At nine o'clock on Friday morning, Edith Montgomery was in the chair at her favourite Chelsea Hair Salon, smiling smugly at her own reflection. Today, as usual, she was having her naturally thin and wispy hair cut and styled so it was as bouffant as a despairing and melodramatic Monsieur Armand could manage to construct.
He cursed Princess Diana under his breath in French, and derided the endless procession of Sloane Rangers that paraded through his salon, desperate for a recreation of her famous coiffure.
"Pas d'imagination, pas de flair, pas de style, juste des moutons." He thought indignantly, and applied yet more hairspray to his bouffant sculpture. "Ce n'est même pas une bonne coupe de cheveux, pourtant, cette idiote anglaise la copie aveuglément!"
Highly satisfied with Monsieur Armand's efforts, she then went next door to the Nail bar to treat herself to a French polish, and was amused to be seated next to the wife of an Swiss Investment banker, with whom she had spent a very debauched evening a few weeks earlier.
Edith had been introduced to them at a party and had slipped him her number when she'd managed to get him momentarily alone. They'd met in an upmarket hotel room and even she'd been shocked at the copious quantities of 'blow' he'd consumed, and the places he'd wanted to snort it off. Still, it had certainly made him disinhibited and she'd thoroughly enjoyed the evening. That is, until he got emotional, started telling her how his wife didn't understand him, and wanting to cry on Edith's shoulder. She got out of that room faster than a rat up a drainpipe then, hailing a taxi without waiting for the concierge, and feeling rather annoyed that Fritz or Frank or whatever his name was clearly didn't have a grasp of the rules.
Manicure complete, Edith smiled knowingly at his wife, and sauntered out of the salon. Walking swiftly, she elbowed her way confidently through the throngs of shoppers, and back to her flat to change. She'd decided on her favourite black jacket and skirt ensemble; she loved the triangular outline that the wide shoulders and the pencil skirt gave her. It was power dressing at its finest and, when she thought about it, lunch with Christopher Ellingham was a lot like a job interview. She felt an intense glow of self confidence.
At twenty minutes past one that afternoon her taxi pulled up outside his Piccadilly club. The doorman swung the oversized doors open with a respectful nod, and she signed in as a guest at the desk, using the silver fountain pen Ellingham had bought her as a graduation gift. She was sitting in the foyer on the enormous chesterfield, legs demurely folded to one side, hands clasped on her lap, smiling pleasantly at nothing in particular when, at exactly half past one, Christopher Ellingham strode through the door.
"Miss Montgomery. Delighted to meet you. Christopher Ellingham." He crooned, in a low silky voice, reaching out to take her hand in his.
"Oh please, call me Edith." She replied with just the faintest flirty lilt to her voice. "It's wonderful to meet you too! You are, of course, legendary in your field!"
Christopher replied with his customary smug chortle, an unusual sound emanating at the back of his throat, strangely like a vintage engine turning over. He generally used it to signify whatever he'd just said was unequivocal, what anyone else had said was utterly ridiculous or just to appear superior.
"You're too kind, mrahmrahmrah." He said, staring fixedly at her and smiling.
Christopher wasn't sure what he was expecting but it wasn't this. After speaking to his wife he'd initially assumed that the girl would be dull and awkward and plain, much like his son. Then, when he began to make enquiries, the image he'd begun to form in his mind was that of a fierce dominatrix, like that pop star Maradonna or whatever her name was.
Yet here he was, staring at a girl who, though young and with a pleasant enough face, looked like she styled herself on Margaret Thatcher or Nancy Reagan. He supposed that it was no surprise really that his weak, faint-hearted son was attracted to overbearing, controlling types of women. There was no accounting for taste.
Edith smiled back at him, trying to read his thoughts. She seldom made a bad impression, especially with older men, and she felt a slight frisson between them. He'd held her hand for a fraction too long, met her gaze boldly. Yes, she thought, he likes what he sees.
"I've been so looking forward to meeting you. It's such a shame Mrs. Ellingham can't be here to join us."
Christopher nodded.
"Margaret has a very busy schedule at the moment. She sends her apologies." He held out his elbow and inclined his head, indicating that she should take his arm. She slid her hand through it and pressed as closely against him as she dared.
And she would eat you alive, he thought to himself coldly.
They sat in a quiet corner table, opposite each other, in the large, half empty dining room. Christopher ordered the roast beef with full trimmings, and a bottle of the 1961 Chateau Margaux. Edith chose a Caesar salad but informed him that she didn't drink alcohol. He was surprised; despairing at the younger generation, and peeved that one of the weapons in his arsenal had been nullified.
