The Peacock Emporium(84)

She wasn’t there. Having checked each room twice, Vivi stood in the hallway and tried to think where else her mother-in-law might have gone. Mrs. Cameron had left, so she couldn’t be out with her. She wouldn’t be in the gardens in weather as filthy as this. “Rosemary?” she called again.

It was then, above the dull rumble of the rain, that she heard the noise: a distant grunting, a shuffling, heralding some unseen effort. She waited, then looked, disbelievingly, at the ceiling and called again. “Rosemary?”

There was a silence that Vivi would remember for weeks afterward. Then, as she made for the door, a muffled exclamation, the briefest pause, and then a terrible, sickening crash from upstairs, overlaid by a furious, strangulated cry.



* * *



—

“I brought you something,” Alejandro said, but he was looking down and Suzanna wasn’t sure who he was speaking to.

“A present?” said Jessie excitedly. She had perked up when he arrived; he always had that effect on her.

“Not exactly,” he said apologetically. “It’s the Argentinian national drink. Mate. Our version of your cup of tea, if you like.” He pulled a brightly colored packet from inside his wet jacket and handed it to Suzanna, who was standing behind the counter. “It’s bitter, but I think you might like it.”

“Mate,” said Jessie, turning the word over in her mouth. “La Hoja Yerba Mate,” she read from the packet. “Fancy a cup of Mate, Suze? Milk and two sugars, is that?”

“Not milk,” said Alejandro, grimacing, “but you can add sugar. Or orange pieces. Maybe lemon, grapefruit.”

“Shall I make a pot?” said Suzanna.

“No, no. Not a pot. Here.” He walked behind the counter so that Suzanna was suddenly acutely aware of his proximity. “You make it in a Mate. Like this.” From the other side of his jacket he produced a voluptuous silver pot, like a miniature pitcher. “Here, let me prepare it. You can both try it and tell me what you think. I will serve you, for a change.”

“It looks like Chinese tea,” said Jessie, staring at the contents of the packet. “I don’t like Chinese tea.”

“It looks like a pile of old leaves and twigs,” said Suzanna.

“I’ll make it sweet,” said Alejandro, shaking the yerba mixture into the pot.

Suzanna stood back against the blackboard, unaware that today’s coffee listings were smudgily transferring themselves to her dark T-shirt. He was so close she could smell him: a mixture of soap and rainwater, and something, underneath it, that made her tense involuntarily. She felt oddly vulnerable.

“I—I’ve got to get on with moving these boxes downstairs,” she said, desperate to regroup. “Call me when it’s ready.” She looked at Alejandro and added unnecessarily, “We—we’ve got loads more stock coming tomorrow. And no room. There’s just no room.” She ran down the rickety staircase, and sat on the bottom step, cursing herself for her weakness as her heart thumped erratically against her chest.

“You’re not usually here at this time,” she heard Alejandro say to Jessie, his voice betraying none of the turmoil she felt. She had no idea what he felt. What am I willing to happen here? she thought, clutching her head. I’m married, for God’s sake, and here I am, throwing myself headfirst into another crush. Anything to avoid what’s really going on in my life.

“Emma’s got drama club,” said Jessie.

Suzanna could hear her feet moving on the wooden floor, and see the slight give in the timbers above as she traveled from one end of the shop to the other. “I thought I’d stay a bit later, seeing as how I haven’t been around much lately.”

“Your head? It looks better.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve literally plastered myself in arnica cream. And you can’t really notice my lip if I have lipstick on . . . Look.” There was a brief silence as, presumably, Alejandro examined Jessie’s face. Suzanna tried not to wish that it was her face on which his fingertips rested gently. She heard Jessie mutter something, and then Alejandro saying it was nothing, nothing at all.

There was a silence, during which Suzanna’s mind was blank.

“That smells,” said Jessie, laughing. “Disgusting.”

Alejandro was laughing too. “No, wait, wait,” he was saying. “I’ll add sugar. Then you can try it.”

I’ve got to get a grip, Suzanna thought, and picked up a weighty box of Victorian photograph albums she had bought at auction. She had planned to remove the pictures and place them in individual frames, but failed to get around to it. She jumped as Jessie’s face appeared at the top of the stairs. “Are you coming up? We’re about to be poisoned.”

“Shouldn’t we call a few of our favorite customers,” she said lightly, “so that they can join us?”

“No, no,” said Alejandro, laughing. “Just you two. Please. I want you to try it.”

Suzanna ran up the stairs. The shop felt suddenly warm and cozy, brightly lit against the dull, damp outside, infused with unfamiliar smells. She moved toward the shelf, began to pull down cups, but Alejandro, with a touch to her arm, stayed her. “No,” he said. “That’s not how you drink this.”

Suzanna looked at him, then down at the Mate pot, from which now emerged a silver straw, twisted like a barley sugar. “You sip it through this,” he said.