by Rosie Harris
Margaret looked away quickly, unnerved by his closeness. It had all happened so suddenly. Far too quickly! It was as if some invisible presence was pushing her forward, ensnaring her, not allowing her time to think.
Everything else she had attempted since Reginald had died, like changing the car and her holiday abroad, had all met with resistance from her family and fallen through. Yet everything to do with Jason moving in had rushed to a positive conclusion. Was it fate?
A sudden swoosh in the air around her startled her. She let out a scream as a whirring black shape narrowly missed her face, circled over her head and then made another swoop in her direction.
As she ducked down, covering her hair with her hands, Jason placed his arm around her shoulders protectively.
‘It’s only a bat!’
‘I know! I hate them, though. I’m always afraid they’ll become entangled in my hair.’
‘They’re far too clever for that. They fly on a sort of radar system.’
She shivered. ‘In that case, why can’t they keep their distance!’
His laugh was warm and reassuring. ‘They’re attracted to you … just as I am.’
His arm tightened. His long fingers moved slowly up and down her spine in a slow, soothing caress as if he was counting every vertebra. It was very sensual and she found herself unable to control her shivering response.
His touch deepened. His hand moved lower down her spine until he was caressing her hip and then his fingers were kneading into the soft flesh between her hipbone and groin.
The bat swooped again, but this time Margaret didn’t even flinch. All her thoughts were focused on the incredible sensations Jason’s touch was arousing in her.
She tried to analyse what was happening, why she was feeling so physically disturbed by his closeness. It wasn’t as though it was their first meeting. She’d been out with Jason countless times on their visits to exhibitions and showrooms. They’d eaten together, shared so many intimate moments, yet never once, not even at Jan’s birthday party on the Castle Gold when he’d told her that he thought he was falling in love with her, had she felt as emotionally disturbed as she did now.
Her thoughts buzzed like an angry wasp trapped in an empty beer glass as physical needs, submerged for too long, came to the surface. She deplored her own foolhardiness in inviting him to live at Willow House. If this was what it was going to do to her then it would be best to tell him right away, that it had all been a mistake.
He’d be annoyed at being asked to leave. He’d have every right to be after moving most of his personal belongings from his studio flat to Willow House. Even so, it would be better to upset him now than to leave him under any false illusions.
Jason mistook her sharp intake of breath, as she struggled to bring her feelings under control and find the right words to tell him what was in her mind, as an expression of emotion.
Margaret felt incensed as the pressure of his hand increased. Gritting her teeth she pushed his hand aside and stood up.
‘I think it’s time we were going indoors.’
‘You’re probably right. I do have to be at work in the morning,’ he agreed in a low, diffident voice.
Margaret felt confused His tone was so smooth, so unemotional, that she wondered if she had attributed far more to his action than he’d intended.
‘Surely you don’t open your showroom all that early?’
‘I like everything to be ready for customers by nine o’clock and that means I need to be there about half eight at the latest to make sure everything is presentable.’
Margaret collected up their coffee cups and placed them on the tray. As she picked it up and began walking towards the house he took the tray from her and carried it into the kitchen.
‘So you get up about seven o’ clock do you?’ she queried as she rinsed out the two mugs under the hot water tap and turned them upside down on the draining board.
She bit her lip, realizing that her voice was sharp and terse and that she was haranguing him almost like a schoolteacher.
‘Seven, half past, something like that, Why?’
‘I was just wondering what sort of arrangements we ought to make about breakfast.’
‘It’s no great hassle. I don’t bother with a cooked breakfast. I only have orange juice, a bowl of cereal and a slice of toast and marmalade if there is any available.’
‘So you can see to that yourself.’
His eyes widened in surprise.
‘Of course … if that is what you wish. I had rather looked forward to us having breakfast together.’
‘No … I think it would be better if we made our own arrangements in the morning.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s fine by me.’
‘Sometimes I get up very early. At other times, if I don’t sleep well, I am quite late,’ she added vaguely.
She waved a hand towards the fridge and the toaster. ‘You know where everything is?’
‘I’ll manage!’
‘Good … then I’ll say goodnight. I’ll lock the front door before I go upstairs. Will you put out the lights?
‘If that’s the way you want it.’
His slow, amused smile made her feel uncomfortable. She suspected he was laughing at her and she wasn’t sure why. Tight-lipped she began to ascend the stairs.
‘So I won’t see you at all in the morning?’ he called after her.
She paused, holding on to the banister rail as she looked back over her shoulder. ‘Probably not.’
‘You will remember to invite Jan and the others to dinner.’
‘Tomorrow night?’
‘That’s what we agreed.’ He came to the foot of the stairs, and stood looking up at her. ‘You do still want me to be the one to tell them that I’m moving in as your lodger, don’t you?’
She hesitated, knowing that this was an ideal moment to tell him that she wasn’t sure and that she needed more time to think about it but instead found herself saying: ‘Yes … yes, of course I do!’
‘So you’ll phone the three of them tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes! Will eight o’clock suit you?’
He frowned, rubbing his hand slowly over his bare skull so that the tanned skin rippled like soft golden sand as the tide recedes from it.
