Witch Dust Page 6

  “Serenissima?”

  “Sandra.” I corrected automatically.

  “Don’t blame you – Sandra then. Can you possibly help out? Wouldn’t ask if we weren’t up the creek without a paddle.” She looked at me hopefully. I glanced at Ophelia, who gave an up-to-you shrug.

  “I’ll have a go.” I said reluctantly, “I think I owe Mimi that much. Look, you’re sure you’re not hurt, injured in any way, should I run you to the nearest hospital to check?” Mimi shook her head firmly,

  “Right as rain dear, never better.”

  “Fine.” Bella appeared monumentally incurious about whatever might or might not have befallen Mimi. Clearly this blithe unconcern was a family trait shared with Ophelia. She clapped her hands together decisively. “That’s all settled then. Thanks a million.”

  “No, wait a minute,” I said, things were moving too fast altogether – there were so many explanations I wanted, I honestly didn’t know which end to start. “What about her?” I indicated the woman in the corner “Is she drunk?”

  “Gladys? Good God, no.” Exclaimed Bella indignantly. “Certainly not, never touches a drop, not to worry, she’s fine, it’s just Sitting Bull, Ophelia can fill you in.” I’d no idea what she was talking about, but there was another, more pressing concern, which was wriggling in my arms and starting to feel somewhat damp around the nether regions.

  “What about the baby?” I held her out.

  “Damn, I’d forgotten.” Bella began to look fraught again. “Mimi, can I trust you to take her upstairs? She’s fed, she just needs changing and then she’ll go down for a good few hours.” Mimi nodded and took the child from me. She placed the now fussing baby against one shoulder, supported the lolling head with a firm hand, and vanished. I think I might have staggered a little then. I know I must have looked pretty awful, because Ophelia rose and pushed a chair towards me and Ophelia didn’t put herself out unless a situation really screamed for it. I felt the rim of the seat against the back of my knees, not a moment too soon and sat down abruptly. I hadn’t anticipated that. It simply had not once crossed my mind.

  “What on earth’s the matter?” Bella looked anxious, less I thought for me, than for dinner.

  “Search me.” Said Ophelia. I looked up at her and she smiled vaguely, “Better now darling?” I was torn, as so often in the past, between a desire to scream until I was hoarse and the urge to spend a productive few minutes, banging her head against the nearest floorboard.

  “Your family.” I said levelly.

  “Mm hmm?”

  “They’re like you?”

  “Well, people did used to say I had a look of Mother, but I could honestly never see it myself.”

  “I don’t mean that,” I hissed, “And well you know it. They’re like you, aren’t they?”

  “Well, technically darling, I suppose I’m like them but… ”

  “For God’s sake Ophelia, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  I slapped my fist down hard in frustration on the nearest thing, which happened to be the kitchen table, the ducks jumped, as did Ophelia. I could hear my voice shrilling upwards, along no doubt with my blood pressure.

  “Well excuse me, but don’t you think such a snippet might have been worth sharing, after all we’ve just been sitting in the bloody car together for two hours.”

  “May I ask what this unseemly racket is all about?” The voice was mild, nevertheless it was a tone that brooked little if no opposition. It carried across the room and sliced through the rising tension like a knife, if only to replace it with tension of a different kind.

  A diminutively upright figure was silhouetted in a doorway at the far end of the room. For a moment it was difficult to define feature or age, but authority emanated from every autocratically restrained inch of her. I was aware of Ophelia and Bella beside me, straightening imperceptibly.

  She advanced into the room and although she moved easily, as her face came clearly into the light, I saw she must be well into her eighties, despite a tautly unjowled jaw. Her skin was finely cross-hatched, and thinning silvered hair stretched starkly back from high cheeked, hawk-nosed features and folded into a chignon, low on her long neck. Although she carried a carved, bird-head topped, walking stick, she leaned on it hardly at all and I’d been in show-business long enough to know an effects prop when I saw one. A brown tweed, mid-calf skirt swung as she moved, above elegantly pointed, heeled shoes strapped over the instep. A crisp white shirt contrasted with the softness of a black pashmina, draped evenly over her shoulders. She glanced briefly at the swaying figure in the corner,

  “Sitting Bull?”

