Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  She swallowed hard, considering this revelation. Lydia had given everyone their place in the world. Eleanor had been ill before, when Lydia was alive, and Lydia managed to tend to her, be a mother to Jackson, assure Nigel that all was well at home, and keep Clarice from worrying herself ill. And she always knew when to call in Jane for extra support.

  Clearing his throat, Nigel continued. “I’ve sought legal advice, not knowing whom else to speak with. You’ll remember Mr. Beacon, father’s old chum in Dorchester?”

  Jane nodded. Meals were set before them. Her sweet-and-sour chicken smelled noxious and looked ridiculous. Who could be expected to eat food with thick orange gel on top?

  Nigel continued on, “Mr. Beacon knows, of course, that Clarice is more than an employee. More like a sister to my mother, than housekeeper. So, we’ve considered her in all of this. When you and I get on, there’ll be a visiting nurse to check in.” Nigel systematically cut a piece from the strips of beef and pepper, and stuck the fork in his mouth. Jane wasn’t having a bit of problem keeping up, he was speaking rather plainly. But it was terribly impersonal. And somehow still difficult to grasp. She was huddled over her plate, her arms folded and resting on her hip bones. She wanted to disappear from this conversation. Clarice and Eleanor were the most caring and loving of women, and apparently they were being assigned some cold-hearted, visiting medical worker.

  “Now, Jane, this doesn’t have to be horrible. We will be careful to hire on someone who’ll function in the role with all of the convictions that we’ve had, you see? Someone who is kind, has a sense of caring, not just a pop-in nurse.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Jane was immediately encouraged by his description of a helpful person. “Perhaps even one of the nurses from Lydia’s training course. They’re to graduate soon.” She took a deep breath. The bell tinkled and her gaze went to the door. Seeing the sunshine, she was revived again. She became aware of her defeated posture, sat up, and began eating. Orange gelatinous food was quite good, really.

  “Yes. We’ll carefully screen this person. Pay them well. Make sure they’ve a heart for the job. It’s more than medication dosing, providing transporation to stroke therapy, and checking blood pressures. We shall only take on someone that doesn’t mind doing things that we do. Light housework. Doing the shops. Reading to Jackson. There is such a person, Jane, and you’ll help me to find her, won’t you?”

  “I can’t think of anyone suitable in the village, so I’ll make some calls to Lydia’s former teacher, for a start.”

  “Excellent. Now, for our larger problem,” Nigel said, giving Jane a knowing glance.

  She froze. This would be the part to make her feel an imbecile. What larger problem?

  “Obviously, Jackson won’t benefit from living in a home with two elderly and ailing women.”

  “Why ever not?” Jane shrieked. Several diners turned round. Her heart thumped wildly. Nigel leveled his gaze at her in a way that intimidated her into silence.

  “Jane. I know that Jackson is dearly loved. But little boys need a bit more direction than can be given by a stroke-recovering grandmother and her housekeeper who appears to be going crackers over the death of his own mother. Be fair, Jane. It isn’t sentimental, raising children. It’s work. And speaking of which, I’ve got work to do, and you’ve got your shop.”

  Nigel took a long sip of coffee, and pushed away his half-eaten lunch. Jane remained suspended over her plate, not trusting herself to utter a word. How long would this go on? What devious plan would Nigel deliver up, next? She didn’t think he was fit to be compared to James Bond anymore, and she certainly felt as though she’d never known him as he truly was. At least she wasn’t going to cry, she was too numbed with shock for that.

  “When I raised the dilemma to Mr. Beacon, he brought up a point I had rather forgotten, Jane. Jackson is under custody of his parents. With his mother deceased, we have a lawful obligation to notify his father.”

  At this intelligence, Jane dropped her fork.

  “Nigel, you can’t be serious,” she said in an anxious whisper. “Do you know who he is?”

  “Yes, Jane, I do. And Beacon is already in the process of contacting him.”

