fact he did ... Friday night.” Mrs. Hamblin rose, walked as far as the phone cord would allow and then walked back again, absently winding the cloth covered wires around her wrist. “Dinner and a show ... I don’t know where we’ll be going ... it makes no difference but, I do have to go shopping again. You may have to teach me to sew.”

....

“Rosemary and her husband will be back from the seaside the first of next week. She’ll want to know what flowers have been chosen for the church and the ballroom, of course.” Sitting stiffly on the sofa across from Cara, Margaret’s hands fluttered nervously. “More wedding gifts arrived this morning. You and Duff should open them sometime today or tomorrow at the latest ... they ought to be displayed along with the others as quickly as possible.”

Scooting to the edge of her chair, Cara leaned toward Margaret. “I want you to know, my friend and soon to be sister, how much I’ve appreciated all your help these past few weeks. Your artistic eye has been invaluable to me. The calls you’ve made to the cleaners, caterers and flower shops have supported me more than you know. I’m also aware how important it was to Rosemary that I wear a wedding gown befitting the Gregor family rank, and I opposed her with the backing of Duff. This action upset you both and I’m sorry. In my mind, even an antique ivory shade of white satin was not appropriate for a widow and mother of an eight-year-old boy.” Cara stood up and moved over to sit beside Margaret. “Thank you, again, for helping me choose the apricot silk for my dress, the veil, shoes and the accessories. Please come with me tomorrow to see that the dress fits properly. I trust your eye, Margaret.”

“Actually, I have come to believe that Rosemary was wrong and you were right about the dress. The apricot silk has class and elegance and the color suits you very well. I’ll be glad to come with you to make sure all is as it should be.”

“May I ring for Sally to bring in some tea?” Cara stood up, reached over the back of the sofa and pulled the bell cord. “There is something else I’d like to discuss with you. After your mother died, I fear Duff and Alistair took advantage of you. You redecorated all the rooms in this house with the touch and taste of a true artist. You’ve seen to all their domestic needs, managed the staff and taken no holidays worth mentioning and you’ve been shown very little gratitude.”

Sally stood in the doorway. “You rang, Miss Gregor?”

“Having successfully blinked back the tears that threatened to humiliate her ... Margaret said, “Mrs. McNally and I would like a pot of tea, please, Sally. Oh, and some chocolate biscuits.”

Cara continued. “I cannot in all good conscience allow this to carry on. You are only two years my elder which means you are still a young woman with ample opportunities to spread your wings.” Cara laid her hands over Margaret’s. “Haven’t you wanted more than to be the unappreciated caretaker of this big old house?”

“There is nothing else I could have or should have done.” A sad exasperation had roughened her voice. “Hasn’t Duff told you how I shamed the family? I was certain he would have done.” Unbidden tears began to seep from the corners of her eyes, dampening her cheeks. She turned her face toward the window as Sally clattered through the door.

“Thank you Sally”, said Cara, “Leave everything ... I’ll pour.” Cara poured the tea and set out the biscuits giving Margaret time to look for her handkerchief and compose herself.

Softly she noted, “They love you very much, you know ... your father and Duff. They wouldn’t break your confidence for anything in this world. Come have your tea.”

Hastily wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, Margaret sat down and picked up her teacup and saucer and sipped gratefully. “You’re not going to ask how I shamed the family?” Her voice was brittle and cracked, slightly.

“Only if you wish me to know. There was something that happened in my past that I was ashamed of and, if it hadn’t been admitted and thrashed out with someone I trusted, I’d probably still be carrying the stigma of that shame.” Cara put down her cup and reached for a biscuit. “In the autumn of 1946, my husband put a shotgun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. I was horrified, ashamed, thinking that somehow I was to blame. For a depressingly long time, I thought that way. Duff took me in hand, persuaded me that it was the filthy miseries of war that turned Douglas’ mind to suicide, as it had done to countless others. I moved out of the blame I’d lived in for too long and fell in love with Duff.” She bit into her biscuit and smiled. “Has the makings of a romance novel, don’t you think?”

