‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.’ (J Austen)
It was on a bright Sunday morning that Penelope delivered her opening gambit over the breakfast table,
‘I see that Rose Cottage has been let at last...’
Her apparently innocuous remark echoed across the jar of marmalade, over the milk jug and ricocheted off the teapot, but it made no apparent impression on her husband on its circuit round the far end of the table. Tom had long discovered that hiding behind his newspaper was the best line of defence.
Penny had not expected a response from her father, who habitually set his audio input circuits to mute whenever his daughter took a deep breath in preparation for an attack.
‘… she seems to be a rather genteel sort of person, and very well spoken.
Recently widowed I understand.’
At that precise moment Grandpa William’s attention was entirely concentrated on the significant glances passing between the two golden haired girls seated on the other side of the table. The enemy was clearly planning something special, and he would need to stay alert. There had been little activity since the incidents of the cling film over the toilet bowl, and the peanut butter in his socks.
The sooner those girls became teen-agers the better – and then he could leave their parents to deal with a multitude of entirely different problems.
‘I think that I may invite her round for a cup of tea once she has settled in.’
Again there was little reaction, except that the girls seemed to be enjoying some sort of private joke.
Grandpa William made a mental note to examine his bedroom in minute detail at the earliest opportunity.
Some days later, when he arrived home from his weekly shuffle to the mobile library, he was dismayed to hear strange voices coming from the sitting room. One individual was immediately identifiable by the tone adopted by Penny when she wished to make an impression, but the other was clearly an interloper. William made a point of avoiding visitors, but on this occasion escape was impossible. He was seen creeping through the hall and manhandled into the room to be given a formal introduction to the guest, who proved to be a rather trim grey-haired lady, smartly dressed in vibrant red. This was clearly Mrs Martin’s preferred colour, since her entire ensemble was perfectly matched, from earrings to lipstick and nail varnish. William promptly decided to avoid looking too closely in case the vivid crimson brought on his migraine, and, mumbling some kind of greeting, he retreated to the furthest armchair and concentrated on making himself totally invisible. Penelope and Mrs Martin were exchanging initial salvos, so there seemed little danger of being drawn into the conversation. However, he was surprised that his daughter, as acting chairperson of the meeting, seemed intent on moving the agenda on to family history, which consisted mainly of a catalogue of her father’s successes, from eleven-plus to career achievements and pension entitlement. So it was a relief when the discussion moved on to more general issues.
It was difficult to decide which of the two was the more adept at small talk. Penny opened one club with an enquiry about children, and Mrs Martin raised to one diamond with a long description of her grandson’s paintings. Penny bid one no-trump with Vicki’s trombone lessons, only to be countered by two hearts in violins and two spades in tonsils. William tried a pre-emptive three no-trumps in lumbago, but was outbid by Katie’s asthma and then Mrs Martin’s small slam in hip replacements.
The ladies were having a wonderful time.
Soon they were discussing Bingo evenings, harvest suppers and barn dances, and William began to count the bricks in the conservatory wall; but his calculations were interrupted a few minutes later when the girls arrived home for lunch. As usual, they burst into the house in a flurry of school bags, girlie comics, ballet shoes and excited chatter, but this came to a sudden halt when they realised that there was a visitor in the house. Switching instantly to their sophisticated young ladies disguise, they stood politely as their mother introduced them to their guest. They spoke very formally. Victoria enquired after Mrs Martin’s health, while Katherine asked how she was settling in to her new home, and then they both expressed their delight that at last Rose Cottage had a new tenant. They graciously accepted cups of tea, and then they sat side by side on a wickerwork settee and listened attentively to the adult conversation without saying a word.
William stared at them in astonishment. Clearly someone had kidnapped his real granddaughters and had replaced them with brainwashed clones. They sat very upright and their heads moved from left to right and back again as the conversational contest was rejoined.
Penelope opened the second set with fifteen love for the glories of the local comprehensive, but Mrs Martin countered immediately with her grandson’s grammar school, only to be at the receiving end of a high smash from Tom’s private education. She recovered immediately and took the score to thirty all with her holiday in the Bahamas. Penny was shaken, but she struck back gamely with plans to take the children to Euro-Disney; but this was declared a let when Mrs Martin remarked that her grandchildren were there last summer. She then served a sizzling ace by casually remarking that they hadn’t enjoyed it half as much as Disney World in Florida. Penny took a deep breath and tried a rather weak day trip to Calais, but it was countered immediately by a backhand rail trip volley to Brugge. This was followed by a remarkable rally involving a service camping in Normandy, a fierce forehand skiing return to Austria, a high lob cruise in the Mediterranean and a final winner down the tramlines and up the Nile. The game ended with a forehand of canals in Venice, countered by Mrs Martin’s superb drop volley into Abu Simbel via the Valley of the Kings.
