Seven Days Horizons

by Ruth Hay

  She took her leave of Sandra and called a taxi for the ride across Glasgow to the east end and beyond to the small village of Lenzie. The women would meet later in the hotel for the family meal. Sandra was happy to spend the rest of the day with her daughters watching the improvements they had made to the business model she had begun. She had a deep sense of pride in their inheritance. A pride she had acquired late in her life but one none the less satisfying.

  * * *

  Michael Morton and Isobel Duncan had made a small but cozy home in Lenzie. Their cottage was snuggled in the valley close to the village shop and the garage. Within sight was the ridge on which the former village of Stepps commanded the view. It was now incorporated into the City of Glasgow but still retained that country feel of older Victorian-styled homes, leafy lanes and a generous park for dogs and cricket games.

  Michael was happy sharing space with his sister-in-law. He had been, for too many years, living alone after the sad demise of his wife Grace, and Isobel, although much different in lifestyle and appearance, retained some of the gentle characteristics of her sister; enough that they soon settled into a side-by-side familiarity meeting the needs of both parties. Neither spoke in any depth of the life events that had brought them together. Like two boats adrift on a restless sea, they had finally found a safe harbour. They were content to have someone to share the winter nights by the fireside, comment on television programs and take part in cooking and cleaning their small domain. Michael enjoyed walking on back roads, watching the farming seasons come and go and stopping for a glass of ale in a country pub on his way home. Isobel was involved with activities in the local church and made occasional excursions by bus into the centre of Glasgow where she met up with the few remaining friends from her youth before she had married and emigrated to the United States.

  Both of them were excited to welcome Zoe. They had last seen her and Wesley at Christmas in Dunstan’s Close. No mention was made then of a trip to Scotland and none expected in the busy lives of the professional couple, but it was a delight for Michael to see his daughter again and for Isobel to see a niece of whom she was inordinately proud.

  The taxi driver made full use of the GPS to find the cottage on a quiet street saying he had never ventured to Lenzie before and “it was a braw wee place for a quiet life”.

  Zoe hardly had time to straighten her skirt and brush the last mud from her shoes before the red front door opened and her father rushed forward to enfold her in his arms.

  “What a treat to see you here, my dear! Come away in. Your Aunt Isobel has been baking since dawn so I hope you’re hungry.”

  At his words, Zoe realized she was, indeed, hungry. It had been hours since the sausage roll on the train and it felt like days since she had arrived in Glasgow, so much had happened to her.

  She let her family settle her down at a table by the window with a grand view of the tiny garden. They plied her with sandwiches, cake, scones and biscuits galore and she was glad to munch her way through some of the delicious display while they regaled her with the details of their lives in the village and the comings and goings of those who left each day for work in nearby Cumbernauld, or in the big city.

  When the pace of conversation finally slowed, it was obviously Zoe’s turn to announce the purpose of her visit. She put the china teacup carefully back on its saucer and began.

  “I won’t pretend this visit is just to see where you two have settled. I am so pleased you are happy here together and it is good to have a picture in my mind of your cozy place.”

  She took a breath, gathered her courage and turned to the two eager faces.

  “I have come to you for information and advice about something entirely unexpected in my life.

  I need to know anything you can tell me about my mother when she was expecting me. No, no, I am not pregnant but I guess I am now hoping to be.”

  The story halted until the happy news had been exclaimed over. Both faces were flushed with delight.

  Both listeners had given up all thought of a new generation. This was, clearly, very welcome news.

  “Today, I pretty much decided a baby is in my future but I still have questions and worries about the whole pregnancy thing. How was it for my mother? Did she have problems? What do I need to be prepared for?”

  Michael and Isobel exchanged glances. Neither of them wanted to take the lead. Michael nodded to his sister-in-law to begin.

  “Well, Zoe, your mother, as you know, did not get pregnant easily. It was a surprise when you were on the way but she was thrilled to bits to be carrying you in spite of the fact the timing was less than perfect.”

  “What do you mean, Aunt Isobel?”

  Michael Morton took over. “I can explain that part, Zoe. Grace had achieved a three year position at the Teacher’s College and she was very anxious to continue to the end of her final year there. It was something she had long desired and she decided to delay the announcement of her pregnancy until the end of the college term. In those days it was common for professors to wear the flowing black robes over their clothes so no one noticed what was happening.”

  “Oh, I remember Valerie and Sandra telling me how they helped my mother to carry loads of books and kept her secret for months but how did mother deal with the symptoms during all this?”

  “She was very tired at night, of course. For the first three months she hardly ate enough. She said she felt nauseous although she was never actually sick to her stomach as far as I know. After that she caught up quickly as the baby grew and she had a normal birth. I was at the hospital but not in the delivery room. It was frowned upon in those days. You were such a beautiful baby, Zoe!”

  A nervous feeling was growing in Zoe’s chest. This information was making the whole idea real for the first time. She was beginning to wonder how long she could hang onto the blissful moments when she held baby Adrian in her arms and knew for certain what to do.

