Chapter 50

Margaret was preparing for afternoon drinks with her friends when Martin's call came in. She stared at the phone for a few moments. He usually sent her an e-mail in the evening with an update on Christopher's condition. He hadn't actually called since Chris fell in the care home. A terrifying thought scrabbled through her mind, "What if Chris has died? What will I do?" She stared at the screen, frozen. "Don't answer. Wait to see what he says and prepare your answer."

After eight rings the call went to her answer phone. "Yes, yes good." she thought. "Better to listen to Martin's message. No need to respond to the bad news immediately. I can steal myself and decide how to respond later."

Soon enough the light went on indicating Martin had left a message. Bracing herself, she gingerly pressed the key to listen, "Mum. Dad has been asking for you. I think it's time for you to return to London. You might want to call the estate agent who helped you find the flat last November to see if he can find you something comparable. Dad is improving, and should be released to the care home within the week. It will be another month or longer after that before he will be able to consider moving back to Portugal."

"Damn" she thought. "I was just getting back into the swing of things here, and now I have to go back to London. The timing couldn't be worse."

Despite the changes in the composition of her wider circle of friends, Margaret had managed to make a special place for herself in the past few weeks without Christopher to act as her escort. There were plenty of single men who were more than happy to wait on her, and she was enjoying the attention. Most were recent widowers, but some had been unattached for several years and three of them had joined her for lunch or drinks, expressing an interest in spending even more time with her. She was beginning to realize that these men were lonely and that she would have her pick of the eligible men when Chris eventually succumbed to his strokes. When she arrived back in Portugal, after all those months in London, she was exhausted, feeling weary and haggard. She feared that no man would ever look at her again, but now she felt rejuvenated, ready to step back into the social whirl. It was gratifying to know that she was still attractive, that she still had the power to reel in any man she chose.

And then there was Peter Symington, that special friend of Sylvia and her husband Morgan. He had lost his wife just the previous year and was still in mourning, but Margaret could tell that he found her enchanting. He also happened to be an old friend of Ruth's. On that very first evening when he had joined them for dinner, right after they were introduced, he had asked if she were related to Dr. Ruth Ellingham. When she affirmed their connection, he commented that he had hoped to spend time with Ruth whilst he was in Portugal, and he was disappointed when she had cancelled her trip at the last minute.

Peter was a charming man, tall and trim with a shock of salt and pepper hair that fell over his forehead in a boyish manner. He had a witty sense of humour and his piecing blue eyes twinkled every time he looked at her. She had shared a lunch date with Peter just last week and they were planning a day trip down the coast for tomorrow. A few more weeks and she was certain that she could have him eating out of her hand, ready to propose if only she were free. Wouldn't that be delicious, especially if Ruth were interested in him as well. Margaret had considered the delightful ramifications should she succeed in enticing Ruth's friend. It would be sweet revenge for the enmity that Ruth had directed at her over the years. But now she would have to cancel, all to spend time in that care home with her invalid husband.

Might as well get on with it. Perhaps she could elicit sympathy for her situation, an attractive woman devoted to her ailing husband but still able to hold her head up in society … yes this might be the most difficult role of her life, the martyr. It wasn't a role she for which she would have chosen to audition, but life's casting director had his own ideas and Margaret was determined to shine in her performance. She called the airline to make a reservation to fly back to London the next afternoon, reserved a room at the hotel for three nights, and then left her villa to join her friends at the club. She would call the estate agent in the morning to arrange for a flat for the remainder of her stay.

Her friends were all concern for Christopher's recovery and wished her well on her return to London with best wishes for a quick return to Portugal. Peter volunteered to take her to the airport the next afternoon. He was such a gentleman, loading her bags into the boot of his hire car and escorting her into the airport as far as the security gate. He even gave her a kiss on the cheek as she left him to go to the boarding area. Yes, he would make a lovely husband if no one else grabbed him first, and she gave him her sweetest smile and waved good-bye as she passed through security and headed to her gate. She made a mental note to call him once she was settled in London to let him know she arrived safely and to ensure that he would continue to think of her.

