Iguana, p.17
All We Have, page 17
“So it’s a straight-out popularity contest?” I said. “With the least popular getting the consolation of more time off?” As I said it I realized a character in Dan’s situation would have all their time off. The manuscript for Tamara had effectively been in cold storage for more than thirty years.
“That’s it in a nutshell. That and the old rule that what goes around comes around.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, judging by the length of time I’ve known Anne, my guess is that her books must have been out of vogue for a while now, am I right?” I nodded. “But they’ll be in again one day,” Dan prophesized. “These things nearly always go in cycles. Look at that Jane Austen crowd. Twenty odd years ago we were swimming in them. Those Bennett girls would show up to anything and everything, bringing their motor mouth mother and their sarcastic father along for the ride. Emma Woodhouse was always trying to fix me up with one or other of those younger Bennett girls, no matter how often I’d tell her I wasn’t interested.” He shuddered at the memory. “But nowadays you never see them. They’ll be back eventually. There’s a limit to how many movie and TV tie ins you can do and then things slow down and as soon as that happens, they end up out of favor again. Anne is just currently in the reverse situation. Maybe her brothers and cousins decided to hang out somewhere else. I’m not really surprised,” He laughed, though not unkindly. “She is a bit of an acquired taste. Very prissy and correct.”
“What does Tamara think of her?” I asked, wondering if Tamara saw Anne as any kind of rival.
Dan grinned. “Ah, poor Tamara. She can’t stand Anne. Says she’d far too well organized, and that anyone who preserves as many bottles of stone fruit as Anne does must have some kind of fruit fetish.” Dan shrugged. “But I like her. She’s smart and not too pushy.” His tone was admiring, and I was starting to feel like I could definitely relate to Tamara’s dislike of this paragon.
“And a bit of a wonder chef?” I couldn’t quite keep the envy out of my voice. My eighth-grade cooking teacher had been driven to despair at my repeated but ultimately doomed efforts to make scones that didn’t break teeth. In the end, he’d had to give up and admit that scone dough and I were just fatally incompatible. In fact any kind of dough, if I’m being honest. And then there was the Chili Con Carne debacle, which was held up to the new classes each year now as an example of what not to do. Literally held up, as much of the chili was still attached, in a carbonized, blackened puddle that resembled nothing so much as a pile of volcanic rock, to one of the saucepans. Dan looked at me, and I smiled to take the sting of sarcasm out of my words. The last thing I wanted him thinking was that I was jealous of Anne. Though of course I was.
“Yeah, she’s pretty amazing.” Dan sighed and I tried not to let my smile curdle as he continued. “She helped me out with deciding what to pack the basket today because, well, it’s not the kind of thing I do often, and I wanted to get it right.” He glanced down at the sandwiches he’d finished stacking with fillings. He placed a final slice of bread on each one and carefully, so as not to dislodge the fillings in the process, maneuvered one of them onto a plate. He held the plate out to me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. I had to admit his last comment about not doing this kind of thing often struck me as pretty sweet, really. I was flattered he’d cared enough to make such an effort, and the sandwich did look tasty. My first bite confirmed this and for a couple of minutes we sat and munched our sandwiches and guzzled our ginger beer in companionable silence. I was happily reflecting on all the thought he’d put in to arranging this lunch, and thinking that I rather liked being so well looked after, when I realized we were no longer alone with the river. Someone had emerged from the trees upstream from our picnic rock, and was walking quickly along the edge of the riverbank, heading right for us.
Chapter thirteen
“Oh great,” Dan muttered. He’d followed the direction of my gaze and he too had spotted the intruder. As the figure moved closer, I was able to identify her from the gleam of her bright auburn hair. Tamara. And she looked anything but pleased to see me. Well, the feeling was mutual. And if she thought she was going to muscle in on our afternoon together she had another think coming. I noticed, Dan had tensed up beside me, as if readying himself for a fight. I put down the remains of my sandwich as he stood up.
