Chapter 55

Margaret bustled about her flat, preparing for the children's visit. She wanted everything to be perfect. They only visited once a year whilst they were in Portugal visiting with Louisa's mother Miriam, and only for a few hours in the afternoon to use the swimming pool next to the community clubhouse. It was conveniently located just a short walk from her apartment in the compound where she and Christopher had lived for years. The children would swim under Louisa's watchful eye while she and Louisa exchanged pleasantries and Louisa updated her on the children's accomplishments. Afterwards, they would share an early tea in her home on the balcony. It was all very festive and kept them a part of her life, and just as importantly it allowed them to know her.

She had to admit that the most gratifying part of these annual visits was the opportunity they offered of showing off her grandchildren. Each of her close friends stopped by to greet Louisa for a few minutes and to admire the children. In her small circle of friends, it was expected that they would drop by whenever the family of one of them were visiting so that they could show off the family. Margaret was pleased that she could now participate in this ritual; and she prided herself that her grandchildren were much more attractive and much better mannered than those of her friends.

Martin had been a complete disappointment both to his father and to her. But she had to admit that his children were all she could have hoped her grandchildren would be. Physically, they were beautiful children, and they were polite and thoughtful and able to engage in relatively intelligent conversation with any adult they encountered. James, in particular, was her favourite, so articulate and impressive, and charming; he always knew what to say to make others feel at ease. He would be 12 in July. He was as tall as herself last year and was likely to be as tall as his mother this year. She was certain that he would be as tall or taller than Martin, and much more handsome.

She remembered the time last year when James asked her why she didn't like his Dad. When she had asked him why he thought that, he replied that he knew she was his mother, and that he had overhead Mum and Graunty talking about why his Daddy wouldn't come to visit her. They said she was mean to him when he was a little boy and it still made him sad. She tried to explain to James that she didn't intend to be mean to his Dad, but that he was a very naughty little boy and that he required a lot of discipline to teach him how to behave. She pointed out how he had become a very successful surgeon, so she must have been right. It made her unhappy that he was sad, but sometimes grown-ups just couldn't get along even if they wanted to. That seemed to satisfy James. She was really looking forward to seeing him.

She never discussed Louisa's unfortunate family background with her friends. She was certain that all her friends knew who Louisa's mother was, but discussing it just wasn't done. They all had skeletons in their closets and such unfortunate connections were becoming more and more common these days. After all, one of Portia's daughters married a Scottish secondary school teacher from a mining family. Now that the mines were closed, his father was reduced to waiting tables in a Glasgow Pub. They all knew, but it wasn't mentioned, nor was Louisa's mother the hairdresser. The younger generation didn't understand the importance of good breeding and the advantages that came with it. They were determined to live their lives outside the strictures of their parents' conventions. It was unfortunate, but there was little they could do to roll back the clock to more genteel times.

Ever since Christopher's death and her move to the small apartment on the second floor of the building near the clubhouse, she had made her peace with Martin's family, if not Martin himself. Her friends thought it shameful that she had not seen or spoken with her son since Christopher's memorial service. He refused to join Louisa and the children on their annual trips to Portugal and Louisa had made it clear that she was not welcome to visit in their London or Cornwall homes. She accepted her friends' commiseration and played the part of the neglected mother with what she felt was just the right balance of wistful melancholy and forbearance. All her friends called her a saint, but in actuality, the estrangement was a relief. He was such an unpleasant and disagreeable man; age had not mellowed him as it did with so many men. How he managed to attract and keep Louisa, despite her unfortunate breeding, was nothing short of miraculous. At least he allowed Louisa to send pictures and news of the children. That was all she really wanted, to be able to brag to her friends. Spending more time with the family would have been a burden she was grateful she didn't have to endure.

