Valentine Vendetta

‘Oh, I was years younger then!’ dismissed Mrs. Lockhart airily.

‘Just two as I recall,’ he answered drily.

‘That’s absolute rubbish, Sam!’

From her hidden vantage point, Fran was able to get a good look at Sam’s family.

His mother was still—even at the age of seventy—a remarkably striking presence. Almost as tall as Sam, her finely-boned face was surrounded by iron-grey hair which still fell in the mass of curls for which she had been known in her heyday. She had all the bearing and natural grace of an actress, and it was easy to recognize the television star she had once been.

Madelaine and Meredith, known affectionately—‘but not always affectionately’ as Sam had remarked earlier—as Maddy and Merry, were as different as chalk and cheese.

The redhead in the floppy hat was Maddy, the actress, pin-thin and tall like her mother, wearing exquisitely embroidered clothes of clashing colours and lots of velvet and lace.

Merry, on the other hand, was dark like Sam, with fierce navy eyes and a sensual mouth which smiled more easily than her brother’s did. A scientist by profession, she was a quiet woman, who was frighteningly clever, according to Sam.

Mrs. Lockhart was flapping one heavily-bangled hand impatiently. ‘Now just where is this girl?’

Sam frowned. ‘Girl? What girl?’

‘Maddy says you’ve been acting very strangely and it must be due to a woman!’

Sam shot an acid glance in the direction of his younger sister who gave a smug grin in response. ‘Well, Maddy—as usual, I’m afraid!—is engaging her mouth before she uses her brain! The only woman here is Fran Fisher, and she was hired to organize this birthday dinner for you.’

Fran thought it might be diplomatic to slip back into the shadows at this point.

‘But Maddy also said that you were cooking!’ said Mrs. Lockhart, looking at her son in confusion. ‘So what will this Fran Fisher actually be doing?’

Fran reappeared at the door. ‘I’ll be setting the table, pouring the drinks and doing the clearing up,’ she smiled. ‘I’m Fran, by the way.’

‘So Sam’s playing wifey and you’re playing husband?’ said Maddy, looking directly at Fran with a twitch of her wide lips. ‘How very cosy!’

‘Shut up, Maddy!’ warned Sam. ‘And Fran’s actually being too modest. She’s made a birthday cake and has been teaching me how to cook—’

‘Even cosier!’ gurgled Maddy gleefully.

‘Shut up, Maddy!’ said Meredith softly.

Sam narrowed his eyes. ‘Fran, come and say hello to my mother and sisters.’

He watched with some amusement as the women all began to size one another up while they shook hands.

‘Why don’t I take your coats?’ asked Fran. ‘And you can all go in and sit by the fire while I prepare tea. Oh, and very many happy returns, Mrs. Lockhart!’

‘Why, thank you, my dear!’

Soon they were all settled in the sitting room, and when Fran walked in carrying a loaded tray, she found them looking the picture of contentment. Mrs. Lockhart was sitting in the stiff-backed chair by the window, leaning forward so that Sam could place a cushion at the small of her back. Merry was reading the newspaper while pretending not to, and Maddy was stretched

out like a cat in front of the fire, peeling an orange she had plucked from the fruit bowl and negligently throwing segment after segment into her wide mouth.

They all looked up as Fran put the tray down.

‘Milk or lemon?’ she recited. ‘And there are scones, fruit cake—’

Sam was suddenly by her side. ‘Sit down, Fran,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll pour.’

‘So you’re playing Mummy as well as wifey, are you, Sam?’

‘Shut up, Maddy!’