  “’Fraid so,” said Bella. The woman turned a startlingly piercing green gaze back to us, inclining her head slightly.

  “Ophelia.” She said, “Presumably there’s trouble in paradise, or we wouldn’t have the pleasure of a visit.”

  “I thought it was about time.” Ophelia, aiming for defiant, reached only defensive.

  “Hmm, after how long is it, I quite forget? Your girl, I assume?” I stood, stepped forward a little and extended my hand. I may have had a series of shocks, the implications of which I hadn’t even yet begun to consider, but damned if I was going to be intimidated by some little old battle-axe, especially if I was being co-opted as emergency chef. She ignored the hand, staring intently at me with those unsettling eyes. I sensed she used silence as a powerful tool.

  “I’m Sandra.” I said.

  “Well, you’ve not got your Mother’s looks and I hope you haven’t been blessed with your Father’s brains.” She responded. Charming. I threw a sideways glance towards Ophelia, normally she responded to any slur on my Father with fury, unless she’d been the one to make it, but she was busy not catching my eye.

  “And you would be?” I kept my tone neutral, I’d mixed with egos all my life, this one was no different.

  “Etty Goodkind. Your Great Grandmother. Now, I came to get tea organised, can you see to it for me? Tea and biscuits for two in the library and sooner, rather than later would be appreciated.” Another one not into heavily emotional re-unions. And why was it everyone instantly assumed I was here to help with the catering arrangements?

  “Good Lord,” said Bella suddenly, looking at her watch. “That the time? Must fly.” I looked round apprehensively, the way things were going it wouldn’t have surprised me if that had been exactly what she did, but thankfully, she was just bustling out the back door.

  “Tea? In your own time.” Etty, also moving briskly out of the kitchen, rapped her cane twice on the stone-tiled floor to get my attention, although succeeded only in getting up my nose.

  “I’m sorry, but no.” I said firmly, “I may have been coerced into doing dinner, but I’m not the new maid. You want tea? Get someone else to make it.” There was a brief silence, broken only by the mutterings of the rocking woman in the far corner. I met the chill green gaze of my newly acquired Great Grandmother evenly. The woman was obviously a bully, habitually getting her own way, but if there was one thing I was used to, it was dealing with selfish prima donnas. For a few beats we took each other’s measure then,

  “Sandra,” she said, “My most sincere apologies. I really shouldn’t be asking favours of you so early on in our acquaintance, but circumstances have forced upon us some staff shortages. It would help me immeasurably, if you could see your way clear to helping me out, just this once.” She paused. “If only for appearances sake in front of my guest.” Well, she’d got me sussed – guilt and good manners, my two weak spots. I didn’t say anything, but she took it as read. “I am in your debt.” She inclined her head graciously and left the room. As I placed a somewhat battered kettle on the hob to boil I had to admit, her tactics threw my Mother’s into the novice class, I couldn’t help but be impressed by that.

  CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

  Needless to say, Ophelia had taken advantage of my temporary distraction to make herself scarce. I ground my teeth, a habit I’ve been trying without success to break for years. I’d been livid with her time without number, but on a scale of one to ten, right now I was fast speeding towards twenty. Frustration was doubled, because she hadn’t even had the grace to hang around and receive the mouthful she so richly deserved. Of course, when I eventually did get hold of her I knew full well, there’d be small chance of conveying just how angrily hurt I felt about all the things she had and hadn’t told me – guilt lingered as long on my Mother, as water on a duck’s back.

  Talking of which, I eyed the pallid, cling-filmed items awaiting me glumly on the table and then glanced around the dimly lit kitchen to see if there were any cookery books on view. Committed as I now seemed to be, not only to tea and biscuits in the next few minutes, but also to this evening’s dinner, the coming hours were going to be fully occupied. Once beyond those few hours though, there was no doubt in my mind.

