Seven Days Horizons

by Ruth Hay

  William quickly signalled to the receptionist to hold all calls and returned to his office, adjusting his tie and feeling reassured that the professor had, in the common parlance, ‘all his marbles’.

  When the door was firmly closed, he turned his attention to his computer pulling up the records of the Beck family investments and recent transactions. Nothing untoward there, thank goodness!

  Aylward tapped his fingernails on the polished desk and dispensed with the niceties, moving straight to the business at hand.

  “There is a considerable supply of cash in our accounts at the moment. The investment market is not a good fit recently and I am moving substantial amounts of that cash into a different type of investment.”

  “What did you have in mind, Professor Beck?”

  William had a moment of concern. It was not unusual for older bank clients to adopt some crazy scheme in which to sink their money, hoping to ward off the declining value of their stocks and shares. He had seen some disasters happen in this way and hoped he was not about to hear of another thinly-disguised Ponzi scheme.

  Aylward caught the passing look of apprehension on his bank manager’s face and hoped he was not about to get unwanted advice. He knew exactly what he needed to do and did not wish to waste time on the process.

  “I am investing in my family. Transfer this sum from my savings account to the account of my son, Terrence Beck, and a second sum to the account of my son-in-law, Maurice Anderson. The latter sum is to be held in escrow until a future time of my choosing but I want it to be separated now. My wife and I are intending to sell our current assets in Toronto within the year and move to the Bahamas.”

  William received two pieces of paper in a trembling hand. A quick glance showed him all the requisite account numbers were there and also that the sums of money to be transferred were more than substantial. Professor Beck appeared to be in his right mind, but, as manager, he had a duty to protect all his customers, including one particular lady who was not present.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Very well, professor. The transactions will take a day or two and, naturally, as you and your wife have joint accounts with us here, her signature will be required before the final dispersal of the funds can be completed.”

  “Certainly! Please put a priority on the finances going to our son, Terrence. I wish to expedite that sum as soon as possible. Other matters relating to our eventual move can be dealt with later in the year.”

  “Indeed! We will be sorry to lose your business, Professor Beck, but be assured of our good wishes for your future endeavours. Please take a moment to sign these two forms and I will look forward to seeing Mrs. Beck soon.”

  The printer ejected the forms after a minute of frantic typing by the bank manager.

  Aylward submitted to a damp handshake and exited the bank rapidly. He would attempt to do all the remaining financial items online, now that he had made his intentions clear.

  He had another appointment this morning. He was paying a visit to York University to consult with a former student of his, now in charge of the department of Psychiatry. Nola Desmond had been a brilliant student. He hoped she had mentored other women in the same manner in which he had promoted her career. Aylward Beck felt this was his best, and last, chance of finding a suitable healer for Portia.

  Chapter 5

  Zoe Morton was a firm believer in women’s intuition. It had been her only tool when she first ran away from Scotland and escaped to London to hide, and to seek employment. It had helped her determine who among the many strangers she encountered could be trusted and who was to be avoided at all costs. Eventually, her intuition led her to the cosmetic counters of a major department store where she practised her craft and learned the skills that drew the attention of supervisors. From there, she made a huge leap of faith and accepted an entry level position in a large new cosmetics company called Excelsior. Using her intuition again she sought out trainee work in their laboratories where new products were devised, tested and presented to panels of women who tried them out and gave feedback to the scientists.

  Zoe was not a natural people-pleaser. She held back from close relationships feeling she had too many secrets she wanted to keep hidden but she had a talent for spotting a product that met the needs of women and she could package that product in a web of perfect phrases and delicate materials that would appeal to her customers. In addition, she grew into a beautiful young woman; a little on the slender side, perhaps, but with her jet black hair and fine features she was admired for her acuity and her appearance. Men in the upper levels of Excelsior were attracted to this smart, lovely girl but the word soon circulated that she was ‘an ice maiden’ and both single and married men backed away leaving the floor to the executives who could see her abilities in the business world rather than in the bedroom.

  Zoe Morton kept herself untainted by gossip and rumor and in time, she was promoted to assistant to the Chief Executive Officer of Excelsior Cosmetics, a position in which she made her mark, preparing herself to take on the CEO role when her boss retired.

  In some ways it was a lonely life. She had the trappings of success around her in the loft apartment which rarely had a single item out of place since she worked so many hours at the company.

  She knew there had to be a warmer, larger life than the one she had claimed but despite her intelligence and her good instincts she had lost the knack of connecting on an intimate level with others.

  Then the letter arrived from Valerie Westwood and life opened up in the most unexpected ways. First there was the brief holiday in Ambleside where her defences finally came down for good in the presence of a trio of friends rapidly becoming her new family.

  From those associations came the advent of Carla Carstairs, a budding young actress and flatmate who she took under her wing almost like a sister she had never had.

  Finally, there was Wesley Philips, her therapist and friend first of all, soon to be so much more.

