‘I took Fluff,’ he said brightly. It was pointless trying to deny Rose had been with them, though the thought had crossed his mind; Anise Weston had seen them brazenly get in a car together and drive off towards the woods. He could hear her recounting it in scandalised tones. It would be the main topic of conversation in the post office on Monday morning. ‘And Rose,’ he added as quickly as possible.
‘Another bit of fluff,’ Gardenia remarked caustically.
‘She’s good company.’ His girlfriend’s lips set in a tight line. And that was another thing. What exactly was Gardenia to him? He didn’t really think she’d been his girlfriend since they’d passed the tender age of sixteen. Having a ‘girlfriend’ when you were thirty-six just didn’t sound right. It was like calling your mum, Mummy. Over a certain age and it just sounded stupid. So what was she? Partner? It sounded far too businesslike. If there was one thing Gardenia wasn’t, it was businesslike. Lover? Not very often these days. If you were lovers then there ought to be a certain amount of . . . well . . . making love. So she wasn’t his girlfriend, she wasn’t his partner, she wasn’t his lover and she certainly wasn’t his housekeeper. And even his mum had given up on her ever becoming his wife. So, he asked himself the question again, what was she? And why had she been it for so long? He turned his mind back to the spaghetti à la peace offering and its original purpose. Wasn’t he supposed to be making an effort to jump start the dead battery of their relationship? If so, why was he defending another woman? He tried another tack. ‘She likes you.’
‘It’s a shame the feeling isn’t mutual.’
Dan sighed inwardly. There was no point pursuing it further. Gardenia rarely had a reason for harbouring deep and abiding hatred. It was just something she excelled at. ‘I thought it would be nice if you and I could do it together.’
‘What?’
‘Walk in the woods.’
‘Why?’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s muddy.’
‘It isn’t always muddy,’ Dan insisted. ‘We could get you some wellies.’
‘Wellies,’ Gardenia sneered. ‘Do I look like a wellies sort of person?’
‘We could get you green ones.’ Dan tried to sound enthusiastic, even though he couldn’t actually picture Gardenia in wellies, green or otherwise. ‘And we could get you a Barbour. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
The sneer relaxed slightly and there was a flicker of light behind her uninterested eyes, though Dan was sure it had more to do with the mention of shopping rather than the freedom to tramp about woods warm and unsullied.
‘But you always take Fluffy out on your own.’
‘I know.’ Dan came and sat down next to her. He was tempted to take her hand, but it reminded him that he had done the same thing with Rose in the woods and he thought better of it. ‘Wouldn’t it be nicer if we did it together?’
Gardenia looked decidedly unconvinced. ‘For who?’
‘For both of us.’ He raked his hands through his hair. This was like drawing teeth – without the benefit of anaesthetic. ‘It’s just that I really enjoyed myself this afternoon . . .’ He could feel Gardenia stiffen beside him and he continued hurriedly, ‘And I thought how much nicer it would have been if it had been you who was with me.’
That was a lie. He hadn’t realised how much of a lie it was until it sprang forth from his lips. In a blinding flash, he knew it was Rose who had made the afternoon so relaxing, so enjoyable. If Gardenia had been with him, she would have whined and moaned and they would have raced round at breakneck speed so that she could get back indoors before she turned into a block of ice or the lack of centrally-heated air made her giddy. Perhaps what he really wanted Gardenia to say was that she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in getting caked up to the eyeballs in mud but that she had no problem if he wanted to go walking every Saturday – and possibly Sunday afternoons – with Rose. Some hope! Gardenia wasn’t noted for her humanitarian standpoint. Giving him permission to spend harmless recreational time with another woman would require something in the form of a brain transplant.
‘I don’t want to go walking in the woods,’ Gardenia said childishly. ‘Not with you or anyone else.’
Dan’s heart soared. The phrase ‘you don’t mind if I do?’ thought briefly about vocalising itself and then changed its mind. ‘The point of this is to get us to do more things together as a couple,’ he explained with patience that was thinning considerably quicker than his hair. ‘What would you like us to do together?’
Gardenia thought for a moment. ‘We could go shopping.’
