Chapter 22

For Margaret, life during the previous year passed much as it always had since their move to Portugal after Christopher's retirement all those years ago. There was the daily routine of leisurely mornings followed by errands and afternoon 'tea' with her friends, and dinner at the club most nights of the week with their close circle of friends. There were breaks in the routine of course, the seasonal society fundraisers in which she was instrumental, their annual holiday party, and the early summer picnic that they hosted every year. Life was full and pleasant. Only the occasional medical crisis of one of her friends or acquaintances broke through her sense of well-being. Christopher himself had had a momentary health scare in late autumn when he experienced a TIA, transitory ischemic attack. It was an isolated event; his primary physician ran some tests and said there was nothing to indicate that he was at risk for another. Margaret wanted to return to London for further tests, but Christopher had examined the test results himself and was satisfied that nothing was amiss.

Margaret had even made her peace with her friends' obsession over their grandchildren. It was only when Miriam pulled out new photos or regaled her with anecdotes regarding the Ellingham children's accomplishments or cute bon mots did she still feel remnants of melancholy. Louisa came for her annual visit with her mother in February, but Margaret was not able to catch sight of her or the children despite finding excuses to wander the shops near Miriam's salon or to drive past her home. She refused to admit that she had any desire to see the children, but she was disappointed at her failure to encounter them, nonetheless.

The week before Miriam was scheduled to make her annual summer trip to England, she greeted Margaret with an announcement as soon as she sat down at the sink for her shampoo, "Guess what? Louisa is pregnant again."

Margaret had always been astonished that Martin had two children, but three? Actually, she had been astounded to learn that he had married and had one child, but three? She would never have thought he was that fond of children. She was tongue-tied for a few moments as she regarded Miriam with a stunned expression.

Miriam laughed at her reaction, "Yeah, I know. Quite a surprise, i'nit?"

Margaret put her hand to her chest to compose herself and muttered," Yes!" In another moment, after she had settled in the chair, she raised her eyebrows and with a wry expression, replied still somewhat stunned, "Another child? What is wrong with her husband? Can't he keep it in his pants? They are going to have their hands full."

Miriam responded, "I'm pretty sure they wanted another child. Louisa tells me they are hoping for a girl this time."

"And what if it's not a girl? Will they have a fourth? "

"No. Louisa told me that Martin has said this is the last even if it's another boy."

"How does she feel about that?"

"I think she's okay with it. She turned forty-one last birthday, so she's lucky to have this one … not sure they have time for another."

"I guess it just proves that he does occasionally touch her." Margaret couldn't help responding in an openly sarcastic tone.

Miriam stopped her work and gave Margaret a funny look.

"You once said that if it weren't for those children, you might think he never touched her."

"Ahh, I did say that. And it's true, he hates public displays of affection. But he can be quite romantic. I've seen him in action a few times over the years. Just this spring, for instance, when I went to London for my friend Melinda's wedding and Robert's birthday, I happened to see them one evening when they thought everyone had gone to bed. I had left my magazine down in the lounge and I started down the stairs to get it when I saw the two of them snogging on the couch. Of course, I didn't interrupt them, and I probably should have turned right back around and left them to it, but I have to admit I was curious. After a minute or two, Martin stood up and gave Louisa his hand. I thought they were about to head up the stairs so I started to creep back up so they wouldn't see me."

Miriam stopped her tale to concentrate on her work. When she finally finished the shampoo, and they started to walk over to Miriam's station, Margaret sat down and sniffed, "Is there anything more to the story or not?"

"Oh yeah. They didn't head to the stairs. Instead, they started dancing. Can you believe it? First there was a slow waltz and then a faster number where Martin would swing Louisa out and back. They seemed to be having quite a good time. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. Finally, he pulled her back after letting her twirl for a few times, and she was laughing when he pulled her close and started kissing her. That's when I snuck back up the stairs to my room. I was pretty sure they were headed up to their room after that, and I didn't want to be caught spying on them. Sure enough, I heard them walk up the stairs and go into the boys' room just after I closed my door. They always check on the children before going to bed in the evening. Then I heard them go into their room and close the door. Who knows? Baby is due in early December. Maybe this new little one was conceived that night!"

Miriam laughed out loud again.

Margaret really had little to say about the matter and felt herself flushing trying not to imagine what had gone on in that bedroom that night. She was quiet for most of the rest of her visit. She thanked Miriam and left her a good tip as usual and walked to the door. It was raining fairly hard and Margaret was forced to open her umbrella before stepping out. She made her way to the car and slipped in behind the wheel where she sat and contemplated the news in the privacy of her own car. When the new baby came, she would have three grandchildren. None of her friends had more than two. If she and Christopher were to reconcile with Martin, she would be able to pull out pictures of three children. What a fuss her friends would make of them! She closed her eyes and laid her head against the steering wheel of the car. "Oh Persephone, life is so unfair, and it's all Christopher's fault." She slammed her palm against the steering wheel. "Why was it so important that Martin join the navy?"

