Where There’s a Will

by Beth Corby

  ‘Heavens no, this isn’t Ascot – just a normal day. Come dressed as you are.’ She’s so keen it’s hard to be anything but happy.

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she says, and after taking down some directions, I drive over to meet her.

  It isn’t the hat parade I feared it would be, and I quickly spot Jane. She introduces me to the marshals and staff, who clearly know her well, and while Jane has a quick word with the trainer she promised to meet, one of the horse owners explains betting to me. I’m not sure I completely get it, but thanks to their guidance I go through the new experience of placing three small bets ready for the afternoon’s races.

  It’s soon lunchtime, and after saying goodbye to the horse owner, we take a table in a secluded corner of the restaurant. With food ordered and elderflower pressé in our glasses, Jane takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye.

  ‘I’m going to tell you about how I met Donald. Try not to judge,’ she says.

  I shake my head. ‘I won’t, and I already know a lot of what happened with Mrs Jennings, if that helps? It was in the letter I read last night.’

  Jane seems to take courage from this. ‘OK, well, it also helps if you understand that I was very young when I married. It wasn’t unusual then, but I think that I was also young for my age – or perhaps “sheltered” would be a better description.’ She glances at me. ‘He was older than me, which was thought to be a good thing, but for me it was a disaster. Let’s just say that on my wedding night I was supposed to blossom into a woman.’ Jane straightens the knives and forks nervously. ‘I didn’t.’ She purses her lips together for a moment and continues. ‘The whole experience was horrid, and after that night, I never wanted to do it again. The following months were awful. I was an emotional wreck and my husband couldn’t stand the sight of me.

  ‘Then I met Donald. I was at a dreadful tea party, where men’s wives gathered to pick like vultures over the carcasses of each other’s marriages. I’d adopted my usual tactic of sitting in a corner and drinking tea without uttering a word, waiting for the moment I could leave, when a lady approached me. Her name was Judith.’

  I snatch a breath in recognition, but though Jane looks up, she doesn’t stop.

  ‘She sat next to me and talked to me, even though I didn’t reply, and she became determined to sort me out. She did that by introducing me to Donald.’

  She pauses, and I know she needs a moment.

  ‘At first it seemed strange that he was there, because husbands weren’t allowed. In fact, there were no other men there at all, but somehow, Donald was the exception. I remember watching him; how he moved among them, complimenting them, sitting where he wanted, and how they treated him as an adored son or a favourite nephew. The true relationship, I only discovered later. Then, on about my third tea party with them, Judith introduced us. She did it significantly, almost heavy-handedly, and then drifted away leaving us together.’

  Jane pauses as our food is served, and we watch the waiter weave his way between the tables back to the kitchens.

  ‘Donald’s first words to me were extraordinarily perceptive.’ She looks at me. ‘He asked me, “Do you just hate London, or do you hate everywhere?” In that second I knew I hated everywhere. I hated everyone. I even despised myself for not being what my husband wanted. But his question left me flustered. I tried to cover it up by asking whether anyone could truly like London, and he smiled. He told me that everyone could like London, it just depended on how well you did it.’ Jane smiles. ‘Then he took my hand and said, “I’ll show you if you like”, and seeing I had nothing left to lose, I agreed. That was the beginning.’

  We both eat some of our food and look out of the window at the race course, watching the horses gallop past.

  ‘What did you do?’ I ask.

  ‘We toured London – a bit like we did yesterday, but without the stop at the hairdressers,’ she adds with a smile. ‘He took me to gardens and galleries, museums and restaurants. It was fun and silly, and even though we saw the other ladies sometimes, no one took me aside and told me we shouldn’t be out together, which in retrospect seems strange, but then I guess it was what they expected. I think they enjoyed watching our relationship unfold. As for my husband – he didn’t object either, though perhaps he had given up on me by then. So in a strange way, it was sort of allowed by everyone.’

  Jane looks at me, checking that I understand, and I nod.

