Every Woman for Herself (18 page)

‘If Charlie’d told anyone, it would have been us, Mace,’ Anne said. ‘And she didn’t. Rhymers don’t phone up effing gossip columns. Rhymers don’t even
read
magazines with gossip columns in them.’

‘I do,’ Jessica said.

‘You aren’t a Rhymer.’

‘Rhymers seem to be
writing
their own magazines,’ Mace said nastily. ‘Perhaps I merit a double-page spread of slime in there?’

‘Now, now, Mace,’ Father said. ‘You should read some of the things they say about
me
!’

‘Yes, but they’re all true, Father,’ I said. ‘And this isn’t.’

‘It’ll soon blow over. Where’s your ex-wife gone, Mace?’

‘No idea – she stormed off in a temper. Nearly ran me down. But wherever it is – and I assure you it isn’t a shallow grave down in the woods – she’ll turn up in a couple of weeks, for the wedding.’

‘There you are then,’ said Father, losing interest. ‘Storm in a teacup.’

He didn’t know how true that was.

Then he looked down at Kathleen’s picture again and amended, absently: ‘B cup.’

I looked at Mace’s dark, angry face and wondered … and a shiver ran up my spine. I mean, he
sounded
civilised, but he certainly didn’t look it, and he
had been
glaring at me a few minutes previously as though he’d like to get his hands around my throat.

‘I think I read the leaves wrong,’ Gloria muttered in my ear. ‘And maybe the love philtre’s not working. But everything’s all right – no problem.’

‘Can you give him the antidote tomorrow anyway?’

‘Perhaps I better had.’

It was an oddly segmented party after that. Outwardly it ran its usual course, and after a short birthday speech Father pulled out a ring of Christmas-cracker proportions and rather sheepishly put it on Jessica’s bony finger, to her unconcealed triumph.

After that, Anne excused herself on the grounds of fatigue and went to bed, and Em suddenly announced that she and Chris were going out for a little while. ‘Chris is going to show me the vicarage.’

‘Why? You pass it almost every day on your walks,’ Father said, puzzled.

‘Yes, but I don’t pass
through
it,’ Em said. ‘Come on, Chris.’

‘Don’t you worry about nothing here, blossom,’ Gloria told her. ‘Walter and me will tidy it away before we go home, and Charlie can help.’

Mace, who’d been perfecting the art of abstracted brooding, now pulled himself together enough to take his leave. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Ran, and a delicious meal.’

‘You won’t get none of those when you’re married, Ran,’ Gloria pointed out.

‘Of course I will. Why shouldn’t I?’ he said heartily. ‘Things will just go on as before.’

So
like a man.

‘You can go out through the Summer Cottage, Mace,’ I said, getting up. ‘It will be quicker.’
And
give me another chance to try to persuade him that I really didn’t grass on him.

‘No, don’t bother,’ he said curtly. He didn’t even glance at me. ‘I need the fresh air.’

‘Mace—’

But he was gone. And after all, why
should
he believe me – and why should I care? In a minute he would be turning the corner of the Parsonage and walking down the track, still thinking I was the sort of person who would do that sort of thing …

I got up, said quickly, ‘Happy birthday, Father. Congrats, Jess – hope you’re happy,’ then shot out of the door, down the stairs, through the kitchen where the dogs slumbered by the stove, and then almost fell headlong down the dark stairwell to the Summer Cottage.

Without stopping I ran out onto the track, but Mace must have moved faster, for he was already ahead of me.

There was only one way to catch him: hitching up my skirts with both hands I cut straight across the rough, steep corner, losing my balance and falling headlong down the bank to land on the track at his feet.

There might have been more dramatic ways of getting his attention, but I can’t think of any.

The ground was frozen hard, my cheek stung, and my ankle had twisted. It hurt; but then, so did Mace’s hands gripping my arms and hauling me upright.

‘You fool!’ he exclaimed. ‘You could have broken your stupid neck running over ground like that in the dark – and you must have known there was a drop down onto the track!’ And he gave me a whiplash-injury-inducing shake, my feet dangling in mid-air like a rag doll’s.