Before I had time to say anything he’d taken a flying leap from the boulder, landed on the rocky riverbank below and set off to intercept her. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him coming. When he reached her I strained my ears, but they were too far away for me to hear their conversation, which they conducted in low voices. Tamara glanced at me and then swiftly away again as she spoke. She was clearly upset. After they’d be talking for a while, she raised her voice so it carried through the still afternoon air. “She can’t be here, Dan.” Her voice was laced with frustration. “And you know why. You know it will only keep happening.” Dan glanced back at me then, his expression worried. Taking Tamara’s arm, he steered her around, so their backs were to me. They walked a little way together, stopping just at the edge of the trees. Tamara, obviously not placated in the slightest by whatever Dan was saying, threw off his restraining hand, pivoted on her heel and headed back in my direction, her face a study of determination. Dan’s voice was sharp as he called after her. “Tamara. Wait. Let me.” At the sound of his voice she halted. Dan caught up with her and stepped between me and the glare she was sending in my direction. He spoke to her again, this time without letting her get a word in. Finally, she held up one hand, as if attempting to stem the flood of words from his mouth. But he ignored her. He kept up his tirade until finally she shrugged, said a couple of final words and then, with only a final withering glance in my direction, walked away from him and disappeared into the trees, leaving Dan gazing after her. For a moment I thought he was going to follow her into the woods, leaving me sitting there alone. The thought made me feel mildly panicked. I wasn’t absolutely sure I could find the curtain at the bottom of the river without him, and I didn’t much fancy the alternative of trying to find my way back to the house to use the one in my wardrobe or the one in the schoolhouse. But I needn’t have worried. As I watched he turned and headed back up the riverbank towards me, and I reminded myself Dan wasn’t the kind of guy to leave a girl in the lurch. It wasn’t in his character. The character Bill had written might have been self-righteous and sanctimonious at times, but he was loyal to his friends, in his way. However else Dan might have changed from the character Bill had written all those years ago, he still looked out for his friends. And Dan and I were friends now, I was sure of that too.
As soon as he reached my side Dan began to speak, his face set in a grim expression and his voice urgent. “We have to go, you have to go. Right now.” He extended his hand to me and, without thinking, I took it. Pulling me to my feet, he turned and began to make his way back to the river, dragging me in his wake.
“Dan! Whoa! What are you doing?” I protested, gesturing at the picnic rug which was still spread with our half-eaten lunch. “We can’t just leave all this here.”
But he didn’t even stop to look. “I’ll sort it out later,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. Deciding now was obviously not a good time to ask questions, I allowed him to lead me back to the riverbank and into the water. If anything, the river felt colder now than when we had arrived, probably because we’d spent the past hour sitting on a warm rock sunning ourselves. I shivered as we waded in up to our stomachs, remembering the last time I’d plunged into this water. But Dan had already dived under, leaving me little option but to hurry up and follow his lead. This time I knew what I was going to find at the bottom, and I swam with more confidence, easily keeping up with the rhythmic flash of his smoothly kicking heels, until we arrived together at the curtain. Soon we were on the other side of it, heading towards the light. Breaking the surface, we struck out side by side for the riverbank. Emerging from the water I staggered across the rocks as fast as I could manage on numb feet, heading for my bag. My body was shivering violently. Grabbing my towel from the bag I wrapped it tightly around me and gradually felt my chilled limbs begin to stop shaking. Dan grabbed his towel too, rubbing his chest and back dry with it before wrapping it around his waist. His face was still serious but he looked less stressed than he had on the other side of the curtain. I looked at him expectantly, figuring he would offer some kind of explanation for all that intensity back there with Tamara.
But “guess I’d better walk you home,” was all he said.
“Ummm, ok, wait one second. What just happened here?” I asked. I could tell from the closed down look on his face that he really didn’t want to answer my question. “Dan?” I persisted. “You can’t honestly believe I’m going to let you drag me about like this, through freezing rivers and under curtains at the drop of a hat, without at least the courtesy of telling me what’s going on.”