He led with a few questions about her family, despite already knowing the answers, and let her rattle on about her father, his medical career in the army, and her distinguished military forebears, whilst maintaining his encouraging smile and a benevolent expression that hid his growing contempt.
Christopher had no kindred spirit with any members of the other Armed Forces. Like a lot of ex-navy men, he considered the Army arrogant bastards and felt sure he would have hated Edith's father on sight. He also believed his time in the superior Her Majesty's Navy had considerable bearing on the man he was today. The discipline, the travel, the camaraderie. He had remained friends with several of his chums from that marvellous time and there were regular social events that kept them connected. If he were honest though, he was beginning to feel quite resentful and somewhat excluded. Their sons had all, to a man, joined up, and now their long, boozy lunches consisted of bragging and one-upmanship. Meanwhile, his own son, feeble and chicken-hearted that he was, refused to even enter a discussion about undertaking his surgical specialisation in the Navy.
Even worse still, Martin was now involved with a career woman; the wearisome, self-obsessed bore who sat opposite him now, who clearly was pursuing a path of her own and who would never be content to manage the home-front while his son built a career and made a man of himself as his father had done.
He changed the subject and asked her about where she hoped to specialise. Edith then began a ten minute elaboration of her own talents and virtues. When she told him that her plan was to enter the world of gynae and obstetrics, it was the final nail in the coffin. With that specialisation, there was no place for her in any of the Armed Forces so she was unlikely to want to accompany Martin should he be posted overseas.
Edith was thrilled that Christopher was so interested in her. Really, she was finding his twinkling blue eyes and distinguished appearance quite mesmerising. It crossed her mind that his son had inherited none of his charm or wit; and she found herself quite disappointed. How did Ellingham end up so stodgy and drab?
She paused for a moment and placed a small piece of chicken in her mouth. Christopher leaned back in his chair slightly. It was time to sound her out. He fixed her with his oiliest smile, not taking his eyes off her for a second. It was important he didn't miss any reactions, however subtle they might be.
"Isn't this nice?" He said sweetly. "Important that we get to know each other if we're going to be family, what?"
She maintained her steady gaze, but he was looking for it: a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth, a slight widening of the eyes, an almost imperceptible blush. But her face remained serene and her smile broad. Christopher had the horrible realisation that Martin's threat must be genuine, they were engaged. It had clearly come as no surprise to her. He clamped down hard on the fury that began to rise within him. He now knew how far he had to go, and exactly what he had to do.
Edith sat perfectly still, her external composure belying the confusion she felt. What had he just said? That they were to be family? It did not make sense, especially considering the current state of she and Ellingham's relationship. She knew that he was hopeless with even the most basic human interaction, and that he was a appalling communicator, but to hear about a potential engagement from her father-in-law to be was really beyond the pale. She suddenly felt rather warm. Leaning forward to remove her jacket, she realised that Christopher's eyes never left her for second. Men, she thought. All the same.
Christopher's eyes were indeed fixed upon her with interest but it was a facade he had practiced for years. His mind was working furiously whilst, externally, he gave the impression of relaxed elegance. When Edith slipped off her jacket and turned to hang it on the back of her chair, he noted how thin she was, how flat chested; her skin so pale that it was almost translucent and her bony wrists interlaced by a pattern of conspicuous blue veins. He liked his women curvaceous and feminine and he couldn't for the life of him see what it was that made her attractive to his son. Christopher could only suppose that her reputation was not exaggerated and that somewhere inside Martin beat the heart of a normal, red-blooded male. Unconvinced, he turned his attention back to his lunch.
After taking a moment to compose herself, Edith felt under control again. She asked Christopher about his work and career, questions she knew would induce most men to garrulousness, and he responded with a few well told anecdotes. Martin never spoke much about anything personal so she inquired about his family. She knew of a sister who was an eminent psychiatrist, and about his father, of course, who had performed groundbreaking surgery on chest trauma victims during World War II, but she was very surprised to hear of a second sister, Joan, who lived in North Cornwall.
"Ellingham has never mentioned an Aunt Joan." Edith said sweetly. "She didn't follow in the family footsteps?"
Christopher was immediately cheered by the fact that Martin hadn't spoken to her about Joan. He concluded that they weren't in touch, and his busy-body of a sister was not back interfering in Martin's life. When he'd gone to the trouble of driving to Cornwall, and removing the boy from her clutches, he had meant it to be permanent and it now seemed he'd been successful.
"No, not Joan." Christopher replied with a hint of curtness before pulling himself up. No need to give away any skeletons in the cupboard, he thought.
"She, aah, she married a local chap from Port Wenn, and she lives on the estate we inherited from an uncle. Lovely spot. Sea views up and down the coast."
