Auntie Mayhem by Mary Daheim

onto a more neutral course.
    â€œColonel Chelmsford,” Charles replied, seemingly happy with his soup. “Chummy, we call him. Old bugger, really—excuse my language—but county through and through. Years ago, his grandfather, Bertram, was quite the big noise around these parts. Dead now, of course. The Chelmsford property borders ours.”
    Given the standards of Ravenscroft House, Judith wondered if the colonel lived in a palace that resembled Sandringham. She was searching for yet another conversational gambit when a tall, gaunt woman in a severe gray dress entered the dining room. Her colorless eyes flickered over the cousins, locked briefly with Charles’s bland blue gaze, and then came to rest on Claire with the force of a branding iron.
    â€œShe must go. Or I will.” Without another word, the woman went out through the other door.
    Charles gave his wife a questioning look. Claire held up two shaky fingers. “Twice. Mrs. Tichborne’s only threatened to quit twice today.”
    Charles uttered a harrumphing sound. “Not bad. Not at all. Perhaps they’ll become quite matey. Millie’s toast is almost never scorched.”
    Somewhat desperately, Judith spooned in more soup. She prayed that, for once, Renie would exercise tact. Her cousin’s reaction to the meager, tasteless meal was bound to be critical.
    But there was no opportunity for Renie to explode. Alexei and a beautiful young woman, who looked enough like him to be his sister and probably was, sauntered into the dining room. Renie’s face fell when she saw they were each carrying crumpled paper bags bearing the Burger King logo.
    â€œStill lunching?” Alex inquired. His usual breezy manner was a trifle smug.
    Renie’s reply was very low: “Not really.”
    Her comment was ignored. Claire introduced Natasha Karamzin to the cousins. Natasha lowered herself onto one of the high-backed chairs and dropped her paper bag in the open soup tureen.
    â€œSo you’re the hostelry experts,” she said in a languid voice. “What do you think—partition all the bedrooms, box up the valuables, and add four more baths and a Jacuzzi in the turret room?”
    Claire had put a finger to her lips. “Hush, Nats. We aren’t to speak of this. Yet.”
    Nats waved a hand. “Oh, bilge! Auntie can’t hear. She’s up in that tower of hers, watching the world go by.”
    Alex had turned one of the matching chairs around and was straddling it, an insouciant grin on his handsome face. “The world passed her by a good while ago, if you ask me. What’s the point to being ninety-four?”
    â€œNow, Alex…” Claire began, her cheeks turning pink.
    Defiantly, Natasha twirled a lock of dark hair in her slim fingers. “I spent six months in L.A. last year. I’ve got tons of ideas for revving up this place. A theme park, maybe. Dinosaurs or vampires.” She gave her brother a tauntingsmile. “You’d look marvelous in a cape, Alex. But you’d have to drink blood instead of hundred-and-fifty-proof liquor.”
    Alex was nonchalant. “Then why bother? I much prefer turning the place into a speedway. I could buy a Lotus and race it. A fast course, plenty of stands, concessions, advertising sponsors—who could ask for more?”
    â€œHow about an ambulance?” Renie inquired under her breath. She stared down at her soup plate. “How about a straw?”
    Alex had gotten up and gone over to a cupboard that was built next to the sideboard. He opened what turned out to be a small refrigerator and removed a bottle of beer. Wrenching off the cap, he winked at Judith. “My sister’s mad for anything from California. She’d like to turn the High Street into a shopping mall. Why not? Who needs a tea shop when you can have The Gap?”
    Nats nodded enthusiastically, her languor replaced by the prospect of Los Angelicizing England.