He shook his head. “It’s complicated, ok?” He sighed heavily as he said it, then closed his mouth again. I frowned at him, but he was refusing to meet my gaze. Loosening my towel from around my shoulders I lowered it until it was under my arms then wrapped it around me again. Tucking the ends securely under the straps of my bikini, I sat down and folded my arms across my chest.
“I’ve got time,” I challenged him. “What’s your hurry?” He looked at the river, then back at me. Then, sighing heavily, he sat down beside me, so our shoulders were touching.
“No hurry, you’re right,” he said begrudgingly. “We’re safe enough, now we’re back here. I just....Tamara just spooked me.”
“I can see that. Not to mention she got you pretty annoyed back there.”
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t always listen and sometimes the way she wants to go about things isn’t the right way.” He stopped then, as if not sure how to go on.
“So I’m picking the reason she was mad at you was something to do with me?” I prompted. “She didn’t seem happy to see us together.”
“It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” Dan began. I looked at him then, and he laughed at my expression. “Well, okay, I’ll admit she’s maybe not your biggest fan.”
“Not exactly, no,” I cut in wryly.
“But she does have your best interests at heart,” Dan continued, ignoring my interjection.
“I’m waiting to be convinced of that,” I said sourly. “And I’m trying to be fair here, but from where I sit it looks like we were hanging out, having a good time, and then she shows up and wrecks the whole scene. How is that in my best interests?”
“She heard something that directly concerned you. Something that she was worried enough about that she felt she had to find me and tell me about it. And lucky she did, or our lunch date might have ended a whole lot differently.”
“So what was it she just had to tell you, that concerns me and couldn’t wait?”
“It’s your new friend the Duke,” Dan began.
“I’d hardly class him as that,” I protested. “I only met the man once and ate a bit of supper with him. And as I recall, I didn’t get to stay long enough to finish that meal either.”
“And as I recall, I explained pretty clearly why I had to get you out of that house,” Dan snapped back. “The guy’s dangerous. I explained to you I was acting in your best interests, even if you still don’t agree with or appreciate that.”
Dan had a point about the Duke, he was pretty disturbed. My reading of his poem had confirmed that beyond doubt. “Sorry,” I apologized, knowing I’d been a bit hasty with the flippancy of my last comment. But I was sick of feeling like I didn’t understand what was going on around me. “You were right about the Duke, and I was relieved to get out of that strange house of his. But what’s he got to do with abandoning a perfectly good picnic lunch in order to dash back here?”
“The Duke is looking for a second duchess,” Dan said. “And he thinks he’s found her.”
“Well, good for him.” I paused, reflecting on what that might mean. “Though that’s not so good for her, poor cow, whoever she is. But I fail to see that the Duke’s matrimonial plans have anything to do with me, or our picnic.”
“You’re the poor cow,” Dan said.
“Hang on a minute,” I flared. “There’s no need to be rude, I’m just trying to under.....oh!” Suddenly I worked out what he was saying. “The Duke’s thinking....you mean?” I felt sick.
Dan nodded, looking serious again. “Yes. Apparently he’s decided you’d be his ideal mate.”
“Me?” I squeaked. “Why me?”
“No idea, don’t ask me,” Dan shrugged. “I’d have thought he’d have looked for someone a little more.....”
“Ye-es?” my eyes narrowed as I waited for him to complete the sentence. Dan looked at me, then took a couple of extra seconds choosing his answer.
“We-ell, obviously older, for starters,” he offered tactfully, clearly backpedaling on whatever unflattering comment he’d been going to make with regard to my suitability as a member of the aristocracy. I decided I’d let that go for now, mainly because being told I was the bride of choice of a crazy Duke with homicidal tendencies was rather taking all my attention.
