by Rosie Harris
Alison frowned. ‘What is that?’
‘I intend to redecorate this house from top to bottom. Change it completely. I shall start with our bedroom. Everything out and replaced by all new furniture; absolutely everything new.’
‘Mum, you can’t possibly do that! Dad will turn in his grave.’
‘Spin more likely when I’ve finished making changes,’ Margaret pronounced.
‘You’ve never done any decorating in your life before,’ Alison pointed out. ‘It’s hard work, you know.’
‘I don’t intend wielding a paint brush or hanging wallpaper or anything like that,’ Margaret assured her. ‘I intend to call in professional help.’
‘That will cost the earth! What’s more, they will still need some sort of guidance on what changes you intend to make.’
‘Oh, I’ll give them precise instructions. I know exactly what I want done.’
‘Be careful, Mum. Very modern surroundings may clash with your furniture.’
‘I’m getting rid of all the heavy old pieces that have been here ever since the day we married. I intend not only to redecorate but to refurnish and to have new carpets and curtains as well.’
‘That’s a mammoth task; you’ll never be able to do it on your own.’
‘I don’t intend to even try. I shall hire an interior designer.’
Alison shook her head and looked nonplussed. ‘I really don’t know what to say. Do be careful though; there are some sharks about, you know.’
‘You mean they may try to take advantage of me because I am so old?’
‘No, no, of course I didn’t mean that but there are so many people claiming to be professionals …’ Alison’s voice trailed away as though she wasn’t at all sure what she was talking about.
‘Don’t worry, there are some very knowledgeable interior designers; some who have excellent reputations, like the chap Jan hired when she decided to refurbish her flat and he certainly did a first-class job.’
Thirteen
‘I called in at Willow House to see my mother today, Mark.’
‘You did! Good! How was she?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Mark looked at his wife sharply. Her voice registered such deep bewilderment that he felt professional concern.
‘Delayed shock?’
‘I … I don’t think so.’
He noted the uncertainty was still there. She sounded baffled rather than upset.
‘What seemed to be amiss?’ He tried to keep his voice casual although mentally he was rapidly diagnosing cause and effect. By his estimation, Margaret had behaved far too rationally at the funeral. There had been no tears and hardly any sign of emotion at all. It had been the same day Reginald had died, he recalled. She had neither broken down and cried, nor showed any other sign of distress.
It had surprised him. They’d been married a long time. Of course, Reginald had been a lot older than Margaret, and since his heart attack a few years back their lifestyle had changed dramatically.
At the time he’d been surprised that Reginald had been prepared not only to take early retirement but also to give up his golf and his political interests and prepared to take things so easy.
He might have been happy enough to relax in his armchair with his newspaper or a book, watch television and have a couple of weeks at Bournemouth once a year, but what about Margaret? Had she resented not being able to maintain the social life she’d grown accustomed to, with visits to the theatre and various other nights out that helped to put the zest into everyday living?
She was a good-looking woman and still had a lot of life to live, reflected Mark.
He recalled their first meeting. He’d been twenty so she must have been about forty, a slender, blue-eyed blonde with a warm, friendly smile that had set him at ease immediately.
Alison had the same facial bone structure as her mother but that was where the resemblance ended. Alison’s eyes were grey, she was shorter and more buxom and her hair was dark brown.
Alison’s younger brother took after their mother in looks and disposition, but Alison was more like her father in temperament. She was argumentative and had his pragmatic approach to life.
After they had lost their second child in a cot death her personality had changed completely. She had become moody and despondent. He knew she blamed him for what had happened because he had been looking after Christopher and the baby, so that she could have a night out. Nothing would convince her that it could have happened anyway, even if she had been at home.
As soon as Christopher started school he had suggested she might like to return to work on a part-time basis. She had always enjoyed nursing, and he hoped that a few hours outside the home each day might alleviate her recurring bouts of depression, which had become worse after her father’s heart attack.
He had been concerned at how distressed Alison had been when her father died. He had been dreading the funeral in case she broke down. She assured him she wouldn’t. She intended to put on a brave face on things for her mother’s sake. Mark wasn’t at all sure that such fortitude was necessary. Margaret’s apparent lack of grief had puzzled him.
‘She was so remarkably controlled at the funeral, it’s only natural that she should be mourning now,’ he murmured gently as Alison remained silent.
‘Mourning! She’s not mourning,’ Alison said caustically, her mouth tightening into a thin hard line. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you know all about the car incident and the idea of going away on a package holiday, well, that’s nothing compared with her latest caper.’
‘Go on.’
‘She’s going to have the entire house redecorated from top to bottom, starting with the bedroom that she shared with Dad. She’s getting rid of all that beautiful walnut furniture, and replacing it with modern built-in wardrobes. Its enough to make Dad turn in his grave!’
‘Perhaps it’s her way of mourning,’ he said helplessly.
‘Or of making a fresh start! Next thing we know she’ll be getting married again.’
‘I suppose that’s possible. She’s not all that old, you know.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Alison’s grey eyes flashed angrily. ‘Dad was in his late seventies!’
‘Yes, I know that, but he was almost twenty years older than your mother.’
