The Mysterious Miss Mayhew

by Hazel Osmond

  ‘We have bags,’ Hattie said. ‘Can I do it?’

  ‘Can you do it … what?’ Fran looked pointedly at Hattie.

  Hattie considered. ‘Can I do it, please?’

  ‘Of course, that plant over there, if you could. And try not to get anything on your school uniform; tea stains horribly. In fact, I often stain paper with it – I could show you later if you have time.’ Hattie went off to the plant and Fran watched her, seemingly ignoring him.

  So much for being over-demonstrative.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I just wanted to see you again. I should have checked first.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s always lovely to have you drop in,’ she said loudly, which he realised was for Hattie’s benefit. She lowered her voice for, ‘I can only get through this, Tom, if you don’t look at any part of me below the neck or touch me at all, not even my hand. And if I’m being too ingratiating with Hattie, just give me a sign …’

  ‘What kind of sign?’

  ‘I don’t know, scratch your ear or something. Right, Hattie, how is it going?’ She was striding away from him. ‘Ah, on your shoes, well, I think that will come off.’

  No ear scratching had been needed. While he really wanted to take Fran into the bedroom and ravage her, he’d had to settle for watching Hattie and her get on with the fish they’d started before he’d stabbed himself. He wondered if he should do it again – Fran and he could end up in the bathroom once more, with his trousers off.

  All he got from Fran was a peck on the cheek when they left, but it was a remarkably satisfying peck.

  He pushed the magazine out of the way and concentrated on writing the letter he’d roughed out in his head on the drive to work. Just as it chugged out of the printer, in came Liz, notebook in one hand and geared up for a good bit of drama. Well, he wasn’t going to disappoint her there.

  She’d shut the door behind her, but he went and made sure it was fully engaged with the frame. Liz liked that –the equivalent of a drum roll.

  ‘OK,’ he said, handing her the letter. ‘I’ve written out an explanation about Fran, for the staff.’

  Liz scanned it. ‘Nicely put … good and bland. Glad to see you didn’t mention banning her from the building.’ She handed the letter back. ‘Big shame though. We’ve had some great feedback about her pages already on the website. So what happened?’ She nodded at the letter. ‘Realised you couldn’t win this battle with the Mawsons?’

  ‘Yes. This problem isn’t going to go away and … there may well be another one …’

  Liz shifted forward in her seat; she probably didn’t even know she’d done it.

  ‘Thing is, Liz, I have to tell you something that must not be repeated to anyone. No exceptions. I know I don’t really have to labour the point. If you haven’t got a safe pair of hands, I don’t know who has.’

  He told her, as simply as he could, about Fran being Charlie’s daughter, although he didn’t tell her Monty’s part in the story coming out. He watched Liz’s new facial display.

  ‘Charlie’s daughter?’ she said eventually. ‘Late-life romance or something?’

  He filled her in on how it had happened when Charlie was meant to be having treatment for his drink problem.

  Liz snorted. ‘I always thought he was a terrible advertisement for that clinic. If that was him after rehab … Well, that explains Mrs Mawson’s extreme reaction to Fran.’ Liz darted a glance at him. ‘This is all legit is it, Tom? I mean, there’s no possibility of a scam—’

  ‘No. I’ve seen photos, letters. Stuff that links Fran’s mother to Charlie and Fran’s mother to Fran.’

  He had. Another memory from yesterday in the Fran Scrapbook. A knock on the door after Hattie was in bed, and there she was, file in hand. She said she was trying to make up for keeping everything hidden before, but there was a look in her eye that made him waste very little time on the file and a lot on her. They had started off on the sofa, but Tom found that although his desire was driving him forward, the thought that Hattie might discover them was putting the brakes on. They’d ended up making love very quietly, but very thoroughly, on top of his duvet out on the lawn. The back door was locked to halt Hattie’s progress and a garden chair wedged against the side gate, just in case any of his family decided to ‘pop’ by.

  ‘We’re sneaking around like teenagers,’ Fran had whispered afterwards as they watched the bats swooping over the garden. ‘Mind you, that doesn’t take much remembering on my part, whereas for you, it’s like doing historical research.’

