by Rosie Harris
‘So what can we do about it?’
Helen picked up her hot chocolate and sipped at it, thoughtfully. She wanted time to think this one through. Charles was actually asking her for her advice, something he rarely did. This was a golden opportunity to break the close tie that had always existed between Charles and his mother. It was certainly one she intended to exploit, but she felt far too tired to reason things through properly at the moment.
‘Its too big an issue to go into now, darling,’ she prevaricated, draining her mug and setting it down. ‘We’re both tired. I think we should sleep on it.’ She smothered a yawn. ‘Things might seem different in the morning.’
‘Far worse, probably!’
‘Perhaps we should have a family get-together so that you can talk things over with Alison and Steven.’
‘You mean a family meeting without Mother?’
‘Yes!’
‘Mm!’ Charles stood up and stretched. ‘I’m not sure it will do much good, but it might be worth a try.’
‘Would you like me to phone them?’
‘You could contact Steven. He might be more willing to come if you’re the one who asks him.’
‘What about Alison?’
‘I’ll ring her.’
‘Shall we invite them to come here for dinner tomorrow night?’
‘No. Let’s just ask them around for a drink after dinner. Say, nine o’clock tomorrow evening?’
‘Are we asking Mark and Sandra to come along as well?’
‘God, no! It’s to be a family discussion, not a social occasion or a character assassination.’
‘Its going to be very difficult to explain why they’re not invited,’ warned Helen.
‘Oh, do whatever you like. Mark and Sandra can come along if you think it’s necessary. I simply thought we would get to the heart of the matter quicker if it was just the three of us.’
‘Oh, so I’m excluded as well, am I? What am I supposed to do? Sit out in the kitchen ready to bring in the drinks when you ring a bell?’
‘Oh for God’s sake! Look, I’m shattered. I’m going to bed. Do what you like. Make it dinner and invite them all if that’s what you want to do.’
‘Not at all! I’m not looking for extra work …’
‘Then forget about the whole thing. I’ll try to call round and have a word with Mother sometime and see if I can reason with her.’
‘No, we’ll do things democratically. This is a problem that should be shared by the entire family,’ Helen insisted. ‘The rest of them are probably just as concerned about your mother’s strange behaviour as we are.’
‘Isn’t Margaret coming?’ Thelma Winter looked questioningly from Jan to Brenda as she settled herself comfortably into one of Jan’s white leather armchairs.
‘Don’t tell me she’s retreated back into her shell again,’ she added, as she straightened the pleats of her beige linen skirt, before taking the glass of dry sherry Jan Porter was holding out to her.
‘Thelma, wouldn’t you feel more comfortable if you took your jacket off?’ Jan suggested, ignoring her question.
Jan herself was looking cool and sophisticated in a designer outfit of a pale green top teamed with jade green slacks which emphasized her slim hips. Her Gucci slip-ons matched the striped light and dark green leather belt that clinched her waist and was fastened by a green and gold enamel buckle that had the same elaborate design as her earrings.
‘You’re probably right.’ Thelma put down the sherry and wriggled free of her tailored brown linen jacket.
Jan took it from her and put it over the back of a spare chair. The white silk blouse Thelma was wearing beneath it was severely tailored, its only decoration being her initials TW embroidered in heavy white silk on the breast pocket and a cameo brooch with heavy filigree gold edging.
‘You still look terribly hot,’ murmured Brenda, ‘why don’t you unfasten the neck of your blouse. It is summer, you know, Thelma, and the temperature today must be well up in the seventies.’
‘You certainly seem to think it is! Dressed for the beach by the look of things.’
Brenda giggled, and hitched the flowery skirt of her sleeveless cotton dress up to her knees, displaying plump, bare legs. ‘I intended to spend the day lazing in the garden and then Jan phoned. I didn’t stop to get changed; it all sounded so urgent.’
‘I thought that perhaps there had been some kind of disaster after the party ended last night?’