Alison stared at him angrily. ‘That’s still no reason for desecrating his memory.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Redecorating their bedroom isn’t violating anything. Making a complete break with the past might be her way of dealing with her grief …’
‘Grief? What the hell are you on about? You’re not listening to a word I’m saying. She hasn’t shed a tear or shown the slightest remorse. I’m beginning to think she’s actually glad he’s dead.’
Mark shrugged non-committally. ‘She might well be relieved. The last few years have been pretty gruelling for her. It can’t have been easy for a woman of her age to live under such enforced restrictions. He can’t have been an easy man to nurse.’
‘You would take her part. She’s always been able to twist you round her little finger,’ Alison snapped, contemptuously. ‘She’s only had to turn those blue eyes of hers on you to sweet talk you into doing anything she wants.’
Mark reddened. ‘Don’t talk rubbish.’
‘It’s true.’ Alison’s voice broke and suddenly she was in floods of tears.
‘Oh, come on. Don’t take on so.’ Mark gathered her into his arms, rocking her as if she was a small child, stroking her dark hair, in a desperate attempt to calm her.
She raised her face to his, her eyes drowned in tears. ‘Nobody seems to care,’ she gulped. ‘Charles is too busy playing managing director in the office, Steven is too wrapped up in his own career to notice what’s happening, and Mum is trying to wipe out all memory of Dad just as fast as she can.’
‘No, no. It’s not like that at all,’ protested Mark. ‘They al
l care but they’re so busy getting on with their own lives it doesn’t show. Don’t judge your mother too harshly. Ever since your father had his heart attack five years ago she’s known he could die at any time. She’s already done her grieving. It’s natural that she feels a sense of relief. She probably thinks it’s high time she got on with her own life.’
Mark ignored the pained look Alison gave him. It was the truth as he saw it and the sooner Alison accepted the fact that her mother was entitled to lead her own life the better.
Anyway, it was early days. When the euphoria of being free from the responsibility of having to nurse a sick husband had passed, Margaret still might succumb to a feeling of desolation or despair.
Contrary to what Alison thought, he didn’t regard anything Margaret had done so far as sinister. The fact that she wanted to change the car, or was planning a holiday, or that she intended reorganizing and redecorating her home was merely a positive expression that she intended on putting her life into gear again.
He knew it was useless trying to convince Alison of this. She was determined to interpret her mother’s actions as deliberate attempts to obliterate all traces of her father.
It was quite extraordinary, Mark reflected, how differently Alison and her two brothers were taking their father’s death.
Alison had phoned them both during the course of the evening to tell them about her mother’s plans for Willow House. Charles had been furious, especially when he heard that she intended to call in Jason Parker to advise her and oversee the proposed transformation.
‘The man’s a complete charlatan who takes advantage of vulnerable women,’ he’d exploded angrily.
‘I knew it!’ Alison had been overjoyed by his reaction, and triumphantly relayed Charles’s opinion to Mark. He had demanded further explanation.
‘Tell Mark he latches on to wealthy widows and rich, pampered wives, and charges them an exorbitant fee for his services. Then he inveigles them into introducing him to their friends.’
‘Ask him if the man’s work is any good?’
‘I don’t need to. Mum said he did Jan’s place up and it was absolutely magnificent.’
‘If Jan Porter introduced him to Mother then it will probably cost the earth,’ commented Charles. ‘He probably thinks Mum’s loaded.’
‘As long as your mother is getting pleasure from it, does the money side matter?’ protested Mark.
‘Of course it does,’ Alison snapped.
Charles agreed with her. ‘It most certainly does matter. Father left his money in trust. She’s spending our inheritance. Having a holiday is one thing, and I can even go along with her buying a car but squandering capital on unnecessary changes is something else. There’s very little wrong with the house. A spot of decorating may be necessary to freshen the place up but to completely refurbish the main bedroom is something else. And once that’s completed, heaven alone knows what else this Jason Parker will talk her into having done.’
Charles and Alison had analysed the matter for a further twenty minutes, Charles expressing objections in the strongest possible terms until even Alison had felt compelled to take her mother’s side.
As soon as Charles hung up, Alison dialled Steven’s number. His opinion that if their mother felt the need of change, whether it was in the home, or in the pattern of her life, then he was in full agreement, swung Alison back on to the defensive.
‘Don’t you care that she’s trying to obliterate all the memories we have?’ she yelled down the phone.
Steven laughed derisively. ‘Stop being so theatrical,’ he teased. ‘Why is there this sudden change of heart from you, anyway? When Dad was alive you were the one who was always criticizing him and complaining about his moods.’
‘I didn’t mean it unkindly.’
‘No, you were being honest because you could see that the more Mum did for him the more difficult he became.’
‘He was a sick man.’
‘Yes, and he was determined to make Mum and the rest of us suffer along with him!’
‘That’s cruel!’
‘It’s the truth and you know it. You were always his pet, Alison. He had a soft spot for you. Ever since you were a toddler you could get away with things neither Charles nor I dare attempt. Yet, despite this, you left home and married Mark the moment you were legally old enough to do so, didn’t you?’