  Perhaps I should have been intrigued and excited, itching to find out all I could about the new nearest and dearest but frankly, I’d had it up to here with eccentricities of all kinds. I’d grown up with Ophelia’s, but had long since come to terms with and incorporated them into everyday life. I’d dealt with them the only way I knew how, by simply not thinking about them.

  Head in the sand? You might say. Turning a blind eye? You bet. But it had worked for me to date, and as far as I was concerned if something was working, why change it. One thing I knew for sure, I didn’t have the space, time or inclination for anything else in the way of ‘goings-on’ and if there was anything painfully evident, in the brief time I’d spent in the bosom of this new-found family, ‘goings-on’ looked as if they might be thicker on the ground than daisies in May. It was crystal clear to me, the sooner I turned the car round and made good speed back up that motorway, the very much happier and more relieved I was going to be.

  ***

  Kettle boiled, tea-pot unearthed and warmed and vaguely matching cups and saucers acquired from the dresser, I looked around for a tray. It wasn’t that I was unduly intimidated by the old lady with the chill green gaze, but tea and biscuits isn’t a hugely complicated production and I didn’t intend to be judged by Ophelia’s levels of incompetence. I suddenly became aware, all had gone silent in the room, the woman in the corner had stopped chanting and was regarding me warily with deep-set, button bright, dark eyes.

  “Hello.” She said cautiously, “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Ophelia’s daughter, she’s… ”

  “I know who she is.”

  “Right, well, I’m looking for a tray, where do you keep them?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking tea upstairs.”

  “You’d better use this then.” She beckoned me over. I advanced cautiously, she seemed to be fairly rational, but I was taking no chances.

  “Give me a hand up?” She was struggling to rise, hindered by limbs stiffened in their cross-legged position. She wasn’t a young woman and cadaverously thin with graying hair tied up and back, pink-ribboned in a girlish ponytail. She thrust out an arm for assistance and I took a bird-thin, work-reddened, cold hand in mine. If she was normally in charge of the kitchen, no wonder they had problems, she didn’t look as if she’d have the strength to crack an egg, let alone give it a good beating.

  “There.” She moved clumsily away, stretching her back and bending to rub her knees. “There.” She repeated, inclining her head impatiently. On the floor was a large silver tray. She’d been sitting on it. “Silver,” she explained. “Solid. Excellent conductor.” I nodded as if I understood and bent to pick it up.

  “Thanks.” I said.

  “Pleasure. Now just make sure I have it back when you’ve finished, we’ve others, but this is the best.” She smiled absently and moved across to one of the kitchen chairs. She sat, leaned across the table and gently poked one of the ducks with an exploratory finger.

  “Oh my,” she said, and a solitary tear ambled slowly across one cheek. “I did try you know.” She heaved a deep sigh. “I tried ever so hard, I knew tonight was important.” I carried the heavy tray across to the table and handed her a tissue from my bag which I’d hung over the back of a chair.

  “D’you mean the meal?” I said. “Look, don’t worry, it’s certainly nothing to cry over. I’ll give you a hand, we’ll get it sorted, only thing is I’m not sure of timings, do you have any cookery books?”

  “Cookery books?” She shook her head vehemently, “Well of course I don’t. They wouldn’t let me, would they? Don’t you see, they’d take huge offence. But I’ve let the family down haven’t I? Let them down dreadfully. But it’s just that he’s so strong. Can you understand that?” She shot out an urgent hand and grasped my arm before I had a chance to whip it out of reach. “Ah, but you’re strong too, aren’t you? Very strong indeed I can see. Did you know you have a powerful aura?” She looked up at me hopefully, “Perhaps together we can relegate him. Not,” she added, lowering her voice cautiously and looking briefly over her shoulder, “That I don’t appreciate what he does for me, but quite frankly he’s a dreadful cook, and the ingredients my dear, well naturally, there’s no chance of me getting half the things he asks for.” Releasing my arm, she put both of hers on the table, rested her head on them and started to cry in earnest. I ineffectually patted one heaving scrawny shoulder.