‘Things went wrong before the party ended,’ interrupted Jan. ‘I thought you would have noticed! I asked you to come here this morning so that we could discuss it.’
‘You mean something to do with the way Margaret was behaving?’ Thelma took a sip of her sherry, and looked at Jan over the top of her glass.
‘Precisely.’
Brenda looked from Jan to Thelma, and back again, her plump face bemused. ‘I thought she was having a wonderful time …’
‘Is that what you call it?’ Jan’s voice was knife sharp. ‘I thought she behaved outrageously.’
‘Why, what did she do?’ Brenda frowned and then her blue eyes widened questioningly.
‘Surely you noticed the way she was flirting with Jason Parker,’ Jan pronounced censoriously.
‘It was only a bit of light-hearted fun, surely. Anyway, I thought it was Jason who was doing all the chasing.’
‘Margaret has changed,’ Jan stated. ‘I would never have expected her to carry on like that.’
‘She’s simply come out of her shell now she hasn’t got that unbearable husband of hers breathing down her neck,’ defended Brenda.
‘That’s the whole point, though, isn’t it?’ snapped Jan. ‘That’s precisely what I can’t understand. He’s only just died!’
‘What do you expect her to do? Cry all the time?’
‘She’s only been a widow a few weeks so she shouldn’t be behaving like that.’
‘She didn’t even cry at Reginald’s funeral did she?’ mused Thelma, her mouth tightening into a disapproving line.
‘That’s beside the point. After the miserable existence she’s endured for the last five years I didn’t expect her to be crying her eyes out, but I did expect her to behave with … with …’
‘Decorum?’
‘Precisely!’ The triumph in Jan’s voice made Thelma’s pencilled eyebrows rise sharply and Brenda’s lips purse up in protest.
‘You’re being rather hard on poor Margaret, aren’t you, Jan?’ Brenda remonstrated gently. ‘I think she’s been very brave to have put her grief behind her and tried to carry on as normal.’
‘Grief? What grief? I’ve never in my life seen anyone grieve less.’
Jan’s abruptness shocked Brenda. ‘You don’t know that for sure. When she’s on her own—’
‘Rubbish! You can tell she’s not grieving. She acts like someone who’s had a load lifted from their shoulders.’
‘Well, so she has in a way,’ intervened Thelma quickly. ‘We all considered Reginald to be an old bore and we hardly ever saw him. Think what it must have been like living with him! He certainly put a stop to Margaret enjoying life once he retired.’
‘It’s no good saying that now; she should have stood up for herself.’
‘You can be awfully callous, Jan. I’m sure Margaret tried to make the best of things for her family’s sake.’
‘Twaddle! They’re all grown up and they could see for themselves what a tyrant he had become, so they would have understood.’
‘Her children might have understood the situation, but what about the grandchildren?’ persisted Brenda. ‘Even small babies are sensitive to a discordant atmosphere. I know my Jack says that if he ever raises his voice then—’
‘You can’t ruin your life for them!’ snorted Jan. ‘In ten or fifteen years they’ll all be living their own lives and they’ll probably never even phone home or call on any of their family unless they want something.’
‘Surely all this is Margaret’s problem not ou
rs,’ murmured Thelma diplomatically. She drained the rest of her sherry and put the glass down on the table at her side.
‘I agree! As long as it doesn’t interfere with our lives,’ Jan said quickly.
‘But it won’t, will it – except for the better. It’s all in the past and it’s lovely knowing that we will have Margaret back now. You should have invited her to join us today for a glass of sherry, Jan.’
‘I’ve invited her along for coffee. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. I asked you both to come early so that we could settle how we are going to handle things. I’m referring to the way Margaret was behaving on the river trip.’
Brenda looked utterly confused. ‘Jan dear, what on earth are you on about?’
‘I’m talking about the way she monopolized Jason,’ snapped Jan. ‘Damn it, she’s only known the man a couple of weeks.’