  “Let me fill you in about that Zoe, dear. My sister and I shared similar birth experiences despite the fact that we were in two different countries at the time. My two were born at term and without incidents to cause any alarm. The births of all three of our children were straightforward and not unrealistically long in duration. There’s no reason for you to be concerned. Once you get pregnant everything should go as smoothly as it did with us.”

  Zoe was digesting this information at top speed. It all seemed normal, as far as she could tell. The only fly in the ointment was in the last sentence. ‘Once you get pregnant’. There were no guarantees about that part of the process.

  “So, my mother was older when she got pregnant? What about you, Aunt Isobel? I don’t remember anything about your age after you left Scotland.”

  “Well, I, too, was a little older than most first-time mothers. In my case, it was because we were in the process of setting up a home and careers in a new country. It didn’t take me long once I stopped the contraceptives, however. I ‘m sure you won’t have any difficulties. And, remember, it is common these days for women to delay having babies. You won’t be the only older mother around.”

  The rest of the afternoon was occupied with less stressful conversations for Zoe. They took a walk around the village with Zoe being proudly introduced to any friends they passed.

  When the promised rain finally appeared, she took her cue to depart. The long, eventful day was not over. She had an appointment for dinner at the hotel.

  * * *

  She was welcomed back by Sandra who was positively beaming, wearing a fitted dress in a multi-coloured pattern that suited her colouring. Zoe rushed to change into something a trifle less crushed than her skirt and jacket. She had only a small bag with her but managed to unearth a tightly rolled-up silk dress that soon dropped its creases in the steam from the shower. Her suit jacket would do for a top layer. She was noticing a chill in the northern air now that dusk had arrived. The heels of her shoes were a trifle the worse for wear but she cleaned them off with tissues and was glad
, once more, that she was not likely to be recognized by anyone in the hotel. A quick brush through of her hair, a spritz of perfume and a change of earrings and she was ready for the evening.

  The hotel dining room was not large but had a number of sections allowing diners to choose different seating areas. Sandra had chosen a large booth to accommodate her three daughters. They arrived together having shared a ride to save searching for parking space in the city centre. The first discussion, around the table was about babysitting arrangements and Zoe listened to what was required for working women to get a free night. She wondered how Wesley would respond to such a request after his day’s work and another layer of inevitable change was added to what had already been a journey into an unknown future.

  With four women who did not see each other informally all that often, the conversation flew back and forth easily and Zoe was content to sit back and enjoy the sharing of lives and concerns among the group. She ate sparingly, being full from her earlier meal, and had time to admire the close connections of a larger family, something she had never before experienced. Sandra’s role was as an encouraging elder. Joanne had taken over the lead position in the business and Rachel, the last to marry, was something of a beginner in the baby stakes although Zoe could see her nursing expertise was much appreciated.

  She listened carefully to Rachel’s comments about juggling work and life commitments and knew she would have to deal with the same issues should she ever be in the same position.

  When the meal finally ended and Sandra bade a fond farewell to her brood, Zoe had exhausted all her energy and she sank into the soft pillows without a thought in her head other than the fact she was glad to have another few hours on the train before she would have to account to Wesley for her discoveries.

  Chapter 9

  In the early morning hours, Sandra and Zoe were happy to roll out of bed and into the train station for their separate trains. Sandra gave Zoe a big hug and refrained from asking her exactly why she had made this unusual trip north. She had her suspicions, of course, but Zoe had not confided in her so she knew she had to wait.

  “Remember, you and Wesley are more than welcome any time you need a quiet break on Mull. Ian and I love visitors and you would adore the island life. Nothing could be more of a contrast to your life in London, believe me!”

  “Thank you, Sandra. And thank you for not asking too many questions. I have a lot of thinking to do and I’ll be in touch later. Give Ian my regards. Bye for now!”

  Within minutes Zoe was settled in the first class carriage on her way home to London and Wesley. She decided to forego the proffered breakfast, choosing instead coffee and toast with preserves. She had overindulged the previous day and needed to rest both her stomach and her mind.

  Surprisingly, she fell asleep for an hour soothed by the background rumble of wheels on track, and when she awoke, she had a sudden clarity of a mind that seemed to have absorbed all the various events and feelings of the day before and condensed them into one clear direction.

  She would do everything she could to become pregnant and she would risk anything to bear a child.

  With the decision, came a sense of peace. It did not negate the obvious problems and difficulties that lay ahead but it gave her the knowledge that she had chosen the best answer to her dilemma.

  * * *

  When she was an hour out of London, Zoe decided to activate her mobile phone so she could send a message to Wesley confirming her arrival time. She expected the usual accumulation of trivial items from a period when she was incommunicado but not a series of messages from Abigail Beck. At once, the whole business of the magazine article zoomed back into the forefront of her mind. She would have to deal with the fallout from that before tackling anything else. Tentatively, she opened the latest in the series from Abigail and found a frantic apology in capital letters.