Dan exhaled heavily. ‘That’s hardly a life-enhancing experience.’
Gardenia pouted. ‘It is for me.’
‘I want us to be closer,’ he said as earnestly as he could manage.
‘You haven’t been discussing our relationship problems with Rose, have you?’ Her voice held an unspoken threat.
He was tempted to say that it would have been a short discussion. ‘No,’ he said simply. He pushed himself up from his chair. ‘I’ll dish up. The spaghetti’s been in the oven for hours. It’s probably like rubber. You light the candles – if you want to.’
‘I’ve eaten,’ Gardenia said.
‘What?’
At least she had the good grace to look embarrassed, Dan thought bitterly. ‘I went for something to eat,’ she explained. ‘In Milton Keynes.’
‘With Bonnie Langford?’
‘Beverly.’
‘Well, it looks like it’s your lucky night, Fluff,’ he addressed the dog, waking him from his catnap as close to the warmth of the oven as lax hygiene standards would allow. ‘Chum or spag bol? The choice is yours.’
Fluffy barked and wagged his tail.
‘I think that was a definite spag bol,’ Dan said to Gardenia. ‘At least someone appreciates my cooking.’
‘I do appreciate it. I’m just not hungry.’
Dan sighed. ‘I’m trying to make an effort here, Gardenia. Would it do you any harm to meet me halfway?’
For once, she looked slightly ashamed and came and wound her arms round his waist. It was a highly unusual gesture that took Dan completely by surprise. ‘There is something we could do together,’ she said seductively. ‘We could have sex.’
The words didn’t somehow match the tone of voice. Whatever happened to making love or even the old-fashioned tumbling in the hay? Having sex. It ranked up there alongside having double glazing fitted or having a new patio laid. ‘We could,’ Dan said doubtfully.
‘I’ll wait in the bedroom.’ Gardenia gave him a squeeze. ‘Don’t be long.’
He wasn’t normally so reluctant, but having waited so long to eat the spaghetti à la peace offering, he was going to damn well enjoy every morsel of it. When he eventually joined Gardenia in bed, he felt like an over-stuffed turkey and had about as much energy. A strange feeling of relief washed over him when she appeared to be asleep, but she opened her eyes and turned to him, giving one of her rare cat-like smiles. He didn’t actually like cats very much; he was more of a dog man.
Gardenia was usually the reluctant one. Normally she just lay there and looked beautiful. And she did look beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Most men would give their right arm just to look at her naked and probably their left one to be able to do varied and intimate things with her. Tonight, she was more animated than he had ever known her. Well, perhaps animated was overstating the case, but she actually moved. And wriggled. And squirmed. And made little squeaking noises and said ‘oh, yes’ a couple of times, although the words seemed vaguely detached and didn’t necessarily coincide with what he was doing at the time, which was a bit disconcerting. It made him realise, you were the one who made love to Gardenia and, if you were lucky, she had sex back with you.
Dan wondered what Rose would be like in bed. She was more rounded. Her skin would feel soft and supple and it was unlikely that her hips would stick out sharply like the ends of metal coat hangers. She smelt wonderful wit
h her clothes on, teasing wafts of the exotic essential oils that she worked with clinging to her body. Naked, her scent would be erotic and unbearably heady, like an explosion on a perfume counter. He could imagine her being free and unfettered, sensuous and giving. Unfortunately, he could imagine it too well. Unaware of her sense of timing, Gardenia oh, yessed once more. And then, thankfully, he oh, yessed himself.
Dan lay back on the bed, one arm above his head, cold sweat drying uncomfortably on his chest. Gardenia curled into a ball with her back to him. He had upset Rose this afternoon, when he hadn’t meant to at all. It was true, he couldn’t imagine her as the other woman but he realised, with a slightly sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach, that the woman he wanted curled up beside him was Rose.
It would mean that Gardenia would have to go. That sounded cruel, but that basically was the crux of it. How could he do it to her? She was totally dependent on him, just as Fluff was. She’d never done a day’s work in her life, although she was perfectly capable of doing something. There must be jobs where you could just stand and look totally gorgeous all day. Even for the over-thirties. Would he ever summon up the necessary courage to ask her to leave? And what then? Rose still seemed to have an unhealthy attachment to this slimy bastard Hugh. Would she be interested in him even if he was free?