  He’d given her a gentle pinch on the arm, but resisted asking her if she really minded about the age difference. The evidence suggested she didn’t and besides, what was the point of pulling down all those black clouds on the horizon – the age difference, Mrs Mawson finding out about them, how to play this with Hattie …?

  ‘And the Jamie thing was just …’ Liz asked.

  Tom landed back at his desk. ‘Her looking out for him. She’s his half-aunt.’

  He sensed Liz was still catching up. ‘Can I just ask why the hell Fran came to work for Mrs Mawson’s magazine?’

  When Tom explained, Liz said, ‘How mad is that? I mean, I like Fran, but did she really think that was going to work? “Here’s a lovely paper squirrel, oh and by the way, your dad shagged my mum and we’re half-sisters.”’

  Luckily Liz was shaking her head in mock exasperation so she couldn’t see how Tom felt about hearing Fran being talked about like that. He got up and had a wander around the room and wiped a clean patch through the plaster dust on the windowsill and sat down. He remembered the day Fran had ended up with plaster dust on her bottom and slipped into another satisfying memory of feeling that very bottom, not so long ago, naked against his groin.

  ‘OK,’ Liz said, ‘now I’ve stopped reeling from that bit of news, what’s the other potential problem?’

  Tom left Fran’s bottom behind and said, ‘Fran and I are now …’ and waited to see how long it would take Liz to fill in the gap.

  ‘I bloody knew it,’ she crowed.

  He doubted if she had, otherwise she wouldn’t have made that ‘mad’ comment.

  This time Liz’s head-shaking had something of the ‘this will never work’ about it. ‘Bloody hell, Tom. You couldn’t have picked someone else? The sky’s going to fall on your head when Mrs Mawson finds out.’

  ‘Yep, kind of figured that out.’

  ‘Is it worth it for something that might not last?’

  He was surprised at how irritated that made him. ‘I plan on it lasting,’ he said. ‘And yes, I should have thought of all the reasons why this was inadvisable, but … remember the photocopier guy?’

  There was a moment when Liz looked put out, but then she sniggered. ‘Oh. Yeah. Good point. He could have been Vlad the Impaler and I wouldn’t have cared. Actually, the Impaler part—’

  ‘OK, enough local colour. Thanks. And, Liz, I’m not just asking you to keep quiet about this for my benefit – it means, when the ceiling falls in on me, you’ll be able to appear completely innocent.’

  They both automatically looked up at the ceiling at that point and Tom wished that he hadn’t used that particular expression in this building.

  He heaved himself up off the windowsill. ‘Right, I’m off to take a great big pin and burst Felix and Derek’s balloon.’

  That turned out to be a fair description of what happened. One moment Felix was coming towards Tom, holding the magazine and enthusing about the feedback he’d already had; the next he was running through his playlist of expletives and clutching the hair at the nape of his neck.

  Tom tried to take the sting out of it. ‘She might do some more work for us later in the year. But, as you’ll see from the letter that’s going to come round, getting this big commission from a supermarket, well, she’d be mad to turn it down for our little bit of work. So it’s back to the hunt for someone to fill those pages.’

  ‘That’s going to be …’ Derek said.
r />   ‘Bloody difficult,’ Felix snapped.

  *

  On the same day as he gave all but one of his staff a sanitised version of the reason why Fran had to stop working for the magazine, he offered his family the absolute truth: about their relationship, the fact Charlie was her father, the fall-out from her visit to the Mawsons.

  He got three very different reactions.

  Kath gave him a hug. ‘It seems a bit fraught at the minute,’ she said, ‘but I really like her. She’s younger than you, but older, if you know what I mean.’

  His mother said, ‘You’ll be living on takeaways. But she’s a lovely girl. Unlike Deborah Mawson. She’s as cold as a bitch’s tit. She’ll never accept Fran.’

  He’d been so downcast by that, he hadn’t even pointed out that it was witch’s tit.

  And Rob simply said, ‘Good on you, mate. But how long do you think you can keep it quiet?’