  * * *

  PLEASE FORGIVE ME. IT WAS NOT MY INTENTION FOR THIS TO HAPPEN. I CAN EXPLAIN. PLEASE ANSWER. Abigail Beck.

  Chapter 10

  In these days of social media scanning everything and everyone in the public eye, it did not take long before Abigail Beck’s photo and the text accompanying it, were common knowledge the length and breadth of Britain. Her distracted explanation on the phone to Zoe about how this had happened did not help her sense of disappointment and betrayal. It was something about Abi going to a different publisher who she thought she could trust and offering him two discreet articles and being so upset when he failed to honour their agreement. The only piece of good news Zoe could garner from this mess was Abigail’s fervent promise that the second, more detailed article, had been obliterated and would never be published.

  “Well, I suppose it had to happen sometime, darling,” soothed Wesley, as they ate a late weekend breakfast in Dunstan’s Close.

  “You may well say that. The speculation was all about you, the mystery man, but no one knows who you are as yet. It’s quite different for me, of course, and since that stupid magazine item I have been followed whenever I leave the Excelsior building. My new P.A. has to plan different routes from the building every day and I am beginning to run out of reliable limo services who can guarantee my privacy.

  It’s all taking up more time and energy than I am prepared to spend at the moment.”

  Zoe’s tone of voice as well as her words raised the alarm in Wesley’s mind. Now they had embarked on the quest to become pregnant, he did not want his wife to be worried unduly by any work-related business. He had read that a calm spirit and mind were most conducive to implantation.

  “You do feel safe here, don’t you? This home has always been our sanctuary.”

  “Of course it is.” She paused to look out of the windows toward the tree branches shifting in the warm breeze and the purple blossoms on the lilacs nodding to each other. What Wesley said was true but she wondered how long their sanctuary would remain inviolate. The very thought of paparazzi camping outside their gate made her shiver. If it should happen, it would seriously affect her feelings about their precious home and about all their efforts to make it perfect for them.

  Working in an office on Fleet Street, as he did, Wesley could not be ignorant of the lengths reporters would go to in order to sell newspapers. The British Press were notorious for hounding celebrities all hours of the day or night. Although she did not consider herself a celebrity, Zoe was aware her position as a woman with power in a man’s world, made her a target. It was well known the press loved to raise someone up then take delight in bringing them crashing back to earth again.

  She had concerns about her own life story. Investigations could reveal her past and involve her father, ruining, in the process, her mother’s reputation; something she had gone to great lengths to conceal. Perhaps she was foolish to be worried about this. Her mother was long gone now but Zoe retained enough Scottish family pride to wish to keep her secrets.

  As for her business dealings, she had always been ultra-careful about her associations within the company. Almost no one, outside of Suzanne, knew anything about her private life. She did not socialize with her employees. She had observed early on in her steep career climb, how devastating it could be to be caught drunk and disheveled at a company function and she had kept her vow to be above such dangerous and infantile behaviour. When business lunches were necessary she was always served sparkling water and over time this habit had influenced others in her company.

  Most of all, she had concerns about Wesley’s career. If a reporter should uncover the fact that Zoe Morton had been a patient of her husband, all hell could be unleashed. Wesley’s reputation could be called into question and her own credibility in her responsible position might be tainted. She knew they had done nothing wrong, either during her short period of psychiatric treatment or thereafter, but the truth was often a victim when it came to making money from some perceived misdemeanour.

  She really did not need this aggravation when there was so much else going on. She had stopped taking th
e contraceptives. Her doctor had referred her to a female obstetrician/gynaecologist in a large medical centre within a few miles of her company offices. She had asked to be registered under a false name and given Wesley’s office number for any appointment information. This had been arranged, after some initial protest, but when Doctor Ambrose recognized her new patient, she wisely made no further comments and removed from the waiting room a certain magazine issue.

  * * *

  Zoe Morton was attempting to distract herself from all these unsettling topics by concentrating on a separate interest. In Mexico, she had made a promise to set up a new division of Excelsior which would have a primarily charitable function. She would model it on the established campaigns to supply wigs and make-up to women undergoing breast cancer treatment. Her experience with Portia Beck had convinced her that a similar beneficial effect could be achieved for some of the women with mental problems. Wesley had informed her the current research supported her belief in the outer appearance as a way into improving the self-image of those who were suffering dysmorphia; the inability to perceive their true selves. Seeing in a mirror a vision of a brighter, happier face could give hope and heart to someone who felt happiness was impossible to achieve. While in Mexico, Portia, still deep in depression, had responded to a basic make-over with such enthusiasm Zoe had decided then and there to inaugurate her new division. She named it Portal. It was intended to be a gateway into positive improvement. She had sent a kit of products to Canada with instructions for Marian Beck so Portia could make use of the uplift whenever she felt the need. Sadly, Marian’s latest report indicated the girl had regressed when faced with the changes required to adjust to a new life in her grandparents’ home.