She turned on the ignition and pulled out into the traffic to drive back to their villa. She was still stunned and thought that she might have to cancel meeting her friends at the club that afternoon. She was almost home when she took a curve just a little too fast and skidded into a tree. The passenger side of her car was severely damaged and there was a lot of broken glass. Margaret found herself pinned against her seat by the airbag that had discharged immediately upon impact, and before she knew it, several passers-by had opened her door and were pulling her out of the car. Someone had called an ambulance and soon she was on a stretcher in the ambulance headed to hospital. It all happened so fast. She wanted to tell them that she was fine. There was no need to take her to hospital, but then she raised her hand to brush aside a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes and she saw the blood. Now she was confused; where did the blood come from? She suddenly felt quite woozy and she closed her eyes hoping to regain her composure. Everything went black.

When she woke in the local hospital A&E unit, there was a young nurse sitting next to her, "Ahh. Mrs. Ellingham, we have called your husband and he will be here in a few minutes. You have quite a few cuts and some significant bruising, but we don't think there are any broken bones. Really you are quite lucky. Things could have been much worse."

She closed her eyes and tried to gather her wits. She must have had an accident, that much was obvious and now she was in hospital. Perhaps the nurse could tell her more. "What happened?"

"Oh dear." The nurse reached out and held her hand responding in good, but heavily accented, English, "You had an accident Mrs. Ellingham, in your car. But as I said, you should be fine."

"Persephone ... Persephone, how is she? Was there much damage?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Ellingham. Was there someone else in the car?"

Margaret shook her head in annoyance and clutched it as pain shot through the right side of her skull. "No, no. Persephone is my car. Was she badly damaged?"

The nurse gave her a funny look, "I don't know. You will have to ask your husband."

Just then Christopher found his way to her bedside and looked at her critically. "Well, you've made a fine mess of things. Your car is totalled. You could have been killed in that death trap … piece of junk." He reached for the chart at the end of her cot after nodding to the nurse, "Christopher Ellingham, Margaret's husband."

Margaret opened her eyes into a squint and peered at him. "Good evening Christopher."

"Yes, yes," he replied absently as he scanned the notes contained in the chart. "Looks like you will be fine. I see that they plan to do some x-rays, but that appears just to be a precautionary measure. I'll go chase up whoever is in charge, see when you can be discharged." He slipped the chart back into its sleeve and walked off to the nurses' station in search of the attending physician.

"Wait … Christopher."

He stopped and turned back, "What is it?"

"What did you say about my car? Is Persephone gone?"

"Of course, your car is gone, completely beyond repair. You're lucky you weren't killed in that flimsy excuse for a car. It was a wreck waiting to happen. I should have put my foot down as soon as you brought it home. We will have to get you a new car, something more substantial."

Margaret started to sob uncontrollably, crying out, "Persephone, Persephone. God how I loved that car."

Christopher shook his head in disgust, "Good God Margaret. Pull yourself together. You're embarrassing yourself." With that he went off to hunt for her doctor.

When he returned with Margaret's doctor, Christopher was all smiles, joking with the emergency room medic who was saying, "Very interesting indeed. Let's see to your wife, shall we?" And he reached for her chart to review his notes.

"Good evening Mrs. Ellingham. Good to see you are awake. We were concerned you might be concussed. I'd like to make a few quick checks." With that he leaned over her and shone a torch into her eyes making her squint. He then reached for her wrist to check her pulse, and continued with a few other routine checks. "All your vital signs seem to be within normal parameters. We'd like to send you to x-ray to check for any broken bones, standard procedure for an automobile accident victim. Then we will keep you overnight, possibly two to rule out any internal injuries."

She had managed to recover from her shock at the loss of her car, and she stared up at the young doctor, noticing his name, and as she toyed with the top button of her blouse, she purred "Can't I just go home Doctor Carvalho? My husband is a doctor. He could keep an eye on me and bring me back if something is amiss." She gave him one of her most beguiling looks, one that she had found over the years men could rarely resist.

Doctor Carvalho gave her an indulgent smile and glanced sceptically over at Christopher who was nodding his head in agreement with Margaret. He replied, "I understand your desire to return home and put this behind you, but internal injuries can be slow to reveal themselves and I would be guilty of neglect if I were to discharge you before ascertaining that you had no hidden injuries that could cause serious harm. Please understand that we must keep you in hospital for observation for at least one night. We will see how you are faring tomorrow. I am certain that Doctor Ellingham would concur. In the meantime, he can return home and check on you in the morning."

Christopher piped up, "It's Mr. Ellingham, I'm a surgeon."

Margaret could tell that Doctor Carvalho was not impressed with Christopher's hearty bonhomie and he replied with a curt, "I see. Let me arrange to have you admitted and write an order for x-ray." He strode off towards his office leaving Christopher feeling slighted.

"Something of a prat, isn't he?"