  He hadn’t known the answer to that then and he still didn’t. The difference was that, right at this moment, he couldn’t give a stuff. Fran was curled up next to him in the garden – a colder evening, so a two-duvet job. Next to Tom’s head was a baby monitor and there was one up by Hattie’s bed too – Fran had arrived with them just half an hour after Hattie had slipped off to sleep.

  They were the perfect solution to not being able to make love in the house, but still wanting to hear if Hattie was OK.

  How long do you think you can keep it quiet?

  Fran had walked over tonight, just one of the ways they were trying to keep their relationship under wraps. His family, once the news had settled in, had enthusiastically suggested others. Friday, when his mother picked up Hattie from school, she was going to take her back to her house so Fran and he could have some time together. On Sunday evening Rob and Kath had offered to babysit.

  Tom was worried that it seemed like he was deceiving Hattie, but Fran said he should forgive himself. It was early days yet, wrong to stir her up when they didn’t even know what they would tell her.

  Tom knew that it was early days, but he hated hiding Fran away. He didn’t just want to tell Hattie, he wanted to take Fran out for a meal, to the cinema, introduce her to his rugby crowd.

  None of that was possible. One whisper and who knew how the Mawsons would react.

  He put his hand gently on Fran’s shoulder, hoping it might wake her up. Selfish man. When she was awake and talking he could push all the frayed ends of this relationship away. He changed position so that he could see her face while she slept. It was reaching down into him and pulling up a tenderness he didn’t know he was capable of any more.

  Perhaps he felt especially close to her tonight because she’d talked about her childhood and how rootless it had been until they settled on that island off the west coast of Scotland – the one without the palm trees and with a constant wind.

  He wondered what he would have thought of Fran if their timelines had been different and he’d met her then, or at university.

  ‘Oh, university,’ she’d said with mock horror. ‘It took me the best part of eight months to get used to being around so many people.’ A shy glance at Tom. ‘So many men.’

  Men with flat stomachs, no doubt, but Tom comforted himself that he was the one here naked with Fran tonight.

  She had told him how her mother had refused to see her for a while after she’d given up on Ancient History and headed for London and art. Now Fran understood that was because she had been afraid Charlie’s genes were coming to the fore.

  ‘I’m sure she was proud of what you achieved,’ Tom had suggested and Fran had wrinkled her nose.

  ‘No, she always thought it was frivolous. She would much rather have seen me as a professor.’

  Tom had shared some of his own history too, realising as he talked that Fran had thought he was a journalist. When he told her he’d worked in marketing for a multinational, she’d said, ‘So you weren’t exactly the right person for the job you’re in now – kind of overqualified, but in the wrong area?’

  He’d agreed. Mrs Mawson had taken a chance.

  That had brought a slightly sad, ‘She believed in you, at least,’ from Fran.

  He’d expected other questions from Fran tonight – perhaps about Steph and why they weren’t divorced yet. But they never got asked.

  He kissed her lightly on her head, now trying not to wake her. He’d forgotten how lovely it was to have someone trust you enough to lie down beside you and just sleep. Someone who wasn’t a child.

  How long do you think you can you keep it quiet?

  How long could they?

  In the end, they managed nearly twelve days. Seven more than Natalie and Jamie.

  CHAPTER 44

  ‘Typical,’ Liz said. ‘Flaming June always turns into soggy June and she’s not a fun girl.’

  She was looking down Middle Street and the cloud was so low it was almost on the pavements. The temperatures had plummeted too. Unlikely that he and Fran could make love outside tonight.

  Perhaps he should get the tent out, try to put it up after Hattie went to sleep, take it down before she woke. No, he’d have no energy left for making love. One too many erections.

  Liz turned away from the window. ‘There is one bright spot. Monty’s back.’

  Tom nodded, he’d seen a very sad Monty slumped at his desk when he’d arrived this morning. He and Tom had had a quiet word about what had happened, and it was obvious that while Monty knew he’d blabbed about Charlie, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what he’d said. Tom had assured him that what happened in Tynebrook stayed in Tynebrook, but Monty still looked morose. All Tom could hope was that after his holidays in August, he would return in a better mood. And hopefully not with another photo in his wallet.