  Jane struggled with her composure, wanting her voice to sound steady and sure. “I could take Jackson, Nigel. I am sure that’s what Lydia would want. I could adopt him.” The moment the words flew from her mouth, she knew them to be a lie. Her flat only had one bedroom. And how could she continue her present schedule, working ten to twelve hour days at the shop, then making her way three or four evenings a week to Brambleberry House, to help for two or three more hours? Plus, she’d worked so hard, for so long, that the shop was finally supporting her well, without any financial help from her mother. On the other hand, many single parents made all sorts of sacrifices. It’s not like she was incapable; in so many ways she’d always been more responsible than Lydia.

  Nigel regarded her for a moment, and then said quietly, “Jane. You’re a dear. But the child’s own father must be the first legal route to pursue, you understand that. And — ”

  “Don’t you care about your own nephew? Don’t you know that his father was some drug fiend, some American rock-and-roll star? Nigel, how could he be better than Jackson staying at home? How could Jackson do well, living all the way in America?”

  Jane sobbed into her scarlet napkin, the threads of the rough, gold dragon scratching her nose. She no longer cared if she was making a scene. Without the benefit of having received a bill, Nigel laid a large sum of money on the table. Calmly and with all of his usual grace and dignity, he stood and brought Jane to her feet, reaching behind her to retrieve her coat. With his arm around her shoulders, they made their way from the restaurant.

  The fading sunshine revived Jane a little. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t embarrassed, but her emotions were too strong to feel the sting of public scrutiny. She wondered if she would care about throwing a fit in the Chinese Palace later on. Nigel was looking at her intently.

  “I am sorry, Nigel. Help me to understand.”

  “I’ve done a bit of checking. It seems the old chap has cleaned his life up. And to be fair, he never has known Jackson exists, so we mustn’t make judgments on how he’d react to his son.”

  “I wanted you to help me understand, Nigel … not from a barrister’s point of view. From yours. Is it always business first?”

  “That’s not fair, Jane.”

  “Why not? What do you think Lydia would have you do?”

  Nigel drew in a long ragged breath, put his hands on his hips, as he studied the cobblestones edging the street. It seemed a full minute before he spoke.

  “You must understand that I am not ready to act as Jackson’s father, Jane. There are short-term legal commitments attached to my job, so it’s impossible, at the moment, that I step in where Jackson is concerned any longer. We haven’t any family members that are coming forth to give a hand in this. We have a cousin in Oxford, but she has two children of her own, and going through a divorce, as well. And this isn’t totally up to me.”

  “What do you mean? Because of some legal technicality? Nigel, with your mind and money you could win against sending Jackson away to a man he’s never met. I know that you could! It is up to you, because surely you are more a guardian to Jackson than his natural father! Don’t you see?”

  Nigel avoided her eyes. “Jane, it isn’t my decision. Believe me or not, here’s the truth: going to his father is what Jackson said that he wanted.”

  Chapter 6

  Eleanor Membry was sitting at the highly polished, cherry desk in her comfortable sitting room, looking through the mullioned windows at the large oak that dominated the front garden. The oak had long been the largest tree in the quiet village of Hartsbury. It created a canopy over the shade-loving English primroses dotting the brick walkway leading to the f
ront door, plucky bright yellow, deep scarlet and crisp white bouquets. She would tell her friends later, over a cup of tea, that she would always remember that poignant conversation with Jackson. And the way he looked so tiny that morning.

  Eleanor’s soft, matronly body was sheathed in a dress covered with tiny pink flowers on a white ground, one hand held the telephone to her ear while the other listlessly smoothed her thick gray hair.

  She had her friend, Rose, on the line. “Our Lydia never seems to leave my thoughts, Rosie.” Eleanor had to put the phone down a moment, and blow her nose. She and Georgie’d had Nigel as a young married couple, and were told there wouldn’t be any more children. But along came Lydia as a lovely surprise when Eleanor was in her mid-forties. She’d been delighting her mother ever since. Eleanor’s life was so empty without her girl.

  “Rose, there’s nothing worse in the whole world than losing a child. Except having to share your loss with a grandchild,” Eleanor said. “Oh, my lands, I am sure I don’t know what to tell that precious lamb. It’s all a body can do, to stop grieving when he walks in the room.” She poured out her heart to Rose, who’d been her friend since their school days.

  • • •

  Unbeknownst to his grandmother, Jackson stood in the hallway listening to her talk on the phone. Gram had made him stay away from his mother’s funeral. He was sent to Toby’s for a few days.

