Margot Dalton - A Family Likeness

“Really? You think he’ll still be doing the column?” Gina asked with sudden excitement. “Maybe he’ll mention the hotel. Anything that brings us to the attention of the public is good for business.”

“As long as he writes about how good the food is,” Mary observed placidly.

“And doesn’t devote whole columns to disruptive pets.” Roger glanced at Annabel, who’d emptied her dish and was now clattering it noisily around on the floor in a vain attempt to discover stray morsels clinging to the sides or bottom.

Mary glared at him. “ Most people,” she said coldly, “have better things to do with their time than sit around insulting poor defenseless animals.”

“Ah, yes. My cue to depart.”

Roger got to his feet, smiled at the two women and strolled from the room. They could hear the sound of a truck starting outside, followed by the slow rumble of his departure along the lakeshore road.

“He isn’t going home,” Gina said, leaning forward to peer out the window. “He must be going into town.”

She seated herself at the worktable again, setting the newspaper down carefully next to her tackle box. Mary continued to work at the central table, mixing batter in the bowl with fierce strokes.

“Mary?” Gina said.

“What?”

Mary bent down to take Annabel’s feeding dish away. The poodle sank onto her fat haunches and watched with a comical look of dismay.

“Did you notice something different about Roger tonight?”

“Of course I did,” Mary said curtly.

“What is it?”

“He’s all dressed up. He’s wearing his second-best pants, those gray pleated corduroys, and the new sweater I gave him for Christmas.”

Gina’s eyes widened. “You’re right,” she said, putting down her pliers. “I remember when he got that sweater, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing it before.”

Mary murmured something to the poodle, then returned to her task.

“Why would he be all dressed up?” Gina said, puzzled. “This is just an ordinary Saturday night, isn’t it? I mean, their chamber group isn’t playing anywhere. He always tells me when they have a concert in case I want to go along.”

“Oh, it’s certainly not a concert, ” Mary said.

Gina pushed her chair back, completely intrigued by now. “Mary, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing very important. Roger has a lady friend, that’s all.”

“You’re kidding.” Gina gaped at the cook, astounded, while Mary continued to whip the batter. “How could Roger possibly have a girlfriend without me knowing?”

Mary remained silent and tipped the contents of the blue bowl into a pitcher, then stored it away in one of the two oversize fridges along the wall.

“Look,” Gina persisted, “are you serious? I mean, about Roger having a lady friend?”

Mary poured herself a mug of coffee and sat wearily at the table. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m quite serious.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gina said, “who the woman could be. I don’t think there’s anybody in town who’d be even faintly eligible. Although—” she frowned thoughtfully “—when one considers Cecil Bedlow and Marianna Turner, I guess anything’s possible.”

“It’s not somebody from town,” Mary said, bending to stroke Annabel. “It’s a stranger. A woman who’s staying at Fred’s motel out near the winery.”

“How did Roger meet her?”

“Apparently she came to one of their chamber concerts and struck up a conversation with him. Roger’s taken her out several times since then for drives and coffee.”

“Why,” Gina said plaintively, “does nobody ever tell me anything?”

Mary shrugged. “I thought it was no big deal at first. Apparently this woman is one of the shareholders in the winery, and she wanted to come out and look at her investment firsthand. At least, that’s what Fred says.”

“Well, Fred should know. He runs the motel, after all.”

“Fred’s not all that bright,” Mary said sadly. “Even if he is my second cousin.”

“So how long has this woman been staying at the motel?”

“About two weeks.”

“Have you met her, Mary?”

“Annabel, stop that whining!” the housekeeper warned with unusual sharpness. “Stop it this instant!”

The poodle slunk away into the hallway, casting a bitter glance over her shoulder as she did so.

“Mary?” Gina prodded.

“Yes,” the housekeeper said, rubbing the back of her neck with a weary sigh. “I’ve met her, all right. She was in the drugstore yesterday, and Maybelle introduced us. I knew the woman was interested in Roger, so I took a real good look at her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lacey Franks.”

“And how old is she?” Gina asked.

“Probably about fifty, but she looks ten years younger than she is. Dyed hair,” Mary said. “Bright clothes and lots of makeup, but she’s careful with it so you can’t tell.”

Gina wound another fishing fly onto her vise, gripping the pliers in silence.

“She’s very stylish.” Mary looked down ruefully at her cotton dress and brown cardigan. “And she dresses to show off her figure, too. Yesterday when Maybelle introduced us, she was wearing a little yellow tennis dress with a sweater tied over her shoulders like the women in the television ads.”

Gina shook her head in amazement. “And our Roger is interested in her? He’s actually taken her out on a date? ”

“More than once,” Mary said darkly. “Maybelle told me she saw them sitting in a booth at the Clamshell eating lobster, holding hands and laughing together like teenagers.”

“Well, for goodness’ sake,” Gina said, pleased by this image. “Isn’t that nice.”

Mary folded a plastic covering over one of the mixing bowls.

“Where does this Lacey Franks live?” Gina asked. “Does the local gossip network know anything about her?”

“Only that she’s supposed to be rich and her home address is somewhere in West Vancouver.”

“That’s a pretty posh area, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mary said. “I really wouldn’t know.”

The cook got up, removed her apron and hung it in the pantry. With a softly worded good-night, she made her way out of the kitchen, leaving Gina sitting alone at the window, gazing thoughtfully out at the darkness.

ALEX COLTON, TOO, was gazing into the darkness through the window in his study. The sun had vanished below the horizon in a fiery ball of orange, and the light across the waters of English Bay had faded quickly.

At last he got up and prowled restlessly around the little room, picking up papers and setting them down again, scanning the shelves for a book to take up to his room later. But nothing looked interesting.

“Lord, how I need a holiday,” he muttered, returning to the window. “Or at least a change of scene.”

He thought about the vine-covered mansion in the Okanagan, and the newly papered room where he would soon be staying. The place was enormously appealing, especially with that air of bygone elegance that so perfectly suited the peaceful drowsy warmth of its rural setting.

It was odd, Alex mused, that Janice had never mentioned the hotel to him. She’d obviously learned about it years ago and set aside that brochure in anticipation of a time when they could travel there on a family vacation.

But for the past two years, Jan hadn’t been well enough to travel anywhere. And in the final months of her life, she often hadn’t even been able to remember her husband’s name or their daughter’s face, let alone the address of a resort hotel.

Alex gazed blindly out the window at the dark silvered water, trying to fight off the image of Janice’s twisted face, her body ravaged by an illness so brutal that in the end, it destroyed every vestige of dignity and composure. With a little shock of alarm, he realized he could no longer remember her as she’d looked before the illness. He picked up a photograph from his desk and studied the smiling image in the gold frame.