Margaret’s mouth pinched into a firm line as her gaze rested on Cara. “I have a very impertinent question to ask and, it will likely offend you.”

“In two weeks we will be sisters ... ask away. If I don’t want to answer, I’ll say so.”

“Alright, then ... I was wondering if you and Duff have ... well, you know ... have you ever made love?”

Without breaking eye contact, Cara said, “As often as possible.”

Clearly disconcerted, Margaret, nevertheless, carried on. “You don’t think it wrong to share a bed with my brother before marriage?”

“Obviously not ... or we wouldn’t do it. But, you do think it is wrong ... why is that, Margaret?”

“Because he could be killed and not be able to marry you.” She dropped her head and studied the hands that were knotted into a ball in her lap.

“God forbid that should ever happen. But, if it did, I would have to deal with the consequences.” Cara then remained silent, allowing Margaret to come to grips with her answer.

“Robbie died in 1940. Robert Findley was my fiancé ... a barrister moving up in the firm where he worked. He joined the army as soon as war was declared and was killed in Italy not six months after he’d arrived. We loved each other ... truly we did. Right before he shipped out ... we made love. Only one time! But, that’s all it took, really. I wrote to Robbie as soon as I found I was ‘with child’. I knew my mother would have a grand mal, and she did. So did righteous Rosemary.

I was sent to stay with a friend of Mother’s in Scotland, a Mrs. Oden. Mother didn’t want any of her friends or the ‘family’ to know. Da was splendid about it. Before I left for Aberdeen, he told me that loving was a natural thing and that Rosemary was already ‘a bun in the oven’ when he married Mother, but I was never to let on that I knew or Da would be toast.” Margaret looked up, licked her lips and went on. “Mrs. Oden wasn’t really unkind to me, just cool and offish, if you know what I mean. I was a pariah ... ‘that kind’ of girl. My daughter was born on a Wednesday morning in June and immediately taken away from me ... to be adopted by strangers. In my heart, I named her June Elizabeth. She’d be fifteen now ... a young lady.”

Cara sighed and held tightly to both of Margaret’s hands. “Listen to me, Margaret Gregor. Look at me.” She said firmly. “From this moment on, there is absolutely no shame for you to bear. You loved a man and he loved you. That was a good and worthy thing to have happened. God blessed you when you gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Your little girl was placed in a home with people who wanted her and they most likely love her to pieces. Your daughter brought joy into their lives and will continue to do so. Your mother’s opinion of your so-called shameful behavior is no longer relevant as it was buried with her over a decade ago. Rosemary is a priggish and jealous woman and may continue to rub your nose in the past if you allow it. You had a child ... she’s had none. You were blessed ... she was not. Your father and Duff lay no blame at your door. There is no shame and no blame for you to hold on to anymore.” Smiling, Cara drew an exaggerated cross in the air. “So ... go forth, my child, and become a professional decorator, travel around the world, be happy and maybe even make love to a man again.”

Shaking her head, Margaret smiled and said, “You are outrageously impudent, Cara McNally. You make changing ones way of thinking sound simple ... well ... not impossible, anyway.”

“It’s not simple and it is not impossible. Having a nonjudgmental father and brother as well as a sister ... being me ... who will encourage you to be all you are meant to be, may irritate you somewhat ... but that’s what friends are for.” Cara kissed her cheek and poured more tea.

“Hill Manse will always be your home, Margaret. When I become its Mistress, I’ll turn to you often for advice, as the needs and work in my home in Scotland are much smaller. And, speaking of the McNally Estate House, I’m afraid I’ve allowed it to become run down ... tawdry. No, it is more than tawdry ... it’s downright depressing. When I went through my despondent period after Douglas died, my home became a tomb and it looks like it, too. May I hire you to help me make it as beautiful as you have made Hill Manse?”

Margaret looked at Cara in utter astonishment. “You want to hire me to help you refurbish the Estate House?”

“Yes ... and I may be willing to give you some degree of freedom if you think you could stay within my budget and allow the original character of the house to shine through.”