Margaret replied, "I think he's quite nice. Although, I do wish I could go home. "

Christopher grunted, "Well … there's nothing more I can do here. It's obvious I'm not needed." He looked her over quickly just to assure himself that there was nothing further to be done and stepped back from the bed. "I'll call tomorrow and find out when you will be discharged."

"Very well," Margaret looked down at her blouse where she had been worrying the button with her fingers, and she realised that it was covered with blood. "Oh my." She shuddered in disgust and demanded of the nurse a cloth to clean her hands. Turning to her husband, she commanded, "You are going to have to bring me something presentable to wear tomorrow. Perhaps my rose-coloured sweater and some dark slacks. They will be hanging in my wardrobe. Some clean undergarments as well and a pair of sandals."

It was late in the afternoon the next day when they called Christopher to return to retrieve his wife. He had packed up a bag for her with the requested garments and some toiletries which he set down near her bed so she could change out of her hospital gown.

They drove home in silence. It wasn't unusual for them to spend their time together in silence; they had nothing new to share after all the years they had been together, but for some reason Margaret felt a chill in the air. Despite the hospital's assessment that she had no significant injuries, she was very sore with multiple bruises and achy muscles, and he helped her in the short walk from the car to the front door of their villa. As soon as they closed the door, as she turned to go to her bedroom, he asked in a quiet deadly voice, "Who is James Henry Ellingham?"

She started, flinching as she realized that her secret had been revealed. How could she have forgotten about James' picture in her wardrobe? Even though she looked at it fondly almost every day, it had become part of her wardrobe. She hadn't thought how it was there and that Christopher would see it when he gathered her clothes. She turned to face him and saw that he was holding James' picture in his hands. She was caught. There was no talking her way out of this deception. Best to steel herself and go with the truth. "He is Martin's son."

Confusion flickered for a moment behind Christopher's eyes as he refused to absorb her news and he responded, "Martin's son? Martin … who?"

She stared at him boldly, daring him to feign ignorance.

"Who do you think?"

"Martin …. our son, Martin?"

"Yes."

Now that he fully grasped what she was saying, he bellowed at her, "Our son Martin has a child?"

"Yes."

"And you never thought to tell me."

"In truth Christopher, I didn't think you would be interested." Margaret replied with distain.

"And why is that?" He sneered.

"Didn't you wash your hands of him years ago. We haven't spoken with him since. Would his having a child make any difference?"

"That's beside the point!" he shouted.

"Really." Margaret huffed. This discussion was going nowhere and she didn't feel up to it after spending the night in hospital. She turned to go into the bedroom.

He ran after her and grabbed her arm. "We're not finished. How did you get this picture? You've obviously met the boy. Have you met his mother as well?"

"Yes. I know his other grandmother. We were working on something together a few years ago and James happened to be visiting while I was there. He gave me the picture. I met his mother at the same time."

Christopher was overwhelmed that Margaret had known of this child for several years and had kept the information from him. He ran his fingers through his hair and wandered over to one of the overstuffed chairs nearby and sat down.

"Do you want to tell me what else you know about Martin and this boy?"

Margaret sighed. She knew he wouldn't be happy with all she knew. It didn't make her happy. But he asked. She might as well tell him everything. Shock him with the details. She sat down rubbing her temple, which was still throbbing from her accident, as she contemplated where to begin. "I suppose you know that Martin is head of a surgical department at one of the major hospitals in London … Imperial, I believe."

"Yes, yes. I know that. Was made Head of Vascular a number of years ago. I do keep up with the surgical news back in London," Christopher was impatient. "Is he married? Or is this child the result of some unfortunate affair?"

"Martin is married, living in London with two children. James is six and Robert is two. He and his wife are expecting their third in December."

"Three children? Martin?" Christopher started to laugh. "Are you certain you have your facts straight?" He was incredulous. "What woman would marry him? She must have been desperate … and ugly as a cow."

"No. I have met Louisa … only briefly. She is a beautiful woman and seems quite intelligent."

"There must be something wrong with her to want to marry Martin."

"Oh, Christopher. Be realistic. I agree that he is not the most handsome or amiable of men, but he does have other qualities that are attractive to women. Think about it. He is highly respected, at the top of his profession, well compensated and able to provide well for his family. That alone would be more than enough for many women to overlook his challenging temperament. But I don't think that is the entire attraction for Louisa. From what her mother tells me, he is a miserable human being to most of the world, but to Louisa he is a very attentive and loving husband, and she adores him."

"So, you know her mother. She lives here in Portugal?"

"Yes."

"Do I know her?"

"No, she doesn't socialise in our circle." Margaret knew there was no need to tell Christopher about Miriam. He seemed satisfied with her answer. She had many acquaintances in various walks of life who were affiliated with her charity work. She hoped that he would assume she was one of them.

"Humph …" He sank deeper into his chair and seemed to be lost in thought. A moment later, she heard the sound of the television remote and an announcer commenting on some golf tournament. That was her cue that this confrontation was over, and she rose from her chair and silently slipped into the bedroom and closed the door.