Jill Churchill: A Groom With a View

The woman at the door was not so much overweight as stocky. Short, but with a big-boned look. With that figure and the oddly crimped short hair, she reminded Jane of the field hockey mistress at a school she'd attended in England when she was a teenager. "You must be Mrs. Jeffry," the young woman said. "I'm Kitty Wilson."

“Bring your things in, Kitty, and please call me Jane." Jane introduced her to Shelley and Layla and said, "I'll show you where your room is, then we better get you up to Mrs. Crossthwait for your last fitting."

“Are Livvy and Dwayne here yet?" Kitty asked as they made their way to the corridor with the monks' rooms.

“No, they don't arrive until tomorrow. There are lots of rooms, but they all share a bath with someone. I've put you and Layla together. Is that all right?"

“Oh, of course. Isn't Layla gorgeous? I wonder how Livvy knows her."

“They were in high school together. What's your connection to Livvy?"

“I'm a secretary at Novelties.”

“Novelties?"

“The Thatcher family company. Livvy is vice president."

“I knew there was a family business," Jane said, "but I didn't know what it was. What does Novelties do?"

“We supply companies with personalized novelty items. Company t-shirts, mugs, pens, key chains, that sort of thing. With their company logo imprinted. We also make up award plaques and framed tributes to retiring employees. Most of the items are little junky things, but some are very nice. Expensive fountain pens with names in gold, crystal paperweights with carved accomplishments — fifty years' service awards and such."

“Here's your room. The bathroom is there and Layla's room is just beyond," Jane said. "What an interesting business. I never even wondered where all those things came from.”

Kitty set her suitcases on the bed. She looked as if she'd packed for a month instead of just a couple days. Kitty had carried two big suitcases, Jane had carried a small one and a box. Jane half expected a trunk to be delivered later. "It's an old company," Kitty said. "Livvy's grandfather, Oliver Wendell Thatcher, founded it, I think. Or maybe it was his father. We have a little museum in the office complex with a bunch of old stuff they did. Wooden rulers with lumberyard names, stamped leather change purses from the twenties."

“This sounds like a big operation," Jane said. "And Livvy is vice president?"

“She's really the president and CEO although her father still officially holds those titles. But Livvy does all the work."

“And you're her secretary?"

“No, I'm the secretary of two of the sales reps. Oh, you're wondering, I imagine, why she chose me as a bridesmaid? That's because I introduced her to Dwayne. I had a blind date with him and we ran into Livvy at the movies. I introduced them and the rest, as they say, is history."

“Oh, I see. I'm sorry to rush you, but—"

“I know. The fitting.”

Jane showed her to the big upstairs room where Mrs. Crossthwait had been installed. Layla and Shelley were there as well, apparently out of sheer boredom. Kitty stripped down to her slip and tried on the jacket of her boxy suit. It was really enormously flattering to her chunky figure. Mrs. Crossthwait fussed about, measuring and turning the sleeves and pinning them in place.

“Is that all that remains to do?" Jane asked loudly.

“That and the skirt hem," Mrs. Crossthwait said. "Take off the jacket, dear.”

Kitty slipped the skirt on and fumbled at the back of the skirt waistband for the button.

“I'll do that, dear," Mrs. Crossthwait said. "Hmmm. You've put on a bit of weight, haven't you?"

“I have not. You must have put the button inthe wrong place." Kitty looked extremely embarrassed at having her figure criticized while she was standing around in her slip in front of strangers.

“I never mismeasure," Mrs. Crossthwait said firmly. "I'll have to let out a little of the ease and move the button.”

Jane almost groaned out loud. More alterations. More delay.

“Shelley, could you help me make up the rest of the beds?" she asked.

“I'll help," Layla said.

“No, this smacks of housework. You're on vacation. Work on your jigsaw puzzle.”

Jane was surprised and delighted to find that most of the little monk cells now had casual flower arrangements on the bedside tables. "I guess Larkspur has been busy," she said. "How pretty they are!"

“Did I hear my name being taken in vain?" Larkspur said from the doorway.

“These arrangements are marvelous. We hadn't talked about them in our planning, though.”

He laughed. "If you're worried about your budget, don't. I found all the flowers in the woods and just stuck them in whatever containers your Mr. Willis would part with. No charge, Mrs. Midas. He's a bit of a dish, isn't he? The Willis."

“Is he cooking yet? I'm starved," Shelley said. "Yes, in fact he sent me to find everyone. Lovely little cress sandwiches.”

Lunch was elegant. They all gathered around the big, scarred kitchen worktable, although Mr. Willis wanted to serve them in the dining room. He was extremely unhappy to learn that there wasn't a dining room. "Where am I to serve the reception dinner then?" he asked.

“No problem," Jane assured him. "The rental people will set up the main room with rows of chairs, church-style with an aisle. As soon as the wedding is finished and pictures are being taken outside, they'll move the chairs back against the walls and put up the buffet table.”

Larkspur was tapping his foot impatiently. "Oh, I'm not too fond of that plan. I'll have to be tearing about with the table flowers like a mad thing.”

Jane said, "I'm sorry, but we have to work with the layout we've got. There's a smaller room just off the main room that probably once had a billiard table and we'll use that for the bridal shower tomorrow afternoon and the bachelor party later in the evening. You'll both be able to get in that room as early as you like to get set up. Meanwhile, we'll have to have our lunch today here in the kitchen.”

Larkspur and Mr. Willis agreed, but grudgingly.

The skivvy served them. Mr. Willis ate his lunch silently, while double-checking the lists he'd made in a small notebook. Jane was doing the same with one of her notebooks. Shelley, Layla, and Kitty tried to find some commonground for conversation and Larkspur told Mrs. Crossthwait a string of arch little jokes. She stared at him as if he were from outer space, but probably harmless. "You're one of 'those' people, aren't you?" she finally said to Larkspur.

“Those people?"

“One of those pansy boys.”

Larkspur's usual smile faded. "More of a sunflower, I'd have said," he snapped. And added, under his breath, "Dirty-minded old bat.”

Halfway through the meal, Uncle Joe turned up, looking outraged at the invasion of his kitchen.

“We'd have invited you to lunch if we could have found you," Jane said sweetly. "Help yourself. Livvy's aunts will be arriving later this afternoon and we'll need you to carry bags. Please don't disappear again.”

Uncle Joe just scowled at her.

When lunch was finished, everyone scattered. Jane sat down with her notebooks at the old-fashioned dial phone in the front hall. She called the local motel to confirm the rooms for the guests who wouldn't be staying at the house, checked that the rental people had the correct tables, chairs, and linens ready to go and had their directions for reaching the lodge right. She gave her mother-in-law a ring to make sure the kids were doing okay and got stuck hearing at length about how Willard, Jane's big, stupid, yellow dog, had brought a live (if only barely so) chipmunk into the house. The creature was still at large. Thelma speculated that it might be rabid. That it might bite her. That it might have babies somewhere in the house. Thelma tended toward dramatic speculations.