‘I
did
hear what Kathleen said, but I really didn’t tell anyone!’ I gasped painfully. Then I gave a sudden galvanic shiver; well, I
was
out in December wearing a wisp of chiffon and not much else, being mildly roughed up by a large, bad-tempered man whose wife had disappeared under sinister circumstances.

He stilled and looked down at me, though it was hard to make out his expression in the moonlight. ‘Who else could it have been?’

‘How should I know who she’s told? Perhaps she told them herself!’

Though he could, of course, be convinced she hadn’t told anyone because he had after all buried her in a shallow grave in the valley …

I shivered again, and he said roughly: ‘You’re twice a fool: running after me like that when I’m in a rage, and in just a thin dress,’ and pulled me inside his warm, downy coat.

‘Could you put me down, do you think?’ I suggested, struggling weakly. But when he did, my left ankle was too painful to stand on, so he scooped me back up again effortlessly like so much illicit loot, and strode off.

‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me tonight!’ he muttered. ‘I
want
to be angry with you, but whenever I look at you, I just can’t!’

‘It’s only Gloria’s love philtre – it was in your sherry. You were supposed to fall for Jessica, but you looked at me instead. But don’t worry – you can have the antidote tomorrow when she’s brewed it.’

‘You can’t possibly really believe in love potions,’ he said shortly. ‘And you had some too.’

‘Only a tiny sip – too little to matter. You drank most of it.’

‘OK, so maybe she spiked the drinks with a few herbs, but …’ He stopped, and looked down at me, his expression unfathomable in the moonlight. ‘No,’ he said firmly.

‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe in it or not – Gloria’s spells usually work. Maybe all that rage cancelled it out? But what’s important is that you believe me now, about my not telling anyone what Kathleen said.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to, since you nearly broke your neck in the effort to explain it to me.’

‘Then do you think you could take me home?’

‘No, we’re nearly at my place and I want to see what you’ve done to yourself first.’

‘It’s all right – Gloria’s probably still there, and she will clean my scratches and do something for my ankle. It’s only twisted.’

‘That does it – I’m not taking you back until she’s gone home! And I thought
Em
was the one to watch.’

‘Oh, Em just wanted you as a sacrifice.’

‘A sacrifice? She was going to
kill
me?’

‘Of course not, don’t be silly. She just wanted your body, because you have a dark side and could help her get in touch with
her
darker powers. But actually, none of us wants her to try any black magic, because she does tend to throw herself into things so enthusiastically that there’s no saying where it will end. So Gloria and I sort of spiked her drink with the love philtre, too, while she was talking to Chris.’

‘Does that make Chris the sacrifice?’

‘Willing victim, but not to the black arts, which is a relief.’

‘So why did
I
get the potion? And why was I supposed to fall for Jessica? No, don’t tell me – to get her away from your father and Upvale?’

‘Probably. I didn’t know Gloria was going to do it until the last minute, so I’m not sure. Or maybe it was because she got the mistaken impression that you were interested in me, and she doesn’t like it.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Something in the teacup, mostly.’

‘The teacup?’

‘The leaves, but she won’t tell me what. I expect she thinks you will use me and cast me aside, or something – after all, she’s been reading
Surprise!
for years. I’ve told her I’m not interested.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Well, it’s so silly of her to imagine
you
would be, isn’t it? I’m no pretty young girl, and there must be plenty of those interested in you.’

‘Oh, yes, I’m a babe magnet, all right,’ he said shortly, kicking the cottage door open and walking in with me. ‘Fame and money are all it takes.’

I looked up at his distinctive face and said involuntarily, ‘
And
the rest!’ and he grinned, and kissed me like the season for it was about to run out.

After that, I don’t know what got into me.

All right, I do – and it wasn’t just the love philtre. My secret fantasies about dragging Steve the gardener into the bushes had, at some point, been entirely replaced with ones involving Mace: I just wasn’t expecting them actually to
happen
.

Caution prevailed for – oh, maybe three seconds, give or take one or two – and then was tossed away. I mean, so maybe he
had
done away with Kathleen, but did it seem important at that juncture? No.

Or perhaps it was Gloria’s potion working in both of us – or all that champagne?

Who cared? It was now or never …

‘Now!’ I said, an abandoned nymph indeed.

