by Rosie Harris
Occasionally there were excited outbursts from children as they were led over the humpbacked bridge into the gardens on the other side of the river, or into the pleasure park a little further down the road in the opposite direction.
If Jason didn’t contact her in plenty of time to devise a spectacular setting for her dinner party then perhaps she’d do something completely different this year, she mused. After all, sixty was a milestone and she intended to mark it in style.
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Once you’d turned sixty you began to slow down. Bones became stiff, joints ached and rheumatism and all the other age-related problems started.
Even your appearance began to go downhill. Wrinkles, bags under the eyes, indigestion, sagging muscles, flaccid skin, middle-aged spread; they all became firmly established when you reached sixty.
You started to have trouble with your teeth and your eyesight, and your hearing began to fail. Worst of all was the risk of a heart attack. Look at Margaret’s husband, she thought gloomily. He’d been in his sixties when he’d had his heart attack. True, it had been his late sixties but they did say women were prone to attacks earlier than men.
The thought that she might have to cut back on her many activities, or even give up golf, badminton and the other sports she indulged in from time to time, sent a shudder through Jan. Sixty, she decided was certainly a major milestone. One you either met head on, or shied away from.
She jumped up from her chair, and went back inside. She’d meet it head on, of course. She hadn’t been born under the sign of a Taurus for nothing. She prided herself on the fact that she never retreated from any problem. She preferred to act and not only overcome obstacles but turn them to her advantage. Which was what she had done when her marriage had gone sour.
She hadn’t wasted time or energy trying to make the best of things or affecting reconciliation as Alan had begged her to do. Instead she had sued him for divorce on grounds of adultery. She’d hired the sharpest solicitor she could find, and he’d made quite sure the alimony she received would keep her in luxury for the rest of her life.
Her bout of introspection brought home to her how difficult things must be at this moment for Margaret. Perhaps she ought to pop over to Cookham, and pay her a visit; a quick coffee, and a chat.
She changed her velvet mules for casual white slip-ons that looked right with her navy linen trousers, and a white silk open-necked blouse.
Her face was already immaculately made up but she added a touch of deep blue eye shadow and sprayed perfume on to her wrists and the base of her throat. Picking up her white shoulder bag, checking that her car keys and sunglasses were inside, she went down to the basement car park to collect her Turbo sports car.
The three miles drive along the river road, through Cookham village, and across the Moor to Cookham Dean gave her time to think about Margaret.
She remembered her own reaction after her divorce. Revenge had been sweet and she had been overwhelmingly relieved to know that she would never have to tolerate Alan’s unfaithfulness ever again. What she hadn’t bargained for though was the period of abysmal loneliness and the sense of desolation that had followed.
The feeling had gradually passed because she’d pulled herself together and filled her life with other activities but, at the time, she had been glad of almost anyone’s company to fill the vacuum.
An open-top sports car was already parked in the driveway of Willow House. As she pulled in behind it, Jan thought it was vaguely familiar but it wasn’t until she had already rung the doorbell that she realized it was Jason Parker’s car and a small ball of anger knotted inside her. This was why she found it impossible to contact him; he was here, at Willow House visiting Margaret.
I’m wasting my time coming here, Jan thought crossly. It seems Margaret isn’t lonely or in the depths of despair after all.
She was still frowning when Margaret opened the door.
‘Jan! How lovely to see you. Come on in. I was just about to make some coffee. Jason Parker’s here.’ Her blue eyes sparkled, her skin glowed, her smile was radiant, and she looked fresh, and feminine, in a cornflower blue dress trimmed with white.
She certainly didn’t look like a grieving widow in need of cheering up, thought Jan belligerently as she noticed how the finely pleated skirt swirled around Margaret’s shapely legs as she walked, drawing attention to her high-heeled white sandals.
‘I thought that was Jason’s car outside. I’ve been trying to get hold of him for days.’
‘Oh dear! I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing him,’ Margaret admitted with an apologetic smile. ‘Go on into the sitting room. He’s in there. I’ll make the coffee while you have your little chat.’
Ruffled by her blandishments, Jan did as she was told. She stopped short in the doorway, eyebrows raised in astonishment. The floor was covered with sketches and plans, swatches of carpet, snippets of curtain material and several wallpaper pattern books propped open.
Sitting tailor fashion in the midst was Jason.
‘What’s going on?’
At the sound of her voice, Jason raised his head, grinned, and shrugged, widening his amber eyes and arching his brows expressively.
He was wearing a black tracksuit that hugged his firm body like a second skin. The top, she noticed, was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and his gleaming suntanned skin colour matched the gold piping and decorative embellishments.
He looked like some virile Grecian god and Jan found herself studying him as she had never done before.
She was shocked to realize that because she had discovered his latent talents and had helped to set him on the path to what was now such a successful career, she regarded him almost as her property. She suddenly felt very possessive about him and almost wished she had not introduced him to Margaret.
She had long ago decided that he was probably hermaphroditic, and that was why he had such phenomenal artistic ability and why he was able to conceive such exotic schemes.