  ‘Donald helped me enjoy myself for the first time since my wedding. He took me dancing and taught me the tango. He took me to clubs and increasingly disreputable places, and gradually increased the danger and exhilaration, until one night he took me to a hotel.’

  Pushing her plate aside, Jane picks up a spoon and fiddles with it.

  I put my hand on hers. ‘You don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal.’

  Jane shakes her head. ‘You need to understand, and I know it will stay between us.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t what I expected,’ she admits looking at me again. ‘I knew why we were there, and I was so nervous. I felt like I couldn’t refuse after all he’d done, and yet I knew I’d be committing adultery. I felt cornered, but the strangest thing happened – he didn’t even ask. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  I nod. It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting.

  ‘He promised me he would never ask me to do that, and I suddenly knew I could trust him. So we played like kittens, bathed each other, read to each other, ate food in each other’s arms. We did a million different things, making us more and more intimate and yet we didn’t make love.’ Jane pauses, staring into the middle distance. ‘He taught me to relax and let go of my inhibitions and that anything that happened was my choice. It was . . . magical.’ Jane suddenly laughs. ‘I even tried burlesque!

  ‘We spent a lot of nights like that, and he waited until I wanted to. Only then did we actually go through with it. And by being so kind and careful, he taught me to share, be confident and know what I want. It’s the most precious gift anyone has ever given me.’

  I see the hint of a smile, but there’s also sorrow in her expression – a slightly sad Mona Lisa gazing into the distance.

  ‘Needless to say, I was a very different person afterwards – more confident, content and determined – but my husband never asked about my time with Donald. He must have known a certain amount, but bless him, the old duffer knew I was happier, so we began again. We bought our current house, moved out of London and forged a marriage out of the carnage of our nuptials. That was back in 1974, when I was just twenty-two, and we’ve been happy ever since.’

  Jane smiles at me, looking more relaxed. ‘So, you see, Donald changed my life. I love him for that, but it had its time and we remained friends. I miss him terribly.’ Tears brim in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. I grip her hand.

  ‘It must all seem rather sordid to you, but that’s what Donald wanted you to know.’

  I shake my head. ‘If anything, I’m a bit envious. Not of Donald, exactly,’ I explain, ‘but of having someone fun like that? It’s never been like that for me.’

  ‘It will be. You just have to find the right person.’

  ‘And there’s the problem,’ I say, pulling a face and rolling my eyes exaggeratedly, lightening the mood.

  ‘Perhaps,’ says Jane with an enigmatic smile, finishing her drink. ‘In the meantime, shall we go and see how our horses do?’

  Realising Jane needs a change of scene after unburdening herself, I agree and follow her out to the stands where, over the course of the afternoon, I win enough on the third race to more than cover the loss I made on the first two. As my horse crosses the line, I leap about like a kangaroo, while Jane’s composure suggests she wins regularly.

  As I drive back to The Laurels, I mull over what Jane said. I see how Donald helped her to be a happier person, and then, perhaps even more impressively, let her move on. And didn’t he do something similar for Mabel – or May, as I
know her? Did Donald do the same for Judith? Was she happier in her marriage because of Donald? Was this Uncle Donald’s gift – he helped people shine?

  My thoughts clank to a stop as, pulling into the parking area, I see the chauffeur-driven Mercedes hunkered down in front of the portico. Mrs Jennings must be here.

  I park up, and Alec meets me in the hall looking stressed. ‘Good, you’re back!’

  ‘How long’s she been here?’ I whisper, wincing as I quietly place my keys and mobile on the hall table.

  ‘About half an hour. She refused to leave without seeing you – said she’d wait. And she heard the car, so now she knows you’re here, you’ll need to go straight in.’

  I nod, but I know a lot more about Mrs Jennings and why she’s here than Alec does. Also, I think I might need to push her a little to find out what she’s planning. I look up at Alec, worried by how he’ll take this. ‘Can you do me a favour?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wait out here.’

  Alec looks confused. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m going to try something which may or may not work, and I can’t afford for her to see your reaction to the things I say.’

  ‘I could come in and not react?’

