Chapter 5

After several weeks frequenting Miriam's salon, Margaret had decided that Miriam was a treasure. The evening after her first appointment, whilst they were at dinner with their friends, Margaret noticed that Christopher frequently glanced her way, and when they arrived home, as he was helping her with her wrap, he kissed the nape of her neck and whispered, "You certainly looked lovely this evening, my dear." She felt that old spark, the jolt of electricity that had enflamed their lives before ... well, before it went out … before their son. She gasped, but recovered enough to turn and face him, "Thank you, Christopher." He brushed the sides of her face gently, "Just lovely." It was only a brief moment before he turned to hang up their wraps and to scurry over to the television to catch a few more rounds of some golf tournament or other, but that brief moment was more than he had given her in months, perhaps years. And there had been a few other such moments both before and after his trip to Edinburgh; it had to be more than a coincidence.

When it came time to touch up the colour in her hair, Miriam suggested a subtle change to a slightly lighter tone. "As we age, our skin tone lightens. If our hair is too dark, it ages us, better to go with a lighter tone." Not blond highlights which Christopher had scorned years ago, just a slightly lighter tone. When he returned from Edinburgh, he commented how she was looking younger and younger these days. It was quite flattering and she was feeling very confident.

One afternoon a few weeks after the trip to Lisbon with her friends, as she was walking from her car to the entrance to the club, her good friend Portia ran up to her and announced breathlessly, "I've got the most wonderful news!"

"Yes?" Margaret tilted her head downward and raised her eyebrows wondering whatever had her friend so excited. She repressed a smile, chuckling to herself as she watched Portia's bosom rising and falling, jiggling like jelly in her excitement. "What is it?"

"Guess." Portia was beaming as they slowly walked towards the door.

Margaret huffed with annoyance. She hated guessing games. "I have no idea. What is it? You look like a chipmunk who has just found a cache of nuts under the tree."

Portia frowned, "Chipmunk?"

Margaret raised her eyebrows and tilted her head with an indulgent smile, "You know what I mean. What is it that has you so excited?"

"I'm going to be a grandmother!"

"Oh God," Margaret sighed and closed her eyes briefly, "Not more grandchildren pictures to gush over. God give me strength." She quickly regained her composure and said, "Well congratulations. That's wonderful news. When is the baby due?" Margaret hoped her tone conveyed more delight than she felt.

"Daphne's only three months along, so the baby isn't due until early May, but isn't it wonderful. I hope it's a girl."

"When will they know?"

Portia sighed and shook her head rolling her eyes, "Daphne tells me they want it to be a surprise, so I won't know until the birth. Honestly, what good is modern imaging if you don't take advantage of it? We won't know whether to paint the nursery pink or blue, what kind of clothes to buy, not anything!"

"Mmm ..." Margaret was hardly listening. Her three best friends would have grandchildren. She would be the only one without grandchildren, the odd one out. She hated being different. She had never had any desire for grandchildren, not any more than she had wanted children, but apparently having grandchildren was what one did at this time of life, just as having children was what one did when one was younger. Now that all her friends had grandchildren, she wanted some as well. And she thought about her own son. They hadn't spoken in years and she wondered if he had married. That was hardly likely, and even less likely that he would have fathered children. He had been an awkward, nasty little boy and he had become an awkward, nasty sort of man, one of those married to his job. This was a club to which she would never belong. It all seemed so unfair.

xXx

Later that night, after they returned from the club, she approached Christopher as he relaxed in his chair in front of the television. "Have you heard any news of Martin these days?"

He held up his finger intent on the golf match playing out on the screen, "Just a moment ... Oh! Bad luck!" He leaned forward scowling and slapped the seat of the couch hard, " Bad lie, middle of the trap!" He shook his head, and then settled back in his seat and looked up at her, asking, "What was that?"

"Martin. Do you know what he is doing these days?"

"Martin?"

"Yes, Martin ... our son."

"Oh, him," Christopher made a face. "Still working at Imperial. Last I heard he had been made head of vascular. Damned lucky he is; can't imagine why they would have him leading a department, but there it is."

Margaret nodded her head in agreement. "Somewhat surprising; he must be doing well."

He paused for a moment as the player on the screen set up a put and missed the cup by more than an inch. "Damn! Off his game today, that's for sure." He got up out of his chair and walked over to the bar to pour a drink, muttering, "He ought to be head of surgery by now."

"What?" Margaret wasn't sure what he had said.

Christopher turned toward her and growled, "If he had any ambition at all, he'd be head of surgery by now. Damned embarrassing."

"Still, head of vascular, that's something." She joined Christopher and poured herself a nightcap.

