Just Another Day

by Patricia Fawcett

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  That was true and it was another good reason why she must say no. Helplessly she looked round for support, but they were unobserved in their quiet corner and he was waiting for an answer, a confident look in his unusual greenish-grey eyes. David was not used to people saying no to him.

  ‘I’m very flattered,’ she began and at that she saw the first signs of doubt in those eyes. ‘But I can’t give you an answer here and now. I need to think about it. I don’t like to say it, but have you considered the age thing? I’m a lot younger than you.’

  ‘Don’t you dare use that as an excuse,’ he said, voice low. ‘You know that doesn’t matter in the least. It didn’t matter last night, did it? I didn’t disappoint you, did I?’

  She smiled, squeezed his hand.

  ‘Thank God for that. I don’t feel my age, my sweet, if that helps. I feel about forty or so. Anyway, when you get down to the nitty gritty we love each other and that’s all that matters. I don’t give a fig what anybody else thinks. I’d give up the lot of them, all those outrageous friends of mine, for you.’

  It was sweet of him but how, in all honesty, could she marry him? They had absolutely nothing in common and, sitting there in that restaurant that evening, she regretted letting it go this far by accepting his first invitation to dinner. That had been mistake number one and the second had been allowing herself to be swept along by the whirlwind nature of their romance. Never before had she been made to feel like a lady. David treated the ladies with a respect and old-fashioned courtesy that was mostly lacking in younger men and even though she knew she ought not to allow that to sway her she could not help it.

  It felt wonderful.

  What was she doing, stringing a man like David along? Her last serious relationship had lasted a couple of years when she was fresh out of college. She and Andrew had been serious about each other and the break-up, even if she had instigated it, had been hurtful. It had taken her ages to recover and, very much off men, her thirties had passed in a flash with just the occasional romantic episode as she concentrated on building her career.

  She had resigned herself to being alone, although resigned wasn’t the right word because she had been quite content living the single life even if everyone else thought she ought not to be, but then along came David and all she wanted was to be with him.

  It was a mystery why they seemed to hit it off so well for she did not share his interests which was supposed to be one of the main areas for compatibility in a relationship. For one thing, she knew nothing about contemporary art, one of his passions, but she tried her best to feign interest going along with him to various exhibitions. He had become interested in the work of talented young artists and had started to build a collection and become something of a benefactor. Standing at his side, clutching a glass of champagne, trying her best to show some appreciation of the art on display she was appalled at how stupid she felt. She was not stupid, far from it, nor was she a shy teenager but rather a normally confident woman used to speaking to people – all kinds of people – as an essential part of her job.

  How could she marry him?

  He was so out of her league, a generation and a world apart.

  She worried that, deprived of her own father at a young age, she was actively if subconsciously looking for a father figure and that was a tough one to admit to.

  She was not part of his law scene and, once they were engaged and considered to be an item she envisaged dreadful dinner parties where nobody knew quite what to make of her, the wives of his contemporaries all being so much older, upper crust women who to their credit welcomed her with a smile into their exclusive little circle. Tellingly, however, they dropped her like a hot potato immediately after his death. They might privately feel David had taken leave of his senses, but they kept that to themselves, taking on a maternal role, all seemingly delighted that at last the man they thought would never ever marry was about to take the plunge.

  ‘David, you old fox,’ she heard one of them say in a flirty manner. ‘I never thought you had it in you. And isn’t she just a darling?’

  Looking at the woman, seeing the faint smile, she wondered if she had been one of David’s previous conquests.

  How could she marry him?

  Had she taken leave of her senses?

  There was nobody she could talk to about it, no girlfriend with whom she could have a cosy chat. There was their mutual friend Selina of course, but Selina was like a devoted sister to him, had been responsible for introducing them and Francesca did not think she would get a balanced view from her. There was Izzy, too, her old school-friend back in Devon, but their long distance telephone conversations had faded away now that she was a busy mum and this wasn’t the sort of thing she could discuss on the phone anyway.

  On the plus side David would have got on well with her father Geoffrey. Her father had taught History at a small private school and had been the sort of quiet scholarly type of man, immersed in books and rarely surfacing to face the real world, who, shy and a little awkward himself, would have been drawn to David’s charm and zeal.

  But her father was not here and she hadn’t a clue whether or not he was still alive and even though she had once thought of trying to trace him she had dismissed the idea for it might well open a can of worms. In any case, it wasn’t worth the effort for what kind of man would abandon his only daughter as he had. It was the abandonment that hurt the most and even though she now knew she was not to blame in any way, she had worried as a little girl that his leaving was all her fault.

  She carried a heavily laden guilt bag around with her. She had once tried visualization therapy, been sent into a kind of trance by a softly encouraging voice and been told to drop the bag off on an imaginary bench in the middle of a beautiful imaginary sun-kissed garden. It hadn’t quite worked and somewhere along the line she had returned and picked up the blessed thing again.