“Oh, I’d consult you as needs be and would keep you apprised of all my ideas. How soon would you like to start the project?’ Margaret’s face was flushed with eagerness.

“Donal and Alistair will need your experienced hand while Duff and I are on our wedding trip abroad. We’ll return October 10^th. Then I’ll need you to help me to understand the running of the house and staff, buying for and preparing meals, etc. Everything you already know how to do and I don’t. As soon as I feel comfortable in my role as the chatelaine of Hill Manse, you may commence with the makeover ... probably mid-October.”

“I will need to see the house, measure the rooms, get the ‘feel’ of an authentic Scottish estate.”

“Margaret ... would you be comfortable living in my home; working on it room by room, shopping in Aberdeen and Edinburgh instead of London? I would prefer to patronize local supply houses. My neighbors are friendly and very helpful ... I think you would like them. And, you need to decide what to charge me for your services.”

“Oh, dear”, muttered Margaret. “I have no idea what my fee should be. I’ll need to think about that. By the by ... I remember that Aberdeen was terribly cold and windy the winter I was sent there. Because it’s exposed to the North Sea, I suppose.”

“It’s colder there than it is here but not extremely so. More often than not a frosty morning will give way to crisp sunshine. We always wear winter woolies December through March and keep our rain gear close at hand. The rear view of the house faces the sea. The outlook is magnificent. The house was built of local mortared stone slabs, which help keep it snug and warm. There are fireplaces in nearly every room, even the kitchen ... we burn coal as well as peat. You’ll have to keep that in mind when buying paint and fabrics. Also, life moves at a slower pace in the northern latitudes, so patience is a necessity. And ... by the way ... the men are big, brawny and quite good-looking.” Cara’s grin, Margaret reflected, was decidedly ‘devilish’.

“Living in the house while redecorating appears to be the best solution. If the isolation or weather gets too much for me, I’ll come back home for a bit. I’m excited about this, Cara, more exited than I’ve been in a long time.”

“I am, too. Let’s go tell Duff.”

....

“The Gregor’s nuptials can now be crossed off our social calendar. Victor, the creaky but ever-prompt chauffer, is spiriting the happy couple to Heathrow to board a flight to Paris as we speak.” Hanging his jacket on the newel post, Richard loosened his tie and unhooked his top shirt button. Want a sherry, Mum?”

“That would be lovely ... thank you, dear.”

“You and the elder Gregor were brilliant on the floor. You gave the impression you’d been dancing together for years.” He handed his mother her sherry.

“We happen to know how to waltz well ... that’s all.”

“The waltz, the two step and a fox trot ... mighty impressive, I must say.”

“I noticed you danced several turns with Nora Whittington. She seemed to be attracted to you.”

“Mum, she’s eighteen and attracted to men in general.” Richard sat across from his mother and sipped on a whiskey. “Have you and Alistair planned any more outings to the theatre or dinner or anything?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we have. He now has a grandson he is very fond of and has asked me to go on a picnic with the two of them on Saturday. We are going to Covent Gardens and rent a punt. Alistair loves to push a punt through overhanging tree branches, imagining himself as the romantic figure of his youth, gliding through the willows and weaving ‘round the swans, flirting with a damsel whose face would likely be hidden beneath a large picture hat swathed in chiffon. I teased him with that chocolate box scene the last time he took me out on the lake. Donal is anxious to give the long pole a go, although Alistair doubts the little fellow has the height to wield it.”

“Duff told me that since that day you had tea with Daisy and Alistair at the Manse, his father acts like a younger man. He smiles and laughs, tells bad jokes and his step is livelier.”

“I’m sure it has little to do with me. He is not an old man, Richard, and since Duff took him to his tailor and outfitted him with a decent wardrobe and Cara made him get a more suitable haircut, he now accepts that he is not an old man.” Mrs. Hamblin held up her empty sherry glass indicating she would like another. “Daisy took me shopping and to the hairdresser a couple of weeks ago and it was like taking a teeny tipple from the fountain of youth.”