She sat down for a moment, taking a break from her preparations and rubbing her temple where it was starting to throb, and she thought back to Christopher's memorial service. Martin had resisted holding such a service, but she had put her foot down, and surprisingly Louisa backed her up. Christopher had been a senior surgeon for years before his retirement and had trained many of the surgeons now leading staff at hospital departments around the country. Unfortunately, the service had not been as elegant as befitted Christopher's status in the medical community. Martin refused to spend the money, but Louisa made satisfactory arrangements and it was sufficiently tasteful in the end, if a bit spartan. Over one hundred of Christopher's friends and colleagues had attended, crowding into the meeting and reception rooms they had booked. Martin should have known there would be a large crowd and booked a larger room, but he had never had any social sense when it came to this sort of thing. Nearly thirty former colleagues wanted to speak, but they had to limit it to just ten. And they all spoke glowingly of his knowledge and skill. And each had also recognised her contribution to his success and most all came up to her during the reception to pay their respects. It was all so enjoyable to have so many remember her and her efforts. It was festive and exhilarating and she relished every moment, despite her embarrassment at the closeness of the room and the paucity of the refreshments. It was heavenly to have that kind of attention at such a difficult time.

After Christopher died, Ruth continued to handle his estate, what little there was of it. Martin had convinced his father that she would not be able to manage the finances, so Christopher handed over the administration of their affairs to Martin with the stipulation that Christopher's banker audit the books annually. As far as she knew, Martin had handed over the day to day administration to Ruth and only checked on Ruth's work once a month or so. It was galling to be dependent on Ruth for every little thing, but even so, she was grateful not to have to take care of the bills and maintenance of the flat.

Ruth had managed the sale of their villa and worked with the estate agents to find the flat where she now lived. She would have preferred a larger flat and, in fact, she had found one that was just perfect. Most of their furniture would fit in the lounge and it had two large bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms. It would have allowed her to continue entertaining, but Ruth was not to be swayed. It was too expensive and Ruth refused to release the funds necessary for that purchase. Once Ruth had convinced the estate agent that Margaret could not exceed her stated price limit, she had found the "cosy apartment" she now called home. "Cosy", yes indeed, estate agent euphemism for cramped. At least it was tastefully furnished with the best of the furniture from their villa.

Whilst she wasn't anxious to remarry, Margaret had hoped to pass her final years in the company of one of the more eligible single men that visited their community on occasion. She had high hopes to snare Peter Symington, Morgan's friend with whom she had passed several pleasant days between Chris' surgery and his subsequent fall and broken hip. She was looking forward to spending much more time with him on their return. He had been very attentive and seemed interested in her as a woman; but, as luck would have it, Ruth had known him before his wife died and they reconnected when she had first come over to help find care for Chris. Margaret continued to encourage his interest after she and Chris returned to Portugal, but, by then, he had redirected his attentions to Ruth. Apparently, they had been colleagues long ago, and what had been a convenient friendship had turned to love. He proposed marriage, and Ruth accepted. It was disgraceful. What could that wizened old spinster know about marriage and keeping a husband happy? It was preposterous.

She was still furious with Ruth and resentful that Ruth had stolen the man she hoped to marry. And on top of that, Ruth also had complete control over her financial resources, giving her a monthly allowance, which permitted very few luxuries. How was it that Ruth had all the advantages that she herself used to have, and that she now had to scrape by in near penury. It was all Christopher's fault for failing to provide her sufficient assets to maintain her lifestyle, thinking only of himself. It was infuriating, but she had learned to cope, just as her mother had when her father had died unexpectedly.

Occasionally she and Ruth had disagreements over her affairs, and Peter would step in and arbitrate their disputes. He was always receptive to her advances, touching her arm or putting his arm around her shoulders when things got tense, comforting her and letting her know how he felt. It was obvious that he regretted his impulsive marriage to Ruth. He needed a real woman, but gentleman that he was, he never acted on their mutual attraction. An affair would have been delicious if he had been more adventuresome; but sadly, it wasn't to be. Nonetheless it was delightful to see how his attentions to herself distressed Ruth.