Thelma frowned. ‘He’s doing some work on her place, isn’t he?’ she queried.
‘Yes he is and I was the one who introduced them. That’s the irony of it.’
‘Oh, Jan, what a giggle! You’re jealous!’ Brenda went into burbles of laughter, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. ‘You don’t like it because he’s paying more attention to Margaret than he is to you.’
‘What utter nonsense! I’m referring to the way Margaret was flirting with him. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed how she was leading him on.’
‘It’s rather a difficult situation,’ murmured Thelma thoughtfully. She had noticed that Margaret and Jason had seemed to spend quite a lot of time talking to each other, but she had not given it a great deal of thought until now. She had never particularly liked Jason and had always assumed that Jan tolerated him only because he was such a brilliant interior designer. Now, from the way Jan was reacting, she wasn’t so sure if that was the only reason.
‘I think you’re imagining it, Jan,’ defended Brenda.
‘Oh, no! He’s been round at Willow House every day for the past two weeks.’
Thelma looked thoughtful. ‘If you raise that point she’s bound to tell you she’s having the place redecorated and that the only reason he is there is to do with work.’
‘How do you know he’s there every day?’ Brenda’s blue eyes sharpened accusingly.
‘Whenever I’ve driven past, his car has been parked in the driveway.’
‘You’ve been spying on them, haven’t you, Jan?’
‘I’ve also found it’s impossible to contact him by phone at his office.’
‘Surely that’s because he’s out working?’
‘He calls it that. It’s always at Willow House, though!’
‘If Margaret is having the entire place done up then he is bound to be there a great deal – and it could take several weeks or even months.’
‘So what do you want me to do? Keep quiet until the work there is finished and then find it’s too late?’
‘Too late for what?’
‘Brenda, you are so naive that you exasperate me sometimes. I asked you both round here in the hope that between us we could devise some sort of scheme to save Margaret from doing anything she might bitterly regret later on.’
Thelma shook her head. ‘I don’t really see that there is anything we can do. After all, you can hardly say “hands off”. Jason Parker is a free agent, and he can be friends with whoever he chooses.’
‘You mean you want us to help stop her taking Jason Parker off you, don’t you?’ chuckled Brenda, unabashed by Jan’s anger.
‘That is both uncalled for and offensive. I introduced them to each other so I’d feel responsible if she made a fool of herself with him. Don’t forget he’s almost twenty years younger than her!’
‘Which means he is twenty years younger than you,’ Brenda reminded her triumphantly.
‘I am well aware of that fact. I regard him as my protégé. I’m sure Jason would agree that it’s thanks to all the countless introductions and recommendations that I’ve given him that his business has prospered in the way it has.’
‘So what are we supposed to do about it? Are you suggesting we should tell Margaret that we disapprove, and advise her to stop seeing him?’
‘Or should we say he’s already spoken for?’ quipped Brenda.
There was an uneasy silence as Jan collected up the sherry glasses and arranged them carefully on a round silver tray.
‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What are we going to do about it? Have you any suggestions, or not?’
Eighteen
Willow House had received its final lick of paint. In six weeks it had been transformed from a shabby family house into an elegant, highly desirable, country residence worthy of a centre spread in Delightful Homes or Top Houses.
Margaret was entranced. The finished results surpassed even her highest expectations. She was more than satisfied with Jason’s work.
It seemed inconceivable that she had toyed with the idea of moving house after Reginald had died because she’d thought that new surroundings might help to erase all the miserable memories that were blighting her outlook on life.
She’d even studied the estate agents windows and collected their handouts, but she’d found nothing of interest. There hadn’t been a single property in the price range she could afford that was remotely suitable. None of them offered either the sort of accommodation, or the exclusive setting, that Willow House enjoyed.
She would have been prepared to take a smaller house if she could have found one she liked; one that was within walking distance of shops, the medical centre, library and the railway station.
