by Rosie Harris
Margaret felt at a loss. ‘Have you any vacancies for receptionists?’
‘Is that the sort of work you have been doing?’
‘No, not exactly. I haven’t been working for a while but it is the sort of job I want.’
‘I see! Take a seat and I’ll check.’
Margaret sat down in the chair facing the desk as the woman rose and went over to a filing cabinet at the other side of the room. As she waited Margaret noted that a framed card on the desk gave the woman’s name as Daphne Robins.
In a matter of minutes Daphne Robins had returned, smiling brightly and carrying two cards.
‘Right. Well, there’s one at a beauty salon and one at a private clinic. In both instances, as well as welcoming clients, you will be expected to keep records of their treatment and note appointments on the computer and send out reminders and render accounts and ensure that they are not behind with their payments.’
Daphne Robins looked up enquiringly at Margaret, ‘Do you think you will be able to do all that?’
‘I am sure I can,’ Margaret said confidently, ‘but not on a computer. I would prefer to record everything in ledgers and …’ Her voice trailed off as she saw the frown on Daphne Robins’s face.
‘Do I take it that you are not computer literate?’ she asked crisply.
‘I’m afraid not; well, not at the present moment. I am thinking about taking lessons.’
Daphne Robins shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘I’m afraid then that those sorts of jobs are not for you.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I am sure we have others that you would like to consider.’
She rose and returned the two cards to the filing cabinet and came back with two others.
‘What about working as a companion to an elderly person? It would mean helping them to wash and dress in the morning, preparing their meals and taking them out shopping or for short walks. Possibly that would be in a wheelchair.’
‘No! Most certainly not,’ Margaret said firmly.
‘I see! I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in child care, while their parents are at work? If you were looking after small children then of course you would have to be checked out by the police and social services.’
‘I don’t think so!’
‘No, you are probably right. It really needs a much younger person for that sort of work. Well, in that case, Mrs Wright, I don’t think we have anything suitable for you on our books at the moment,’ Daphne Robins said dismissively.
Deftly she tore in two the card she had started to make out in Margaret’s name and dropped it into the waste-paper basket at the side of her desk. ‘Never mind; do call in again because we are constantly adding new vacancies to our lists.’
Margaret left the agency feeling a mixture of annoyance and dismay. Daphne Robins had made her feel not only old but useless.
By the looks of things it was back to the drawing board, she reflected as she rode home on the bus from Maidenhead. It would seem that taking in lodgers was about the only thing she was capable of doing; the only means she had of earning money.
Even to do that she felt she needed some help and advice. She didn’t want to ask her family and she didn’t want to involve her friends, so who was there left, she wondered despondently.
It left only Jason.
Her heart lifted. Of course, Jason would be able to help. He might even know of someone who was looking for somewhere to live. And he could certainly recommend Willow House. He knew every inch of the place and could list all the advantages of living there in glowing terms.
She grimaced. She would hate having other people at Willow House, especially now when she’d had it so beautifully redecorated.
Still, she told herself, it had to be done and the sooner she accepted the idea the better.
Twenty-Nine
Jason appeared flattered when she phoned and told him that she had a problem and would like his help.
‘Of course I’ll help in any way I can … I’m on my way …’
‘There’s no need to come over, I can explain over the phone.’
‘Nonsense! I need a tea break. It will be an opportunity to get out of the office for an hour.’
She hardly had time to lay up a tray with cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits before Jason was at the door.
‘How are you managing on your own?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Quite well,’ she answered guardedly as she poured out the tea and passed a cup to him.
His amber eyes narrowed a fraction as he studied her carefully. ‘No problems at all?’
‘Well …’ she hesitated, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze. Then with a little sigh she gave in. ‘You’ve heard, I suppose?’
‘Heard what?’
‘That Reginald was practically broke when he died.’
‘Really!’ He regarded her speculatively.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘You settled my account promptly enough.’
She looked at him quickly. ‘You’ve been paid? Oh that is a relief. I was worried in case Charles had put it on hold.’
‘Charles? What did he have to do with it?’
‘I passed it over to him to pay. Reginald left powers of administration in his hands. Didn’t you notice it was his signature on the cheque?’
Jason shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a cheque. It was paid by bank transfer.’
Margaret shrugged. ‘You’ve got your money, that’s the main thing.’
‘And now you’re broke?’
‘I was broke before, apparently. The company has been in trouble for years. It was all the worry and insecurity that caused Reginald’s heart attack, or so Charles claims. After his retirement Reginald spent all his personal savings. That was what we were living on.’
‘So that was why he sold your car, was it,’ mused Jason.
Margaret looked startled. ‘You mean to get money to live on?’
Jason nodded. ‘I think that’s quite possible, don’t you?’
Margaret hid her face in her hands, appalled as she recalled the way she had carried on at the time. Then her heart hardened. If Reginald had confided in her, if he had explained the true state of their affairs, she would have understood why it had to be sold and not made any fuss at all.