His design skills were very masculine with strong, bold, uncluttered lines. He combined these with a sensitive feminine flair when it came to selecting colours and textures, and choosing and blending fabrics, so that the resultant effect was always exquisite.
He never repeated a treatment; each was so beautifully suited to its location that you knew instinctively that it would not be right in any other setting. He was inordinately skilled at balancing the finished effect of a room with the personality of the owner, a fact that Jan always enthused about when recommending his work to anyone.
In the past, she had felt a sense of satisfaction when her friends were overjoyed by what he had achieved in their homes. Now, sensing the deeper affinity that existed between him and Margaret, she felt a stab of unease, and was shocked that it might be jealousy on her part.
Fifteen
Jealousy? The idea astounded Jan Porter. It was laughable. Why on earth should she be jealous? He was far too effeminate for her taste. Although she admired his style, his smooth, hairless head had always made her inwardly cringe. Even though she had been the one to give him the gold medallion that he always wore around his neck, she hated his jewelled rings, gold bracelet, and the diamond stud he wore in his left ear.
Disturbed by her conflicting thoughts and reactions, she vented her feeling of confusion on Jason. ‘How on earth do you expect to make a success of your business if you hide yourself away here,’ she scowled.
‘Jan!’ With lithe animal suppleness he unwound himself from his cross-legged position and stood up. Taking both her hands in his he regarded her at arms length. ‘You look exquisite!’ he breathed, looking her up and down and giving an insubstantial sigh.
Tetchily, she pulled her hands free. ‘You can’t win me round that easily. I’ve been trying to contact you for three days now; doesn’t your office ever pass on messages?’
‘Of course they do. It’s only minutes since I tried to phone you.’
‘From here?’
>
‘Of course. They knew where to contact me.’ He waved his arm expansively. ‘Thanks to you, my dearest Jan, I have this tremendously exciting project. Margaret has entrusted me with the restoration of her entire home! Can you imagine it?’
‘What’s so wonderful about that? I let you do my entire flat, didn’t I?’
‘True, and I enjoyed every moment and I know you have been delighted with the result.’
‘It’s all right. Slightly passé now. I’m thinking of having it done over again.’
‘What a splendid idea! The moment this is completed I will create something absolutely unique, something very special for you.’
‘I fancy a complete change. I was thinking of calling in a London consultant.’
She saw him wince, and knew she had hit below the belt. She felt contrite but before she could say anything to soften the blow Margaret came in with a loaded tray and Jason sprang to his feet to help her.
Their hands touched briefly as he took the tray from her and Jan’s resentment mounted as she observed the look that flashed between them.
How dare Margaret impinge on their friendship like this? She wished she had never made contact with her when Reginald had died, but it had seemed such a good idea at the time.
She’d missed Margaret over the years since they’d stopped meeting up. Thelma and Brenda were good company but, although only a few years older, so much more set in their ways. Compared to them, Margaret’s company had seemed a refreshing change.
It was probably because she and Margaret were nearer to each other both in age and temperament. Even a couple of years on the wrong side of sixty seemed to make a considerable difference to the way people acted and looked at life.
In the last couple of years, Thelma had become a hypochondriac and could be quite a bore about her health. And when she wasn’t complaining about her aches and pains then she was arguing about some minor issue that she’d met up with in her role as a local councillor. All very laudable, of course, but Jan often found it tedious.
Brenda was even worse. With her it was either her grandchildren or her awful dog. Why was it that small dogs like Brenda’s Pekinese yapped so much, Jan wondered. Its shrill bark was ear piercing and Brenda insisted on taking it everywhere with her.
Tucked under her arm it wasn’t a lot of trouble but Jan hated it when Brenda brought it to the flat. It padded its way all over her cream leather settee and sniffed at every corner and cushion until she felt like screaming. So far it hadn’t disgraced itself but Jan was quite sure it would do so one of these days.
She had been more than ready to help Margaret get over her loss by picking up the threads of their friendship again, but not to this extent.
‘This is quite like old times,’ smiled Margaret, as she handed round the coffee and proffered a plate of biscuits to Jan and Jason. ‘Remember how we used to take it in turns to have coffee mornings, Jan? I’m really looking forward to coming along to them again.’
‘Mm!’ Jan murmured and then took a bite of her shortcake biscuit and munched it contemplatively. ‘That would be nice but by the look of it you are going to be far too busy decorating to contemplate any entertaining.’
‘It won’t take all that long. Perhaps when it’s finished I ought to throw a party and invite everyone to come here and then—’
‘Parties! Isn’t that what you wanted to see me about, Jan?’ Jason interrupted. ‘Your birthday party; it’s only a few days away.’
‘Fancy you remembering when you have so much work in hand!’
‘How could I forget? It’s an annual event!’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘I’ve enjoyed designing something different each year. This year is extra special, isn’t it?’
‘If being sixty is special, then I suppose it is.’
‘Of course it’s special. Think of all the things that have happened since you were born. Since the end of the war there’s been a revolution in ideas …’
‘I don’t need a history lesson.’
Margaret shot a quick glance at Jan, wondering why she was being so caustic. She didn’t think Jason’s comments had called for quite such a biting response.
‘This year we must make it something really outstanding,’ enthused Jason. ‘Have you anything special in mind?’
