Seven Days Away

by Ruth Hay

  * * *

  Wesley and Zoe arrived while the younger Becks were still getting ready in their parents’ suite. Wesley introduced his wife to Terrence and Jillian. After Zoe had admired the first dishes set out for their buffet feast they soon made their way to the upper apartment for their meeting with Aylward and Portia.

  It had been agreed that it would be best to establish a comfort zone with Portia before attempting a session with Zoe, and that is what they intended for this first short visit.

  Zoe saw a sad, thin, pale, ghost of a young woman huddled in a shawl, sitting on a chaise longue that dwarfed her slender figure. She could feel the girl’s pain and discomfort radiating from her in waves. Wesley spoke to her softly and brought Zoe to her side. Portia actually made eye contact with Zoe for a second and said a weak, ‘Hi’.

  Wesley was immediately delighted with the response. He felt the time he had spent talking about his wife to Portia had really paid dividends. He nodded to Zoe indicating she should go ahead when she was ready.

  “I understand you are a very clever designer of fabrics, Portia. I am interested in colour and pattern as well. What do you think about the material of this dress?”

  Zoe stood and spun around so that the skirt of her dress flared out. Unexpectedly, Portia reached out her hand and grasped the material bringing it toward her face. “I know this,” she said, suddenly.

  “It’s based on a famous old wallpaper designed by William Morris. Acanthus is its name, I think. Where did you buy the dress?”

  Zoe gently removed Portia’s hand and sat closer so the girl could continue to examine the fabric.

  “I had the dress made from some antique curtain material left in a warehouse in London and lost for some years. It was as good as new and I loved the tertiary colour scheme so much. Portia, I think it’s remarkably clever of you to recognize it!”

  “I love all the Morris designs but no one in my workplace is convinced they could be popular today. The men all ask me to do silly, jazzy stuff that will be out of style in weeks. I hate doing it.”

  Wesley and Aylward were astonished at Zoe’s progress with Portia. She had spoken more with Zoe in a few minutes than either of the men had managed to draw out of her previously. The men slipped out to the balcony from where they could listen without distracting the young women.

  “Portia, why do you stay there? Someone with your talent could easily find a place where you would feel appreciated. You could even work from home as a freelancer. I’m sure that could be arranged when you feel better, of course. How would your bosses feel about that?”

  The voice that was formerly weak and hesitant, suddenly developed into a hate-filled, impassioned roar that caused Zoe to jump back in her seat for a moment.

  “I don’t give a fig about them! Simpson followed me into the women’s washroom and held me by the throat while he assaulted me. No one came to help me. I hate them all. They can burn in hell for all I care!”

  Portia deflated like a burst balloon as soon as she had spewed out the poison. Wesley was on his feet and would have run to his wife’s rescue, had not Aylward signalled to him to wait. Zoe had not called out for help. Neither had she run away from Portia. They soon heard her speak again, quietly and rationally.

  “That must have been horrible for you, Portia. Did you report the assault?”

  “Who would have believed me? They would have taken his side. I kept quiet for months. That was when things started to go wrong in my mind.”

  Portia began to sob sadly and despairingly. The men could hear Zoe’s voice comforting her, as a mother would an injured child. “You are not alone now, Portia. Your grandfather is here for you and your family as well. You will get all the help you need. Don’t worry. Please don’t worry.”

  “Will you help me too, Zoe? You are such a pretty lady. I would like to feel pretty inside.”

  It was a plaintive cry for help and a breakthrough the men had not dared to imagine.

  Zoe had been presented with the perfect opening to do some exterior magic with Portia. She could not transfer, with make-up only, a transformation to Portia’s inner damage, but it was a start.

  When Portia sank once again into an exhausted state, Zoe stepped outside to find her husband.

  He folded her into his arms and whispered his appreciation and delight at her achievement.

  Aylward was equally amazed and grateful. They tiptoed inside, locking the patio windows behind them, and made their way down the stairs to where the family members were now assembled. The door at the top of the stairs had prevented any sounds from disturbing the festive atmosphere below.

  Aylward had a few words with Marian and she gladly went up to watch over the patient.

  Terrence brought his special cocktails over to Zoe and Wesley. They drank more rapidly than their normal pace but the last half-hour had been such a surprise that they felt in need of speedy refreshment.

  The informal buffet meal they had been invited to, soon developed into a party. They met the three Beck young adults and a couple who must be Portia’s parents. Zoe took a close look at Megan Anderson and noted her colouring. Portia resembled her mother more than her father. They had the same dark brown hair and eyebrows although the girl’s skin showed none of the colour of her mother’s complexion. Zoe made a mental note to work toward that tone with Portia at their next meeting. She always travelled with a kit of her Excelsior products in mini sizes. Wesley laughed when he saw her luggage but she had a dislike of being without her supplies and her wardrobe staples ever since she had expanded from her previously limited black and white styles. She made another mental note to find something in her luggage that was colourful and beautiful for Portia to wear after her makeover.

  * * *

  As the evening wore on, Abigail Beck waited impatiently to get a seat next to Zoe and Wesley.