As it was, she had taken it as just another sign of his chauvinism. She had thought he had sold her car simply because he wanted to deprive her of her independence.
He was still managing to do that even now, she thought angrily. Her newly found freedom was being eroded because she might have to give up her home because he hadn’t left enough money for its upkeep.
‘What on earth am I going to do?’ She turned to Jason, her face creased in despair.
Forty years of being looked after, cared for, provided for and protected from the harsh realities of life had sapped her initiative. Charles was probably right she thought bitterly. Her inability to cope with her own domestic crisis hadn’t augured much hope of her landing a worthwhile job.
‘Finding the right person to have as a lodger is going to be the problem,’ she told Jason. ‘I’m not keen on having strangers moving into Willow House with me, yet what else is there? All my friends have their own homes. The only person who might be prepared to give up her own place and share with me is my sister, Vivienne.’
The trouble was, Margaret thought, she didn’t like Vivienne. They had never got on all that well and she felt sure that having to live together permanently would be unbearable for both of them.
Jason reached out and took both her hands in his. ‘Stop worrying! I think I can solve your problem,’
His tone was gentle but reassuring. Margaret looked up into his face, taking strength from the compassion in his amber eyes.
‘I know who will make the perfect lodger.’
‘Is it a man or a woman?’
‘Does that matter?’
‘Not really, I suppose. Whoever it is will probably be out most of the day. A man will need more looking after
. He’ll expect his meals to be cooked and his washing done, that sort of thing.’
‘Not this one. He’s fully house-trained,’ he told her gravely.
‘And he’s looking for accommodation?’
‘Well, he has got somewhere at the moment, but I know he would prefer Willow House to where he’s living at present.’
‘I shall be charging an exorbitant rent,’ she warned.
‘He’ll pay whatever you ask.’
‘Really! I find it hard to believe. So who is it?’
His amber eyes gleamed teasingly. ‘Can’t you guess?’
‘You don’t mean …’ she stopped aghast. The look on Jason’s face told her all she needed to know.
‘But you can’t move in here with me!’
‘Why ever not? You are looking for a lodger. You’ve just said so.’
‘I don’t know what my family will say.’
‘Does it matter? You are the one who’s going to share your home with me, not them. Come on, Margaret, you know it’s the perfect solution. We enjoy each other’s company so this will be a wonderful arrangement for both of us.’
Alarm bells rang in her ears. ‘If you come it will be strictly as a lodger, remember,’ she demurred.
‘I know, I know and I accept your conditions – for a start at any rate.’
Margaret frowned. ‘What happens if we find it doesn’t work?’
‘You have only to say and I’ll move out of course. Now, does that set your mind at rest?’
‘Well, it’s such a shock that I don’t know what to say!’
‘Say yes! And now tell me when I can move in.’
Margaret hesitated. ‘I must explain the situation to the family first.’
He frowned. ‘Why do you need to do that? If you had advertised in the local paper would you have consulted them about the applicants or would you have taken a decision on your own?’
‘Charles warned me about doing that. He gave me a list of questions to ask and said he would have any applicants vetted before anything was agreed.’
Jason’s mouth tightened and his amber eyes darkened angrily but his tone was controlled as he said: ‘OK. Then he can vet me if it gives him peace of mind.’
She knew he was waiting for her to say it didn’t matter in his case and she felt embarrassed because she couldn’t go back on her promise to Charles.
Deep down she was uncertain about having Jason as a lodger because there seemed to be something inevitable about it; almost as if he had planned it.
Right from the start he had taken such a personal interest in the work he was carrying out on Willow House. The meticulous attention to everything, his insistence on supervising every detail, had been excessive.
Had their visits to London to tour furniture stores and their numerous expeditions to art galleries and exhibitions been as much for his benefit as hers? she wondered. Had he wanted to make sure that everything that went into Willow House was in accordance with his taste?
It had been pleasant to be wined and dined, especially by a younger, handsome man who hung on her every word. It had been a novelty to have her opinion valued but had it really been necessary, or had it been a way of flattering her and winning her confidence.
After so many years of enduring Reginald’s carping, listening to him grumbling about everything from the state of the country to the weather, it had been refreshing to be in such genial company.
Looking back, Margaret wondered if she had been too forthcoming. Jason had put her so much at ease and listened so willingly that she had told him things she wouldn’t have dreamed of confiding to anyone else. Knowing he knew so much about her affairs now made her feel extremely vulnerable,
So was it sensible to let him move in? Was it courting trouble to have him living under her roof? If she was honest, she had to admit that she enjoyed his company but, even so, she didn’t want their relationship to go any further.
As if reading her thoughts, Jason said quietly, ‘It would be the ideal opportunity for us to get to know each other better at our own pace. I still have a living to earn, a business to oversee, so I would be out of the house a great deal.’
