by Rosie Harris
‘Go home and forget about it until Sunday week arrives,’ he told her. ‘We all know it’s your eightieth and you don’t think we would let such an important milestone pass without doing something about it, now do you? It’s all booked. All you and Peter have to do is be ready by midday, dressed up to the nines, and ready to go out. The car will be waiting outside the flats.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Aah, somewhere quite special; somewhere you’ve probably never been before.’
‘So where is that?’ Betty persisted.
‘Wait and see. It’s all arranged, you don’t have to do a thing and we will all be there, including young Anna.’
Betty knew it was a waste of time trying to get Tim to tell her where it was but she would have felt happier if she had known. It would have given her a better idea of what she and Peter ought to wear.
She tried to approach it from another angle. ‘I intended to invite Sally and Hilda …’
‘That’s already been done.’
She looked relieved. ‘So, they know where we are meeting?’ she commented.
‘No. I didn’t tell them because I knew you would immediately try and get them to tell you if they knew.’
‘That’s not very fair on them,’ she said with a frown.
‘They seemed to be happy enough with the arrangement,’ he said blandly. ‘Now, don’t worry, they’ll be there and we’ve even arranged transport for both of them.’
‘Oh, Tim!’ she exclaimed and spontaneously got up, went round the desk and hugged and then kissed him.
‘Steady on,’ he admonished her. ‘What would my secretary, Susan, say if she walked in and found you with your arms around my neck?’
‘I think she would understand,’ Betty told him. ‘If she didn’t then I would soon enlighten her by telling her that I had the most wonderful, thoughtful son in the world.’
‘Don’t put all the blame on me,’ Tim said, straightening his jacket and making sure that his tie was in place. ‘The others have all done their share and I’m more than surprised that it hasn’t already leaked out. I was sure someone would accidentally mention it to you!’
‘No, no one has said a word. If I’d heard even a whisper then I wouldn’t have spent so many sleepless nights wondering what to do,’ she told him.
‘Well, you don’t have to worry anymore. Everything has been taken care of,’ he told her, as he escorted her to the door. ‘Catch up with your sleep otherwise you will be feeling so worn out you won’t want to party.’
Betty felt light-hearted as she made her way home. All she had to do now was decide what dress she was going to wear and make an appointment to have her hair done, she thought with an inward smile.
Thirty-Three
Betty was dressed and ready at midday.
She inspected Peter, adjusted his shirt and tie, brushed the shoulders of his dark-grey suit and then went into the bedroom to fetch him a clean handkerchief.
‘We’ll put that one in the laundry basket, put one in your trouser pocket and the other in your jacket pocket,’ she told him when he protested that he already had one.
‘Why don’t you sit down and have a glass of wine until they get here. It might help you to relax,’ Peter suggested.
‘Start drinking now at this time of the day! Most certainly not. I had enough trouble fastening these pearls as it is. If I have a drink I’ll be incapable of doing anything.’
‘You’ll be having a drink with your meal,’ Peter pointed out.
‘That’s different, I’ll be having some food then so the wine won’t affect me. To drink now, on an empty stomach—’ she shook her head – ‘that’s out of the question.’
‘Well, sit down anyway and let me have a look at the fastening on those pearls. The jeweller told me it was a magnetic catch and that all you had to do was simply hold the ends together and they’d join up.’
‘Well they’ve done that, nearly jumped out of my hand when they did it, but I’m not sure a catch like that will stay firm. It’s not like a screw, or a slip rind and holder.’
‘He said it was safer and no fuss doing up,’ Peter told her. ‘If you don’t feel comfortable then don’t wear it.’
‘Not wear it! The loveliest set of pearls I’ve ever owned and given to me by the man in my life,’ she admonished.
‘Let’s look at it.’
‘Mind my hair, it’s only just been set,’ she warned as he lifted the hair from the back of her neck and checked the pearls.
‘They’re as sound as rock,’ he assured her, ‘and they look lovely on that dark red top you’re wearing.’
‘So they should, I picked it specially to show them off,’ she told him.
She put her arms around his neck, hugged and kissed him. ‘The most wonderful present ever and something I’ve always wanted,’ she told him.
He returned her kiss, holding her face between both his hands. ‘This is what I’ve wanted, so we are both happy,’ he said, his blue eyes bright with affection and love.
She pulled away. ‘Now look at me. I’ll have to go and do my hair all over again because now it’s all messed up.’
‘You look lovely whether it is messed up or not,’ he told her gallantly and patted her on the shoulder as she made for the bedroom to restore her hair.
She had barely finished when she heard their door buzzer. ‘That will be Tim, let him in,’ she called as she hurriedly tidied her dressing table and came back into the sitting room.
‘They’re on their way up, where’s your coat? Let me help you with it.’
Peter was already in his coat and, by the time their internal doorbell rang, Betty had her coat on and they were ready to go.
Tim was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt that was partly hidden by his white scarf, teamed with a dark topcoat.
‘Brenda is in the car,’ he told his mother and Peter as he escorted them to the lift.
‘Have you got a new car …?’ Betty started to say, then stopped short when she saw that there was a uniformed driver at the wheel. ‘What’s all this about?’ she asked in surprise.