‘It would be better if you made it earlier. Then you can enjoy a drink, and a chat with them, while I’m cooking the meal.’
‘While you cook the meal?’ Margaret stared at him, her eyes widening in astonishment.
‘I’ll break the big news to them over a welcoming drink the moment they arrive. Then I’ll leave the four of you to chat while I get on in the kitchen,’ he told her.
‘I … I haven’t decided yet what we are having.’ Her tone was tetchy. She wanted to remind him that it was her kitchen, her friends and, above all, her home.
He beamed magniloquently. ‘Don’t give it another thought. I’ll shop for what I need and bring it home with me.’
Margaret made one final effort to retain control of the situation. ‘Perhaps I should …’
Jason held up a hand imperiously. ‘Not another word! My treat, my surprise.’
‘But they’re my friends,’ she exploded, ‘I should be the one to …’
‘You can supply the wines,’ he conceded. ‘Chilled white to start and perhaps a Claret for the main course.’
At a complete loss for words, Margaret went on up the stairs. Jason taking such a decisive stance brought back memories of the way Reginald had always dictated what she must do and she found it very disturbing. She knew that this was yet another opportunity to tell him she had changed her mind about him coming there to live but the words wouldn’t come.
None of this had been covered by the house rules that she had compiled so carefully. She had never dreamed that he would want to cook or that he would try and organize her life. It made the list she had given him about coming in late, always locking up if he was last in, bringing down any laundry first thing on a Monday morning and countless other
household rules seem like petty domestic trivia.
Was Jason simply trying to be helpful, Margaret asked herself as she undressed and prepared for bed. Probably all he was trying to do was be cooperative and she was grossly misinterpreting his actions.
Living on her own was making her paranoiac, she told herself ruefully. The more she thought about it the more foolish her anxieties seemed to be. The truth was she was not used to others taking over her household chores and she resented the intrusion into what she considered to be her territory.
It was her own fault; she had no one but herself to blame. Welcoming Jason to Willow House and making sure that he felt at home there constituted more than merely handing him a door key. She’d lost the right to consider the kitchen her sole domain the moment she’d told him to fend for himself in the mornings.
She suddenly felt uneasy as she heard him moving about on the landing. There was no lock on her bedroom door, or on any of the interior doors, apart from the bathroom and the downstairs cloakroom.
Feeling rather ridiculous she struggled to move the armchair that stood by the window across the room so that she could wedge it tight against her bedroom door. It weighed a ton. She dropped it on her instep at one stage and the pain was so excruciating that she could barely stop herself from screaming out loud.
Thank heaven her room had an en-suite bathroom, she thought, as she hobbled through to soak a flannel in cold water and apply it to her foot to try and stem the swelling.
With the chair blocking the door against intrusion she felt more sanguine. At least she’d be able to sleep in peace.
An hour later she began to wonder if she was going to be able to sleep at all. She had never felt so edgy and the question still uppermost in her mind was how was she going to make having a lodger work?
She wasn’t prepared to admit to Charles and the rest of the family, that they were right and she was wrong. Furthermore, she’d never be able to face Jan and the others, if she had to admit to them that she’d made a bad move by having Jason as a lodger.
Since they didn’t know as yet, then if she didn’t invite them to dinner tomorrow evening, they wouldn’t have to know anything at all about it.
I’ll tell Jason first thing in the morning that I don’t think sharing Willow House with him is a good idea, she decided.
The thought played over and over again, like a dominant chord, as she tossed and turned, trying to settle. Sleep eluded her as she speculated about the future.
At any other time she would have gone down to the kitchen and made a hot drink but now she was reluctant to do so in case Jason might hear her and come to investigate what she was doing.
She heard the night planes droning overhead, the distant sound of a car door slamming and the sudden sharp bark of a disturbed dog. Even the faint ticking of her bedside clock disturbed her, keeping sleep at bay and turning her fears and misgivings into growing uncertainty.
It was almost dawn before Margaret drifted into a nightmare-ridden turmoil; mid-morning before she woke again feeling irritable and out of sorts.
She struggled out of bed feeling disgruntled at having slept so late. Bleary-eyed, she showered and dressed, hoping that once she’d had a coffee she would feel more normal.
It wasn’t until she was ready to leave her bedroom and found the armchair pushed tight up against the door that she thought about Jason. She checked on the time. At least he would be out of the house by now and she’d have the place to herself, she thought with relief.
Downstairs there was no sign of him. If he had eaten breakfast before he went off to his studio then he had not left any traces whatsoever.
She wandered through the rest of the downstairs rooms. They were all in the same pristine order as they’d been the previous day.
Feeling more reassured she went upstairs to the room Jason was planning to use as a studio. At first she felt it would be prying to go inside, invading his privacy. Then she reminded herself it was her house so she had every right to do so.
She flung open the door not knowing quite what to expect. The silence mocked her. The room was completely empty; utterly bare.
