Spring delight |
The first spring flush is passing now in the Adelaide Hills. I am trying
to be diligent to remove spent flowers in the hope of a new flush in a few
weeks’ time. I find it a challenge to manage that, weeding, fertilising,
mulching and watering all at once! I don’t have a green thumb but I start each
growing season full of hope.
The fruit trees are producing mixed results. Lemon – fabulous; one of
the apples – very promising; nectarine – nothing at all after a serious
infestation of aphids; apricot – a decent crop. Unforeseen disasters may occur,
of course – growing things is a risky hobby.
Do you enjoy dreaming? I love it; it’s like reading without the book.
Not always as satisfying but often intriguing. Today’s story is a drama that
started with a dream I had.
Julia
He
was looking directly at me as I stood in the phone booth, about to make a
difficult call. He was the archetypal gentleman, from his well-cut suit and his
neatly trimmed beard to the way he held his tall body with perfect ease and
grace.
I banged the receiver down awkwardly and
left the booth.
‘I hate strangers staring at me, ‘ I
muttered, forced to walk past him to get to my room. Once I was around the
corner, I ran, holding two thoughts at once. The first was to lock myself in my
room and stay out of sight until I was sure he had left the premises. The
second was his odd reply to my outburst: ‘I know what you mean.’
I knew who he was, though what he was
doing in an ordinary London boarding hostel, I had no idea.
The hostel was pleasant enough, and I was
one of the lucky two boarders who had ground floor rooms with big windows and a
little patch of grass beyond the back door. I was careful to keep those big
windows covered with their heavy drapes when there were strangers around, but
as I slammed the door behind me and pushed the bolt, I realised that if I was
to remain out of sight I had no time to close them again. I had opened them
only a short time before to allow the rare sunshine in.
I heard his voice from my hiding place
under the bed on the far side of the room.
‘Madam? Are you all right? I meant no
disrespect.’
I could just see him as he stood on the
little lawn, his handsome face filled with concern. I knew who he was and that
he meant well, but I stayed where I was until he left.
Fate
kept placing George and me in the same public locations for some months after
that, as if London were too small for two strangers to not connect. I pretended
not to see him on each occasion and, since I would not look at him after the
first recognition of his presence, I could not know if he had seen me. Finally
there came a day when we communicated, and for that I will be eternally
grateful.
It was not fate that caused Wade to turn
up at various junctures of my life. On this day, a brisk spring day with its
usual dose of wind and rain, he ran into me as I left Sloane Square station.
‘Julia,’ I heard a voice say behind me. I
froze.
He came around to face me, pushing me
gently to the edge of the pavement where the eaves of an apartment block gave a
little protection and the stream of commuters flowed past us without
interruption. I stared at my feet, unable to think straight, which was typical
when Wade was around.
‘You didn’t give me an answer after last
time,’ he said. Even into the low voice he used to keep our conversation
private, he managed to inject poison. I felt it leaking into me from my ears
steadily towards my heart. I had no antidote; I just waited for it to take
familiar effect.
‘You know my answer,’ I said, forcing the
words from my lips.
But he knew my weakness. ‘You say that,
but you’ll do what I say. If you don’t add my name to your account by the end
of the week, I’ll make sure Alexa knows exactly what you did on the night she
was conceived. Every bloody detail.’
Alexa was my five year old daughter, who
lived in the care of my sister in a village in Devon. I didn’t put it past Wade
to have worked out where she was, nor to tell a child things no child should
know.
I had practised what I should say, but now
I could not remember the words or any sense of how I could resist his threat.
But before I was forced to respond, a third person joined us. George.
‘Is there a problem here?’ he asked in his
fine English that made Wade’s private school accent sound common.
My fuddled brain had had no chance to plan
for an event unforeseen. ‘He’s trying to blackmail me,’ I blurted, looking
George in the eyes for the first time since our encounter at the phone booth.
Then my eyes flew to Wade’s face and I blushed. Wade always made me feel that
my actions were wrong.
Only this time it was Wade who did not
know how to respond.
Before he could, George spoke again. ‘If
anything suspicious happens in this woman’s life, ever, you will feel the full
weight of the law.’ He looked directly at Wade for a moment that carried the
significance of years, and then turned to me.
Handing me a business card, he said, ‘You
can contact me any time if he gives you more trouble.’ Then he touched his
right hand to his head in that ageless gesture of the English gentleman, and
walked in the direction of all the other morning commuters. It struck me for
the first time that George used public transport like the rest of us.
Wade found his words, and his venom. ‘Oh
yes, he’s going to solve the sordid dealings of a bitch on the street.’ He had
regained his usual place of power between us. ‘Who does he think he is?’
‘George Pennington, QC,’ I said, reading
the card.
‘Some fancy lawyer type. He’ll have
forgotten you by the time he’s finished reading the Times.’ He seemed to need to convince himself.
‘He’ll remember,’ I said. ‘We have met
before. And he’s renowned for his memory of detail.’
Wade’s confidence was shaken, and in like
measure mine was increasing.
‘You don’t know who he is, do you, Wade?’
I pressed. ‘He’s literally a QC – counsel to the royal family.’
And then I did what I should have done
years earlier. I said, ‘Goodbye, Wade,’ and turned my back on him.
I
walked in the direction George had walked, simply because he had; that was all
the sense of direction I needed. Of course I did not see him. In fact, we never
met again. Nor did I suffer further threats from Wade Chandler.
Have
a happy November!
See you next time!
Claire Belberg
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