Little did Felicity Hake-Hackett know on which illustrious bedroom floor her dress would end up. How much she would have loved to be the one from whose body it was stripped by impatient fingers; in silence. He’s a great one for deep, meaningful silences.

Later, drowsily, I let him clean up the mark on my face and convey me (boneless and almost entirely witless, I fear) back to the Summer Cottage.

He deposited me safely in my own bed, kissed me long and hard with one hand planted on either side of my head, and took himself off.

Intense isn’t in it.

A note from Gloria was pinned to the side of the bedside cabinet: ‘Drink contents of glass the moment you return, to avert evil consequences.’

The contents of the said glass looked like they’d been dredged hastily from the bottom of the nearest cesspool, and the only evil consequence would occur about a second after I drank it.

The other sort of consequences I haven’t had for years; I’m a barren vessel, except for the paintings … and Flossie.

I
intended
to go and find Flossie, but I couldn’t even raise the energy to switch the lamp off before great waves of sleep completely submerged me.

It was very late when I woke the next day, strangely tired, aching and disorientated.

For a few heart-stopping moments I couldn’t remember where I was, then my eye fell on the glass of disgusting liquid on my bedside table, now separated out into a layer of sludge topped by clear green, and it all came back to me in Glorious Technicolor, along with my sanity.

Perhaps my vocation in life was to become a hermit and never leave the house, or speak to anyone outside my family, ever again.

Especially Mace.

Not that
he’d
actually said very much last night, as I recalled, after that first kiss – but his actions had spoken volumes (the sort that should be behind locked bookcase doors).

But it was no good; I couldn’t hide for ever. Besides, I was feeling guilty about abandoning Flossie, of whom there was no sign.

After a shower I felt a bit better, and apart from a graze on my cheek, a few promising bruises, and a tender left ankle, I didn’t look too bad either.

And at least it was a Saturday, so I didn’t have to go down and fetch Caitlin, for how would I ever face Mace again after last night’s goings-on?

I mean, I was sure they were entirely due to Gloria’s potion, probably helped along in Mace’s case by enforced abstinence due to being marooned in the country with Caitlin – and there were not many nubile young starlets in Upvale.

I supposed handsome, rich actor/playwrights had casual sex all the time usually, though, so he would not think any more about it once he’d had the antidote.

I
had no excuse for my actions (except for the enforced abstinence bit) because I only had one tiny sip. It was just irresistible lust and champagne.

However, had I known how good sex could be, Fidelity wouldn’t have been my middle name all those years. Either Matt was not very good at it, or Mace was a master of the art. I suspected the latter.

The previous night had been wonderful (in a ‘my God! Did I
really
do that?’ sort of way) but it mustn’t happen again. Gloria would just have to find a way of giving Mace the antidote to the love philtre
fast
.

I dressed in jeans and jumper and went upstairs, where I found Flossie curled up with Frost; quite sweet, really. I decided that was where she’d spent the night, so we were both loose women.

Em was sitting quietly at the table – the whole house seemed strangely silent – and the only place still set for breakfast was mine.

Unusually, she wasn’t doing anything, just dreaming over a cup of coffee.

‘Well, madam!’ Gloria said, appearing in the doorway and surveying me with her hands on her hips. ‘Here’s another one who was up to goodness-knows-what last night. It’s to be hoped you drank what I left for you, because you need some powerful magic to oppose the likes of that one!’

‘It’s all right, Gloria,’ I assured her, although, I feared, I had poured the disgusting stuff down the loo. ‘I – just went after Mace to try and explain that I hadn’t told anyone about what his wife said when they quarrelled.’

‘Takes a long time, that sort of explanation,’ she said drily. ‘You don’t fool me – I know what I saw in the teacups!’

‘Well, whatever you saw, it wasn’t entirely Mace’s fault. You shouldn’t have given him the potion.’

‘It would have worked fine except for your meddling.’

‘I’m sure I’ve lost my powers,’ Em sighed. ‘When I look inwards I can’t see anything except Chris’s face. Isn’t that odd?’

Yes, that was pretty odd. I tried closing my eyes for a moment, and immediately saw a dark, strongly boned face as clearly as if he was— I snapped them open again, to find Gloria looking thoughtfully at me.