Millie! It will not only hold throughout tonight’s boring festivities, it will actually feel reasonably comfy.”
Beaming in pleasure, Millie hugged as much of Desdemona as she could reach. “Thank you, thank you!” she cried. “Aunt Emilia said you could do anything with a needle, but I hated invading your privacy, the busy mother. However, unless Jim’s book is a big seller, we can’t possibly afford a tailor-made dinner suit for him.”
“Looks to me as if he’s going to need one in the years to come. When you can afford it, ask Abe Goldberg where to go. His family has more tailors than detectives. Carmine can’t buy his suits off the rack either—clothing manufacturers don’t cater for men who are massive in the shoulders and chest, but narrow in the waist.” Desdemona turned her sewing machine upside down and watched it disappear into its cradle. “There! Come and have a cuppa with me—tea or coffee, your choice.” A hand reached down to scoop Alex out of his daytime crib. “Yes, sweet bugger-lugs, you’ve been very patient,” she said, balancing him on her left hip.
“You manage so effortlessly,” Millie said, watching Desdemona make a pot of tea and shake chocolate chip cookies on to a plate, all holding Alex.
“Oh, Alex is easy. It’s the first one causes the headaches,” Desdemona said, settling into the breakfast booth—a new addition to the kitchen—with Alex on her knee. She dunked the edge of a cookie in her rather milky tea and gave it to Alex to suck. “I would have been horrified at the thought of giving a sugary cookie to a nine-month-old baby when I had Julian, but now? Anything that shuts them up or keeps them happy is my motto.”
Such a beautiful child! Millie was thinking as she watched enviously. I want to be her—I’m sick of laboratory experiments! I want a delicious little baby Hunter, some shade of brown, with weirdly colored eyes and a brain as big as his or her Daddy’s …
“Where are you?” Desdemona asked, snapping her fingers.
“Putting myself in your place. Wanting to be a mother.”
“It’s not always beer and skittles, Millie,” Desdemona said wryly. “I’m still recovering from a post-partum depression.”
“But you’re okay, right?”
“Yes, thanks to an understanding husband.”
In came Julian, toting a huge orange cat that was giving him all its considerable weight. Desdemona handed a cookie down.
“Ta, Mommy.”
“Julian, you’re developing your muscles splendidly, but how is Winston going to get any exercise when you carry him everywhere? Put him down and make him walk.”
Down went the cat, which began to wash itself.
“See? That’s why I carry him, Mommy. Every time I put him down, he washes himself.”
“To get rid of your smell, Julian. If he is to sniff out rats and mice, he can’t have Julian all over him.”
“Okay, I see that.” Julian wriggled up beside his mother and looked at Millie with topaz eyes. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi. I’m Millie.”
Out of the corner of her eye Millie saw an ugly pit bull dog join the cat; they ambled together toward the back foyer.
“You can be nice to Julian,” Desdemona said gravely. “He’s through his most annoying phase, at least for the time being.”
“What was your most annoying phase, Julian?” Millie asked.
“Daddy said, I was a defense attorney.” Julian reached for his mother’s tea cup and drank its entire contents thirstily.
“You let him drink tea?” Millie asked, appalled.
“Well, drinking gallons of it from infancy didn’t stop us Brits from ruling most of the world,” said Desdemona, laughing. “I put extra milk in it if Julian drinks it, but tea’s good value.” She gazed at Millie sternly. “Come! Talk to me about you and Jim.”
“That does it!” said Julian loudly, sliding down from the seat with a flick at Alex’s cheek that Millie supposed was love. “I have to supervise Private Frankie and Corporal Winston. See ya!” And off he went.
“His speech is dreadful,” his mother said. “Try though I do to limit them, he’s full of Americanisms.”
“He lives in America, Desdemona.”
She sighed. “The quintessential gun culture. But let’s not talk about my sons. Who interviewed you last night?”
“Abe. Thank God for a friendly face.”
“Don’t say that too loudly. Carmine doesn’t want an outside agency invited in to investigate because of propinquity.” She chuckled. “Such a peculiar word to use!”
“Not much chance of that,” said Millie. “I called Abe Lieutenant Goldberg and was as stiff as a poker. It was dreadful, Desdemona! Jim was right next to John when he took ill.”
“Someone had to be next to him,” Desdemona comforted, and poured more tea around the encumbrance of Alex, still sucking at his cookie. “I gather that further questioning is to wait until tomorrow—maybe Monday for you and Jim.”
“I must say that Abe took Davina’s absence calmly. Even after her doctor told him she’d have to wait until Sunday for questions, he just looked long-suffering.”
Desdemona grinned. “They encounter women like her all the time, Millie. All she’s doing is postponing what will be a nastier interview because she did postpone it. And enough of all that! Have you a nice frock for tonight?”
Millie’s face clouded. “Unfortunately, no. Kate let me pick through her enormous wardrobe, but tonight is a long dress that has to hold up academic robes, so I’m back to my graduation black dress. Men have their ties to hook robes and hoods around, but women don’t. You and Carmine are coming tonight, I hope?”
“We’ll be there, Millie,” said Desdemona, smiling.
“You said tonight was an annoying inconvenience, Mommy,” said Julian, stomping in like a soldier back from the wars.
“He’s turned into a parrot,” his mother said. “I absolutely despair of sensible conversation with him.”
“Why do you absolutely despair of sensible conversation with me, Mommy? I know lots of big words.”
“You know them like a parrot.”
“Pooh, nonsense!” said Julian.
“Oh, lord, I said that weeks ago, and he won’t forget it!”
Alex opened his mouth and grinned, revealing teeth.
Ivy Hall was one of the oldest buildings at Chubb University, itself nearly three hundred years old, and Ivy Hall had been preserved with loving care. Built of red brick in 1725, it had been the original classroom, though for the last hundred years it had been used only for important banquets. Until Mawson MacIntosh, fondly