  “Look… Gladys, is it?” Choked assent. “Well, Gladys, not to worry, I’m sure we can sort it out between us, I may not be Delia Smith… ” She raised a tear-blotched face hopefully,

  “Oh my dear, but I might,” she said, “I might well be her by the time you come back. I’ll try, I’ll really try, I promise.”

  “That’s the spirit.” I said encouragingly. Poor old bat was obviously so far round the bend it wasn’t worth chasing her. I fished another tissue out of my bag, pushed it into her unresisting hand to supplement the first sodden one, filled the teapot and bearing the full tray, headed out of the kitchen. I was halfway down an uncarpeted corridor, illuminated by light filtering through the glassed upper halves of the double doors at either end, before I realised, I’d absolutely no idea where I was going.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Old Etty Grand-manners had said the library, and I briefly debated backtracking to quiz Gladys but didn’t think she’d be much help, she hadn’t looked as if she could find her way out of a paper bag with a map and a torch. Naturally enough, Ophelia hadn’t reappeared either, why would she if there was a chance she might be able to do something remotely useful? I pursed my lips and utilised my bottom to push open one of the two heavy double swing doors in front of me.

  I followed the now carpeted hallway and found myself heading towards what must be the main entrance to the house which was set up as a reception area. A couple of worn green leather, gold-studded, upright chairs stiffly flanked an inlaid wood coffee table bearing some suitably country style magazines and an art deco bronze of a woman, leaning back against the pull of two leashed and straining dogs.

  Opposite, on a wide and high, dark wood, ornately carved reception desk was a thick register with a pen in a stand, a phone, a small wooden postcard holder and one of those circular bells you only ever see in hotels. I stifled a strong urge to go and bang it with the flat of my hand and keep banging, until someone sensible came along,

  Backing the desk was a half-open door onto a small office – empty. The adjacent wall held a board with a range of keys on numbered large wooden fobs. Parquet flooring in the reception area was softened with judiciously spaced rugs and whilst the black, gold-knobbed front doors standing open to the drive where we’d first drawn up, were letting in some welcome light, there was also a steady stream of dried, fallen leaves borne in on a chill wind that wasn’t going to do much for the heating bills. An imposing, elabo
rate, wrought-iron balustraded staircase swooped upward from the middle of the hall to a galleried first floor.

  I surveyed the range of doors on either side of the hallway, any one of which could be the library and opted for the nearest, because it was ajar. I edged it open with my foot, the wretched tray was feeling heavier by the minute, and found myself at one end of a substantial living room. It was furnished with an eclectic mix of darkly mottled, over-stuffed leather sofas, the sort you either immediately stick to or find yourself sliding right off of.

  The sofas, together with some hectically flowered and cushioned armchairs, had been arranged in groupings round a selection of glass-topped coffee tables. Lurking uneasily over each seating area was an old fashioned, heavily fringed, pink-shaded standard lamp and above a large, blue delft tiled, empty fireplace, a wide mantelpiece was crowded with assorted sizes of slightly tarnished, silver framed photographs. It was a pleasantly proportioned room, but the high arched French doors leading out to the gardens, were firmly shut and from the musty smell, hadn’t been opened for quite some time.

  I backed out to try another door although reaching it, realized I didn’t have a hand free to turn the handle. Placing the tray carefully on the floor, I found this one opened into a dining room, with the same pleasingly square dimensions and high arched windows. The room held about a dozen clothed, un-laid tables. To my vast relief, there was at least someone here I could ask for help. A tall, well-built woman in a black dress was bent over, industriously assembling cutlery from the drawers of a dresser at the end of the room.

  “Hello?” I waited for her to turn. She ignored me. I tried again, slightly louder, still nothing. This was silly and I had tea going cold outside. Crossing the carpeted room, I reached up and touched her shoulder. She jumped and swung swiftly round, hand to chest, wide-eyed and open-mouthed with such undisguised fright that I jumped too. Late fifties, she had a disconcertingly doll-like face with large long-lashed brown eyes, snub nose, rosebud mouth, hectic dab of rouge on each appled cheek and sleek, dark wings of short, straight hair hanging neatly below her ears from a rigidly controlled centre-parting,