He could feel himself balanced uncertainly on the hypotenuse of an eternal triangle and it was an awful sensation. His eyes dropped to Gardenia’s back, the delicate curve of her backbone under its utterly inadequate covering of skin. When she wasn’t being a complete cow, she could be so child-like, so naive. It would kill him to hurt her.
As he watched her sleep, Dan couldn’t help feeling that the limitless possibilities for strengthening their relationship hadn’t exactly been fully explored. But he had tried. Hadn’t he? His paltry attempt had simply made him realise what a truly hopeless case their relationship was. It was clearly dead and, at least, should be buried with some dignity. Waves of shame, guilt and torment washed over him. It was the first time he had made love to Gardenia with thoughts of another woman invading his mind. Mind you, it was the first time he had made love to Gardenia and hadn’t thought of football.
Chapter Twelve
ANGELICA
A colourless oil which turns brown with age. Physically, it is used for fatigue, migraine, nervous tension and stress-related disorders. Emotionally, Angelica is useful for balancing erratic mood swings and helping to create a calm, peaceful environment.
from: The Complete Encyclopaedia of Aromatherapy Oils by Jessamine Lovage
‘Thank you, dear.’ Angelica took the cup of chamomile tea from Rose with a hand that had a barely perceptible tremor. ‘It’s so nice that you were able to see me. We haven’t had a chance for a proper chat yet. You’re always so busy.’
You’d be the ones to know, Rose thought as she sat down in the armchair by the fireplace. Not the fireplace that she was still waiting for Dan to come and finish, a different one – the one in the front room, the lounge, the parlour – whatever you wanted to call it – which was kept tidy for unexpected visitors and long winter nights alone watching inane comedy programmes on television in the vain hope of making herself laugh. She glanced at the clock. ‘I’ve got an hour before my next appointment.’
‘Oh good,’ Angelica said. She stirred her tea absently, then fished out the chamomile tea bag and put it on the side of her saucer. Tentatively, she put the cup to her lips and took a cautious sip.
‘Do you like it?’ Rose asked.
Angelica nodded enthusiastically. ‘It tastes lovely, dear.’ She put the cup back on the saucer and ran her tongue over her lips. ‘It’s just a shame it looks like urine.’
Rose laughed. ‘I’m afraid none of them are particularly appealing to look at.’ She peered into her own cup. ‘The peppermint tea I’m drinking looks a bit like stagnant pond water. Not so much an acquired taste as an acquired sight.’
Angelica smiled politely and put her cup on the small table next to her. She crossed one delicate leg over the other and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Actually, dear, I’ve come to ask you some professional advice.’
‘On aromatherapy?’
Angelica nodded. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell Anise. She’d go mad if she knew I was here.’
‘Doesn’t she know much about alternative therapies?’
‘Oh my goodness, she knows all about alternative therapies.’ She waved her hand. ‘Anise says they’ve been the downfall of the monarchy. I think it’s the adultery myself, but Anise won’t have it. She says that they wouldn’t have been interested in adultery if they hadn’t spent so much time having their bodies smeared with oil and their colons irrigated.’
‘She could have a point,’ Rose agreed good-naturedly.
‘Anise thinks its unnatural to have rubber tubing inserted into any bodily orifice. She has a devil of a time when she goes to the dentist.’ Angelica risked another sip of chamomile tea before she continued, ‘She knows all about chakras and karmas. And Tantric sex. She watched a documentary about Sting on the South Bank Show – he talked all about it. Anise was fascinated. I must say it sounded very boring to me. All that heavy breathing. When I had my day I liked a quick one up against the church wall.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for it,’ Rose said wide-eyed. How on earth did she come to be having a conversation about colonic irrigation and Tantric sex with this very genteel-looking woman who was possibly old enough to be her grandmother?