Arriving at the London airport, she was on her own. She had sent her arrival information to Martin hoping he would pick her up and take her to hospital, but he hadn't responded to her e-mail. At the very least he could have arranged for a car to meet her and help with her luggage, but there was no one there to meet her. She had to find a porter to carry her luggage to the taxi rank, where she joined the queue waiting for a ride to the city. It was late when she arrived at the hotel, nearly half five, and she was seething at Martin's insensitivity to her needs, but she also knew it was important that she make an appearance at hospital. She quickly freshened up and called for a taxi even though the hotel was only a few blocks from hospital. It had been a long day, and she was tired, not looking forward to seeing either Christopher or Martin.

She placed a call to Martin's mobile and left a message that she was on her way. Pity it was so late, else she could have spoken with his assistant, Miss Newcross. Flibbertigibbet she might appear to be, but she was more than competent in managing her boss. Margaret was certain that, with a little encouragement, Miss Newcross would have made him take her call. Margaret arrived at hospital just at 6:30 and checked with the information desk to inquire as to Christopher's room. She then made her way up, knocked on his door and entered. He was lying in the bed, a frown on his face, staring at his dinner in disgust. "It's about time you showed up. Haven't had a decent visitor since my operation. And the food in this prison, it's inedible."

She stared at him with steely eyes. "Good evening Christopher. What has happened to your manners?" She wasn't going to tolerate his incivility anymore. "The least you could do would be to greet me properly. I was told you were asking for me. Perhaps my informant misunderstood." She raised her head imperiously and sniffed.

He waved his fork at her, "You should have been here from the start. It's your duty as my wife to ensure that I am cared for properly whilst in hospital."

"Martin told me you were unconscious and that I wasn't needed."

"What does he know."

"Well, I'm here now." She made a quick scan of the room and set her purse down on a table. "But I've a mind to return to Portugal and leave you to it if you continue to be rude and difficult."

She walked over to the bed and glanced at his meal tray, "Do you need help with your meal? I can cut that meat for you."

"I've told you. It's inedible."

She stared down at the tray and could see how he had come to that conclusion. Why could hospitals never provide patients with a decent meal? Nevertheless, she pressed him, "I doubt that, and you need nourishment in order to heal properly."

The door swung open and Martin walked into the room. She noticed how he stiffened and bit his lip as he walked in, as if he had to brace himself for the encounter with them. After experiencing Christopher's nasty words as she walked in, she suddenly wondered to herself, "Does he hate us that much? Are we so very awful?" It was a thought that had never occurred to her and she banished it immediately. Adult children were duty bound to honour and care for their parents, love had never been a requirement. She nodded her head in his direction, "Martin."

"Mum."

He stepped up to review Christopher's chart, flipping through the pages till he reached the most recent entries. "Looks like you are making some progress with the walker. They will transfer you back to the care home in two days after they remove the surgical drain and your catheter. Of course, your specialist will need to monitor your progress, but you may be able to return to your home in Portugal after a month or two of physical therapy." He turned to his mother, "Assuming that Mum has been able to secure competent nursing assistants for your care."

Margaret raised her hand and patted her hair into place, "I have rearranged our villa, but I was waiting for Ruth to arrive to make the nursing arrangements. We put the search for a home health aide on hold until we knew whether it would be needed."

Martin pursed his lips, annoyed. "Call Ruth and tell her that you will need to find help within the next month or two. Perhaps you can make arrangements from here."

She glared at him under hooded eyes as she responded, holding back the bile that had risen in her throat, "Of course. Are there any other arrangements you wish for us to make?"

"No. Good night." He turned on his heel and left the room, offering no warmhearted or even polite wishes for a pleasant evening. But then, he had never had any manners.