  So, in the end, whether or not she accepted David’s proposal was entirely up to her and she made the decision to turn him down that evening in that restaurant and as a result the champagne never materialized and they left early abandoning dessert. David took it on the chin but she could not fail to notice the annoyed glances the waiting staff showed her as if she had somehow spoilt their evening too.

  ‘I refuse to accept your answer. I’ll think of this as a temporary set-back. I’m not going to let you go,’ David warned her as they exited the restaurant. He placed a hand on the small of her back as they waited for the taxi. ‘I’ve just taken you by surprise that’s all and, of course, you need time to think about it. When you do think about it then you will change your mind. It’s taken me forty years to find my lady love and I have no intention of letting you walk away from me.’

  His lady love? She had laughed at that but the expression had a quiet old-fashioned ring to it that also delighted her. He was a charming man, but there were many reasons for turning him down and in the cold light of day he would see that she was right to do so. In fact, she made up her mind there and then that she would have to extricate herself from the relationship as gently as she could for she had no wish to hurt him.

  But David would not take no for an answer.

  He was true to his word, wearing her down eventually, using all the skills he used in court, discounting all the increasingly idiotic reasons she came up with until at last she said yes. He was quite right. It did not matter that he was so much older because the sheer verve of his personality mesmerized her. People sat up and took notice when David spoke, but then he was used to people hanging onto his every word. His presence in a room was powerful, his intellect alarming, his confidence verging on a sexy arrogance and yet, although he knew so much about everything, in some ways he knew nothing. He knew very little about women and as a lifelong bachelor was set in his ways.

  What people could not understand, what she could barely understand herself was that she had fallen in love with him. It was as simple as that. He was a
suitably distinguished looking man with a shaggy head of grey hair a touch longer than might be expected, the slightest swagger, a twinkle in his eyes and a rare, but devastating smile.

  That was her David.

  He was always immaculately clad with a wardrobe full of bespoke suits – his tailors in Mayfair sent a condolence card saying he had been one of their most valued clients and would be sorely missed – and she had never seen a man who looked as good as David when he was wearing black tie. He ate sensibly, drank in moderation and, although he laughed at his contemporaries who had a gym membership he was careful to watch his weight, his only vice was to enjoy an after-dinner cigar. It puzzled Francesca that he had taken so long to find a wife for he was handsome enough and must have been seen as a real catch when he was younger. He had, he told her, been too involved with his other love, his work, to have any time for courting the fair sex – his words – and by the time he achieved what he had set out to achieve in his career it came as a shock to realize he was getting old and possibly past it.

  No way was he past it. He might never have married but, although she didn’t feel inclined to ask for details of his conquests, he was skilled in the art of lovemaking and did not disappoint.

  For two whole weeks then, on honeymoon on a Greek island, soaking up the sun with the man she loved at her side, Francesca could acknowledge that at last after some tough lonely years things were looking up. David thought it such a novelty to have a wife and was boyishly thrilled when he introduced her as such. By then she was getting used to the reaction, the surprised look, the nudges, and it did not help that she looked considerably younger than her forty one years, but she was too happy to care.

  Let people think what they would.

  For a brief time she was Mrs David Porter and, although she worried a little about her new life up in the wilds of Yorkshire, she was going to make it work. David had been used to getting his own way for so long that it would take some time for her to nudge him to her way of thinking.

  She must be patient.

  Returning from honeymoon, they got down to the serious job of learning to live with each other, each of them long used to the single life so that for both of them there were adjustments to be made. For two whole months then, busily making plans for their future together, Francesca was the happiest she had been in a long time. She no longer had a job and although she was aware that eventually she would have to face the thorny issue of getting another one without upsetting him, for the moment she was busy enough coping with the business of moving house and looking after her new husband.

  Happiness though had proved an elusive thing and she might have known, knowing her luck that it would not last.

  Chapter Three

  SELINA’S HOME WITH its interior designer input was predictably eye-catching and a huge display of white lilies sat atop the hall table, the purity of white flowers being Selina’s choice throughout the house. The tiled floor shone, courtesy of the cleaning lady, and on the wall there was a large gilt-framed traditional-type painting of a sunny country scene.

  The children were out for a walk in the park with nanny and the house was unusually silent although one of the cats appeared at the head of the stairs to stare disdainfully down at them.

  ‘I’ve put you in Bethany’s room,’ Selina announced, flinging her car keys unceremoniously on the polished table top before setting off up the stairs.

  ‘Where have you put her?’ Francesca asked with alarm, unhappy to be responsible for turfing the nanny out.

  ‘We’ve cleared one of the attic rooms. She’ll be fine up there. I’ve had to tell her why you’re staying, Francesca, and she’s very sympathetic. She’s rather an emotional girl so whatever you do avoid eye contact or she’ll dissolve.’

