The Mysterious Miss Mayhew

by Hazel Osmond

  The bed still didn’t get a look-in. They were on the floor, him learning what turned her on and hunting for a condom, before all logical thought went and it was just actions and sensations. Gentle and slow to begin with and then that point where it didn’t matter how he wanted to play this, he was losing himself in her, someone new and unknown yet so dear to him already that it felt like a homecoming. A coming anyway, her arms cradling him and hands soothing him.

  And afterwards, in whispers and gentle words, her turn to tell him everything would be all right.

  *

  By the time he went to pick up Hattie, he knew a lot more things about Fran Mayhew. The way she arched her back and reached out for his free hand when she came; that she had a graze on her left knee and the fact that her second toes were longer than her big ones.

  The last two things he had discovered when they finally made it to the bed and explored those parts that had got overlooked in the first mad dash into each other. Lying face to face, they had talked in low tones as if they had reached a new level of intimacy that was only for their ears – even in a silent house.

  He asked her that question that he’d never got an answer to in her kitchen – why had she changed her mind about working for him?

  ‘Because I envied the relationship you had with Rob – it made the thought of sitting alone in that bungalow quite nauseating.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Well, I felt that you were actually a Tom. It’s a name I think belongs to a man who has certain … admirable qualities. Up until that point you hadn’t really lived up to your name, but in the cemetery with Rob, you did.’

  He reached a hand over her hip and gave her buttock a gentle pat. ‘You mean, you started to fancy me?’

  ‘That’s another interpretation.’

  ‘Can I ask you something else? What made you think working for the magazine was going to please Mrs Mawson?’

  ‘Because I am a naïve idiot.’

  ‘Naïve,’ he agreed, ‘but never an idiot,’ and kissed her until he felt her palm on his chest giving him a gentle push.

  ‘If I could be allowed to finish …’ she said with a not very convincing stern look, ‘I hoped that if I did a really good job and Mrs Mawson was delighted, she’d think more kindly of me when I went to see her. I’d convinced myself that as my mother had never been in contact, or asked for anything, they would believe me when I said I didn’t want anything either.’ She paused. ‘Actually that’s not strictly true, my mother did send Charlie a postcard on the day I was born.’

  ‘From San Diego.’

  She looked surprised. ‘Monty told you that? Charlie showed it to him? Oh, really, the more I hear about my father …’ She pressed her lips together and Tom felt he’d lost her until she said, wearily, ‘I don’t know, I started off hating him for abandoning my mother, then moved on to still disliking him, but feeling sorry he didn’t seem to have a happy life. And now? Now I think he wanted the best of both worlds – to be a free-spirited artist but have someone else pay emotionally and financially for it. I’m not sure that he and I would have got along.’

  He chanced giving her a consoling kiss.

  ‘So I suppose Monty also told you about Charlie’s wife trying to buy my mother off?’

  Tom shifted to ensure more of his leg was in contact with more of hers. ‘Yes, but that was about the extent of his knowledge. And really, Fran, don’t be too hard on Monty. He seems to have kept it quiet all these years. And I did submit him to some fairly intensive water torture.’

  Fran looked askance at that, but didn’t press him for any more details.

  ‘What happened to your mother after Charlie?’ he asked, gently.

  ‘Went home to her parents first of all.’

  ‘To San Diego?’

  ‘Yes.’ He couldn’t work out what Fran was thinking in the pause that followed. ‘The thing you have to understand about my mother,’ she said when she spoke again, ‘is that she had buckets of pride. She only stayed in San Diego until I was born – that’s about as much help as she’d accept from her own family. And accepting money from Charlie’s or asking him to acknowledge his child would have been hateful to her, I imagine.’

  ‘Why do you have to imagine? Didn’t she tell you?’

  Fran wriggled against him as if she too needed to have more of him in contact with her. ‘No. Never. Sometime between having the affair with Charlie and marrying Mr Mayhew – when I was about two – my mother re-invented herself as a woman of spotless character. I don’t know whether something snapped after Charlie, or she was like that at heart and he’d just snuck in under the wire, but she became very righteous indeed. She got religion, in a big way …’

  ‘You make it sound like rickets.’