She had hoped to find someone after Christopher died, and she had thought she had found the perfect man, Victor. He was a retired barrister, still quite attractive and well off, and a delightful companion. They had kept company for several months, dining in the better restaurants and taking in many of the local festivals. They had even taken a road trip to attend the theatre in Lisbon. He was attentive and considerate, and once again she felt alive. Although she didn't love him, she accepted when he had proposed. He had considerable resources and he had even prepared a pre-nuptial agreement setting up a sizable trust fund for her maintenance should they divorce or should he die before her. They were planning the wedding when he fell and broke his hip. When it became obvious that he would never walk again, she broke it off. She had considered going through with the marriage. The promise of financial security was tempting, very tempting, but he could be disagreeable and for once in her life she decided to decline the financial windfall in favour of her freedom despite the constraints Ruth imposed. She had no intention of spending any more years tied down to an invalid, no matter how comfortable the material benefits. There were other fish in the sea and she was still an attractive woman.

She led a quiet life now, spending her mornings much as she did before Christopher's stroke and death … shopping, reading, playing bridge, and afternoon 'tea' with her friends. Several others in their wider circle of friends had lost husbands as well and they banded together to enjoy life to the fullest with their new-found freedom. There were fewer and fewer single men available to women in their demographic, and those that were unattached were looking for someone to act as nursemaid, a price few of them were willing to pay just to have a man in their lives. So, they anointed themselves "the merry widows". What did they care if there were some who considered them a covey of gossiping biddies, old relics nosing their way into everyone's business? Yes, they did enjoy keeping abreast of all the comings and goings of the community, but it was always done in the best of taste. If there were those who liked to call it gossip, well, that was unfortunate, but those same persons were usually the first to give one of them a call when something particularly juicy was suspected. Of course, they never shared anything salacious, they just shared the important life events of those in their community; and they were always invited to the big soirees even though they were no longer involved in the planning.

But today was a special day and she rose from the couch to refocus her efforts in making the visit with the children as memorable as possible. Why she had to come down with such a terrible headache on this one day of the year was beyond her; it was extremely inconvenient, and it seemed to be getting worse. She had felt sluggish the day before, and now she was behind in her preparations, just not up to the remaining tasks. She rubbed her head with her fingertips, but that didn't help. She really needed to take another break. The paracetamols she took when she first awoke weren't helping. Perhaps if she took two more and lay down for just a moment, it would ease.

Before she realized how the time had passed, she heard knocking on her door. "Miss Margaret?" It was James calling out to her.

She tried to get up but couldn't seem to move her legs off the sofa. She shouted out to him, "Come in James."

He didn't open the door, but kept on knocking, "Miss Margaret? Miss Margaret?"

Her thoughts wandered. Why didn't the children call her by some special name? They called Louisa's mother 'Mimi'. She didn't want to be a 'Grandma' or 'Grammy'. The formal 'Grandmother' would have been nice, but noooo…. When she confided her thoughts about a special name, Louisa had quietly discouraged it, "Miss Margaret is how the children know you. I think it would confuse them if we asked them to call you by some other name."

"Come in James." She called out. Or she thought she did. It was odd, her voice didn't sound quite right. After a few minutes, James returned with his mother and the other children and they knocked again. She replied, "Come in."

They knocked again and Louisa called out, "Margaret, it's Louisa and the children. Are you there?"

Once again, she tried to rise and answer the door, but was unable to move. Her leg fell like a stone when she tried to move off the couch and she was unable to lift it back up. It was quite odd. She tried to call out, but her voice was weak, "The door's open. Please come through."

She could hear Louisa and James talking between themselves, and finally she could hear them gently open the door. "Margaret?" Louisa called out.

James walked in towards the kitchen when he saw her lying on the sofa. She could see him walking towards her with a puzzled look on his face, "Miss Margaret? He turned toward his mother and said, "Mum, she's here on the sofa, but I think something is wrong."

Louisa rushed over to her, "Margaret, are you alright?"

Margaret tried to respond, but she couldn't move and she felt herself drifting away. Louisa seemed to be making a call, something about an ambulance.

To all my readers: Happy New Year. I wish you all the best in 2020, and may our Doc Martin wishes for a season 10 come true.