  I shake my head. ‘There are things you don’t know.’ The word ‘gigolo’ bounces around inside my head. ‘I’ll tell you afterwards, but there’s no time now.’

  ‘Well, I’ll stay within calling distance, then,’ he says doubtfully.

  I grip his hand for a moment and, drawing strength from all the commanding characters I’ve read, from Ladies Bracknell to Catherine de Bourgh, I walk into the drawing room. ‘Mrs Jennings! You should have called to say you were coming.’

  Mrs Jennings and her bug-eyed dog look up in bizarre synchronisation. ‘And given you a chance to sidle out?’ she asks shrewdly.

  I manage to keep my smile in place. ‘So how can I help you?’

  ‘I’ve come for an answer,’ she states.

  ‘To . . .?’ I’m smiling as sweetly as I can manage.

  ‘Don’t play games with me, young lady – you know why I’m here. Are you going to turn down Donald’s will, or not?’

  I take a seat and regard her seriously. ‘Before I decide, can you explain a little more? Perhaps unveil a secret or two so I know what I’m dealing with?’ I think my nonchalant act is going well.

  Mrs Jennings gives me a long, haughty look. ‘You want me to reveal Donald’s secrets to you, now? Why would I do that?’

  I shrug. ‘To help me decide? After all, we might be shocked by very different things. If he just addressed a duchess by the wrong title, for example, I’m hardly going to care.’

  Her eyes narrow, but then her head tips slightly to one side like a bird. ‘All right, I’ll tell you what your uncle was really like, but on your head be it.’ She pauses significantly, savouring the moment. ‘Your uncle was a male prostitute – a gigolo, if you will.’

  ‘I know,’ I say agreeably, pleased to see the surprise on her face.

  ‘A gigolo involved in sordid affairs with married women,’ she persists, getting annoyed.

  ‘Yes,’ I agree calmly.

  ‘A large list of high-society, well-to-do women whose reputations will be ruined by any scandal.’

  I smile and shrug. ‘It’s not like I know them.’

  ‘And you don’t seem surprised,’ she says, her annoyance turning to suspicion.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, he told you.’ I nod, and just as I think I might have won a point, a smile spreads across her face. ‘Did he tell you about the girls?’

  ‘What girls?’ I ask before I can stop myself, and her smile beds itself in.

  ‘He didn’t tell you about his little sideline? How interesting, but then I suppose he wouldn’t.’ She strokes her dog’s ears, taking her time.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’ I say casually, but I’m starting to sweat.

  ‘Certainly!’ She settles into her seat as if she’s going to tell me a bedtime story. ‘In the seventies there was a fashion for the more influential families in London to prepare their daughters for society in a very special way. It was one of the best-kept secrets in high society. Let’s just say that, once they came of age, their mummies and daddies wanted their little darlings to have the ability to climb the social ladder without attaching too much weight to sex. They wanted them to understand sex as the tool it can be, so they got in a fixer – a person with whom their daughters had no emotional attachment – to teach them how to use their sexuality for the advancement of their social aspirations. That . . .’ she pauses significantly, ‘is what Donald was paid to do.’

  I don’t know if that’s true, but from what I’ve learnt about Donald, inspiring a mercenary attitude in others sounds like the last thing he’d want to do.

  I quickly decide to go with total disbelief. ‘He’s told me everything, so I know that’s not true.’

  She gives a derisive laugh. ‘That’s a very poor bluff. Of course he hasn’t told you “everything”. If he had, you would know all about me, and you don’t.’

  ‘I do know some things about you, but I still don’t believe you. Parents don’t do that kind of thing.’ We stare hard at each other.

  ‘They do, you know. I can name ten girls off the top of my head,’ and she casually reels off a list of names that mean nothing to me until she mentions Jane, and I know Jane’s relationship with Donald was nothing like that! Mrs Jennings is throwing out random names to make her list longer.

  ‘Jane was married,’ I say accusingly. Mrs Jennings focuses on me like a king cobra and, as a slow smile creeps onto her face, I could kick myself.