‘We’ll all be having a drink or two so I wouldn’t be able to drive home afterwards, or see you home, so this seemed to be the best solution,’ Tim told them.
He settled Peter and Betty into the back with Brenda and took the passenger seat next to the chauffeur himself.
Brenda greeted them effusively and helped Betty with her seat belt and by then they were already moving. Ten minutes later they were drawing up in front of a magnificent-looking stone building that Betty had never seen before.
‘Where are we?’ she asked leaning forward and staring out of the window.
‘Branwell Court, if I’m not mistaken,’ Peter said, looking very impressed.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Brenda commented. ‘Wait until you see inside.’
‘Is it a hotel?’ Betty asked.
‘Well, yes, in a way. It was a private house many years ago but the late owner sold it to the National Trust and now it is used as a hotel and restaurant.’
‘Whew!’ Peter let out a low whistle. ‘I bet it costs and arm and a leg to stay here,’ he commented.
‘Yes, and that’s only for one night,’ Tim said with a laugh. He guided them towards the wide stone steps that led into the entrance hall, which itself was so large that Betty thought it would have taken the whole of their flat and still had space left over.
There were three or four comfortable chairs, a high desk, ornate mirrors and deep pile carpet in a welcoming shade of red.
The girl behind the reception desk smiled warmly at Tim and greeted him by name, as if she knew him well. ‘I’ve summoned a porter to take you and your party through to the dining room,’ she told him.
‘There will be four other people joining us,’ he told her.
‘I’ll have them shown straight to your table,’ she said with a smile.
The dining room was twice the size of the reception area. The round
tables were well placed so that they were easy to manoeuvre, and far enough away from each other to ensure privacy when discussing anything private. Many of them were already occupied by men in business suits, some already eating, others enjoying their wine while waiting for the next course.
The waiter led them to a table placed in an advantageous spot near a window that looked out onto magnificently tended gardens. Place names had been set out and Betty was guided to a position with Tim on one side of her and Peter on the other.
As she sat down, admiring the beautiful table decorations, she noticed that the table was laid for eleven people.
‘Tim,’ she said in a whisper, ‘there are only ten of us.’
‘That’s alright. I know its laid for eleven; it’s because Clare is bringing a friend.’
‘A friend? Clare!’
‘Yes, someone she works with, I understand.’
‘She works at the hospital so who on earth would she want to bring from there?’
‘I don’t know, but you can ask her yourself, she’s here.’ He nodded in the direction of the door.
Betty stared in surprise. She saw her granddaughter was wearing a well-styled turquoise blue dress with matching jacket and looking smarter than she had seen her ever look before. She was escorted by a tall fair-haired man who looked to be in his late fifties.
Tim looked equally taken back and Betty saw him whisper something to Brenda before he walked over to greet the newcomers and guide them to their places at the table.
Betty waited to be introduced, but the waiter who was hovering by them waiting to take their orders captured her attention. By the time Tim had told him that he could go ahead and serve their meal, Clare and her friend were already seated. Either side of them were Shirley and Graham, and they were so busy talking to them that the opportunity for her to speak to them was temporarily lost.
‘As there are so many of us I thought it was simplest to make it a set meal and suggest if the dish being served is not to your liking then you mention it to the waiter and it can be changed for something else. I take it that you all drink champagne,’ Tim added with a smile.
‘Tim, who is that man who is with Clare?’ Betty asked as he sat down.
‘Oh, sorry, Mother, you haven’t been introduced. I’ll do that now.’
He was about to lean forward and interrupt the animated conversation going on between Shirley and Clare’s guest, but Betty touched his arm and shook her head.
‘Leave it for now, you can do it afterwards,’ she said with a smile.
‘Yes, very well but I do think Clare should have made a point of introducing him to you first when she arrived,’ he said in a rather disgruntled manner.
The meal was excellent and the champagne flowed liberally. Tim made a toast to his mother at the start of the meal and made sure that her glass, as well as everyone else’s, was kept replenished as they ate.
The party became very relaxed as the courses were served and the many incidents that they all remembered concerning Betty were aired. They were very varied. Tim recalled childhood episodes and Graham told stories about when he had been a small child.
Anna was enthralled. She seemed to be enjoying her glass of sparkling apple juice which she accepted was special champagne because it looked just like the champagne the others were drinking. The pudding was greatly to Anna’s delight too, a concoction of ice cream and strawberries topped by countless mini profiteroles and equally tiny chocolates filled with coloured cream.
With the meal over, Tim told them that they would all retire to a lounge that had been set aside for them where a birthday cake and coffee would be served and the presents they had brought could be given to Betty.
The room was smaller, but equally lavish, with a magnificent thick pile carpet in pale green, and deep-green velvet drapes at the window. The chairs and settee were luxuriously comfortable.
More champagne was handed round, more toasts were made and then, finally, Betty was given her presents. Before she opened any of them Betty proudly drew their attention to the double row of pearls that had been a present from Peter. Then, with little Anna’s help, she began to unwrap her gifts.