‘But you would be living here …’
‘I would keep to my own rooms unless you invited me to join you.’
Margaret nodded uncertainly.
‘The great advantage for you would be that you’d be able to afford to go on living at Willow House,’ he persisted.
Margaret felt herself weakening. Her resolution not to let anyone encroach on her freedom ever again was creeping away like a whipped puppy.
‘I’ll have to think it over,’ she prevaricated. ‘It sounds like a possible solution,’ she added cautiously.
Jason gave a desultory shrug but his amber eyes were bright with the pleasure of knowing he had won. His lips curved in a restrained quirk of triumph. He looked so happy that, once again, alarm bells sounded inside her head.
What was she doing! She would have to tell Charles and she wondered if he would approve of her decision. If only Reginald was here to advise her.
She comforted herself with the thought that it was Reginald’s fault she was in this predicament. If he had been more prudent or at least told her what a sorry state they were in it wouldn’t have all come as a shock. Furthermore she would have been thriftier and she certainly wouldn’t have spent the money she had on refurbishing Willow House.
As a result of all this she was now so hard up that she was being forced to do what Charles had told her and take in a lodger.
Thirty
Unable to settle, Margaret wandered out into the garden while she waited for Jason to return. Whenever her nerves were on edge or anything worried her she found it calming, restorative even, to potter in the garden. If it had been light enough she would have pruned back some of the overgrown bushes, pulled up weeds or even deadheaded the geraniums and roses.
As it was, she simply wandered up and down in the semi-darkness, enjoying the moon-soaked peacefulness. The rustling from the bushes where birds were roosting or nesting, the scampering of voles and field mice in the borders, the prickly scuttle as a hedgehog came out from under the garden shed in search of food were all overshadowed by the thunderous rumble of heavily loaded passenger jets leaving Heathrow airport on the first leg of their outward journey.
They passed so low overhead it seemed they almost scraped the top of the willow tree, their cabin lights shining like a string of stars. As she wondered where they were bound for she felt a momentary regret that she hadn’t been able to take the holiday she’d promised herself.
She heard Jason’s car draw up, heard him call her name as he went into the house through the front door that she had left ajar, but she made no effort to follow him.
She kept her mind a blank waiting for him to come and look for her. She didn’t know whether she wanted him to stay or leave. It was weak of her, she knew, but she felt it had to be his decision.
She had laid down the ground rules, if he accepted them of his own free will, then she would feel happier than if she nagged or coerced him into doing so.
Her own feelings were in turmoil but she was still resolved not to give in. She wasn’t prepared to live with Jason, not in the fullest sense of the word.
She didn’t want to live on her own so if he decided not to move in as a lodger then she would look for someone else. Next time, though, she’d do as Alison had advised and let Charles handle the letting, She would put the onus on him to vet the new tenant and set down the house rules.
Perhaps it would be better if she did have a woman to share with her. She thought of Jan and Brenda and Thelma and immediately dismissed all thought of anyone like that. Jan was so bossy that she would probably be the one making the house rules. Brenda was too fussy and disorganized. She shuddered. All those knick-knacks and ornaments, she couldn’t bear that. She didn’t want someone of Thelma’s type either. She was so dominant. It would be like having a man in the house without all the adva
ntages of a man’s strength and his technical knowledge when it came to hanging pictures, changing fuses and putting new washers on taps.
If only Steven was still a bachelor, she thought wistfully. She would have enjoyed having him living at home. It would have been such a good life for the two of them. Together under one roof, yet content to live individual lives without any interference on either side.
She always felt so comfortable with Steven. They thought alike about most things and even when her opinion differed from his, he never censured her.
‘Coffee?’
Margaret swung round. She hadn’t heard Jason come into the garden yet he was standing right besides her holding a tray with a jug of coffee and two mugs on it. Without waiting for an answer, he set the tray down on the wrought-iron garden table as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be bringing her coffee at this time of night.
‘Come and sit here.’ He patted the cushions on the garden seat beside him. As she sat down he poured out the coffee into the mugs and handed one to her.
It was all so incongruous that she wanted to laugh. He was acting as if he already lived there and as if the acrid discussion over the house rules and which rooms he should have had never taken place.
That’s what he wants me to think, she told herself. It’s a mental sweeping it under the carpet syndrome. It left her nonplussed. Her thoughts were so conflicting that she couldn’t decide how to react. She wanted him to move in but could she trust him to behave like a lodger and not to encroach on her privacy or try to change the way she lived?
As she turned her head to look at him, Jason smiled back, as though he was reading her thoughts.
His smooth gleaming head, that was almost the same colour as his evenly tanned cheeks, was luminous in the moonglow. He flicked imaginary specks from his black polo-necked shirt and white jeans and then crossed one suede-clad foot over the other as he leaned back and placed his empty cup on the table.
‘Perfect, isn’t it!’ His amber eyes gleamed like a cat’s in the dim light.
