202. Diamonds are for Fun!

202. Diamonds are for Fun!

Saturday morning, as part of my old new routine, I headed off for Aunt Mabel and Uncle Gen’s house. I found everything as it should be there, and went to work happily in the library with my aunt.

Our efforts were fruitful and we stopped to have a light, pleasant lunch prepared by Granny Milksops and Pearl under trees that were still summery and a breeze that was thinking autumn, and I was so contented, but, come teatime, the wind changed.

Mabel´s mother and daughters showed up. Mabel began to fret when they were announced. 

“No! No! No!” she cried. “I´ll have to go downstairs. What will I say to them? What will they want? They are sure to want something if they’ve come all the way here.  Why are they pestering me? What good will it do? I can’t do a thing for anyone! I don’t know how to.”

Uncle Gen tried to calm her and when he couldn’t, went down himself to receive his mother-in-law and his twin daughters.

“Maybe they just want to see you, Auntie,” I said.

“No. They always want something. And it never is money. I could just give that to them. End of the story. But no. They are going to want me to speak with someone and I don’t speak with people. Or to go somewhere, and I don’t go anywhere. I don’t manipulate people, Arley, and I hate it when someone tries to manipulate me.”

“Aren’t you curious to know what they want?”

“If you are, you can go downstairs and find out.”

“I’m not leaving you alone up here,” I said, and added to myself, “not champing back and forth in the room like a horse dying to run.”

“Thank you,” said Aunt Mabel. “I do need support.”

And then Uncle Gen was back.

“Come down, Mabel. You will want to hear this. You’ll want to defend Richie.”

“What?” said Aunt Mabel. Her face immediately changed. She no longer looked like a nervous wreck. She looked like a tigress.

Uncle Gen nodded and led her off by the arm and I followed them.

Granny Milksops was rearranging the table where we have tea, out in the fabulous  gallery that looks on the sea. It was set for three and now she was setting it for six. And then Mum arrived.

“For ten or so, Granny,” said Uncle Gen. “I have a feeling we will be at least nine.”

“A dozen then,” said Granny.

Uncle Rich was in the Fairy Papers. He had somehow contacted Aunt Pomba. And he had taken her and over four and twenty of her pigeons on a shopping spree in New York. He had reserved a whole floor in the most expensive human hotel he could find for his guests. The kellys – the ladies that cleaned the hotel rooms - wanted to lynch Uncle Rich when they saw what the pigeons were  doing to the suites and went on a strike. Uncle Richearth  gave them a whole year’s salary , promised to give them another twelve months worth when he left and said they didn’t have to clean anything until he was gone. The trouble at the swimming pool was more difficult to assuage,  but Uncle Wildgale got the hotel to settle out of court.  Neither the pigeons nor Aunt Pomba were much interested in water, so they just decided to stay in their rooms when in the hotel, making great use of room order. What they really enjoyed, however, was breakfast at a certain jewelry store. The owners called it a day and closed the shop for Uncle Rich – they knew him well and they had done this for him before - and aside from a lot of other abusively expensive shimmery bling he bought Aunt Pomba a magnificent granny’s shawl generously decked with diamonds the size of plovers’ eggs instead of glass sequins. Ah, and Uncle Wildgale, who was the third in discord,  ignored the caviar and champagne and ate up all the cheese crunchies at hand.

“I could have done good business if these people hadn’t been human. I told those people the champagne they served was like horse pee, and they had to taste mine. My champagne, of course, not my...you know.”

“Hush, Rich, don’t make it worse,” said Aunt Mabel. She was sitting by his side and looked ready to jump at anyone who might say a word against him.Uncle Richearth gave her one of his beaming smiles. He knew he was even more than her favorite brother-in-law. It came out later in the conversation that if Mabel hadn’t been already married when Richie was born, she might have favored him. As it was, she was more a mother to him than to her daughters.   

