Chapter 12. A Hostess Gift
They all rose late. David insisted he’d slept “very well” but Ian’s eyes were shuttered against Scarlet’s inquiring look and Candi seemed smugly triumphant. It went against Scarlet’s grain to question them but if you didn’t tell foreign sexual adventuresses that your husband was off limits, how could they be expected to know? Candi’s barbed words – “glad to know another couple with a truly modern relationship” – came back to haunt her like some sly promotion of infidelity as sophisticated, international and superior. Scarlet felt certain husband David wasn’t on board with that.
They drove to Oakhampton after a late and hasty Continental breakfast prepared by Ian, (wonder of wonders) – the “girls” in the back of the estate wagon with Nick in his carrycot between them. Scarlet struggled to find words that would be politic yet reproving, fearing that if she missed her chance, she’d be silenced forever.
But Candi forestalled her.
“You must come up to London soon,” she gushed, “Now that you have a nanny.”
Scarlet struggled with the concept of Fern elevated to this pinnacle while Candi hurried on; “So we can have a real heart to heart.”
Which of us is being courted now? Wondered Scarlet. A nightmare world appeared to her inner eye where her personal good fortune; talent, beauty, husband, house, son – laid her open to invasion by this succubus scheming to supplant her.
Candi placed a cold hand with terrifyingly long, red lacquered nails on Scarlet’s hot, stubby, hang-nailed paw.
“I have discounts at all the best places. Now that you have your figure back we must suit you out.”
“Lovely,” quivered Scarlet, revolted by virtually everything about this patronizing sentence. She knew immediately that the truth was of no interest to Candi, who sought always to perpetrate a façade, and who took it for granted other people did too. She seemed confident Scarlet would never correct her, never insist that she was large, baggy and leaking milk in all directions. Her presentable caftan at the restaurant for dinner out could be considered “maternity wear.” She would rather die than ever shop with Candi, didn’t want to resemble her and hadn’t planned to buy anything new until Nicholas was weaned.
But she felt a horrid certainty that Ian would side with Candi; that one must always “put on a show”. Was she being penny wise and husband foolish? Something to consider. Perhaps she could spring for one outfit – but certainly not alongside Candi! Tatiana had a pair of velvet toreador pants Scarlet coveted. “Divorce insurance” – distasteful as that might be. And she desperately needed a warm winter coat – something better than this shabby red anorak she wore everywhere.
Breakfast had been so late and Ian’s porridge was so stomach-churning nobody could think of food or even a cup of tea at the café. In desperation, Scarlet suggested visiting the bookshop instead to purchase “something to read on the train” and all agreed with this idea.
The Fruitful Browser was fortunately open Sundays. It might specialize in old, antique and “used” books but there is no such thing as a “used idea”. Francesca even offered a respectable cup of coffee which she called, charmingly, “café americaine.” She gave Scarlet’s guests – and then Scarlet – a look that could only be described as “conspiratorial.” Baby Nicholas cooperated by staying sound asleep locked safely in the car.
“Literature by the yard! I see!” said Candi, who appeared personally insulted by the very concept of used books. “But I suppose if you’ve got shelves to fill” – until Ian commented,
“Here’s a lovely section of pocket Trollopes.”
That’s what Candi was, thought Scarlet. A “pocket trollop!”
Seemingly Candi wanted anything Ian wanted. Her acquisitive eyes lit with lust.
Scarlet left them to it while she and David happily perused the Golden Age of Crime novels – tuppence a copy. David was thrilled to find a series Scarlet had never even heard of.
“Our Miss Clew,” he said, “These are glorious. I think there were only ever a baker’s dozen and I’ve been missing five! Here they all are!” To Scarlet he hissed conspiratorially, “Don’t tell. They could sell the full set for substantially more.”
Scarlet had to assume Francesca knew her business. In any event, she personally dropped a guinea in this store on her every Oakhampton shopping trip. She snapped up the five David didn’t need.
“I see you love Miss Clew,” Francesca remarked, adding up their purchases. “They really must issue reprints – these inexpensive editions – “railway” they called them – fall to tatters far too soon.”
Scarlet could only agree – her copies appeared to be restored with what she, as a new homeowner, recognized as friction tape.
Candi had chosen a first edition of Frank Harris’ Life and Loves which, horribly, Ian insisted on purchasing for her.
“I shall have to think up a really special bread and butter present,” said Candi. “This has been the most wonderful weekend of my life.”
Alysse Aallyn 
Leave a comment