  The way Fran said ‘Hmm’ told him that she might have preferred that.

  ‘My birth certificate said Mr Mayhew was my father. My grandparents never let on that he wasn’t. Only later did I learn that he’d been around when I was born and had stepped up to the plate as far as the legal niceties were concerned.’

  ‘Mr Mayhew – didn’t he have a first name?’

  ‘Glenn, but it doesn’t seem right to call him that. I didn’t know him well – my mother and he parted company about a year after they married. Religious differences, apparently.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Probably wanted to play the guitar on a Sunday or have a beer without putting on a hair shirt.’

  Tom was beginning to build up a picture of Fran’s childhood, one that made him want to hold her even tighter.

  ‘As often happens, it all came out after my mother died. I found a neat little file with plastic wallets and in it was the photocopy of the cheque Mrs Coburg had sent. God knows why my mother had kept it – actually, God would probably know. I should think she did it to prove she had the moral fibre to resist temptation.’

  Tom felt Fran needed a bit more physical contact – she was starting to look morose.

  ‘In the wallet as well was some kind of contract – accept the money, no further claim on us, etc. A couple of photos of Charlie and my mother on a seat in front of a mountain cafe. Her just “showing”, as they say. One or two letters from Charlie. Also a photocopy of that postcard. So typical of my mother, that folder. As if she’d filed her emotions away. But she definitely wanted me to find it.’

  Fran stopped and burrowed even further against him. ‘Sorry, I’m making her sound very strict and unyielding. She wasn’t, not all the time. And really, she was the person she punished the most. I think she never forgave herself for that slip of hers with Charlie. Goodness knows why they clicked. I suspect it may have been because she had a thing about strong men, and he was strong and charismatic. She probably worshipped him and his ego must have responded to that.’ Her laugh this time was less bitter. ‘There weren’t any more romances after Mr Mayhew, but my mother always ended up attached in some way to strong men – priests, preachers. I suppose God was the ultimate one.’

  ‘Poor Fran.’ He smoothed down her hair and got her to look straight at him. ‘I can understand what a huge shock it must have been, discovering all that.’

  Her face seemed suffused with light and she clutched on to his shoulder and gave it a shake. ‘Good grief, Tom. No. It was the best thing in the world. When my mother died, I thought I was completely alone. My grandparents were already gone and then I found I had this family. This huge family.’ The light dimmed a little. ‘Unfortunately that family wasn’t as pleased to see me as I was to see them. Apart from Jamie. He’s on the outside too, you see. Can’t imagine what kind of home life he’s had in that bleak house.’

  Tom told her what he’d been reading when he waited for the Mawsons to see him.

  ‘How apt. I should have read Hard Times. That’s what they gave me. They assumed I’d come for money. Accused me of being a fraud, even though I showed them the copy of the cheque and the contract, the photographs – everything. If they wanted me to, I’d take a DNA test.’

  �
�It’s all about protecting the family assets and their reputation. And, maybe, if your visit was the first they knew of your existence, it would have been a shock. There’s nothing to say that Charlie’s wife shared the news about your mother’s pregnancy with anyone.’

  ‘I can see that, Tom, but I made it abundantly clear I only wanted to get to know them. I’m not even asking to be acknowledged publicly. I’ve said I’ll keep quiet.’ There was a sigh before Fran flopped on to her back and he tried not to let that distract him.

  ‘I really don’t know how the world operates, Tom. And now I’ve provided Natalie and Jamie with a bolt-hole, that’s not going to make the Mawsons like me any better.’

  ‘You just let your heart rule your head, don’t beat yourself up.’

  ‘That’s a kind thing to say, but I should have thought how Deborah would feel.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I mean, I appreciate how hard this is for her. I’m reminding her of a horrible time in her life – poor woman hadn’t been married long and was expecting Edward when Charlie left.’