  But Jackson knew the truth, as would any five-year-old would who is shuttled about from one well-meaning adult to another. He figured that his mum wouldn’t be coming home from hospital, and he wasn’t sure of what his grandmother meant to do with him. Gram was in ill health. His uncle, Nigel, was often traveling all over the world on business.

  He saw that Eleanor had caught sight of him, standing in the hallway. He couldn’t help clinging to the wall like a pensive twist of ivy.

  “I’ll ring you back later, Rosie, after tea.”

  She put down the receiver, never shifting her eyes from his. “Come here, pet … Gram’s got a bit of bad news to tell you, and you must be a brave soldier now, mustn’t you?”

  Jackson climbed into her lap and leaned his head against her breast. She cleared her throat, and Jackson felt very sorry for her, having to be a grown-up and give him the news he already instinctively knew. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to say it, but his voice seemed inoperable, his lips pressed firmly together. Being quiet would always be his comfort. She began to rock back and forth with the telling of Mummy’s dying, and his mind drifted. He studied her sturdy brown shoes, and heard Clarice in the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea.

  After Gram talked for a while, she started to cry. He wriggled out of her lap, and said he should like to take Ausfrid outside. She lifted her glasses, wiped her eyes, and said, “Okay, Pet.”

  He called his spaniel and opened the door for them to the back garden. Jackson couldn’t shake the feeling that his mum would show up, just when he least expected it, and ask him if he had missed her. She had spent many hours away, leaving him in Gram’s care while she went to university and worked at her job. It still sort of seemed like she was super busy, and all of this was a terrible mistake. That was as far as he could get with it, and so, he wasn’t really sad to go to America to meet his dad, except that he would miss Gram and not be here if there was a mistake and Mummy came home. Dudley could fly, like a show horse, so that wasn’t a worry.

  He had a picture of Mummy along with other treasures in his special box, that he planned to tuck into his case.

  • • •

  Jane was more than ready for a cup of tea when Charlotte Lloyd breezed into the shop.

  “Oh, putting the kettle on? No, none for me,” Charlotte said, fanning her long artificial nails. “I gave it up. One needs to make sacrifices to keep a dazzling smile, don’t we, darling?”

  She knew perfectly well that Jane didn’t pay to have her teeth brightened, and in fact, was rarely even bothered to apply lipstick. Charlotte was committed to a beauty regimen that smacked of status, to the point of going on holiday to Switzerland and checking into a posh spa. Today’s outfit was stunning, too; Charlotte’s womanly figure was tailored to perfection in a light wool teal-colored suit, complemented by a stunning necklace wrought of gold and twisted with a strand of pearls.

  On occasion, Jane secretly coveted the beautiful clothes in Charlotte’s shop, but lacked the nerve to try them on. Her business was going well; she may be able to afford them. Still, it seemed too daunting to try something besides the khaki trousers and polo-necked jerseys she wore daily to work. Not to mention Jane was on her feet a lot, and she supposed that smarter clothes demanded higher heels.

  “How are things going?” Jane said, ignoring Charlotte’s inspection of her humble attire.

  “Absolutely soaring, darling. I’ve picked up a few lovely things in France, casual seperates for spring, and I am going to put them in the window this evening. You’ll have to match up the floral displays in your window to my clothing ranges, wouldn’t that be dishy?”

  Charlotte swept grandly towards the refrigerator under the pretense of looking at the bouquets. Jane knew that she had no interest in the floral arrangements, but was spying on the delivery cards, in an effort to see who was sending flowers to whom.

  “Actually,” Jane responded, coming to stand quite close to Charlotte to interrupt her snooping, “perhaps you’d like me to provide arrangements to stand by the till? Ladies always love to be surrounded by flowers, and the fragrance is lovely, too.”

  “Hmm, I’ll think about it, dear,” Charlotte said, dismissing her suggestion. “I’ve got that potpourri from Provence for fragrance, of course, and I don’t want things dying and dropping off like flowers do. Anyway, I came over to let you know that you can give me your insurance payment directly.”

  “Oh? You don’t want me to pay the solicitor anymore?”