  Her life expanded in all directions and she became softer, warmer and happier. Her adoption of more colourful clothes than the sterile black and white wardrobe she had previously clung to, demonstrated these changes in a noticeable way.

  What did not change, however, was her dependence on the reliability of her intuition. At the present time her intuition was sending out alarm signals. Wesley Philips, her most gentle, understanding, diplomatic soul was troubled and she feared she knew the source of that trouble. He was seeking a way to re-introduce the topic of children.

  So far this month it had been easy to avoid the discussion. Their work schedules were overloaded as they struggled to make up for their holiday time, but it was becoming more obvious that there was a strain between them. Zoe knew she had to prepare for the inevitable.

  She invented a meeting out of her office and fled home to Dunstan’s Close in the middle of a weekday afternoon to sit in the most peaceful place she knew and consider her position.

  She made a pot of tea, assembled the matching china cup, saucer and milk jug, with a silver spoon and arrayed them on one of her favourite trays complete with an embroidered linen napkin.

  If this doesn’t help me to be truthful and calm of mind, nothing will!

  She settled into a soft crimson chair in the cozy room near the clock tower which they had designated as an office. The space was barely decorated as the office idea had not yet really been required.

  Both of them thought of it as a place perhaps for the distant future when they retired from work and sought other interests. The room had a low ceiling and one window. She chose it because there were few distractions inside. A suitable spot for deep thinking.

  It was not that she had never before given any thought to her fears. She was aware of most of them.

  Foremost was the fear that she could be unhinged by motherhood. Grace Morton, who appeared to the world to be an unusually kind and generous woman had taken her own life, leaving behind a shocked and bereft daughter. Since her mother
had never chosen to reveal to Zoe exactly what had driven her to such a drastic act, she took on herself much of the blame, despite the note left for her outlining her father’s betrayal. As a teenager in the throes of finding her own way in the world, Zoe had immediately blamed herself for every word she had expressed of discontent and disapproval in her mother’s presence. As an adult, she could see her vulnerability in a different light but the original impetus of the shock had left a deep mark on her.

  So, put that aside now. What else is there?

  She sipped thoughtfully at her tea and realized she had no close contacts with either children or their mothers. Excelsior employed many young women and the company had a good policy for maternity leave. There was no need for a crèche in the building so Zoe had no way to acclimatize herself to the sounds of babies. The very thought was more than a little frightening. Could she, should she, do some type of research on this topic as if it were a new work program she was considering?

  This seemed a bit excessive but it did make her smile. What did she know about pregnancy? The recent pregnancies of Catherine Duchess of Cambridge had been much in the news with all the details about the first weeks of that pregnancy. Zoe shuddered remembering how Catherine had lost weight through constant sickness and had to be hospitalized. As one who had never had a serious illness, Zoe felt this sacrifice would be too much for her to bear, should she be burdened with the same problem or something, perhaps, much worse. She really knew very little about the entire process.

  A health issue did enter her mind at this point in her deliberations. Since marrying Wesley, she had been taking steps to prevent pregnancy. The doctor she had consulted, warned her to beware of side effects and not to continue the pill regimen for too many years. Did she intend to remain childless and use contraceptives with the possible dangers of this? For how many years would she need to continue for the security of preventing an unwanted child?

  There was so much to think about. She stood up and went to the window, cup in hand, for a change of scene. Outside she saw a sparrow gathering dried grass and flying upward to a branch in a tree where a nest was being carefully woven together, awaiting the arrival of a batch of eggs. Nature was preparing its annual festival of spring renewal. Was Zoe Morton willing to ignore this explosion of fertility? Was she willing to deny Wesley the chance to be a father, with all the implications that decision might create? Was there a way to gain some insight into the whole motherhood business without actually participating in the process?

  She thought about alternatives. Adoption? Rescuing a child from a refugee camp? Neither one appealed. It was too much like taking on a neglected animal from Animal Rescue with all the attendant uncertainties. A child of Wesley would have at least some of his wonderful characteristics and that was something to wish for.

  Returning to her chair, she let her mind wander for a moment. She could hardly go up to some unknown woman on the street and ask her true opinion of motherhood, but was there someone she knew who could answer the questions flooding her mind?

  Her thoughts flew back to the week in the Lake District where she had met Sandra Halder, the mother of three girls. She recalled a more recent conversation with her courtesy-aunt Valerie Westwood describing how Sandra and Ian had retired, leaving their Day Care business to all three of her daughters. She remembered Valerie’s comment that the girls were providing customers for the business since their own families were growing.

  An idea popped into her head. Could she contact Sandra and request a visit to the Glasgow Day Care facility just to see if she could tolerate the notion of babies and their needs? It would be an immersion experience, but private and far from the public eye here in London. If she took only a weekend away, Wesley would not need to know the real reason and she would return with a much better sense of her likelihood of becoming a mother at some point. Of course, that point could not be forever postponed. Her doctor had emphasized the advantages of having a family before the age of forty. She did not have too many years to go before that deadline.