  ‘I’d have bloody left if I’d known Edward was on the way,’ Tom said and Fran burst out laughing and he watched what that did to her body.

  ‘He is particularly unpleasant,’ she agreed, settling into his chest again. ‘I sensed that even before he shoved me and sent me into the gravel.’

  ‘What? Literally?’ Tom pulled away to check on her and saw the quick nod. He thought of the graze on her knee and determined at the first opportunity to do something unpleasant to Edward Mawson. Although he was afraid that when they found out about him and Fran, it would probably be a case of the Mawsons doing something unpleasant to him. Especially if Mrs Mawson suspected that he’d known about Fran’s parentage all along.

  This bed, rather than the tree house, now seemed like a place of sanctuary – the calm before a great big Mawson-shaped storm.

  ‘We’re going to have to try our best to keep this a secret,’ he said. ‘Hard – Rob and Kath will have to know. My mother. Probably Natalie and Jamie—’

  ‘And Liz. No, really, Tom. If you don’t tell her, when it comes out, she won’t feel she can trust you about anything again. Oh dear. I’ve really dropped you in it, haven’t I?’ Fran ran her finger along one of his eyebrows and down his cheek. ‘First working for you, now sleeping with you. Not the wisest actions, hmm?’

  He grabbed her hand and put it to his lips. ‘You make me sound like a passive bystander in all this. I wouldn’t change anything to be lying here with you.’

  ‘How long before you have to pick up Hattie?’ she asked, suddenly.

  ‘Long enough.’ He expected there to be more kissing, but she said, very seriously, ‘And how long after you pick her up do you have to turn your sock inside out and not see a play?’

  When, struck with a huge grip of panic, he didn’t reply, she added, ‘Oh, it’s not Thursday, is it? My mistake. It’s only Wednesday.’ Her eyes were so wide he knew she was mocking him.

  ‘Fran,’ he started and she put her fingertips over his mouth.

  ‘Calm yourself, Tom … I don’t really want to know what you got up to, I just want you to know that I suspect it was not choir practice. Now … We’re short of time, so …’ Her hand drifted down his belly and wrapped itself around him. ‘Ah, I see that famous “flaccid python” you mentioned is not at home.’

  ‘Thursdays,’ he said, fighting his way past his arousal, ‘were before you. In the past.’

  Her voice had a new edge – he heard it even though what she was doing with her hand was making his brain dissolve, bit by bit. ‘Hope so, Tom, otherwise I’m going to have to be quite strict with you. Maybe still ask Natalie to babysit on that night and take you to my bungalow and lock you in. Or just tie you across my bed. Make you stay there while I go and watch the play and write the review.’ A low, dirty laugh before she leaned in to him and whispered in his ear, ‘Then, when I came back, I’ll do exactly what I want with you. How does that sound, Mr Inside-out-sock-Tom?’

  ‘Uh-huh, huhhhhh,’ he said and then, ‘Ohhhh!’

  ‘Excellent,’ Fran replied. ‘On we go then.’

  CHAPTER 42

  Wednesday 11 June

  Well, what a lot I’ve learned. And if I can stop grinning for long enough, I will try to mould it into ten points.

  1) It is possible to star in a Greek tragedy, a romance and a sex scene in the space of one day.

  2) A man can get hold of the wrong end of the stick so badly that he has to go and sit up a tree.

  3) You can be more hurt by someone’s opinion of your sponge cake than the fact that he thinks you’re the kind of woman who would seduce your half-sister’s son. This is probably because I knew his verdict on the cake was correct, while the one regarding my morals was not.

  4) I am frighteningly good at manipulation, although I am going to forgive myself and call it acting.

  5) The first kiss from a pair of lips that you’ve been looking at for a long time feels like pain relief.

  6) Tom has the most wonderful shoulders. The kind you look at and see protection and strength and quite a few other things that I am not going to write down, but will think about over and over again. He also does kissing very well – no, snogging is a better description, although still not quite there.

  7) There is not one part of Tom’s body that I don’t like. I’m sure in time as I show him that, he will stop sucking in his stomach.