Christopher went back to his chair in front of the television. She held back, swirling the drink in her glass as in thought for a minute. "I wonder how he handles the social functions. They're usually mandatory, aren't they?"

"I'm sure he manages somehow."

"Do you think he has a woman?"

"Ha. That's unlikely. What woman would want to put up with him?"

"Christopher, don't be naive. As head of vascular, he is still considered highly successful, probably has a good net worth by now, what with a few private patients and the inheritance your father left him. I imagine there are many women willing to put up with his difficult nature for the financial security. Perhaps we could visit him and help him along, find him someone with the right background."

She sat down in the chair next to him and continued, "I wonder what happened to that Montgomery woman. She would have been perfect for him. Father was an MP you know."

"Why are you suddenly so interested in Martin's life?" Christopher was suspicious.

"I do wonder every now and then. How it is that he turned out the way he did. Was there anything we could have done to make things different. That sort of thing."

"All our friends' children were raised the same way. There's nothing we could have done." He turned back to the screen, "Oooo ... good shot ... right up on the green ... oh!" He jumped up, "Did you see that? Right into the cup ... an eagle ... makes him the leader."

Margaret glanced briefly at the screen, muttering, "Yes, thrilling." Christopher was engrossed in the game and failed to notice the sarcasm dripping from her voice as she rose from the chair and exited the room.

xXx

It was mid-November and the annual holiday fund raising ball was scheduled for the first week in December. Margaret had purchased a stunning gown for the event during their trip to Lisbon, and now she needed a hairdo to match. She consulted with Miriam at her next appointment.

"Yes, I know all about it ... very good cause for the children's home isn't it? A good many of my clients will be attending. I always try to design a "do" that is unique and special for each one of my ladies. What are you thinking?"

"I rarely do anything special for these events, but I was thinking that I'd like to go with something a little more elegant this time, perhaps a chignon or a French twist?"

"Hmmm – if your hair were longer, we'd have more options. Would you consider using extensions or ..."

"No, no, surely you could work your magic without artificial means."

"My dear, my work is all about artifice. Of course, I can come up with something quite elegant for you. I'll set up my tablet and you can scroll through my pictures as I work. Click on the ones you like, but first, a shampoo."

As she worked her magic, Margaret scrolled through what must have been hundreds of different hairstyles that Miriam had collected through the years. She found several that she felt would be suitable for the upcoming event, and Miriam made a note of those Margaret liked. While Margaret scanned Miriam's collection, Miriam chattered on as usual about the occasional tourist who found the way to her shop or the latest scandal in the town's political community. Suddenly she threw up her hands, "I keep forgetting to tell you. My Louisa is expecting again, another grandchild ... in March."

Margaret groaned inwardly, but managed to utter, "How very nice. You must be thrilled."

"Oh yeah, yeah. Though ... I suppose I'll have to go help out before my usual summer visit to Cornwall. At least she has Martin's aunt to help out the first month or two, save me a trip to London in March or April. Joan, that's Martin's aunt just loves babies, more power to her, I say."

Margaret mulled this over. During the time she had been one of her clients, Miriam had told Margaret something of her daughter's life. Married in Cornwall in December; lives in London with her husband but spends summers in Cornwall; something about her husband's aunt's farm. She might even have mentioned Portwenn once or twice. Margaret hadn't always listened, but she was beginning to wonder. "Louisa's husband, Martin has an Aunt Joan who lives on a farm in Cornwall? Surely it couldn't be my Martin, could it?" She glanced up at Miriam and said, 'Martin's aunt lives on a farm in Cornwall, isn't that right?"

"That's right." Miriam pulled open a drawer and picked up a small picture album. "It's a beautiful place. Martin renovated it for her a few years back, actually just before he and Louisa got married. Here are a few pictures from last summer at James' birthday party."

Margaret flipped through the album and recognition gradually dawned on her. One farm looked pretty much like another, but it was similar to the one Christopher had inherited from his uncle years ago. She continued to scan the photos. She had seen enough pictures of James by now, that she recognised him, standing proudly behind a cake with three candles on it. There was another with Miriam and James and a beautiful woman with a dark ponytail. Miriam peered over her shoulder, "That's my Louisa with James and me."

"She is quite pretty." Margaret couldn't help but remark. She turned the page and there he was, Martin. Margaret caught her breath. Was it possible that her son, her son … her son, could have married the daughter of her hairdresser?

"There's Louisa and James with Martin." Margaret stared at the photo, and then flipped the page to see a photo of Joan hugging James tightly as she helped him to cut the cake. It was definitely Joan, a good twenty, twenty-five years older than the last time she saw her at Martin's graduation, but it was definitely Joan. She flipped back to the photo of Martin with his family and shuddered. She could barely control her anger with him. How could he? How could he? How dare he marry so far beneath him!

