The Mixture As Before

by Rosie Harris

  Any moment now, she told herself, she would wake up, find herself in splendid isolation in her newly decorated bedroom and know she had been dreaming. Then she would pad downstairs to her brand new ultra-modern kitchen and make herself a cup of tea. After that she would take a shower in her completely refurbished bathroom with its sunken bath and gold-plated taps.

  She was conscious that Jason had moved close, that his arm was encircling her waist and pulling her towards him. She stiffened as she felt the warmth of his body emanating through his white silk shirt.

  Until that moment she had felt so carefree. Jason’s declaration had brought her back to the present with a jolt. She had been a widow for only six weeks. It was much too soon to be starting a new relationship. Even more to the point, Jason must be so much younger than her that it would cause a terrible scandal. Jan would be absolutely furious, she thought guiltily. She has already showed her displeasure because she thinks I am monopolizing him.

  ‘Margaret,’ his voice was honeyed and persuasive, ‘admit that you feel the same way.’

  ‘Do I?’ She felt her pulse quicken.

  ‘Of course you do! You’re simply afraid of what other people will think.’

  Startled, Margaret half turned, bracing herself to look at him. ‘You’re reading my mind,’ she gasped.

  ‘Which only proves how close we are to each other!’ he persisted, his voice husky with emotion.

  She shook her head feeling uncomfortable with her thoughts.

  ‘I want to share my life with you,’ persisted Jason. ‘I want to be with you morning, noon and night. Especially at night! To be able to sleep with you in my arms, to find your face on the pillow at my side when I open my eyes in the morning, to spend every hour of the day—’

  She laughed shakily. ‘Your business would soon suffer if you did that—’

  ‘No, I’d work twice as hard so that I could give you everything your heart desired,’ he promised. Taking one of her hands he raised it to his lips, sensuously kissing the tip of each finger.

  A radiance, an inner glow seemed to flow from him, so intense that it felt as if it was scorching her, melting her resistance. She pulled away from him, clenching her hands into tight fists. She felt so exhilarated that she didn’t know what to say or how to handle the situation.

  It felt awesome to know that she could invoke such intense feelings in another person. She was sceptical, though, as to whether it was love that Jason felt for her. She didn’t love him. Margaret was quite certain of that. She wasn’t even sure that she was capable of loving anyone ever again, other than her children and grandchildren.

  Looking back, she wondered if she had ever loved Reginald. She suspected that what she had felt for him had been a teenage crush for her boss. A challenge because, not only was he so much older than her, but he was her boss and because of that she had thought him to be quite unattainable.

  By marrying so young she had never had a chance to grow up and find out what life was all about. She’d moved from college to marriage almost overnight.

  There had been no experience of living away from home, going on holiday with girlfriends, or even sharing a flat with them. Nor had there been any opportunity to date boys of her own age and discover by trial and error what falling in love was all about.

  Her parents should have put their foot down. She’d been barely nineteen. They should have made her wait at least a year even though Reginald had appeared to be so eminently suitable. He was tall, good-looking, smartly dressed, well spoken, and so very confident and sure of himself. He had offered security because he had his own business. In fact, he was a very eligible bachelor indeed! They couldn’t have found a more suitable husband for her if they’d tried to pick one themselves.

  It had been exciting at the time. Reginald had treated her like a princess, proudly showing her off to his friends and business associates like some prized asset.

  He’d provided her with the sort of lifestyle most women only dream about; one that certainly wouldn’t have been possible if she’d married someone of her own generation.

  When they were first married they dined out, or partied, three or four times a week. Frequently, it was an important local social function or business event and he insisted that she had all the right clothes so that she would outshine all the other wives.

  It hadn’t been difficult, she reflected wryly, since she was twenty years younger than most of them. She hadn’t objected, though, when he sent her along to have her hair done, or to shop for a new outfit, even though her wardrobe was already at bursting point.

  Reginald’s business was thriving; money was plentiful. He’d inherited Willow House so there was no question that they would live anywhere else. Not that she had wanted to because Willow House was a dream and so enchantingly different from the conventional modern house where she’d grown up.

  He’d given her a generous housekeeping allowance and insisted that she should have help both in the house and in the garden. Even so, three children in less than four years, combined with a very hectic social life, had taken its toll and drained her energy. By the time Steven, their youngest, had reached five and was ready to attend day school, she had felt middle-aged even though she was still under thirty.

  Reginald lost patience with her when she sometimes opted out of more and more social occasions, leaving him to go on his own.

  For the sake of the children they had still holidayed together as a family. Once the children were older, though, they had abandoned holidays altogether. He had bought her a car instead, and they had led almost separate lives. She had her women friends and her own interests. He had his club, local politics and played golf more and more, not only at the weekends but evenings as well in the summer.

  She had to admit, her lifestyle had been tolerable. As long as she was there when he came home he wasn’t in the least interested how she spent her time. It was an enviable way of life in a prosaic sort of way, until the day Reginald had his heart attack.