  8) Tom is quite, quite bad. He had no scruples about questioning poor Monty and he confirmed my theory about his Thursday evenings. I find that extra edge to Tom very exciting. I look forward to exploring it with him.

  9) Telling someone your life story when you are both naked seems to draw the poison out of it. Tom is a good listener, although he does interrupt at crucial points with inappropriate behaviour.

  10) It is possible to understand the similarities between your mother’s life and your own and still go right ahead and plunge in. Being a methodical person though, afterwards you write a list of similarities and fret somewhat.

  A. Falling for an older man.

  B. Falling for an older man who still has a wife.

  C. Falling for an older man who has offspring.

  The only one of these I am concerned about is B., and perhaps as Tom comes to trust me, I will find out why that wife is still a wife. Until then there is nothing I can do to prevent the echoes of my mother’s life running through my own. Except ensure we always have plenty of condoms in stock. And possibly go on the pill.

  CHAPTER 43

  Tom left the florist’s with a huge bunch of flowers wrapped in purple tissue paper.

  ‘For being a tit,’ he said to Liz when he handed them to her.

  ‘An aggressive tit,’ she corrected him. ‘And don’t think that this measly bunch gives you the right to do it again.’ Her tone was brusque, but when she thought he wasn’t looking, she bent her head and sniffed the lilies.

  ‘You feeling better, or do I need to start fashioning these flowers into a wreath?’ She was eyeing him suspiciously. ‘You certainly look better.’

  ‘I am. So … you want to give me about quarter of an hour to get sorted, and then come through?’

  Liz’s expression showed that she hoped there was a big crisis in the offing. Whereas he was sure his expression said: I am absolutely ecstatic.

  He could have run through the office punching the air and someone seemed to have taken away the creaky floorboards and put down soft rubber.

  He saw copies of the July edition of the magazine on various desks as he passed. Victoria’s copy, he noted, was open at her pages. Had it been like that since its arrival yesterday?

  ‘Is this something new?’ She was nodding towards Liz. ‘Will all of us who do a good job get a bouquet?’

  Nicely done: compliment to Liz while giving herself one too. Tom remembered what Fran had said about her and tried not to let it affect his smile and his cheery ‘Who knows?’

  In the minutes before Liz joi
ned him, he took a magazine from the pile left on his desk and ripped off the plastic. He flicked through it with an objective eye – until he got to Fran’s pages where he lingered and stopped being objective at all. Pride came along first, then regret that this would be the only time her work was featured … and then he was seeing Fran’s hair around her naked shoulders … Well, seeing Fran’s naked everything, and feeling her mouth on his neck and hearing the way she spoke to him when they had made love as if his happiness was essential to hers.

  There were other lovely images in the Fran Scrapbook too.

  The moment he had kissed her goodbye yesterday afternoon, he had wanted to see her again. Which was why, just after he’d picked up Hattie from school, he was indicating right and heading down the track that led to the bungalow.

  He’d acted on impulse, but as he parked he knew there were a lot of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this. Would it seem weird pitching up with Hattie? Subtext: now we’ve had sex, it’s time we bonded as a family unit?

  He knew that Fran and he should have set some ground rules about how to behave when Hattie was around. No way did he want Hattie to be party to innuendos and whispered conversations.

  Another thought hit him as they walked up the path – what if Fran tried some kind of charm offensive on Hattie, just to show how well the three of them might get along?

  ‘Do you know what?’ he said to Hattie ‘I think I remember Fran telling me she wouldn’t be in today. Let’s come back another time.’

  ‘But there she is, with a teapot.’

  Fran recovered well from the surprise of their appearance. ‘Oh! Hello,’ she said. ‘Long time no see.’

  Hattie was frowning. ‘Not really. You saw us the other day in our garden. Are you giving the plants a drink?’

  ‘We were just passing,’ Tom said, trying not to grin.

  ‘I’m actually giving the plants some tea leaves.’ Fran took the lid off the teapot and tipped it so that Hattie could look inside. ‘It’s very good for them, evidently.’