“Obviously,” I said sardonically. “But why chose me, weird girl from another dimension? Surely he has enough candidates to choose from already. He could choose anyone.” I cast about for some likely candidate. “Say some princess from a fairytale or...or....well, there’s Anne!” I concluded triumphantly.
“Anne?” Dan looked confused.
“Your caterer. Famous Five Anne. She’d be ideal.” I began to tick her good points off on my fingers. “Well mannered, great cook, does dishes, is happy to do all those things about the house for him, you know those things....”
“Housework, you mean?” Now it was Dan’s turn to be sardonic.
“Yes, all that kind of thing. And remember the cooking,” I repeated. “you can’t discount the value of a great cook.” I stopped with the sarcasm then, considering. “In fact, no, she wouldn’t even have to do any of that stuff, would she? He’d have servants to do all that, wouldn’t he? All she’d have to do would be order them about. She’d love it, I imagine, after all those years of being ordered about by Julian and the others.”
“So what you’re saying is, you’d be happy to consign poor Anne to a loveless marriage to a wife-murdering peer? Have I got that right?”
Hmm, he had a point there. Put that way it did sound just a bit heartless. I grimaced. “No, sorry, of course I’m not saying that really. Of course Anne wouldn’t want to marry him. And even if by some remote possibility she did, it would be entirely inappropriate for her to do so, given his track record with wife number one,” I agreed. “I’m only pointing out there must be someone else he could choose who might be prepared to consider him. Perhaps one of Cinderella’s nasty stepsisters? A bit of a come down from a prince, I suppose, but it’s not like they were ever in with a chance there anyway."
“Actually, the stepsisters are really rather nice once you get to know them,” Dan said stiffly, still obviously annoyed by my flippancy. “I’ve met them at a couple of parties and their reputation as nasty spoilt brats is completely undeserved. Their mother, on the other hand, is all you’d expect from reading the story and more. She’d be an ideal candidate for duchess in my opinion, no doubt about it. But no, although your suggestion is appealing in theory, it’d never work in practice.”
“Why not?”
“Partly because the duke has a second duchess, sort of, already. There is a candidate mentioned briefly in the poem, and the person he is speaking to is the envoy of the father of this candidate.”
“O-k,” I said slowly, “So why doesn’t he just marry her then?”
“Because she doesn’t exist,” Dan replied.
Now I was getting really confused. “But you just said there was another candidate.”
“The thing is, she was never named in the poem, never described or given any significant features.”
“So you’re telling me she’s like Robert, a bit of a non-entity?”
“Yes, but even more so than Robert. Robert has a name, an identity, a personality of sorts. The poem is about him as much as Bertha, and what their falling in love with each other did to Myriam. In the Duke’s poem, the second duchess isn’t named, and nothing personal is recorded at all about her. There just isn’t enough substance to her to hang a character on.”
I sighed heavily. It seemed to me Dan was just making things more complicated than they needed to be. “Ok, so like I say, why not just go find some character who does exist and marry her,” I said slowly, emphasizing each word as if speaking to a small child. “E.g. a wicked stepmother or similar.” Honestly, I couldn’t see why Dan couldn’t grasp this as the obvious solution to the Duke’s marital problems.
“Because even if that was really an option, which I doubt, I figure he’s looked into it before and discarded it. Don’t you think he will have looked already for a suitable candidate from among the characters?” Dan said. It looked to me like he was trying to restrain himself from grinding his teeth. “The thing is most of them are too wrapped up in their own stories, and are too tied up with their associated characters. Remember, whoever he marries, he wants their total, undivided attention. He wouldn’t cope at all when they’d be required to go off and be involved in their own narrative without him. Even if he picked a really obscure character from a really obscure book, it would still happen sometimes.” I was starting to see the problem, and at the same time began to grasp the attraction of someone like me, someone who had no narrative or other characters to worry about. “I think what happened is that Myriam told him about you and from there he decided you would make him a perfect duchess. You’re not a character, there would be no demands on your attention aside from his. At least, that’s what he thinks in his twisted, warped little mind.”