Edith immediately pictured a stately home in her mind. She saw fountains and knot gardens and a maze, and forest trails that led down steep cliffs to isolated, sandy coves. She saw herself hosting weekend parties, mingling with the rich and famous, and strolling arm in arm through the magnificent grounds with Nobel Prizewinners. Why hadn't Ellingham mentioned his aunt? Maybe she was mad, holed up in the attic and looked after by a house load of loyal old servants. It was possible. Christopher hadn't seemed to want to elaborate about her, and there was often a fine line between genius and madness, she knew that from her own family history. Edith couldn't help herself.
"Is she well?" She asked demurely.
"Joan? Yes. She's as strong as an ox and about as stubborn. Always preferred that tiny chocolate box village to London, even when we were children. Mmrahmrahmrah."
Edith was almost disappointed that Ellingham did not have an unhinged relative that she could ridicule him about. It would have been very entertaining for her to see him in discomfort over a mentally incompetent aunt. She made a mental note of the details and location though, one never knew when that sort of information was going to come in handy. She gave Christopher a knowing smirk to indicate her agreement.
He returned her smile and looked down at his watch.
"I'm sorry my dear, but I must be away. It's been an absolute pleasure, however duty calls."
And, with that, the distinguished surgeon reached across the table, took her hand in his, raised it to his mouth, and kissed it, gazing at her with his eyes twinkling. Of course she fell for it, they always did, he thought, but why was he not surprised that her hand was so cold? He picked up his wine glass and emptied it, hoping the final taste of Bordeaux would wipe her lingering chill from his lips.
Sitting in the minicab, on the way back to her flat, Edith was now galvanised. She'd had a glimpse of the life she wanted and now she meant to secure it, but she struggled to equate the distant and disinterested Martin of late to the man who seemingly wanted to marry her. As they sat in the interminable Friday afternoon traffic, she just could not rationalise his behaviour. Until she looked across at the large, impressive Georgian building to her left and began to read, absent-mindedly, the brass signage discreetly displayed by the front doors.
Investment Trusts*Trust Management*Estate and Inheritance Planning
And then it dawned on her. She'd heard whispers early on at Med School about Ellingham being the eventual recipient of a substantial family trust fund . She thought about the circumstances that might be in place in order for him to inherit. Attaining the age of twenty five was common amongst her peers but was there something else? She smirked to herself as all of the pieces suddenly fell in to place. Ellingham needs to be married! she thought triumphantly, and everything finally made sense. Sitting alone in the back seat, she threw back her head and began to laugh.
Christopher hurried back to his office. He needed to place an international call and he was unsure of the exact time difference. Valerie would know. She was, of course, at her desk and she greeted him in her professional, no-nonsense way. She sensed straight away that he was fixated on something and she paused, waiting for instruction.
"I need you to place a call to Montreal immediately." He said and she could hear the urgency in his voice. " Imperative I speak to him. Aubrey Hallam. Number will be in the Filofax. Put him through."
He went through the door into his office and closed the door loudly behind him.
"Oh dear." Valerie thought.
She was very relieved when, after she'd found his details, dialled the long sequence of numbers carefully and listened to the succession of beeps that indicated an international toll call, she heard Dr. Hallam answer. She put the call through to Mr Ellingham and wrestled with her desire to listen in on this obviously important call. Reluctantly, she hung up her receiver.
In his office, sitting at his large oak desk, Christopher Ellingham looked the picture of composure and success. It was only the rapid and repeated tapping of his pen on his desk pad that indicated his state of disquiet.
When he heard the call come through, he cleared his voice nervously, and took a deep breath to steady himself before speaking.
"Aubrey, old man, apologies for the early call. Christopher Ellingham here. How are you finding Quebec? Picking up the lingo? Winning a few battles?"
They spoke pleasantly for a few moments, it had been a couple of years since they had seen each other and rules of polite conversation had to be obeyed. But Aubrey was waiting for what was to come. Ever since Christopher had cleaned up the ghastly mess he'd left behind when he fled the UK, he'd been expecting the reimbursement call and it seemed the moment had finally arrived.
Christopher explained himself succinctly. He had a young female doctor who wanted to specialise in gynae. He needed her out of the country as soon as possible and Aubrey was a big chief at the University Health Centre that had a world renowned gynae and obstetrics unit. It wasn't rocket science as far as either of them were concerned. Aubrey didn't need to know why. Christopher had saved his career and reputation, so he owed him. It was as good as done.
And with that tacit understanding, Christopher replaced the receiver and let out a heavy sigh of relief. He felt himself relax for the first time in over a week. No need to go to Asprey now. Everything was ship shape and Bristol fashion.