  ‘You know Jane?’ she asks, and my heart and stomach plummet as if dropped down a well. I almost hear the ‘plunk’ as they hit the water far below. ‘I haven’t seen Jane in years. Oh, do call her and ask her to join us!’

  I stare at her, trying not to look as aghast as I feel. I open my mouth, hoping to extricate Jane somehow. ‘I – I don’t think that’s necessary.’

  ‘But I insist! Call her this very minute.’

  ‘No, I’d hate to bother her, and I’m sure we can sort this out between us. We can discuss Donald’s will . . . I’m sure I can persuade my family . . .’ After all, what’s five hundred pounds apiece? I could probably pay them all back if I had to.

  ‘Call her,’ says Mrs Jennings, her voice edged with steel. ‘She’s very much a part of this, and she’ll explain everything in a way you can understand.’ Mrs Jennings gives a little shooing gesture with her free hand. ‘Go on,’ she insists, and I head into the hall, feeling the discarded personas of Lady Bracknell and Lady Catherine de Bourgh tangle around my feet.

  Alec gets up from where he’s been sitting on the stairs. ‘What’s happening?’

  I feel so ashamed I can barely look at him. ‘I have to call Jane. I’ve dropped her in it with Mrs Jennings.’

  He hands me my mobile, possibly hoping I’ll say more, but I hold my finger to my lips and point back to the drawing room to show that Mrs Jennings is probably listening. He nods as I select Jane’s number and hold the phone to my ear. I can only think of one way to help her right now, and I prepare myself to have a very one-sided conversation.

  ‘Hello, is that Jane?’ I ask as someone answers.

  ‘Yes, Hannah it’s me.’

  ‘That’s such a shame,’ I say, keeping my tone flat.

  ‘Hannah, what’s going on?’

  ‘In that case do you have any idea when she’ll be back?’

  ‘Are you all right? Is this to do with Mrs Jennings?’

  Thank heavens she’s understood so quickly. ‘Yes, can you give her a message please?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I have a Mrs Jennings here, who would like to see her again at her earliest convenience.’

  ‘I can come right now?’ offers Jane.

  ‘No, that’s the message, and I will let Mrs Jennings know that Jane can’t be contacted until to
morrow.’

  ‘Do you need time, is that it?’ asks Jane.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Phone me when you can.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Good luck. Sounds like you need it,’ says Jane and I hang up, feeling a surge of shame at the fact she’s being so sympathetic.

  Alec holds my hand as I take a few deep breaths, and I nod to show him I’m OK. As I re-enter the drawing room, I just catch Mrs Jennings sitting back down, so my suspicions about her listening were correct.

  ‘I’m afraid Jane isn’t available,’ I tell her calmly. ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

  Mrs Jennings watches me for a few seconds and I hold my nerve.

  ‘No matter, let’s say tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. sharp. Make sure Jane is here, and bear in mind that I will drag Donald, Jane and quite a few other people through the mud if either of you let me down.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ I assure her. ‘Though I can’t speak for Jane, of course.’

  ‘She’ll come,’ says Mrs Jennings with chilling certainty. Taking a firm hold on her dog, she stands and looks down at me as I fail to do the accepted thing and get up to show her out. She gives a little ‘Hm!’, and leaves.

  I sit holding my breath, and only relax when I hear the front door slam.

  ‘She’s gone,’ says Alec, coming in. ‘I think you’d better tell me what’s been going on.’ There’s unmistakable reproach in his voice.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you with Lauren here,’ I say feebly.

  Alec pours me a whisky and puts it in my hand. I take a sip as he sits down opposite me, fixing me with a no-nonsense expression.

  ‘Who is Mrs Jennings, and why is she so set against Donald?’ he asks.

  I stare at Alec, unsure if this is going to change his opinion of Donald and, praying that Donald will forgive me for revealing his secrets given the circumstances. ‘I think the best way to describe her would be as his madam.’

  ‘How old fashioned,’ says Alec, his lip twitching.

  ‘No, I mean in the Hollywood sense. You know, how prostitutes have pimps?’

  I wait for the penny to drop.