‘Yes.’ She regarded him coolly. ‘A complete break with tradition.’
‘Oh?’ He looked puzzled.
‘I’m having it on the river. Hiring a boat. I’m engaging a firm of caterers … and a band … and an entertainer.’ As she improvised haphazardly she saw his amber eyes darken in shocked surprise.
‘Great! Sounds a wonderful idea. You do want me to organize it for you?’ he asked cautiously.
‘There’s no need. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to contact you, I simply wanted to let you know that everything is in hand because you usually contact me weeks in advance and this year you haven’t done so.’
He looked crestfallen. ‘But I always stage your birthday party, Jan. In fact, this year, because it is a very special birthday, I had some wonderful ideas. Surely you didn’t think I would forget about it?’
‘How could you possibly do that when it’s always proved to be so lucrative for you?’ capped Jan waspishly.
They’re like two cats fighting, Margaret thought uneasily. She felt she ought to say something to try and restore peace, but was afraid that they might both vent their spite on her if she interfered.
‘I’ll go and refill this,’ she murmured, picking up the coffee pot and retreating to the kitchen.
She found the gentle bubbling sound as the coffee perked soothing. From the sitting room came the rise and fall of voices, as though they were still arguing.
Margaret wondered if it was the thought of being sixty that was putting Jan in such a bad mood. It was a milestone, of course. But then, so were most birthdays. The only consolation was that everyone else was getting older at the same time. She was only a few months off her own sixtieth birthday. Brenda and Thelma had both already passed that momentous milestone.
She wondered how old Jason was. It was hard to tell. The fact that he was completely bald didn’t mean a thing. She’d never known anyone without a hair on his or her head before. She knew some men even shaved their heads as a fashion statement so in their case being bald had nothing to do with their age.
Jason didn’t look old. His face was unlined and he was as supple as a ballet dancer. Even his hands, with their long, sensitive fingers, were extremely youthful.
You could tell so much about a person from their hands. They were the first to show signs of age. Discolourations, raised veins, enlarged joints, brittle nails and crêpey skin were all tell-tale signs. Jason’s were as soft as a woman’s and fastidiously manicured.
She was still thinking about Jason when Jan burst into the kitchen like a ship in full sail. Her mouth was set in a tight line and her eyes were dark and stormy.
‘I haven’t time to wait for a second coffee,’ she snapped.
‘It’s ready. I was on the point of bringing it through.’
‘Not for me. Jason could probably do with another cup though. He needs strong black coffee or something to calm him down.’
Margaret bit her lip, not sure whether to commiserate, or not. It was Jason she felt sorry for; he had been the one to take the brunt of Jan’s spleen.
‘You’d better take the coffee on through. I’ll see myself out,’ Jan told her brusquely. ‘I’ll phone to let you know the time, and place, where I will be holding my birthday party,’ she called back over her shoulder as she made for the door.
Sixteen
Jan’s birthday party on board the pleasure-steamer Castle Gold was an enormous success. When they set off upstream from Boulter’s Lock at seven o’clock, it was a perfect May evening. The sun was still high in an almost cloudless sky, and there was a soft, balmy breeze coming off the river.
Jan and her group of friends lounged or sauntered on the top deck as they steamed by the ha
nging gardens of Cliveden, past the weir and the Ferry Hotel at Cookham, and then on towards Marlow.
By the time the Castle Gold had negotiated several more locks, reached Henley and turned round to go back to Maidenhead, the sun had sunk below the horizon, a fiery ball that left the late evening sky bathed in blood.
Fortified by champagne and the mouth-watering buffet, most of the guests were now completely relaxed and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Margaret was exhausted after dancing with Jason to the strains of the six-piece band that had joined the boat at Marlow. They had taken refuge in a quiet alcove and were content to sit and watch the others dancing while they recovered their breath.
‘I find it hard to believe that Charles is actually your son,’ murmured Jason, as Charles and Helen glided by in each other’s arms. ‘You look much too young to be the mother of such a grown man!’
Margaret smiled non-committally. She had to admit that Charles did look mature. An exact replica of how Reginald had looked when they’d first been married. Helen’s black silk trouser suit, with its flared bottoms, was so reminiscent of the early seventies that, watching them dancing together, Margaret felt transported back in time by elusive, half-recalled memories.
Reginald had been much more extrovert than Charles. He’d had a presence that commanded attention, a more arrogant manner, a boldness that broke down barriers. Women were attracted to him, even when he was being chauvinistic. He’d been an exciting companion and a wonderful lover. She pushed away the memories that reminded her of how crazily in love with him she had once been.
‘I’m almost the same age as Jan.’ She stopped, knowing that Jason wasn’t listening. Although he was looking directly at her his amber eyes had a dreamy, faraway quality. He reminded her of a great golden tiger … a tiger that was about to pounce.
‘Margaret, I think I’m falling in love with you.’
His words struck her completely dumb. She wondered if she had drunk too much champagne. The cacophony of sound as the band played on, glasses clinked, cutlery chinked against china, and people laughed and talked as they danced, was all drowned out by the reverberations of Jason’s words inside her head.