  “No, dear, I am handling all of that, now. Becoming a full-fledged landlord, you know. Why pay someone else to do it? All the renovation I’ve done at Panache has made me feel quite capable. Roland never let me raise a finger, but I think I am doing rather well, don’t you? Now, I won’t keep you from your potting, or whatever you call it. I’ve got to speak with my other two tenants. Ciao!”

  Jane watched as Charlotte click-clacked out of the shop, turning to flash her fingers in a saucy wave as she stepped over the threshold. Jane pushed her cheeks into a goodbye grin. No doubt Mr. Collins, Charlotte’s next victim, would be annoyed to see her come into his violin shop. Perhaps she ought to nip next door and take him a piece of candy after Charlotte left him, to help him recover. Mr. Collins is such a dear old soul, Jane thought. So gentle, and always smiling.

  Jane heard the kettle click off, and released a long sigh. Everything about Charlotte Lloyd annoyed her. Jane missed the days when she used to rent her shop and flat from kind old Mr. Hoffmann. Ever since the newly divorced and on the pull Charlotte had been in charge, one never knew if she might try to break their contract and toss her out to expand her ladies’ clothing and accessories store. Jane had to admit, Panache did bring in a lot of clientele, and many tourists who saw Charlotte’s glossy ads stopped by Jane’s shop. Business had improved.

  But that wasn’t only due to Charlotte Lloyd’s customers’ stopping. Jane smiled as she remembered those hours she spent brainstorming and doing research. Lydia had tried to discourage Jane from adding a range of gift items. She said people wanted flowers from the florist’s shop, didn’t they? And where was there any room for anything else?

  Lydia’s brother Nigel had understood. He’d been home for a long weekend, and listened to Jane’s ideas over dinner with the family. He didn’t say anything at the time, but Jane felt certain he admired her entrepreneurial spirit, as he’d given her a warm smile and a slight nod. Figuring how to begin had been frustrating, though. Especially since she couldn’t afford to
renovate the shop, and move the oversized counter for something less monstrous.

  One afternoon, Jane was about to bin her new marketing plan, when a curious, large shipping box arrived. Inside were circular display racks, perfect to occupy the unused corner by the cold storage unit. Jane was elated. There’d been no doubt as to who had sent them; she guessed Nigel knew all sorts of people, and probably made a phone call to a manufacturer on her behalf. Besides, he was the only person, aside from his sister, Lydia, his mother, and Eleanor’s housekeeper, Clarice, who knew about her aspirations, and certainly the only person who had cash enough to realize them. She noticed his careful surveyance of the new retail display when he last visited the shop. He said he was just popping in to buy a bouquet for Clarice’s birthday, but obviously it would have been easier to ring her up and have her bring the bouquet with her for Clarice’s birthday dinner.

  After assembling the new racks, Jane purchased hand-crafted English garden tools, floral note cards and books by popular television gardeners. A month later, Jane had the decorators in. They painted the wall in a soft yellow, over a plastered texture that complimented the age of the building. It made such a welcome change to the previously dreary gray-white walls, and Jane’s fresh flower offerings seem to sing in harmony with the new backdrop. Jane found some lovely, rough hewn timber, and installed new shelving below her front display window, to accommodate even more gift items. The shop had a natural, welcoming warmth, and even the villagers came flocking in more regularly.

  Jane had been surprised how well the gift items sold, and had made a good deal extra money by offering them. She wrote a heartfelt letter of appreciation to Nigel, and sent it off to his current office, in Cairo. She decided what was good for the shop was good for her, and took her new decorating savvy upstairs, to her flat above the shop.

  The decorators returned, this time painting the entire, tiny flat in robin’s-egg-blue. Jane changed out the curtains at every window, and bought beautiful new linens and a soft, generous rug for her bedroom. A new, small sofa upgraded the little sitting room, and Jane stood an iron-and-glass table in front of it. A new mirror was hung in the bath, and fresh white tiles made it sparkle. The flat was lovely, and Jane even contemplated throwing a dinner party to show it all off, but it was a challenge to have more than two guests at a time. Jane thought there was no place lovlier than Lydia’s family home on Brambleberry Lane, but she was full of new pride and affection for the flat, now that it was given a make-over. She truly had a charming little home of her own, and a thriving business below. She longed for a special man to share it with, but in all other respects her heart was content.