  Overnight, he had changed from being a self-satisfied, slightly pompous, highly successful businessman, with a recognized standing in local society, into a recluse who soon became an irritable, overbearing and demanding grouch.

  What was so intolerable was that he had expected her to abandon her own social life and be his constant companion twenty-four hours a day. That, more than anything else, had extinguished what small spark of affection she had still felt for him.

  Her sexual feelings for him had died soon after Steven had been born. Although they shared the same double bed there was no real passion in their love-making. She endured it out of habit. It was more a sense of duty, a kind of payment for the many luxuries he provided.

  To all outward appearances they enjoyed a full life, and were admirably suited to each other. Age had barely made any difference to Reginald’s frenzied social round. She’d become accustomed to being wined and dined, three or four times a week.

  Few of the people they met on these occasions were close friends. Many of them were extremely boring and she tolerated them out of a sense of habit and duty. She knew them all so well that they were like an extended family. She felt confident in their company, although not as much at ease as she was with the three women who were her own close friends.

  Her friendship with Jan, Thelma and Brenda was far more intimate and confined mostly to coffee mornings, shopping sprees and similar leisure activities. Only very occasionally would one or the other of them be involved in one of the political or social evenings that she attended with Reginald.

  She had felt amused when, following his heart attack, Reginald had stated he intended to reprogramme his lifestyle, declaring he needed to conserve his energy. If he was giving up work then there was no need to continue with the social round he had previously supported. He resigned from local affairs and from the golf club. From now on he wanted a quieter, more private life, and he intended to spend the rest of his days in his own home.

  She had been inordinately
relieved when Reginald stated that he considered sex much too strenuous for a man in his condition. She had longed to suggest that they have separate beds, but she felt it would be prudent to wait a while before suggesting this.

  During the early days of his illness, when it was imperative that he stayed in bed, he was restless unless she was there beside him, holding his hand and talking to him. It had been so touching that, for a short while, it almost rekindled the romantic feelings she’d had for him when she’d been eighteen.

  His changed outlook on life, his pernicious manner, and constant demands for attention because he resented being ill, soon dispelled the illusion.

  She withdrew into her own protective shell, creating an invisible barrier between herself and Reginald and the rest of the world. Now she had no immediate desire to change the situation.

  She liked Jason as a friend, but she didn’t want a deeper involvement with him, or with anyone.

  She didn’t want to hurt his feelings so how could she make him understand that she wasn’t ready to sacrifice her newly found freedom. It was so wonderful to be able to come and go as she chose, not to have to account for her actions, or to be at anyone else’s beck and call.

  Following his heart attack Reginald had needed so much nursing, had been so demanding, that sometimes she had felt like a servant. His meals had to be ready at set times, morning coffee and afternoon tea, served on the dot. The clock had ruled even the time they got up in the morning and went to bed in the evening.

  His routine had been far more stringent than when he had been at work. The only difference had been that she was the one at his beck and call instead of his secretary or some other employee.

  She didn’t think life with Jason would be anything like that but how could she possibly know until it was too late to do anything about it? No, she decided, she had just escaped one trap, and she didn’t want to jump straight back into another.

  With his uncanny instinct for reading her thoughts, Jason murmured, ‘I’m frightening you by rushing things. You want us to give ourselves time to get to know each other better.’

  His amber gaze mesmerized her. She found herself twisting her hands together in a distracted manner.

  ‘Well …’ She felt uneasy, unable to explain her reasons. ‘My family …’

  ‘Why should they object to our friendship?’ He grinned, his amber eyes glowing mischievously. ‘Unless they’re afraid I might take you away from them.’

  ‘People will think that …’

  ‘Take no notice. They’ll soon get used to the idea.’

  ‘There’ll be talk …’

  ‘Does it matter? If we shut our ears to any gossip, we won’t hear it!’

  She started to say, ‘No! It means I’ll be a prisoner again,’ but the words stuck in her throat. How could she expect Jason to understand?

  Sensitive to her hesitancy, he put a finger under her chin, tilting her face until he was looking straight into her eyes. ‘I only want to make you happy. I want to take care of you, pamper you, cherish you, but we’ll share only as much of our life as you wish. No more.’

  Margaret shook her head, frissons of fear running through her as she felt the trap closing around her.

  ‘If you need space, for a day, a week, or a month you need only say the word and I’ll keep away. It’s your happiness that matters to me more than anything else. Now, what is your answer?’

  ‘I … I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Of course! But only for three seconds. I want your answer now, before you go home tonight, so that I can face tomorrow knowing our destinies are linked.’

  ‘I … I’m not sure. I don’t know what Charles … Steven …’

  ‘Forget about them,’ he whispered, softly. ‘Think of yourself … of us. They’re all living their own lives. Now it’s time for you to do the same.’

  Margaret felt suddenly angry.

  It had been such a wonderful outing. She had been enjoying every moment; the river, the food, the music and the company. Why did Jason have to ruin it all?