The last straw had been when Charles had suggested, ‘Perhaps we should think about having a granny flat built on to our place for you?’
She had been appalled at the thought of being under his watchful eye, night and day, with Helen monitoring all her comings and goings. They would even be able to vet her visitors and probably interfere at every possible chance. Added to that, she would be regarded as a built-in babysitter. Much as she loved her grandchildren, she had brought up one family and had no intention of repeating the process over again.
Compared to that idea, Willow House, even as it stood, was more suitable, she’d decided. It was secluded, yet within walking distance of all the local amenities. The rest of the family lived within easy reach, yet they were all sufficiently far away that she would be able to retain her independence.
Discounting the last years since Reginald had been ill, Willow House had plenty of happy memories, ones she didn’t want to leave behind. All three of her children had been born and raised there; the garden had been a haven for them and their friends, and their very own adventure playground.
The garden had always been her special delight, too. The children had given many of the shrubs and trees now growing in it to her as a present on her birthday, or Mother’s Day, or at Easter.
The willow tree, from which the house took its name, was one of the finest specimens she had ever seen. Almost a hundred foot high, its delicate waving green fronds provided a welcome shade in summer and home for a variety of birds, and squirrels, all through the year.
Reginald had never shown very much interest in the garden. He had preferred to spend his leisure time playing golf. Even after his retirement, when he had been forced into giving up golf for health reasons, his interest in the garden had remained peripheral. When the weather was warm he would sit out on the patio in summer, reading his newspaper while she pottered around weeding the borders, deadheading the roses, and tending to the flower pots.
No, she’d decided, there were no changes at all she wished to make out of doors. The interior was quite another matter.
She’d been so impressed by the work Jan had had done to her flat that staying where she was at Willow House and hiring Jason Parker to transform the interior into the sort of home she’d always dreamed of living in had seemed to be the perfect solution.
It had certainly been successful and beyond her wildest expectations. There were so many cha
nges that she was sure if Reginald ever came back he would feel completely lost.
The kitchen had been the starting point. Margaret would have been content to simply have the mid-sixties style units ripped out and replaced by modern oak fitments but Jason had been far more ambitious.
‘You will have to put in a new cooker so you may as well have one of the latest split-level models with a ceramic hob and double oven. I’ll bring along some brochures so that you can choose the one you like.’
‘I ought to replace the washing machine …’
Jason made a note on his pad. ‘I’ll incorporate that into the scheme. One with a built-in drier will take up less space than the two separate units you have now. And what about the fridge and the freezer? They’re pretty obsolete. A fridge-freezer unit will not only look better, but it will be space-saving and more efficient.’
He’d gone on to include a dishwasher and the microwave she’d always wanted, but which Reginald had steadfastly refused to buy because he didn’t approve of them.
The rest of the changes to the decor in the kitchen were fairly restrained. Jason had wanted to be more adventurous, but she had opted for a few subtle touches. She had always wanted leadlight glass doors on the main kitchen cabinet and a stained-glass panel in the centre of the large window. Now she had them and the result was stunning.
The main bathroom had been next on her list and she had let Jason have free rein. It had been a wise move. He had transformed it into an exotic retreat. The ordinary bath had been replaced with a Jacuzzi in a subtle shade of oyster pink. It was positioned across one corner of the room and resplendent with gleaming gold-plated taps and flanked by heated towel rails. The ceiling was panelled in golden oak that matched the woodwork of the vanity unit. A glass-encased sunken shower blended superbly with the decorative tiles on the walls.
By far the most satisfying transformation, however, was the main bedroom – her bedroom. Gone was the heavy walnut furniture and in its place Jason had designed fitted units in the palest possible shade of lilac with mirrored doors that were outlined with a delicate tracery of gold leaf.
The lilac, purple and grey stripes of the satin drapes matched the bedcover, and frilled cushions, piped in purple, were piled high against the bed head. Her feet sank into the deep-pile purple carpet.
