Haywire by Brooke Hayward (android based ebook reader .txt) 📕

in specialty drugstores), and whose every incongruity made it a vital factor in our destinies.

Kenneth’s affiliation with Horlick’s had an appealing maverick edge. Although he came from a fine old banking family and had been traditionally groomed and educated (at Eton and Oxford) to carry on in Herbert Wagg & Co., he had chucked his banking career when, after marrying the beautiful Katherine Horlick, his father-in-law, Jimmy Horlick, invited him to join that family concern. Katherine and Kenneth had recently divorced; she (heedlessly, said Mother; picturesquely, we thought) was now living in Egypt, having left him to bring up their four children alone with the help of a nanny. His position as president of Horlick’s Corporation in Racine, Wisconsin, meant that he made frequent trips to the United States, of which this was ostensibly one. He was also assistant to the managing director of the parent company in England, which led Bridget, Bill, and me opportunistically to contemplate our potential future in Europe.

The minute we laid eyes on Kenneth Wagg, we knew we’d hit the jackpot: he was as good as gold. And that was an interesting paradox, since he had no wealth to speak of. How he was going to support us in the style to which we were accustomed, when he had four sons to educate expensively in England, gave us no pause; we became instant converts, prepared to adapt ourselves to a monastic life of poverty and sacrifice, because Kenneth’s most outstanding quality, which he wore like a medal ready to turn over to Mother whenever she was ready to accept it—a quality his rivals had lacked to one degree or another (we intuited, once we saw the real thing)—was the depth of his feeling for her. He was madly, overtly in love. By some cocky inference we assumed that meant with us, too, but just to play it safe, we set about wooing him. Since Kenneth had already produced a slew of boys, Bridget and I were well aware that the onus of this task fell on us, and were gratified to detect, within minutes of meeting him, that he was openly susceptible to the novel enchantments of little girls.

That afternoon we threw ourselves into our seduction of Kenneth with a vengeance, monopolizing him for a grand tour of the house, which included our wardrobes, cajoling him to sit next to us on the piano bench and play the bass in duets, flirting with him over interminable games of pick-up-sticks, and giggling appreciatively when he said words like “lorry,” “petrol,” “laborat’ry,” and something that sounded more like “squiddle” than “squirrel.” By the time we were halfway through dinner, it was Kenneth who had seduced us. We were absolutely entranced by everything he said or thought or did. He taught us to master the British method of holding one’s knife and fork, particularly attractive to Bridget and Bill because not only was it the reverse of American (knife kept in the right hand, much simpler), but also involved dexterously pushing food onto one’s fork in various layers, allowing for considerable creative leeway.

“Kenneth,” I said the next morning, trying to make him feel at home, “isn’t it silly for you to waste money staying at the Bel Air Hotel when you could marry Mother and move in with us?”

Mother was speechless with embarrassment but Kenneth, to our relief, looked delighted.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” he answered fervently, “but unfortunately your mother—”

“Brooke,” spluttered Mother, regaining her voice, “I’m going to have to explain the conventions of courtship to you—”

“Mother,” Bridget interrupted, coming to my rescue, “I’ve never seen you blush before” (which was true).

“If the house isn’t big enough for the three of us and Kenneth’s four sons,” Bill said diffidently, “we could all move into the Bel Air Hotel.”

“Or I could design a new house altogether,” resumed Bridget. “I’ve always wanted to be an architect. A real honeymoon cottage, with my very own room” (giving me a sidelong look).

“Me, too,” said Bill.

“I’m going to work on it right away,” Bridget mused. “Everybody can have their own room. That makes nine bedrooms unless”—she grinned—“Kenneth and Mother want to share theirs; that’ll save some space.”

“If you ask me, it would be much better to move into the Bel Air Hotel,” remarked Bill hopefully.

“Children!” shrieked Mother in mock distress. “Enough of this line of torture. You’re disgracing me. Poor darling Kenneth—if you keep this up, you’ll subvert your own objective and drive him away forever. He’s not used to such radically forward behavior from children—or adults. Remember, in his country—even in this country, for God’s sake—”

“Oh, I think they’re absolutely correct,” said Kenneth, beaming. “The person you have to convince, children, is your mother. She’s causing me no end of difficulty. Allow me to enlist your help at once; undoubtedly you carry more weight with her than I. I seem to be as effective as a gnat.”

“Oh, no,” moaned Mother, “this is unendurable.”

“Oh, yes!” we all chorused gleefully.

“Before you get too carried away with yourselves,” demurred Mother, executing a little tap dance, which was a sign she was about to win her point, “perhaps I should remind you”—mid-routine she paused emphatically right in front of Kenneth—“that I am not yet even a gay divorcee, so don’t count your chickens,” and, punctuating each word with a series of steps, she continued to tap her way around the room.

Kenneth, who had to leave for Racine after Thanksgiving, returned almost immediately to the Bel Air Hotel for Christmas, precluding any doubts we might have had concerning his intentions. We joyously dragged him to the Farmer’s Market for the purchase of six-dozen ant colonies, which had caught our fancy that year as the perfect gift, and conned him into helping us wrap and deliver them to friends all over the city.

Although we had no doubts about Mother’s intentions either, having quizzed her about them, we were beginning to suspect the future would be slightly harder to pin down than we’d anticipated.

“The trouble is, you