Chapter Thirty #2
From the bathroom, she could hear the shower running and the occasional muffled grunt from Kenneth. Thank God, she thought, at last he’s making an effort. She decided that if her husband kept his behaviour toned down, she would end her vow of silence and begin speaking to him again.
‘Kenny!’ she called out. ‘I’m going ahead, I’ll see you in the cocktail bar.’
‘Lovely jubbly, Babs!’ he replied. ‘Line up a large one for me and I promise to be good.’
Without her husband peering over her shoulder, Barbara was secretly pleased to be heading out on her own and felt that there would be a message from the captain. Something discreet, possibly handwritten, waiting for her at guest services.
Lifting her chin, she made her way with the confidence of a woman who knew the power of cosmetic surgery, diamonds and perfectly applied lipstick. Whatever the evening ahead held, Barbara was ready for it.
Leticia and Jim were also ready for the evening.
They were making their way to the restaurant for the Boxing Day meal.
Knowing that Henry and Joy wouldn’t be joining them, Leticia had called Lady Eleanor and Margaret to ask if they would like to dine with them again, feeling duty-bound to explain that Barbara and Kenneth would no doubt be at the table too.
Lady Eleanor’s reply had been warm. ‘Dear Leticia, you and Jim made such good company, and with Henry and Joy away, a little solidarity wouldn’t go amiss. I’m sure we can buffer ourselves against Kenneth’s anecdotes and survive to enjoy the evening.’
Margaret accepted in a flash. ‘Don’t worry, Leticia, I can always remind Kenneth that conversation is a two-way affair. Hope springs eternal!’ she added.
With the four of them comfortably seated and Jhamille and Ryan attentively seeing to their needs, glasses of champagne were poured as they waited for Barbara and Kenneth’s arrival.
‘I’ve spoken to my son, and everything is arranged for a New Year’s Eve party at the Dower House,’ Lady Eleanor said, turning to Leticia and Jim.
She had a warm smile for Jhamille as she accepted her glass.
‘You’ll have accommodation at the Dunmore Hall Boutique Hotel.
It’s part of our estate in County Kildare, and I truly can’t wait to return home now.
It will be a joy to have a celebration to look forward to. ’
There was a noticeable change in Lady Eleanor that hadn’t been there before. Gone was the weariness of someone passing away their time at sea. The idea of returning to the Dower House seemed to have stirred her as though her lethargy following Sir Richard’s death was passing.
‘Are you looking forward to going home?’ Leticia asked.
Lady Eleanor’s gaze rested on Leticia, ‘It’s time, my dear,’ she said. ‘I must face up to the fact that Richard won’t be there. I need to create new memories in my home, and a party will be the perfect way to kick start them.’ She raised her glass, ‘Here’s to stepping back into my own world.’
Heads turned as Barbara joined the party. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. With no message for her from the captain, Barbara’s expression was disgruntled. ‘No Joy or Henry tonight?’ she asked, and as she looked at the company, her face lit up. ‘Lady Eleanor and Margaret …’
‘Nope,’ Margaret replied. ‘The pair of them have gone AWOL, but we won’t be gossiping about them,’ she shot a warning glance at Barbara, ‘so you’ll just have to put up with us.’
‘Oh, what a terrible shame.’ Barbara, taking heed of Margaret’s comment, could hardly disguise her delight as Jhamille flicked out her napkin. ‘I mean that we won’t have their company,’ she added, clearly delighted by the replacement guests. A flush of satisfaction coloured her cheeks.
Margaret raised an eyebrow, and Lady Eleanor gave a gracious nod.
‘No, Kenneth, tonight?’ Jim asked.
‘He had an important call and will be along presently,’ Barbara lied, silently cursing her husband for not arriving on her arm. She took a sip of champagne and attempted to appear calm, but her kitten-heeled feet tapped anxiously beneath the table.
Leticia was extolling the delights of ?lesund and describing her earlier walk with Joy, and everyone’s attention was diverted. No one noticed that Kenneth had ambled into the restaurant, one hand in his pocket, the other waving to guests as he passed.
When a sixth sense made Barbara look up, her glass almost slid through her fingers, and her jaw dropped.
The fool has completely lost his marbles and parted ways with his sanity … Barbara stared aghast at her husband.
Kenneth beamed as he sat down, wearing an unmistakable troll wig, clearly a gift shop purchase. It was perched on the top of his head. Despite his handiwork with Barbara’s nail scissors, orangey-conker-coloured tufts stuck out at odd angles, and an uneven fringe wobbled as he moved.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ Kenneth said grandly, as though nothing were amiss.
As he sat next to Barbara, Lady Eleanor pressed a handkerchief to her lips, and Margaret coughed loudly into her napkin. Tactically looking away, Jim and Leticia studied a wine list.
Barbara didn’t flinch. To her credit, she smiled at Kenneth with a haunted calm. ‘There you are, darling,’ she said sweetly, patting the seat beside her. ‘You’ve made quite an entrance.’
Kenneth took his place and whispered, ‘I think it gives me an air of Viking mystery.’
Too stunned to reply, Barbara looked away.
The meal continued, at times with a forced politeness as the dinner guests found it impossible not to steal a glance at Kenneth. Eventually, Margaret, reaching for the butter, leaned towards him. ‘Is the hairstyle inspired by local folklore?’ she asked.
‘Ah, you noticed,’ Kenneth said proudly. ‘I had it styled in ?lesund,’ he said as though the hair of the wig was his own. ‘I told the stylist I wanted something with ancestral gravitas.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly achieved something. Congratulations on your bravery. Last time I saw a head of hair like that it was on Fergus, my Shetland pony,’ Margaret smiled, ‘just after he caught it on an electric fence.’
By the time desserts arrived, Kenneth’s wig had begun to droop to the left.
Barbara, who’d calmed her anger with a bottle of Sauvignon, thought that he looked like a garden gnome caught in a gale.
To make matters worse, her skin had begun to itch, and as she glanced anxiously in her compact mirror, she saw that bright red blotches were blooming across her face.
‘Are you all right?’ Leticia asked kindly.
‘Perfectly,’ Barbara said and snapped the compact closed. ‘Just a touch of earlier sea breezes, which are very bracing on the pores.’ She touched her skin, which felt as though it had been dipped in a deep-fat fryer.
Kenneth squinted and leaned in closer. ‘I say, Babs, you look like you’ve been stung by a swarm of bees.’
Barbara stared at him. She must be allergic to the seaweed infused products that the beautician had used on her skin.
Her face burned. The wig. Her hypersensitive reaction.
Together they were the complete irrevocable humiliation.
She rose stiffly and pushed back her chair.
‘I think I need a little bit of air,’ she said, her voice tight, and without waiting for Kenneth to join her, walked somewhat unsteadily towards the exit.
‘I’ve got some aloe vera lotion in my cabin,’ Leticia offered, already folding her napkin. ‘It might help soothe her skin.’ She kissed the top of Jim’s head and followed Barbara.
‘’Allo Vera?’ Kenneth grinned brightly and looked around the table. ‘Who’s she?’
There was a moment of silence. Then, with a sigh, Margaret picked up her wine glass and muttered softly, ‘Poor old Babs …’