  It was time to put this plan into action. The decision gave her encouragement. A project was always energizing. Scotland was a good option and she could even ask her Aunt Isobel if her mother had ever discussed pregnancy with her. Her father was another possible source of information. She would learn everything she could and then make the decision. Surely, Wesley could ask nothing more of her.

  Chapter 6

  Wesley Philips was making his own plan for a campaign to persuade his wife that their amazing relationship could only be enhanced with the addition of a child, or children. This had not always been for him the fixation it had become in recent weeks. He had been quite content with his lovely Zoe and the beautiful home and absorbing work lives they shared.

  He thought the change in his feelings had something to do with events in Mexico.

  Being immersed in the family of Aylward and Marian Beck had awakened a sense of generations, the future, his own mortality and a host of other unexpected emotions.

  He thought back to his own childhood and the many times he felt alone. His parents were social workers, heavily involved with community projects and troubled clients who required a great deal of their time. Young Wesley was often left in the care of a sitter, a pleasant older lady who read to him then watched television until it was time to prepare a meal or get him ready for bed. He had little to do with children his age until he went to school. It was there he began to understand his inadequacies.

  He did not know how to share, which, according to his teachers, was a dreadful crime.

  He was afraid of the girls in his class who spoke up confidently and pushed him aside to get to where they chose to be. These girls were a foreign tribe to him for many years. It was not until he reached Year Four in primary school that he found himself paired with another ‘nerdy, geeky type’, as they were referred to by the majority of their classmates. Wesley did not understand these terms but he did understand Max. They clung together to the exclusion of everyone else. In fact they might have been the only students in class. They met in the playground and talked endlessly about their interests. Chess, mathematics (particularly magic squares), science, robotics, space travel and favourite television channels were their métier and they had all the time in the world to explore and share their discoveries.

  It had been a wondrous thing for Wesley to find a friend and his confidence grew by leaps and bounds from that time forth. Max spurred him on to excellence and Wesley returned the favour. In their last year of primary school they scooped all the prizes and sailed on to higher education as a matched pair with acknowledged genius abilities and unstoppable ambitions.

  Eventually their paths divided. Wesley went on excel in the fields of Psychology and Psychotherapy while Max became a renowned space scientist working at NASA. Their friendship never wavered as their lives diverged. One phone call and they were back to the private, shorthand language of their youth.

  Max’s wife, Alecia, was no more able to comprehend their conversations than was Zoe. The women could only shake their heads in wonder.

  Max and Alecia were the parents of three girls and one boy now. They were happily settled in the States and Wesley had not seen them for some years.

  Wesley Philips had not thought back to those early years for a very long time. He leaned back in his chair, wondering where all these memories had sprung from. Could it be a throwback to his old rivalry with Max? Was it because a patient had cancelled her appointment and left him with unexpected time on his hands? Or was it a mental reminder that it was his duty to create a child and give that child the kind of home environment he had missed?

  His heart thudded in his chest at the thought of a child shared with Zoe. A surge of longing welled up in him. He skipped over the preliminaries and saw himself with their child in his arms and Zoe smiling beside him.

  The vision was so real he had to close his eyes and tell himself to breathe calmly. He understood the power of visions, in a textbook kin
d of fashion, but he had never before experienced such a thing.

  It was like a message from the universe; a message that must not be ignored. His logical mind sought to erase the vision. He was not some impressionable young man. He was a mature, responsible doctor who had counselled others to deal with realistic expectations and solid evidence, yet, here he was enmeshed in emotions that seemed more real than the chair in which he was seated.

  This was frightening. He stood abruptly and knocked his glasses onto the floor, almost standing on them as he moved toward the office door. This restored some semblance of normality to his brain.

  This is no way for a therapist to behave. I have to get a grip on myself. It’s all very well for me to have these ideas but nothing can happen without Zoe’s participation. I have to talk to her. And soon.

  * * *

  Wesley Philips arrived at Dunstan’s Close and felt his beating heart calm immediately. Just approaching along the tree-lined path reduced his blood pressure by several points. The building had that effect on him every time. He unlocked the front door, intending to make himself a cup of tea before he set his plan in motion but when he lifted the kettle to fill it, he felt its warmth.

  Someone was here. It was unlikely that Zoe had come home early without telling him. Was she sick?

  He ran upstairs to check their bedroom. The bed was empty and undisturbed. This was becoming

  worrisome. Was there an intruder in the house? Not likely an intruder stopped to boil a kettle, he thought.

  He decided to investigate further, tiptoeing around listening for unusual sounds. After some minutes, he heard the noise of a chair scraping on the floor behind the door of the small office. He picked up a walking stick from a container near the tower staircase and holding it in a defensive position he thrust open the door and found himself face-to-face with his wife.

  “What are you doing here?”