“Here you go, Mum. Cheers!” He nodded. “There’s no sidestepping the fact that Alistair Gregor is very taken with you and it is also a fact that you like his company, as well.”

“Very true, Son. Now where is this train of thought leading?”

“Nowhere in particular ... just stating the facts as I see them.”

“As I am enjoying the company of an older man ... may I inquire if you are enjoying the company of a young lady?”

“No, Mum. My young lady is off enjoying the company of another man. I’m waiting for her to realize she’s with the wrong chap ... hoping she’ll see the error of her ways and let me, at least, talk to her. Since I was made to recognize my considerable shortcomings, I’ve become a pretty sad specimen without her.”

“You’re speaking of dear Fiona ... of course ... I’ve always thought she was perfect for you. We were quite close for a long while, Fi and I. Well, here’s to her seeing the error of her ways.” Mrs. Hamblin lifted her glass toward her son.

....

Winding through the corridors and up the stairs to the critical wing of Charing Cross Hospital, Fiona found a Sister in a stiffly starched white uniform sifting through some papers behind a counter.

“Somebody called me ... said Mrs. Grace Dunne was going into emergency surgery. Is she there now ... will she be all right?”

“Grace Dunne? Let’s see, dear. Hmmm ... just a moment ... I’ll be but a moment ... wait here, please.”

Fiona waited ... paced a short way down the corridor in the direction of the double doors the Sister had disappeared through, then returned to the counter.

Eventually a tall, thin, officious looking Sister carrying a clipboard came to stand before her.

“Are you a relation of Mrs. Dunne’s? She inquired.

“Yes, Sister. I’m her daughter ... Fiona Dunne. Is she all right ... where is she? May I see her, please?”

“Miss Dunne, please take a seat. I’ll let Dr. Vernon know you are here. He will be with you as soon as he’s able. Please, sit here. I’d be happy to have someone fetch you some tea, if you’d like. No? Well, just make yourself comfortable.”

Why can’t they just point me in Ma’s direction? Gah ... where’s the doctor?

“Miss Dunne? Hello, I’m Dr. Vernon.”

“Yes, Doctor ... my mother, please?”

“Your mother was brought in this morning suffering from intense abdominal pain. She’d apparently been in acute pain all night but put off calling an ambulance until she could bear the pain no longer. By the time we got her into the surgery, the appendix had burst and a poisonous infection had spread throughout her body, stopping her heart. We were too late to save her, Miss Dunne. I’m so very sorry.”

“Too late to save her ... Ma’s dead?” Hardly able to take in all he’d told her, Fiona hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her stomach. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks and onto the collar of her coat.

“Is there anyone we can notify to come be with you? You should have someone here with you, Miss Dunne.”

Fi couldn’t think. Who should she call? Her girlfriends were working. Ma’s neighbors ... her bridge friends? Picking up her purse, she fumbled inside ‘til she located her small address book. Flipping through it, she found the number she wanted. Wiping her eyes with the handful of tissues someone had handed her, she asked, “May I use a telephone?”

“Of course.” The officious Sister said. “In the first floor lounge, there are some public telephones.”

“Sister ... that won’t be necessary.” Dr. Vernon squeezed Fiona’s shoulder encouragingly. “Please show Miss Dunne into my office ... she may use my telephone.”

“Well ... if you say so, Doctor. Come this way, Miss Dunne.”

....

“My dear girl, I am so pleased that you called me. I’ve cared about you ever since we’d met and I’ve missed you very much these last several weeks. I was well acquainted with your mother, you know ... I liked her ‘stop fooling around’ attitude when we served on the ‘Widows and Orphans’ committee together. Another thing, I don’t want you to worry about the undertaker. The Lewiston funeral home will take good care of her. I used their services when my husband and my parents passed away.”

Fiona looked around the drawing room nervously. “You’re certain Richard won’t be coming home?”