  She could talk, Francesca thought.

  The nanny’s ex-room was big and comfortably furnished with an en-suite bathroom. It was at the rear of the house looking out onto the rough and tumble of the garden and as Selina went back downstairs to make the coffee, Francesca put down her bags and crossed over to the window looking out on the murky late spring day. Early spring had come and gone before she had time to focus on it properly although she had a distant memory of spring flowers in the garden of the house that might have been theirs.

  She could forget Yorkshire where she had left David. His ashes were scattered on Ilkey Moor as he wished and she was back to square one.

  Single and a bit scared.

  Selina was right of course. Her heart had never been in the move up there, but it had been David’s dream and, because she loved him, she was prepared to go along with it. But being prepared to go along with it was not the same as being enthusiastic about it and would she ever have been happy up there? Would it have turned out to be an awful mistake? Would she have begun to resent him because of it? David had insisted she give up her job, a job she loved – fair enough because she could not continue it because of the distance – but he also expected her to more or less retire as he had retired and, although she had agreed to it, it might have been a sacrifice too many.

  Looking back, looking at it with the benefit of hindsight, Francesca was not sure their marriage would have worked long term and more than anything that saddened her. It was not the age difference, she could cope with that, rather it was their different ideas, their different take on life and what was important to each of them. She had rushed into it despite this, because as she was not intending to have children, getting married had not been one of the key things on her agenda. She would in fact have been perfectly happy to conduct an affair with him in which they might each hang onto their single status, and she might keep her independence and her own place, but that did not wash with him.

  She had been swayed a little by that powerful aphrodisiac that a man in David’s position throws out, but she was not going to confess her doubts to anybody not even Selina, especially not her, and she knew she had to put that thought right out of her head because it would complicate matters and make the grieving process more difficult.

  ‘I just hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for,’ Selina told her as she pinned a rose onto Francesca’s dress on the morning of her wedding. ‘He’s a wonderful man – that goes without saying – but he’s stubborn as hell. You should have dug your heels in, darling, about the Yorkshire thing. It’s purely a whim. He’ll miss London like hell and where will he get his suits and shirts from up there?’

  ‘There are shops,’ Francesca told her with a smile. ‘And very good ones too in Leeds and Harrogate. I’m warming to it anyway. The moors remind me of Dartmoor and I don’t believe he will miss London. I certainly won’t. And we can always get the train down here, come down for lunch that sort of thing.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Selina stood back and eyed her critically, taking stock of her and then nodding with satisfaction. ‘You look fabulous, darling. Sometimes I wish I was a brunette. Clients might take me more seriously if I didn’t look quite so fluffy.’

  It was a simple Register Office wedding and Francesca had opted for a peach-coloured dress with a flattering crossover bodice, hatless, her hair pinned up on top of her head as he liked it. David looked wonderful and when she made her vows with just a tearful Selina and Clive and another couple David knew in attendance, Francesca had truly believed she was doing the right thing.

  But even before he died, doubts had begun to emerge.

  She missed her father on her wedding day, the father who should have been escorting her proudly down the aisle – even though there was no such thing in a Register Office – but it would have been nice if he had been there on her big day.

  She had informed her childhood friend Izzy via a text message – shame on her – that she had married and Izzy, bless her, sent her a congratulations card and an M&S voucher, but so far she had not told Izzy that she was a widow. Their correspondence over many years via Christmas and birthday cards continued in a dogged fashion interspersed with occasional phone calls and neither of them s
eemed able to shake it off, to sever the friendship completely even though Francesca had no intention of returning to Devon, not ever, and Izzy was still firmly entrenched there. Looking back, it seemed odd that she had been the one to move away, to go for the big London job because when they were young she would have banked on Izzy doing just that.

  Francesca had sent congratulations cards and a small gift on the birth of each of Izzy’s daughters and Izzy would stick a photograph of the new addition in a card, but it remained and was likely to remain purely a long-distance friendship.

  When she informed Izzy she was married she had been short with details and had not mentioned his age for it bothered her a little what Izzy might think, although she was confident that if Izzy was to meet David he would charm her worries away. What would David have made of Izzy? In private he would probably have considered her to be just a little too exuberant, verging on the slightly vulgar with her bright laugh and voluptuous figure. She would, she realized, have defended Izzy to the last for she owed her so much and she must never forget that.

  Under the circumstances, perhaps it was just as well that they would never meet.

  At eighteen, Francesca was delighted and relieved to get the grades required for her university course up in Aberdeen, finally able to go off to college and escape her mother’s martyrdom. In her second term up there, with no consultation her mother had upped and left the old house, sold it off, and settled in Kent buying a small flat and advising Francesca in one of her rare communications that she had found it necessary to get rid of most of her stuff because there was no room for it in the new place. And by the way she could put her up on a sofa bed in the lounge should she choose to visit.