Uncle Richearth and Uncle Wildgale had arrived too. Uncle Richearth was very happy because he had had a good time. Uncle Wildgale looked as if he repented of having complained to Mum about Rich’s pique about Clepeta. He probably thought he should have let things be.

“Sweetheart, it’s September. You should be in hiding,” said Aunt Mabel to Uncle Rich.

“I was. Who would have searched for me in human New York? Who would have thought the human paparazzi would take an interest in Aunt Pomba?  You know, they thought I was her gigolo. I!” And he began to crack up at the thought of that.

“Why don’t we break this reunion up and just forget anything ever happened this summer?” said Uncle Wildgale. “He never got to take the fortuneteller to Las Vegas. I blew that woman and her pigeons home when he said he would  and they are alive and well and enjoying their loot and they are none of our business anymore.”

“What if that old lady had suddenly died from overexcitement?” asked the Blue Twins in unison. “Her ghost would have haunted you forever, Uncle Rich.”

“I like Pomba. She’s good fun,” said Uncle Rich. 

And thus we arrived at the real reason for this  gathering.

“You know why your relationships don’t last, dear?” said Aunt Cybela. “Because they are all imprudent misalliances. Your first wedding, for example. You didn’t have a spectacular fairy tale wedding. That was with a human in Las Vegas and the police took her away because she had murdered her former husband for insurance money. Am I right?”

“They took her away before I could say that yes, I did. So I didn’t have to get a divorce or anything. But I kept sending her money for her little needs back there in jail until she passed away. You know, her ghost appeared to me and thanked me for that.”

“Luck was on your side. But will it hold out?”

“It wasn’t luck, it was me. I ratted on the murderess,” said Uncle Wild. “I called the police. But nobody gives me credit for anything.”

“We know you are doing all you can, dear. But will you hold out? This has been going on for far too long,” said Cybela.

“We’ll be alright,” shrugged Uncle Wildgale, “We’ve been living like this for more than two centuries. As long as he doesn’t perform a disappearing act.”

“Honey, forgive me for saying this, but you need a vaccation, Wildie. You need a life! We’ll get down to that once we´ve fixed up your brother.”

“Next place again,” muttered Uncle Wild. “It’s you little meddling witches, isn’t it? You’ve put your granny up to this. You haven’t had enough brewing up the Clepeta cauldron fiasco, have you, you infernal harpies?”

“We never meant Clepeta for Richearth,” the Blue Twins defended themselves. “He went into that quagmire on his own.”

“Why don’t you go find yourselves company instead of harrying others?” scowled Uncle Wild.

In a flash, Charlie Treadfaster and Nicholas Sweetquill, the Blue Twins’ eternal beaus, materialized at the table.

“Hmm. I thought so,” said Granny Milksops to Pearl. They had been sitting near a door to the gallery listening to the whole conversation. “Now there are eleven, aren’t there? If Oberon shows up, we still won’t be one short.”

“Don’t even mention that man by name. My husband can’t learn about this.”

“But it’s in the papers,” said Pearl.

“That’s not what we are hiding from him, dear.”

I looked at Uncle Wild and it was obvious he was making a great effort not to blow the beaus away. One thing I do have to say for Sweetquill and Treadfaster. They may not be much to look at and they probably have even less of a chance of winning a fight than even I would have, but they are always there when the twins need them. I have never heard either of them ever speak a word, but I have heard Sweetquill is a sort of Barbara Cartland and writes series after series of romantic novels, all well received by his devoted readers, which include hairy-chested macho types who are capable of sobbing like babes when they read about the misfortunes of an ill-fated heroine. I have no notion what Treadfaster is about.

“You have someone for me, don’t you?” sighed Uncle Rich. “Pomba read my palm and said you would. She said our love had no future. But it was fun while it lasted.”  

“We not only have something for you, darling,” said Cybela. “We have the best thing on the marriage market. You’ll be getting two for one, and they will owe you a favor. They are magnificent women, but they will be grateful.”

“Oh, wow!” I thought, “He’s getting Siamese twins!”

 But that was not quite it.