Muriel glanced at the dining-room
clock as she put the last of the salad on the table. Only half past
three and all was ready. Would she never learn? All her life she'd
been ready too early for everything and here she was still at it.
But it did give her half an hour to sit quietly and contemplate life,
Ralph's birthday and all these people coming to help him celebrate.
How lucky they'd been to have so many happy years together. Just think,
if she hadn't taken hold of life by the scruff, how much happiness
and excitement she would have missed. Muriel had to confess she was
an entirely different person from the one he'd married. She laughed
at the memory of how precise and uptight she had been, so meticulous
in all aspects of life, and tragically so afraid of it too.
She cocked an ear for Ralph and heard his light step coming down the
stairs. So he was ready early as well. Dear Ralph! The sight of him
could still make her heart miss a beat. The door opened and there
he stood. The birthday boy. He'd decided against his sports coat then
and gone for the pale blue shirt and trousers with the dark blue spotted
tie she'd given him at Christmas. The shirt emphasised the sparkling
whiteness of his hair and flattered his lightly tanned faced.
'My dear! You look delightful!' He came across to kiss her cheek.
'Handsome as ever, Ralph! How do you do it?'
Ralph studied her face. 'Only in your eyes, my dear. I fear others
see me as a crusty, short-tempered, elderly man with a somewhat old-fashioned
penchant for ''doing the right thing'' . . .'
Muriel protested, 'Never! Never! You're courteous and kind and understanding
and a pillar of the community. And much loved, not just by me.'
Ralph bowed with a mocking grin on his face. 'You're too kind.'
'What do you think to the table? Have I forgotten anything at all?'
Ralph inspected the magnificent spread, and decided she'd forgotten
nothing. 'This is wonderful. Quite wonderful. I must say, Muriel,
you've really excelled yourself today. A wonderful feast. How shall
we sit everyone?'
'If you look out of the window you'll see that while you were out
this morning everyone brought their garden chairs and tables.'
Ralph went to the french windows to look out. He had to smile. He
guessed the imposing teak set would be Jimbo and Harriet's, the green
plastic would be Willie and Sylvia's because he could see those in
their garden from the attic window, and the white set with the elaborate
twirly pattern on the backs of the chairs and the impressively flowered
seat-pads must be Ron and Sheila's or Ronald's, as Sheila called him
when she remembered; she thought it common to shorten his name. The
plain white with the embroidered cushions foxed him. Ah! Yes. He guessed
they might be Tom and Evie's.
'Evie's coming, is she?'
Muriel answered him with a hint of apprehension in her voice. 'She
is. Poor Evie. I hope she can face it.'
'Is there anyone not coming?'
'Craddock Fitch. He's in Warsaw.'
'I shan't miss him.'
Ralph! How unkind of you! He has improved so much since he nearly
killed Jeremy.'
'One can scarcely say he nearly killed him.'
'Well, he escaped death by a whisker and we all know he collapsed
in the middle of their most tremendous row. It's that scathing, icy
temper of his. It's quite scary.'
'He doesn't scare me!'
Muriel smiled to herself. 'Oh! I know he doesn't. You're a match for
him any day.
'Self-made men are all right if they acknowledge that they are, but
he tries to pretend he's a gentleman, and one can't. One either is
or one isn't.
The bell rang and Muriel panicked. 'Oh! They're here! I should never
have organised this. What a fool I am. You answer the door. Go on.
Please! I feel quite dreadful.'
Muriel appeared to fade into the wallpaper so apprehensive was she,
the effect heightened by her being small, pale-complexioned and fair-haired.
Briefly Ralph felt concern for her but then he saw her summon up her
courage and she re-emerged from the wallpaper with a smile on her
face. He patted her arm and hastened to the door.
They'd said four for four thirty but by ten past almost all their
guests had arrived. Presents were given, drinks accepted, kisses exchanged,
chairs occupied, children commended on their smart appearance, greetings
given and in the midst of it Muriel was in a complete flurry. She
should have accepted the help she'd been offered, she knew that now.
There was Evie in the corner without a drink in her hand. Oh dear!
'Evie, what would you like to drink?'
Straining to hear Muriel had to guess she'd said, 'Orange juice, please.'
'Certainly.' In her mind and conversation Muriel always prefixed Evie's
name with 'poor' because that was just how she always looked, and
even more so today. Not poor in the sense of being without money but,
rather, poor in spirit. Oddly dressed in a big emerald green wool
jacket with beneath it a skimpy navy skirt and a black polo-necked
T-shirt. Surely Tom could help her with her clothes? 'Here we are!
There's plenty more. Help yourself. I'm so glad you could come.'
But Evie wasn't for answering and in any case Katherine Charter-Plackett
was demanding Muriel's attention. 'Muriel! I've been away! I'm looking
to you to keep me up to date with the news.'
Katherine always brought out the worst in Muriel and consequently
their relationship was delicate. Muriel looked up and sighed inside.
The holiday had done nothing to soothe Katherine's domineering manner
and certainly nothing to diminish that jutting jawline which appeared
to jut out even further when she was on the warpath. How she came
to have a son as charming as Jimbo Muriel couldn't imagine.
'You must come for coffee next week and I'll bring you up to date.'
Muriel immediately regretted her invitation but she couldn't stop
to talk now, still less face Katherine's detailed interrogation about
the smallest detail.
Katherine thanked her graciously, saying, 'I'll keep you to that.'
Muriel fled, intending to stand by Ralph's side while she recuperated,
but on the way across the hall she met Caroline. 'Caroline! We're
so glad you could come! Where are the twins? Have they got a drink?
I've put out Coca-Cola specially, I know how much they love it.'
'You spoil them. They're in the garden with Peter.'
If anything Caroline was thinner than ever. Anyone, even someone with
a turnip for a head, could feel the unhappiness emanating from her.
And from Peter too. In her heart Muriel damned that actor fellow Hugo
for almost persuading Caroline to run off with him. He'd gone on to
magnificent triumphs at Stratford leaving this girl behind with her
marriage in tatters.
'Enjoying getting back to general practice?'
Her question sparked Caroline off as Muriel knew it would.
'Indeed I am. I'd no idea how much I missed it. One feels to have
such purpose in life.'
'Indeed. Purpose is so important.'
'Three days a week suits me fine. I don't feel too guilty about the
children, you see.'
'It must be hard coping without Sylvia. Can she not see her way to
coming back to help?'
Caroline's face shut down. Her eyes searched around to see if Sylvia
was within hearing. 'Apparently not. Harriet has them until either
Peter or I get back. It seems to be working quite well. Though the
holidays . . .' Caroline shrugged her shoulders.
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