  Tears blurred her eyes as she stared out into the semi-darkness, listening to the water lapping against the sides of the boat, the eerie cries, and scuttling in the reeds and bushes along the river bank contrasting to the liveliness on board.

  Looking up at the thin crescent of moon, the sprinkling of stars, like silver dust scattered on the purple velvet canopy of sky, she shivered, not with cold but with the realization that Jason had pricked the balloon of fantasy that she’d donned like a magic cloak. He’d brought her down to earth, to the mundane facts of everyday living.

  Tonight had been a taste of the exciting new freedom that could be hers if she had the courage to remain independent.

  The future had so much to offer; new friendships, travel, all the exhilarating experiences she’d missed out on over the past years. Now, as a whole new spectrum was about to open up, Jason was trying to inveigle her into a relationship that would ruin everything.

  She wasn’t even sure she wanted a fixed arrangement with Jason, or with anyone else for that matter, yet she felt powerless to stop it. Events were moving too fast for her.

  She stared out into the darkening night, wondering how to extricate herself from the situation she found herself in. They were almost at Boulter’s Lock and she wanted to call a halt to Jason’s attentions before they reached there.

  As the boat ground against the side of the mooring site and the gangplank was lowered, she laid a hand on Jason’s arm. ‘Can we talk about this some other time? I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not used to so much wine, but I feel desperately tired.’

  Jason was not so easily dissuaded. ‘We can’t let the evening end like this, I’ll see you home.’

  Margaret clenched the inside of her cheeks between her teeth to steady her nerves. ‘There’s no need, thank you all the same. Charles and Helen go right past my door they’ll drop me off.’

  Resolutely she moved towards Jan, who was standing by the rail of the boat next to the gangplank.

  ‘It’s been a wonderful party, Jan,’ she murmured, as she kissed her goodbye.

  Jan remained statuesque, unbending even as their cheeks touched and Margaret’s heart sank. She suspected that it was because Jason had deserted Jan’s side all evening.

  Jason remained silent, contenting himself with a stiff little bow as she excused herself so that she could join Charles and Helen.

  Seventeen

  Charles was still incensed by his mother’s behaviour when he and Helen reached home. He had not spoken a word since they had dropped her off at Willow House but Helen read the signs. The shine of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel, the set of his jaw, the tight frown, the tenseness of his shoulders all revealed the tension he was feeling.

  He’d probably want to talk about it once they got indoors, she thought, and she debated whether she should listen or pretend she hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong, and go on up to bed.

  If she did that then she knew she would have to endure him tossing, and turning, beside her in bed all night. If they sat down with a nightcap and she let him talk about it that might take hours before he came to terms with the situation. Either way, she thought resignedly, she wasn’t going to get much sleep.

  Why on earth couldn’t Margaret react to her husband’s death in the normal way? she thought, wearily.

  Most widows went through a brief spell of deep grief followed by spasmodic bursts of crying and reminiscing. Then, once the husband’s personal effects were cleared from the house, there was a gradual acceptance of the situation. That might last for six months, or so, while readjustments were made and a new routine established. After that, except on anniversaries, the matter was rarely mentioned.

  Why did Margaret have to be so different, she mused, as she prepared hot chocolate for herself and Charles, and took it through to the living room.

  Charles was slumped in his armchair looking anything but his usual composed self. He’d lo
osened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and was scowling into space.

  ‘It’s been quite an evening, hasn’t it? I thought this would help us to get to sleep,’ Helen said, placing his mug of chocolate within easy reach.

  ‘Sleep!’ Charles snorted. ‘I’m hardly likely to do that with what’s on my mind.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it, darling?’ Helen murmured in a low soothing voice.

  ‘What is there to say?’

  Helen sighed understandingly. ‘It’s certainly an odd situation.’

  ‘It’s certainly not normal!’

  ‘That’s true. You know, I would never have described your mother as hard, or callous; the very opposite, in fact. Yet she’s shown no grief at all, neither when your father died nor at his funeral.’

  ‘I know that, but I thought she was merely putting on a brave face.’

  ‘Quite! In fact, I expected her to have some sort of breakdown afterwards,’ admitted Helen, ‘but not a bit of it. If anything she’s seemed to take on a new lease of life. She’s behaving in a way she would never have dreamed of doing when your father was alive.’

  ‘Like trying to swap Dad’s car for a Mercedes, and booking to go abroad on a packaged holiday, you mean?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t thinking of those specific things so much as the way she acted tonight; with that Jason Parker person, I mean.’

  Charles scowled. ‘Don’t remind me. She certainly wasn’t behaving like a grieving widow.’ He groaned, running his splayed fingers through his hair. ‘I can’t get over it. She was so light-hearted, flirtatious almost—’

  ‘If we were aware of it then other people must have noticed her behaviour,’ interrupted Helen. There was a note of triumph in her voice. She had always felt rather in awe of Margaret ever since she was first married. Now she felt secretly pleased that Charles was finding out for himself that his mother wasn’t so perfect after all.