  If Monty was morose, Jamie had perked up. Tom had called him into his office to apologise for his madness – an apology Jamie accepted with grace. ‘I’m glad you know about Nat and me,’ he’d said. ‘She didn’t like skulking around not telling you.’ He was still doing a lot of flopping his hair about, but he seemed to have a new sense of purpose.

  ‘Was wondering if I could spend a bit of time up in the Finance department, next? It’s just, well, Fran told you I have this business? I’m wondering if they might give me some insights into improving my profit margins.’

  Tom was amazed. No one had ever volunteered to spend time in the Finance department.

  Liz was now doing what could only be described as a chortle. ‘And, listen to this,’ she said. ‘Victoria’s fashion shoot at St Mary’s Lighthouse? Proving to be a right nightmare. One of the models has vertigo. You couldn’t make it up. So … can I expect a theatre review or two from you at some point?’

  ‘Look in your inbox,’ he said. ‘Two done and dusted.’ Fran was behind that. She’d been to see two plays on Saturday when he was fully occupied with Hattie. All he’d had to do was listen to her talk about them at the bungalow on Sunday evening and write them up. Amazing how much more rewarding the theatrical experience was when you were lying naked with the reviewer.

  ‘If it keeps you out of Newcastle on a Thursday, that’s absolutely fine by me,’ Fran had said.

  Now he had a closer relationship with the bungalow, it reminded him of the student places he’d lived in. Right down to the horrible mould in the bathroom and the damp patch on Fran’s bedroom wall.

  ‘I’ll bring something round to shift that mould,’ he’d said as he kissed her goodbye.

  ‘You old romantic, you,’ she’d replied, before reconsidering and saying, ‘You romantic, you.’

  ‘Two done already? That’s bloody impressive.’ Liz smirked. ‘Bet Fran wrote them for you. You’re just as bad as Jamie.’

  He acted shocked by the suggestion and evicted her from his office. He actually got through some work then, until the phone rang.

  ‘I’ve just had a most unpleasant visitor,’ Fran said.

  ‘Not Vasey?’

  ‘No, Edward Mawson.’

  ‘I’ll com
e round.’

  ‘No,’ Fran replied quickly. ‘It’s all right. I was a bit wobbly at the time, but not now.’

  ‘Was he threatening?’

  ‘When isn’t he? It’s bad news, I’m afraid. They’ve not only found out about Jamie and Natalie, but also that they’ve been coming here. Edward is, as I feared, particularly cross about that. He said I did it to spite them. I didn’t tell him the actual relationship had been going on for months before I arrived.’

  Tom wondered how much hope Fran had left now.

  ‘He called Natalie some terrible names,’ Fran said sadly, before asking if Tom could find Jamie and warn him.

  ‘Too late,’ Tom said, looking out into the main office, and he said goodbye and put the phone down seconds before Edward Mawson was at his door.

  He expected Edward’s opening words to be about Jamie. Instead they were, ‘Have you told your staff about that woman?’

  ‘A letter has gone out.’

  ‘I want to see it.’

  Tom wondered how long he’d have to wait to shame Edward into saying ‘please’. For ever probably.

  Edward read the letter. ‘That’s not the tone my mother wanted at all. And you haven’t said anything about her not being allowed into the building.’

  ‘I used my initiative. Your mother said it was a sensitive and personal matter, so sending out a letter that stirred up more questions than answers seemed a bad move. And I doubt if Miss Mayhew wants to come back into the building.’

  Edward screwed the letter up and threw it on the floor. He wasn’t even aiming for the bin.

  What an empty gesture, like stamping your foot.

  ‘Have you found a replacement for Charlie’s pages?’ Edward barked.

  ‘Not as such.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  ‘I don’t know; why doesn’t it?’ Tom stitched an ingratiating smile on the end of that and could see Edward wasn’t quite sure if he was being rude.

  That was when he demanded to see Jamie.

  When he appeared, with that beaten-dog stance, Tom wanted to remove him to a place of safety.