‘Anise says the body is a temple.’ Angelica wrinkled her nose. ‘Unfortunately, mine’s more like the church vestibule – dusty, draped with cobwebs and doesn’t get too many people going through it these days.’ She rearranged one of the sunray pleats on her skirt. ‘More’s the pity.’
‘What can I do to help?’ Rose inquired, trying to get a grip on this tottering conversation and bring it on to a more professional – and steady – footing.
‘There’s not much anyone can do,’ Angelica said sadly. ‘I think this poor old dog has had her day.’
‘I was talking about the aromatherapy,’ Rose said kindly.
‘Oh, that! The aromatherapy – oh yes.’
‘So, was it a particular problem that you wanted to talk to me about?’
Angelica moistened her lips. ‘I’m afraid it is.’ She fiddled with the single string of pearls at her neck. ‘I’m having a little trouble with my nerves.’ She whispered the last word breathily. ‘I think the main problem is that Anise is getting on them.’
‘Have you been to see your doctor?’
‘Yes. He’s a lovely man, but all he wants to do is give me dreadful pills to dope me up.’ She swept her hair from her forehead with her hand. ‘Essentially, it’s Anise that needs doping, not me. I just need a little something to help me cope with her more offensive excesses.’
‘Have you tried talking to her?’
‘I think King Canute had more success with the waves than one would trying to communicate to Anise that she’s a complete pain in the posterior. Anise is not someone that you talk to.’
‘How long have things been difficult?’
‘Anise has always been difficult, dear. She was a horrendous child. The older she gets, the worse she is. I was always more malleable. I think the word now is “easy”.’
‘And what sort of symptoms are you getting?’ Rose realised she should be writing this down, but she didn’t want to interrupt Angelica now. She was talking quite openly, but Rose could sense that it had taken some effort for her to get to this point.
‘Nothing very much, dear. Hardly anything, really.’ She took another sip of her tea. ‘When she starts to go on – and she can go on so – my poor stomach starts to churn and I feel all fluttery.’
‘Pretty standard symptoms for anxiety,’ Rose reassured her.
‘And then I see a red rage in front of my eyes and I want to do awful things to her, like garrotting her with the green plastic-coated wire from the potting
shed, or pushing her in the oven and baking her like the witch in the gingerbread house, or I wish we had a coal cellar and I could push her down the stairs and lock her in there for ever. That sort of thing.’
Rose tried to keep the alarm out of her voice. ‘How long have you felt like this?’
‘Oh, since I was about four.’ Angelica smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’ve never had the courage to do anything about it. Besides, she’s my sister. I love her dearly – really. I just enjoy fantasising.’
Rose grinned in response. ‘I don’t know if there are any essential oils that will help murderous tendencies.’
‘I did take a herbal remedy once. It was very good. It was supposed to keep you calm and centred and help to improve your memory.’ She plucked at her pearls. ‘Now what was it? I can’t remember, for the life of me.’
‘I think the best thing would be for you to come and have some aromatherapy massages with me. It’s a lovely way to relax. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.’
‘I’m sure I would, my dear. But Anise would be very resentful if she knew what I was up to. The problem is getting out of the house without her knowing, you see.’ Angelica tossed her fringe back. ‘I don’t suppose you realise, but she has a pair of binoculars permanently trained on your front door.’
Rose raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement. ‘It doesn’t come as a complete surprise,’ she said tactfully.
‘This is one of her worst characteristics. She has to know everyone else’s business.’ Angelica shook her head. ‘You must forgive her. It stems from having a sad and lonely life. She hardly ever goes out these days and therefore, takes whatever pleasure she can from things on her own doorstep.’ Her lips twisted into a smile. ‘I must say, the constant stream of men that tread your path keep her amused.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Rose answered wryly.
‘I’m afraid she thinks you get up to all manner of naughty things in here,’ Angelica admitted reluctantly.
‘I’m sorry to disappoint her. I only wish I did. I could charge extra, which would certainly help to pay the bills.’ There were days when people casting aspersions on her highly professional trade and ethics made her laugh out loud. Fortunately for Angelica, this was one of them. Rose hoped she wasn’t in as good a mood when she eventually confronted Anise Weston about the rumours she was spreading.
A Whiff of Scandal Page 10