Miriam laughed at Margaret's reaction to Martin's picture, "I know. He looks pretty intimidating, but he's not nearly as scary as he looks. He's a brilliant surgeon. Head of some department at Imperial is all I know, has a lot of responsibilities, so he always looks serious. I don't think he's the easiest person to get along with, but he's devoted to Louisa and James."

Margaret tried to choke back the bile that had risen in her throat, but wasn't successful. She reached her hand to her mouth, glancing up at Miriam, "If you will excuse me for a moment, I need to use the lavatory." She tumbled out of the chair, and bracing herself against the wall, she rushed to the back of the shop to the toilet and closed the door. She leaned against the sink and stared into the mirror. It was a nightmare, perhaps the worst news she had ever received. How could he have stooped so low as to marry the daughter of a fisherman and a hairdresser. All her hopes of finding him a suitable mate so that she could have grandchildren to show her friends were suddenly dashed. She started to shake, her heart was pounding with humiliation and fury raging through her veins in equal measure. She pounded her fist on the sink and peered back into the mirror, lifting her hands to massage her temples. She had been in the lavatory too long and she needed to return to Miriam. She dabbed a little water on her eyes and took a deep breath, "Compose yourself Margaret. You will get through this." She flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth with some water, then dried her hands on the towel. Pulling herself up to her full height, she took one last glance into the mirror whilst regaining her composure, and then pasting a sheepish smile on her face, she opened the door.

"Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me."

"That's fine. These things happen."

Miriam continued her work and Margaret picked up the picture album, studying the page where Martin was standing with Louisa and James. "Your son-in-law certainly doesn't look happy to be at his son's birthday party."

"I'm not sure he was ... kept on about the empty calories in the cake and ice cream till Louisa gave him a look that shut him up."

"Why ever did she marry such a disagreeable man? I suppose he has a good bit of money set aside. Was that the attraction?"

Miriam laughed, "They certainly seem to be comfortable, nice town house in London and the farm in Cornwall, but I don't think that's it ... not entirely anyway. Louisa quite fancies him."

"Wait," Margaret thought, "the farm belongs to Joan and Christopher. Why would she say it was Martin and Louisa's?" She flipped back a few pages to look at the pictures of the farm. "I thought you said the farm belonged to his aunt."

"Well it does, but Joan told me that she is leaving it to Martin and Louisa when she passes on, not that that is likely to happen any time soon. Joan's as strong as an ox. Louisa still has her cottage in the village and I sometimes stay there when I visit."

"I see." Margaret wondered if Christopher was aware of Joan's plans. She was fairly certain that Joan could only pass on her share of the farm. Probably too complicated for Miriam to understand. Still, she should talk to Christopher about it.

Now that she was over her initial shock, she was curious. She continued to flip through the album. There was a picture of a woman who had to be Ruth. "Who is this?"

"Oh, that's Martin's other aunt, Ruth. She lives in London as well but was down for the birthday celebration. She's a bit of an odd duck, psychiatrist at Broadmoor, assesses the criminally insane if you can imagine … kinda creepy if you ask me. Louisa says she celebrates all the holidays with them. Funny how those two sisters are so different. I've known Joanie pretty much all my life. I raised Louisa in Portwenn, that's the village closest to her farm. She's friendly and would do anything for you. I met Ruth at the wedding; she's a quiet one, but I think she loves the family in her own way."

"You used to live in the same village as his aunt? Did you introduce Louisa to Martin?"

"No, that's the thing; they found each other ... in London of all places. She was on holiday visiting an old friend. Her friend hurt herself and ended up in the same hospital where Martin was working. He asked her out and started visiting Portwenn to see her and they fell in love." Miriam sighed and leaned against the back of the chair, "It was all so romantic."

"He doesn't really look the romantic type." Margaret couldn't help but wonder if he was a womanizer just like his father and found a sweet gullible schoolteacher to wed, sending her off to Cornwall in the summers so he could play the field.

"No, he's a miserable old grump most of the time far as I can see, always scowling, but Louisa adores him. No accounting for taste, I always say."

"So now you say Louisa is expecting another child. If he's as surly as you say, I'm amazed that he was interested in fathering one child, let alone two."

"Ah now, that's where looks are deceiving. I wouldn't want to admit to spying on them, but trust me. I've seen them once or twice in the evening when they thought they were alone, and he's very interested, very interested indeed." She chuckled as she finished combing out Margaret's hair. "Now, let's look at those up-dos you found and we'll decide what we want to do for this big gala that's coming up."

Author's note: Sorry for the day in posting; real life has been busy, and writing Margaret Ellingham takes time. Thanks to all who have posted reviews; it's good to know your thoughts, and they give me inspiration to continue.