  She knew she had to conceal the excitement bubbling inside her ever since Louise’s announcement at the pool. If she could get Zoe Morton, the Zoe Morton, to agree to an interview, it would be a tremendous coup and the kind of boost to her reputation that could well lead to the desired position of TV anchor. The Excelsior CEO had often professed to have no time for interviews and she only rarely posed for photo shoots, stating she wanted her products to get prominence, not her profile.

  Abigail had given her approach to Zoe considerable thought. She and Louise had conferred on a suitable outfit. They curated everything in their mother’s closet in the suite where their own clothes were also hanging. After discarding three attempts, they settled on a simple white crochet sweater over white capri pants to show off Abi’s new tan. Louise helped her brush out her hair, newly bleached by the sun, and sweep it up in an elegant style. For once, she did not envy her sister’s smooth locks and heavy fringe. Now that Jason Schuster had declared his admiration for her more unruly hair, she had decided not to fret about it.

  The sisters were well aware of Zoe Morton’s ability to purchase the finest, most exclusive clothing. They did not try to compete and when they saw her in their apartment they were glad of that decision.

  Zoe wore the most delicious dress in an all-over pattern of green leaves and gold flowers which complemented her vivid colouring. The famous precision-cut wing of dark hair and the bright red lipstick were constants in her signature style elements but the dress with its full skirt just brushing her knees and the fitted bodice, was a carefree summery look they had not seen before.

  Add to this, the chance to inspect the elusive male who had captured Zoe’s heart; the man who was reported to be her husband but whose name she did not share, and the pitch of anticipation and sheer excitement was almost overwhelming. Twice, Louise had to calm her sister down.

  Abigail was a bundle of nerves as she finally took a seat beside Zoe Morton. She brushed her fringe back from her face and tried to settle her mind to the task in hand. She knew she must proceed with caution. If her subject guessed she was under the eye of a journalist, she would clam up and move away a
nd Abigail’s opportunity would be lost. She calmed her nerves by imagining the effect on Curtis Soames when she presented him with the Morton interview.

  “So, what brings you and Wesley to Mexico, Miss Morton?”

  “Please call me Zoe. It’s a delayed honeymoon, I suppose.”

  “You are actually married, then?”

  “Yes. I keep my professional name. It’s easier that way.”

  A good start. Where to now?

  “If you don’t mind a personal comment, Zoe,” she stumbled over the first name, revealing her nervousness. “I do admire your lovely dress. The few photographs of you in the media usually show you in business clothes.”

  “Thank you, Abigail. I like to dress for the occasion and this is a casual one, or at least I thought it was.”

  Alarm bells rang in Abigail’s mind but it was too late to turn back.

  “And what do you do back in Canada, Abigail Beck?”

  At once Abigail suspected Zoe Morton knew exactly what she was after. The brief answers to questions and now an actual accusation, disguised as an enquiry, gave the game away. Abigail could not move her eyes from the shrewd gaze of her companion. Zoe was waiting for a reply. If she looked aside, it would reveal what she most wished to hide but if she delayed any further, a lie would seem insincere.

  She saw her hopes dissolve into dust. There was no way to do this without being up front with Zoe Morton.

  “I think you have guessed. I am a journalist.”

  “I suspected as much but I am impressed that you are not trying to conceal the fact. I am on holiday for the time being and I know you will respect my privacy, Abigail Beck. You would not want to embarrass your family, I’m sure. Now, I think there’s something going on outside, on the balcony. Let’s join the others, shall we?”

  Abigail had been handled by an expert. She summoned a feeble smile and let Zoe Morton lead the way.

  Jillian and Terrence had arranged on various surfaces, a series of glass jars with tiny votive candles inside. A gentler version of the strident music coming to them from the Sanctuary was wafting through the soft tropical air. The Beck couple brought out coffee then encouraged the others by beginning to dance together to the music. Zoe and Wesley joined them and Megan and Maurice followed suit. Devon was persuaded to get a much-needed dancing lesson from Louise, which soon resulted in laughter as he fell over his feet more than once.

  Abigail settled beside her grandfather after enquiring if he wished to dance.

  “My dancing days are long over, my dear, but thank you for the compliment. You are looking very charming this evening. I trust there is a handsome young man waiting to dance with you back home?”

  Perhaps it was because her hopes had been dashed by Zoe, but Abigail suddenly realized how unlikely it was that her campaign to capture the attention of one Curtis Soames would ever result in a cozy evening dancing by candlelight. The naked truth confronted her. Curtis Soames was married.

  To her grandfather, a lifelong married man, faithful, as far as she knew, to his beloved Marian, the thought of his granddaughter pursuing a man already in such a committed relationship, would be anathema.

  It was time to re-evaluate her life and her ambitions. She watched her mother and father dancing together and understood for the first time how their troubled marriage had coloured her own jaundiced view of love. If they could rejuvenate their marriage after the years of living separate lives, maybe she could find someone of her own, to be her own, and make a marriage work.

