Read Online Aunt Margaret's Lover by Mavis Cheek - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mavis Cheek
Tags: Novel
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meeting.
Joan and Reg and I went to the pub on my last official day. It was a bright afternoon and we chose the Dove at Hammersmith, where we sat out in the warmish sun. In its glow I began to feel as those old primitives felt about Helios, Apollo, Shamash - that here was a new beginning, something to celebrate, something nourishing coming out of the mystery of it all. Extremely fanciful, but there was the river rolling by, sunlight on water, greenery in trees and a new atmosphere of buoyancy after the fag end of winter. That this fresh, bright sunlight would illuminate what I fondly called my laughter lines, was chastening, but, nevertheless, here I was: I had changed course, dammed the river of my life and channelled it towards the brave unknown. And there was always candlelight. I wondered what on earth my companions would say if they could hear my thoughts. After all, I was only leaving my job and taking a lover - not re-creating the universe. All the same, I felt like Woman Reborn and a very good feeling it was too. I raised my glass to the two of them and wished them good luck.
'After all,' I said, 'I shall only be down the road. You can ring any time.'
'We'll need to,' said Joan wryly, 'with Son of Spiteri in charge.'
'You are both more than capable. He knows that, really. It's a token something and you'll just have to bear it. Unite in your adversity!'
Joan smiled and Reg blushed.
'Wartime spirit,' he said. 'My Granny told me all about that.' He was wearing sunglasses, which helped me considerably. Why I had such difficulty with him was to my great shame. I suppose that, as they say, eyes are the windows of the soul and I found it disconcerting not knowing which window was open. Joan was still flicking her hair, but somehow it no longer bothered me. There was no doubt that taking this time out for myself was A Good Thing. Who could it harm? And they had two good eyes between them, didn't they?
Taking a lover, I mused on the way home. What a grand, old-fashioned ring the phrase has. But from whence? For such an undertaking is a great deal easier said than done when you have been living in a fairly small world of well-worn friends. The emotional part of me said that I could not dictate such a receptive state at will. The rational in me
thought it was a good idea. The rational won and I was suddenly gratified, though somewhat embarrassed, to find myself growing antennae. This is rather an unnerving state for a woman. It may be an unnerving state for a man, too, though I suspect they are brought up to be the hunters and find the role natural. Indeed, if you have ever observed a man being hunted or stalked by a woman you can see plainly that the mode is not conducive - yet - to the feminine. Never mind. I would have to be subtle. I pondered how to be subtly predatory, and gave up. It was too puzzling. Instinct would assert itself, I decided. I felt rather tacky about the whole business, and feeling tacky made me choose to keep the whole business to myself until the effort was satisfactorily concluded. Not to Saskia, nor Jill, nor Colin nor Verity would I confess any more than I had already. From now on I would act alone. 'Strangers in the Night,' I sang as I let myself into my empty house.
The telephone was ringing. I picked it up and, still in Sinatra country, attempted a velvety, expectant voice. But it was only Sassy giving me an update on how her first week with her father had gone. Very well, seemed to be the consensus. I thought about my news, the news I was going to keep to myself, and felt distinctly better, and managed to sound as if I didn't mind at all that they were getting on so well. He apparently had a demoiselle, half French and beautiful, Sassy said, and only a few years older than her. Typical, I thought. I remembered Roger - half-baked and monotonous - and said through my teeth that I was glad to hear it.
'Maybe you should get a toy boy as Mrs Mortimer suggested,' she giggled.
'Ha bloody ha,' I
Joan and Reg and I went to the pub on my last official day. It was a bright afternoon and we chose the Dove at Hammersmith, where we sat out in the warmish sun. In its glow I began to feel as those old primitives felt about Helios, Apollo, Shamash - that here was a new beginning, something to celebrate, something nourishing coming out of the mystery of it all. Extremely fanciful, but there was the river rolling by, sunlight on water, greenery in trees and a new atmosphere of buoyancy after the fag end of winter. That this fresh, bright sunlight would illuminate what I fondly called my laughter lines, was chastening, but, nevertheless, here I was: I had changed course, dammed the river of my life and channelled it towards the brave unknown. And there was always candlelight. I wondered what on earth my companions would say if they could hear my thoughts. After all, I was only leaving my job and taking a lover - not re-creating the universe. All the same, I felt like Woman Reborn and a very good feeling it was too. I raised my glass to the two of them and wished them good luck.
'After all,' I said, 'I shall only be down the road. You can ring any time.'
'We'll need to,' said Joan wryly, 'with Son of Spiteri in charge.'
'You are both more than capable. He knows that, really. It's a token something and you'll just have to bear it. Unite in your adversity!'
Joan smiled and Reg blushed.
'Wartime spirit,' he said. 'My Granny told me all about that.' He was wearing sunglasses, which helped me considerably. Why I had such difficulty with him was to my great shame. I suppose that, as they say, eyes are the windows of the soul and I found it disconcerting not knowing which window was open. Joan was still flicking her hair, but somehow it no longer bothered me. There was no doubt that taking this time out for myself was A Good Thing. Who could it harm? And they had two good eyes between them, didn't they?
Taking a lover, I mused on the way home. What a grand, old-fashioned ring the phrase has. But from whence? For such an undertaking is a great deal easier said than done when you have been living in a fairly small world of well-worn friends. The emotional part of me said that I could not dictate such a receptive state at will. The rational in me
thought it was a good idea. The rational won and I was suddenly gratified, though somewhat embarrassed, to find myself growing antennae. This is rather an unnerving state for a woman. It may be an unnerving state for a man, too, though I suspect they are brought up to be the hunters and find the role natural. Indeed, if you have ever observed a man being hunted or stalked by a woman you can see plainly that the mode is not conducive - yet - to the feminine. Never mind. I would have to be subtle. I pondered how to be subtly predatory, and gave up. It was too puzzling. Instinct would assert itself, I decided. I felt rather tacky about the whole business, and feeling tacky made me choose to keep the whole business to myself until the effort was satisfactorily concluded. Not to Saskia, nor Jill, nor Colin nor Verity would I confess any more than I had already. From now on I would act alone. 'Strangers in the Night,' I sang as I let myself into my empty house.
The telephone was ringing. I picked it up and, still in Sinatra country, attempted a velvety, expectant voice. But it was only Sassy giving me an update on how her first week with her father had gone. Very well, seemed to be the consensus. I thought about my news, the news I was going to keep to myself, and felt distinctly better, and managed to sound as if I didn't mind at all that they were getting on so well. He apparently had a demoiselle, half French and beautiful, Sassy said, and only a few years older than her. Typical, I thought. I remembered Roger - half-baked and monotonous - and said through my teeth that I was glad to hear it.
'Maybe you should get a toy boy as Mrs Mortimer suggested,' she giggled.
'Ha bloody ha,' I
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