“I assure you, Fi, Richard is on assignment to cover a football match. I don’t remember where he went. He’s out and about so often ... I don’t pay much attention anymore. He won’t return until tomorrow evening.” Charlotte Hamblin reached for Fiona’s cold hands and held them in her warm ones. “Since this spring, my kitchen has become my favorite place to be. I’ve fixed it up; you see ... fresh white curtains with red ribbon borders that match the rest of the color scheme in the room. Now I wish I’d bought a red Aga instead of a black one, but that might have been too over the top. Let me show it to you.” Mrs. Hamblin led her guest down the stairs. “Let’s put on the kettle ... I’ll find us some biscuits.”

“Oh ... your kitchen is heavenly, Mrs. Hamblin. I imagine your cook whips up some fantastic meals in here.”

“Since I’m the cook, dear, I’d definitely hesitate to call my meals fantastic. There have been some disastrous outcomes, I’m afraid. Poor Richard can recall them all. I’m still learning, you see.”

“Ma was a pretty good cook. She taught me everything I know. Oh gah ... here I go bawling, again.” Pulling some tissues from her pocket, she mopped her face. “We were together last Sunday ... she was feeling fine. We walked to an Italian restaurant for lunch and to a matinee after. How can something like this happen so fast? I feel like a bus smashed into me.”

“Yes, I know ... and you’ll feel that way for awhile. Grief takes its own good time, and then it gradually fades away. Someday you’ll be able to think of your mother and smile instead of cry. You’ll see.”

....

“Still wish you’d have called my editor. He would have found me and I could have been the one to help her through the undertaker stuff.” Unpacking his suitcase, Richard tossed the laundry into a basket with more force than necessary.

His mother noticed and frowned. “I’ll tell you this again. Fiona only came here because I assured her that you were away. Fi is hurting very much, Richard. Your actions will speak louder than your words. Show her you care ... don’t confront her. The funeral is tomorrow ... you’ll have plenty of time to soothe and comfort her.”

....

“She hasn’t moved for a full ten minutes.” Richard hissed. “Everyone ... all of her friends ... left her. It can’t be good for her ... staring at the coffin hovering over that hole in the ground. The workmen waiting to lower it into the grave are starting to fidget.” Scowling, he twisted his furled umbrella into the soft grass.

“Go to her ... stand beside her.” Whispered Mrs. Hamblin.

He looked around at his mother and nodded.

Coming up beside Fiona, he stopped, said nothing ... just stood silently beside her. Eyes staring straight ahead, he defied the graveside workers to say or do anything to disturb his grieving girl.

Fiona turned slightly and looked to see who had moved up beside her and a frisson of tension so recognizable caused a sob to lodge in her throat. She began to tremble.

Noticing her shivering, he slipped out of his overcoat and laid it across her shoulders. “Take your time, luv”, he murmured softly, easily using the familiar endearment without realizing it. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She clutched his coat tightly around her. “Ready, then”, she said in such a weak voice he barely heard her. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Richard resisted putting his arm around her as they walked away from the freshly hollowed earth toward his mother. I’m on tender hooks, here. I don’t know what I should or shouldn’t do. God ... I just want to hold her.

Charlotte Hamblin did not hesitate to wrap her arms around Fiona. Pressing her lips to Fi’s cheek, she murmured, “You go home and climb into bed, my dear. You need to sleep, if you can.”

Richard reached over and dipped his hand into the overcoat pocket to retrieve his car keys. Passing them to his mother he said, “I’ll ride in the limo with Fi.”

His mother was astonished. Then a sense of pleasure swept over her. “You’re letting me drive your car? Dear boy!”

“You must be vigilant, Mum”, he admonished. “Take the by-roads ... remember to use the proper hand signals ... uhhh”

Mrs. Hamblin imperiously lifted an impeccably gloved forefinger to her lips. “Don’t ruin the moment, Richard.” She turned and walked regally toward the way-by where the precious Topo waited to spring forward and bear her homeward.

From somewhere deep inside his overcoat, he heard a faint chuckle and the softly spoken remark, “I love your mother.”