‘That had nothing to do with Dad.’
‘Who are you kidding?’
‘Well, you left home too.’
‘I know, and I admit that I did it because I was fed up of having him breathing down my neck all the time and checking up on where I’d been, or who I’d been with.’
‘I really don’t know what all this has to do with what Mum is doing,’ Alison told him huffily.
‘Everything. I’m trying to make you realize that there is nothing sinister about her behaviour. She’s simply enjoying her freedom and doing exactly what she wants to do, so stop criticizing her.’
Alison tried another tack. ‘Charles is worried.’
‘Is he?’ Steven sounded disinterested.
‘He says she’s squandering our inheritance.’
‘What the hell does he mean by that?’
‘Dad left his money in trust for her lifetime and then it comes to us, doesn’t it?’
Steven’s guffaw of laughter made Alison stiffen.
‘Trust Charles to be thinking about the pennies. What the devil is he worrying about?’
‘Like I said, our future inheritance.’
‘Look, let’s get things straight. Charles inveigled Dad into letting him take over the business years ago and he’s probably making a bomb out of it. Sitting on top of a gold mine, I’d say.’
‘You can never have too much money,’ retorted Alison, balefully. She sensed Steven was laughing at her and she felt piqued.
‘I’ve got all I need at the moment and so have you,’ remonstrated Steven firmly. ‘If you want more, work for it.’
‘I do!’ Alison said sharply. ‘And nursing is hard graft, I can tell you. It’s not like modelling where all you have to do is sit around and look glamorous.’
‘Tell Sandra that. She’ll soon put you right. Posing for four or five hours at a stretch under overhead lights can be pretty gruelling.’
‘She’s got a good memory, has she? Must be at least five years since she faced the cameras.’
‘I can see she hasn’t been keeping you up to date.’
‘You don’t mean she’s gone back to work? Who’s looking after Matthew and Hannah? They’re still only babies. They shouldn’t be farmed out—’
‘Hold it!’ Steven cut short her tirade. ‘You can see now what I mean about being able to do what you want without people checking up on you or interfering.’
‘I’m not interfering.’
He chuckled. ‘You would, though, if you were given half a chance.’
‘I’m just concerned about them. They’re so young to be left with—’
‘With Sandra’s mother? I’m sure she takes good care of them. She returns them in perfect order,’ he added mockingly.
‘Well, I didn’t know she was leaving them with her mother, did I?’
‘So easy to jump to the wrong conclusions, isn’t it, Alison? I rather think that’s what you’re doing with Mother. You’re condemning her for making changes without stopping to think why she might be making them.’
‘Anyway,’ he added as she made no reply and the silence became protracted, ‘if you don’t believe me, then why don’t you ask her outright.’
‘She wouldn’t tell me the truth.’
‘I think you’re wrong there. She’s never been one to hide her reasons for doing anything.’
‘Come off it, Steven! For years now she hasn’t voiced an idea, or expressed an opinion,’ retorted Alison sourly.
‘Not to you, perhaps because she knows you would have gone straight back to Dad and told him what she’d said. She has to me, though.’
&
nbsp; ‘Only to you?’ she asked, mockingly. ‘Well, you always were her favourite.’
‘No, she loved each of us equally but I was the only one who bothered to listen and—’
Alison slammed down the receiver at her end, abruptly cutting short their call.
Angry and frustrated she turned her anger on Mark, blaming him for suggesting she should ring Charles and Steven in the first place.
It had been the same ever since she could remember, Charles had always been cold and supercilious, Steven teasing and self-opinionated.
She stormed off to bed feeling bitter and upset, her throat tight. She was sure that she wouldn’t be able to sleep because her head was pounding. The only person who had ever understood her, she thought in frustrated rage, had been her father, and now he was dead. No one else, not her mother nor either of her brothers, seemed to be in the least bit concerned.
Fourteen
Frowning, Jan Porter replaced the receiver. She felt both mystified and annoyed. It was the third time she had phoned Jason Parker at his studio only to be told by one of his staff that he was not available. Again she had left a message for him to return her call and at the same time pointed out in no uncertain terms that she had left the same message twice before and he had not done so.
It was her sixtieth birthday in three weeks’ time, on the nineteenth of May and it was imperative that Jason contacted her immediately. She had invited twenty of her friends to a dinner party and she was relying on him to design the room setting and table presentation. She had no ideas whatsoever and she was relying on him to come up with something spectacular.
She walked across her elegant sitting room, opened the patio doors and stepped out on to the white iron balcony.
It was a beautiful spring morning. She looked down at the Thames as it flowed by on the other side of the roadway, iridescently streaked like molten metal in the glinting sunlight. Ducks and moorhens squabbled and dodged each other, stately white swans moved in graceful circles, skilfully avoiding the leisure craft and pleasure boats that chugged and chuffed up and down the river.
Jan sat down on one of the white wrought-iron chairs. It was an idyllic scene and from the balcony quite peaceful. She was far enough away not to be disturbed by the pounding of the engines as the boats queued up to go through Boulter’s Lock, or the raucous squawks of wildlife.