  Unbeknown to Abigail, Zoe was whispering to her husband, a request to have a photograph taken.

  “I think it would be a good idea to leave it with Portia as a reminder of the beginning of her recovery. After tomorrow’s session we may not see her ever again and I’d like her to know we care.”

  “Why, darling, that’s a delightful idea. We’ll do it tonight. Portia will always be able to remember you in that dress. I most definitely will.”

  Chapter 13

  Day Seven, Thursday.

  Marian Beck awoke with a number of objectives for the last day her family would be together in Mexico.

  Aylward was still asleep in the twin bed. She left him there. It was going to be a long day with some uncertain outcomes. He would need all his energy.

  She slipped out to the lounge area and checked to see that Portia was still sleeping. The girl often had disturbed nights. The mild sedative helped but she seemed to get her best rest in the early hours of the day. Marian stood looking at her granddaughter. She was rolled up in her blankets as if she wanted to avoid all contact with the outer world. A fold of blanket even covered the back of her head.

  Marian thought of the months, possibly years, ahead for the girl. It would be a long road to full recovery but hopefully, the worst was over.

  Aylward had agreed to keep Portia under their supervision in their home in Toronto’s Forest Hill until he found a suitable psychotherapist for her. Marian suggested they use Megan’s old room. It would be a way to solidify the bond between Portia and her mother. The room had been kept more or less as a tribute to her mother’s young life. Megan and Maurice would be welcome as regular visitors but they would need to sort out their own lives before they were ready to take on Portia’s rehabilitation.

  She lifted the apartment phone and asked the concierge to make a reservation for a private dining room. Then she slipped downstairs and left two notes on the kitchen island, anchoring them with empty coffee cups which she knew would soon be required for the morning coffee ritual. It was with some satisfaction she saw the clean, tidy condition in which the whole kitchen area had been left after the previous night’s major feasting. She had seen both her children and their spouses working amicably to achieve this after Zoe and Wesley had left.

  The information Marian had received from Louise about Zoe Morton’s fame, had only increased her respect for the couple. Her first meeting with Zoe, when they shared a table by the pool, had been so fortuitous. She doubted they could have accomplished so much for Portia had that not occurred.

  Today’s schedule included a special session between Portia and Zoe. Good results were expected but Marian and Aylward would be otherwise occupied in the apartment below.

  She tiptoed upstairs again, closed the door softly, and made herself the first of several cups of refreshing tea. Bringing along a small bag of their preferred tea blend was such a comfort when away from home. Now she could relax, sip her tea, and watch the dawn colour the world while preparing her mind for the day.

  * * *

  Terrence Beck yawned widely. It had been quite a night. Everyone had enjoyed the food. The end of the evening on the balcony with the warm air and the night music was a final lovely touch.

  Only one more night in paradise.

  He hoped he could retain a fraction of the good feelings he felt inside after this amazing week with his family. Somehow it was impossible to visualize the winter scenes they were returning to. When they arrived in Toronto sometime on Friday, it would be soon enough to deal with all that. For now, there was coffee in an urn a few yards down the hallway and all he had to do was take a stroll down to the cart and fetch it. He headed to the kitchen to collect the large mugs everyone preferred. When he saw the note with his name on it, he stopped to read it.

  * * *

  Terrence, please gather your family and meet us here at five o’clock this afternoon. Your father has announcements to make. Later, everyone is invited to a celebratory meal in a private dining room in the resort.

  Have a wonderful day in the sun.

  Love,

  Mother.

  * * *

  “What’s going on, dad?” Louise’s sleepy voice halted his train of thought. He folded the note and stowed it in the pocket of his robe.

  “Come and help me with the coffee, Lulu, and I’ll tell you what I know about it.”

  * * *

  Next to arrive were Devon and his grandfather. They slipped out quietly on their way to the g
olf course for a final few rounds. It would be another new experience for Devon. The whole week in the open air had been an eye opener and a mind expander for him. This was only one more in the series. His team at home were not going to believe what he had seen and done in one amazing week. He had a cache of photographs on his phone to prove it. He knew he would need the evidence for them and for himself. The basement was going to look very dull and confining after all this.

  * * *

  Megan had a restless night again. She had plenty to worry about. Although her honest conversations with Maurice had cleared the air and given them a starting point, the fact of his deception about the gambling issues was still rankling. Could she trust his word for the future when so many changes were coming?

  Apart from this concern, and far more demanding at the moment, was the dreadful situation with Portia. Megan had not seen her daughter since abandoning her to her elderly parents by the pool.

  She knew her mother and father were keeping her away from Portia for their own good reasons and she was appreciative of their work with her. Had it not been for her father’s expertise with disturbed patients, there was simply no telling what Portia would have done. Suicide was not out of the question. Megan shuddered as she thought of it. But this was their last day in the resort. Soon they would be forced to deal with a damaged child in the midst of their problems as a couple. She simply did not know how she would cope and that was almost more alarming to her than anything else.

  The note under the coffee cup caught her attention. She looked around and saw the sleeping form of her niece Abi. No one else was about.

  * * *