The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror(31)

He was dimly aware, when he came back to himself, that the voice repeating her name was his, and that Alison was trying to wrench her arms back from him. He dropped his hands to his sides, and they broke apart.

“If you’ve left a mark,” Alison said lightly, studying her wrists as she turned her hands over, “that would be extremely tiresome. You know I’m not wearing gloves with my suit tomorrow.” Alison was enormously proud of her hands. So, for that matter, was David. She had a habit of looking pityingly at the ring he had bought her with such indulgence that it never failed to make David want to snatch it off her fingers and make her beg for it back.

“I’ll buy you gloves this afternoon,” he said.

“I don’t want to wear gloves,” she said. “Gloves look priggish on a bride.” Then: “It would be easier if you were able to refrain from grabbing me, darling. Cheaper than buying me a pair of gloves every time you do.”

“I don’t intend to make it a habit,” David said stupidly. “Only—that wasn’t like you, just then. I didn’t like it.”

“I’m sorry for frightening you, David,” she recited, and her voice suggested more than a little of the schoolroom. She grabbed both of his wrists in a light echo of where his hands had been on her and twisted them gently. “Today I will clean my plate, and say, ‘How do you do’ when your mother greets me instead of spitting and baring my teeth, and protect you from officious bridesmaids”—she was laughing now, a real laugh, and David could not help but grin back at her—“and go to bed at a reasonable hour, and tomorrow morning I will marry you, and never give you cause to be frightened or make you feel you must threaten to buy me gloves ever again, I do solemnly swear.”

She kissed him on both temples, her lips blessedly cool. “And I’ll bring you aspirin for your hangover, and be a sober, faithful helpmeet for your new fine and noble life.” Then she kicked her feet free of the blankets, dropped her legs over the side of the bed, and got up. He could hear her singing from the next room as she dressed her hair.

“It was intill a pleasant time,

Upon a summer’s day,

The noble Earl of Mar’s daughter

Went forth to sport and play.

As thus she did amuse herself,

Below a green oak tree,

There she espied a sprightly dove,

Set on a tower so hie.

‘O Coo-my-dove, my love so true,

If you’ll come down to me,

You’ll have a cage of good red gold,

Instead of simple tree:

I’ll put gold hinges round your cage,

And silver roun the walls;

I’ll see you shine as fair a bird

As any of them a’.’

But she had not these words well spoke,

Nor yet these words well said,

’Til Coo-my-dove flew from the tower

And lighted on her head.”

Her head appeared around the doorway. “David,” she said, looking at him intently, “don’t wear your blue suit today. Tess hated you in blue last night. She said you looked like a traffic policeman.”

*

By midafternoon, offset with aspirin and a tentative attempt at lunch, David’s hangover had receded into a general, unobtrusive air of listlessness. Even his headache felt dreamy and hardly worth noticing, and he allowed himself to be drawn from the street into the reception hall (which was something less than a hotel and something more than a teahouse) with dazed good grace. Then they sat and waited for Tess.

The kitchen was closed until five, the waitress had said, but she would bring them coffee and sandwiches, if they wanted. “I can’t imagine wanting either,” Alison said, “but you might bring me a champagne cocktail, if you’re willing to part with one, or else nothing.”

David smiled by way of apology. “Two champagne cocktails,” he said, “or else two of nothing.” The waitress nodded and disappeared through the back door, either to find their drinks or because she couldn’t stand the sight of them another minute.

“I just want you to know,” Alison said, “that it doesn’t matter to me, if you like Tess.”

“I do like Tess,” David protested, aware it was impossible to sound sincere while saying so—and rather resenting her for opening a conversation with both a denial and an assertion of fact. He disliked fighting on two fronts. “I should like Tess. I do like Tess. And Tess should like me. You like me.”

“I don’t think that’s strictly necessary.” Alison had a habit of replying only to a selected portion of David’s conversation, that which she considered worth discussing, and blandly ignoring the rest. It was a terrifically effective strategy; he had never been able to drag her back to a point once she had decided to abandon it.

“Does Tess like me?” David asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Alison said. “She hasn’t done anything to suggest she doesn’t, has she?”

“No, not exactly, only—she looks at one as though she disapproves of how one parts one’s hair, or spells one’s name, somehow.”

“There’s only the one way to spell David.”

“All right, but I still got the distinct impression last night that she was disappointed by the sight of me.”

“Perhaps she was,” she said lightly. “I’ll let you know, if she tells me, and do my best to provide further evaluation so you might make improvements.”