She walked along the landing towards the room that had been Steven’s, the room she’d decided that Jason was to use as a bedroom. Her hesitation was momentary; she had to see if that room was also empty. If so, did it mean Jason had once again read her thoughts and sensed she wasn’t happy about sharing her home with him? Or had he, too, decided that both of them living under the same roof wouldn’t work?
As she opened the door she could feel his presence. It was everywhere. She looked around hesitantly, half expecting to find him sitting in there waiting for her,
His dressing gown was on a hook behind the door. Socks, underwear and shirts were piled on the armchair. She wondered why Jason hadn’t put them away in the chest of drawers. She’d made sure it was ready, even relined each of the five drawers with crisp green and white perfumed paper.
Propped against one wall was a stack of unframed sketches, drawing and paintings. On the floor alongside them were boxes of paints, pencils, palettes and other art equipment.
The dressing table looked bare; not even a brush or comb, only an electric razor, a flask of expensive aftershave and a matching can of spray deodorant.
One of the wardrobe doors was ajar, and she could see his suits and jackets, hanging there. She stood looking at them, remembering the different occasions when he had worn each one. Remembering their many trips to London, their visits to exhibitions, studios, workshops and stores.
She’d enjoyed every one of those visits, she reflected. Jason had been so attentive, so knowledgeable, so entertaining.
At first she’d felt self-conscious, afraid that people might be wondering why on earth someone as young and handsome as Jason was escorting a plain, middle-aged woman.
Their age difference had galvanized her into buying new clothes. Up-to-the-minute styles, the sort of clothes that a year or two earlier she would have thought of as avant-garde and unsuitable for her mode of life. It had been because Jason had been so distinctively different that she’d had the courage to change her own image.
In that respect, knowing him had been tremendously good for her ego so why did she now feel so threatened, she wondered?
Right from their first moment of meeting there had been empathy between her and Jason; a sexual chemistry that stirred both of them. He had made no secret of his feelings for her so why was she holding back? What was she afraid of, she wondered? She was behaving like a Victorian virgin, not someone who had married at nineteen over forty years ago!
Resolutely she turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. If she had to have a lodger then surely it was better to have someone she knew rather than a complete stranger.
She had made it clear that he would be living there as a lodger and nothing more and Jason was the perfect gentleman so what was she worrying about?
Thirty-One
The dinner party went incredibly smoothly, although there was no doubt at all in Margaret’s mind that it was Jason who dominated the entire evening. It was his party not hers.
Jan’s autocratic features had hardened when she found Jason was already installed at Willow House and she made no secret of the fact that she disapproved of him being there as Margaret’s lodger.
His effusive greeting, however, helped by the large gin frugally laced with tonic that Jason handed her almost before she had stepped inside the door, overcame Jan’s initial annoyance.
Thelma and Brenda seemed to be surprised by Margaret’s action but not unduly concerned. Brenda welcomed him enthusiastically, calling him ‘dear boy’ and patting his arm. Thelma was more restrained but she, too, seemed delighted to see him, and expressed the opinion that she thought it was an excellent arrangement that he was going to live at Willow House.
‘I’m sure you will be very happy there,’ she enthused. ‘It’s a lovely house, especially now that Margaret has had it all redecora
ted and installed modern furniture. Then, of course, you know all about that don’t you,’ she added with a coy smile.
At Jason’s suggestion they all took their drinks out on to the patio. As soon as they were all sitting comfortably and relaxed in the deeply cushioned wicker armchairs, he excused himself. ‘I’m going to disappear into the kitchen for a little while so I’m leaving you here to either go on happily chatting to each other or you can wander around the garden and admire Margaret’s clever work there. I’ll call you when everything is ready.’
The meal was simple but superbly cooked and served. He tempted their palates with iced soup, delicately flavoured with fresh herbs, followed by lamb cutlets, grilled with rosemary from the garden and served with tiny new potatoes, baby onions and tender green beans. To follow, he piled strawberries into individual melon boats, and topped them with whipped cream.
The evening was hot and sultry so they returned to the coolness of the patio to enjoy freshly perked coffee and a heady liqueur that none of them had ever tasted before. Jason refused to tell them its name, claiming that it was one of his secret discoveries.
Surrounded by her closest friends, replete with food, and pleasantly soporific from the various wines and spirits she’d been drinking, Margaret felt agreeably content.
Why couldn’t life always be relaxed and friendly like this, she wondered. If only one could freeze such a moment not simply as a memory but to actually be recaptured at will.
In some respects she had done exactly that, she told herself. Or, even better, she had turned the clock back. The dinner party that had just taken place could well have happened ten years earlier, before her friendship with Jan, Thelma and Brenda had been put on hold. The only difference was that Jason hadn’t been there then.
She allowed herself a blissful sigh. It looked after all as if she had made the right choice deciding to let Jason come to live at Willow House. He was proving to be excellent company and far better than Reginald had ever been. Reginald would never have sat entertaining her friends with amusing anecdotes, nor would he have cooked a meal for them!
Once she was used to having Jason around the place, had time to adjust to his ways and idiosyncrasies, they’d live in perfect harmony. As long as he was prepared to let things take their natural course and didn’t try to rush her their relationship might well develop along the lines he hoped.
