A Most Unpleasant Wedding by Judith Alguire Read Free Book Online Page B

for room service when the dining room opens.”
    â€œIf you go down, I’ll bring you some coffee, but you’ll have to leave your shoes outside until you can clean them.”
    Arnold laughed. “You have a housekeeper, don’t you?” He scrubbed a hand across his lips. “God, my mouth tastes like a garbage can. They must have snuck me something cheap.”
    â€œI’ll get you the coffee and clean your shoes. Tiffany’s got a lot of cleaning.”
    Arnold lay back. “Sounds good, buddy. I’ll catch a nap until you get back.”
    Lloyd went around to the back porch and into the kitchen where he told his story to Gregoire.
    â€œThe man is a pig,” Gregoire fumed. He poured coffee into an insulated mug. “This is good enough for him. I will not have him smashing the good china over the veranda.” He pinched his nostrils. “I can smell his foul body from here.”
    Lloyd took the coffee to the veranda. Arnold had fallen asleep. He put the coffee down, tugged off Arnold’s shoes. He took them around to the side of the house, hosed them down, and set them aside. He pulled the soiled cushion out from under Arnold’s feet, took it to the back porch where he laid it on the railing to dry. He brought the hose around to the veranda and began to wash down the steps.
    Tim wheeled around the corner from the bunkhouse. He stopped and stared at Arnold, who had flopped onto his side and was drooling on his shirt. “What’s he doing here?”
    â€œDon’t know,” said Lloyd. “Was here when I got here.”
    â€œHe looks as if he spent the night in a pigsty. He’s got mud all over his pant legs. Where’d he get that from?”
    â€œDon’t know,” Lloyd said, “but he got mud all over the veranda.”
    â€œI hope he doesn’t plan to go into the dining room. I’ll boot him into the next lake if he does.”
    â€œTold him he couldn’t.”
    Tim gave Arnold a disparaging look and went on into the kitchen. Gregoire was cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.
    â€œIs it ready?”
    Gregoire gave him an impatient wave. “I have the popovers coming out of the oven in precisely thirty seconds. I will be serving them with strawberries and fresh Devon cream. Then pigs in the blankets with citrus chutney. They will think they are in their honeymoon cottage in Cornwall.”
    â€œTea, then, instead of coffee?”
    Gregoire made a face. “I am afraid the fantasy ends there. If Mr. Rudley misses his coffee, it will be a horror show in here.”
    Tim helped himself to the strawberries. “I hope they had a good night.”
    Gregoire opened the oven and pulled out the popovers. “They are probably aching in every joint and covered with insect bites and poison ivy.” He took out a carafe, filled it with coffee. “Now, if you will stop eating the strawberries, perhaps you could take this to them.”
    Margaret opened her eyes, smiled. “Rudley, isn’t that cute?”
    â€œYes, Margaret,” he murmured, “cute.”
    â€œNo, look.” She shook him by the shoulder, pointed to the silhouette of a chipmunk posed against the tent. “Look at him. He must know we have some crumbs.”
    Rudley raised himself on one elbow. “I don’t think you should feed him. There’s plenty for him to eat. We don’t want him to become dependent.”
    â€œI don’t think a few crumbs will destroy his initiative.” She opened the tent flap, scattered the crumbs from their midnight snack. “It’s going to be a lovely day. What a wonderful idea to camp out.”
    â€œIt was.” He slithered out of his sleeping bag. “But now I have to go to the bathroom.” He put on his shoes and crawled out of the tent on hands and knees.
    â€œMind the tree roots.”
    â€œYes, Margaret.” He stretched, took a lungful of air, paused to indulge a