William could see that Penny was getting the worst of it, and the ball was staying in the visitor’s court for longer at each exchange. It came as no surprise when his daughter finally resigned by mentioning that it was time to give the children their lunch, and it was agreed that the match would continue at some later date. The girls had followed the flow of play with rapt attention, but it was difficult to assess their reactions. There was no round of applause for the winner, but they had certainly been impressed by the visitor’s style.
It was only when Mrs Martin was taking her leave that William discovered that he had agreed to accompany Tom and Penny for a meal at Rose Cottage on the following Thursday evening. Penelope made all the appropriate noises at the front door regarding the profound delight it gave her, the family and the neighbours that Mrs Martin had condescended to move into the village. She swore her eternal friendship and her impatience for their next meeting, while her visitor expressed the belief that in future they would spend half their lives in each other’s houses. Finally they tore themselves apart and Mrs Martin gave them all a cheery wave as she set off down the lane, only pausing momentarily to treat them to another brilliantly white smile. William wondered anxiously how many other events he had been committed to whilst asleep behind his wide-eyed expression. No doubt he would find out in due course.
The following week was uneventful, although it was remarkable how many times he bumped into Mrs Martin in the village shop, outside the pub and at the post-box. But it was after all a very small village, and chance meetings were bound to happen. However, there was a rather odd occurrence on Wednesday night, although it could have just been his imagination. He woke with a start some time in the early hours, and he could have sworn that he heard giggling from somewhere below his bedroom window; but the moonlit garden was totally empty when he got up to check for burglars.
Thursday arrived much too soon, and William’s mood deteriorated further when Penny announced that she and Tom were double booked and so would not be able to join the dinner party. In spite of all his protestations, and much against his better judgement, he was laundered, polished and pressed into his one and only suit, and then forced to stand to attention for a full kit inspection. His daughter seemed to approve of the final result, although William felt more like one of Madame Tussaud’s less than successful creations.
The entire family gathered to wave him off, and even the girls made an effort to ensure that the evening went well. Vicki came running after him down the lane and passed him a small neatly wrapped parcel, tied with a bright red ribbon. As she explained, one couldn’t arrive for dinner empty handed. William accepted the package gingerly, and, as soon as he was out of sight, he checked carefully to make sure that it wasn’t ticking.
It was not so odd that Mrs Martin took some time to answer the door bell, but the handkerchief held up to the lower part of her face was a bit peculiar. No doubt a touch of hay fever or a summer cold.
Such thoughts evaporated when he found himself seated in a comfortable armchair, grasping a glass of beer, listening to Mozart, and enjoying the rich aroma of steak and kidney pie. Strange how she had managed to alight on his favourite beer, music and food; but perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a bad evening after all.
It was only when he discovered that the table had been laid for one that the evening began to get really weird. Mrs Martin explained from the serving hatch that she wasn’t really hungry and that she had eaten earlier, but she would join him for the dessert. Grandpa William ate his meal in total silence, while Mrs Martin busied herself in the kitchen. Even Mozart had decided to call it a day and had packed up his magic flute and left.
It was over the sherry trifle that William remembered his little gift. He handed over the package with a shy smile, then waited impatiently as Mrs Martin carefully unwrapped it.
There was a moment of stunned silence - a sharp intake of breath - and for an instant William thought that his hostess had suffered a stroke. Then all was revealed.
A set of brilliant white dentures grinned up at them from a layer of cotton wool at the bottom of the box.
Of course Grandpa William made every effort to apologise – and to suggest that amateur burglary was just a pre-pubescent phase (for he had no doubt who was to blame and how the feat had been achieved), but it seemed that Mrs Martin had some difficulty in appreciating the joke.
While he attempted to explain his granddaughters’ sense of humour, it rapidly became clear that Mrs Martin had none at all.
As he trudged back up the lane he reflected that, all in all, it had been quite a pleasant evening. The food and drink were first rate– and the entertainment had been excellent.
A few weeks later Tom found an announcement in the local paper, which he read out over breakfast,
‘Here’s something that will interest Grandpa. His friend Mrs Martin has just got married to a butcher in Hadwell, and they are off on honeymoon to Bognor.’
Penelope gave the girls a severe look, but they were both too engrossed in packing their school bags to see it. Grandpa William hadn’t noticed either, but carried on trying to find the solution to three across.