These ranged from a wonderful collection of perfumes and soaps, to chocolates, scarves and flowers.
Each one had to be admired and the donator thanked. Glasses were replenished while this was going on.
When it came to the time for the coffee and for Betty to cut birthday cake, Peter was sound asleep.
They laughed, nudged each other and left it to Tim to wake him.
When he did, Peter was in an irritable mood and stared around him as if he had no idea where he was. Then, he struggled out of his armchair, pushing them all to one side as they tried to help him. Staggering wildly, he headed for the door.
Graham laid a hand on his arm to stop him, but Peter slammed a fist in Graham’s direction. Luckily, the younger man was agile enough to sidestep and avoid the blow.
‘Peter, whatever’s the matter with you!’ Betty exclaimed. ‘Come and sit down here and enjoy a slice of my birthday cake,’ she said, patting the settee.
‘Sit down there? What the hell do I want to do that for? I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you or your horde of noisy friends.’
‘Peter, you’ve been asleep and dreaming,’ Tim intervened.
‘Shut your damn mouth and don’t interfere,’ Peter told him. ‘I’ve seen you around before, you and that old wife of yours,’ he said, giving Betty a hostile look. ‘She looks old enough to be your mother.’
‘She is my mother,’ Tim said quietly. ‘She’s also your wife.’
‘My wife! I’m not married and if I was it wouldn’t be to an old woman like that. Look at her! All dolled up with her crimped hair and powdered face. I’m not one of your kind, hanging onto the apron strings of any old woman who gives you a smile in the hopes that she’ll leave you a fortune.’
‘Peter!’ Tim was incensed. ‘Graham, help me to take him along to the men’s room and get him to wash his face in cold water to help him regain his senses,’ Tim ordered.
Before Graham could do as his father asked, Clare’s companion stepped forward and took Peter firmly by the arm. ‘Leave this to me,’ he said in an authoritative voice. ‘I know how to deal with it.’
Betty was shocked. Her eyes were full of tears. She had been enjoying her party so much and now, in a matter of minutes, everything was ruined.
Mary came over and put an arm round her mother’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ she said gently, ‘everything will be all right. Rossiter is a psychologist, he knows how to handle him. He’s in charge of the dementia ward at the hospital, that’s where him and Clare met.’
Betty stared at her daughter in growing horror. ‘Dementia,’ she said frowning. ‘Peter hasn’t got dementia.’
Betty moved to her husband’s side and took his arm. ‘Come on Peter, it’s time we went home,’ she said in a cajoling voice.
He stared at her blankly for a moment and slumped to the ground.
‘What do we do now?’ Graham asked.
‘Leave it to Rossiter,’ Clare advised. ‘He’ll call an ambulance and take him to the hospital.’
‘I think if you leave him for a while you’ll find he comes round and that he won’t remember anything about what has happened,’ Betty told them.
She frowned. ‘You mean this has happened before?’
‘Yes, but only once and it was ages ago,’ Betty explained. ‘When he came round he thought he’d been dreaming and there’s not been anything like that happened since.’
Thirty-Four
‘Well, this is a birthday I am not likely to forget in a hurry,’ Betty said as the ambulance drove away with Peter on board.
He was still unconscious, or so deeply asleep that it amounted to the same thing.
‘Really there is no need for him to be taken to hospital,’ she repeated. ‘Leave him to wake when he is ready and he will be perfectly normal.’
‘We can’t be too sure,’ Tim told her. ‘Remember, Clare’s colleague is a specialist in dementia and he appears to be concerned. He thinks that the champagne Peter has been drinking has brought on the attack. Drink has a strange effect on dementia, or so it would seem.’
The arrival of the ambulance had caused concern and questions from members of the hotel staff, and Tim was anxious to put their minds at rest.
‘He’ll be all right,’ he told them. ‘A little too much excitement, I’m afraid. He’s merely gone for a check-up. At his age you have to be careful.’
They all nodded or murmured understandingly, but Tim was aware that there was whispering and he heard the word ‘drunk’ voiced a few times amongst themselves.
‘Come on,’ he said taking Betty’s arm, ‘we’ll see you home.’
‘You don’t have your car here,’ she pointed out.
‘I know that but I’ve sent for the cab that brought us. It will be here at any moment.’
Tim and Graham, helped by Clare and Mary, began to gather up her birthday presents and the moment the car arrived the chauffeur took them and carefully placed them in the boot of his car.
Betty said goodbye to Sally and Hilda and promised to let them know how Peter was and when he would be home again.
Tim told them that he had arranged transport for them and thanked them for coming. This time, Tim sat in the back between Betty and Brenda.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told his mother as they drove away. ‘Rossiter will see that Peter is well cared for.’
‘I’m more annoyed by all the fuss than I am worried,’ Betty told him. ‘As I have said before, if you’d left Peter to wake up naturally then he’d have been fine. This has happened before, remember, and when he had slept it off there was no reoccurrence, no after-effects at all.’
‘A single seizure of this kind is one thing but to have another one is surely worrying,’ Brenda intervened. ‘Let Rossiter investigate the cause. Possibly there is medication available that will prevent it happening again.’