Hill Manse ... Chapter 14

London ... 1956

Chapter 14

Running from the dining room, which was downstairs, to the upstairs sitting room to pick up the phone on the twelfth ring ... had Judith gasping for breath. “Estate house! “

“Whew ... Hello ... Margaret. Let me sit down ... I’m winded.”

“Yes, and Happy New Year to you, as well. How are you?”

“That’s great. And your family?”

“Marvelous ... very good.”

Stretching out her legs, she settled herself for a newsy conversation. They hadn’t spoken since Christmas and that had been a quick “Happy Christmas” exchange because too much was going on that day for an extended phone visit.

Margaret began to explain about having to refurbish the west wing in the Manse before Easter for her father and his bride and would Judith be willing to stay in Scotland and continue working on the Estate house without her.

“Of course I can handle things here”, she said. “As a matter of fact, the weather is ghastly so work is going pretty slowly, I’m afraid. Will you be paid for doing the west wing?”

“Oh, Margaret, you’re a real whiz. Have you figured our profit margin already?”

“But, that’s wonderful. Shouldn’t we give your father some kind of price benefit?”

“If you think that’s fair ... who am I to argue?”

“Yes ... and send me the samples for the master bedroom and bathroom as soon as you can.”

“I believe that supply house is now called Humphrey’s. It can’t hurt to check them out.”

“Thank you, and all the best to you, too. Keep in touch ... ta.”

Hanging up the phone, Margaret straightened her shoulders, picked-up her handbag and the keys to the Mini. She was off to the studio to pick up the required sample chits she’d need for the Estate house and the Manse and then on to what was formally Holmes and White’s paint and supply house, but was now called Humphrey’s. H @ W boasted a good reputation, but had recently been bought and expanded by Charles Humphrey and Associates. Who was Charles Humphrey when he was at home? The busy decorator was a bit leery of change.

Wandering amongst the paint chips, wallpaper boards and catalogs, hanging rugs, fabric bolts and swatches, floor tiles, kitchen and bathroom fixtures, lighting and furniture in every style imaginable, Margaret felt overwhelmed. She’d dealt with supply houses before, but not of this size and mix.

“May I help you”, said a slight young man with a thin reedy voice and the manner of a Marks and Spencer floorwalker.

“I hardly know as yet. I’ll need some time to ponder the vast mishmash around me. How does one even begin?”

“We have staff that would be willing to assist you, Madam, since you’re not sure of your ground.” His patronizing smirk was annoying.

Standing at the railing just outside his second story office, Charles Humphrey watched and listened to the exchange between the nice-looking but annoyed dark haired woman and his, by default, head clerk.

Coming quickly down the stairs he said, “Thank you, Mr. Porter. That will do. I’d be happy to assist the lady. I agree with you, Madam, that this space is a hodgepodge of infinite possibilities. I think one begins with visual aids and, at the moment, we have none in place.”

“Please let me introduce myself. I’m Charles Humphrey ... may I offer you a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, Mr. Humphrey. Margaret Gregor from the Bourne and Gregor Design Studio.”

Noticing she was not wearing a wedding ring he said. “Please be seated, Miss Gregor. Mr. Porter ... tea, please.”

Mr. Porter stiffened. “I’ll send Miss Watford to serve the tea.”

“Miss Watford is with a customer, Porter. You are free at the moment. Please bring Miss Gregor and me some tea and biscuits.”

Mr. Porter’s initiated a sardonic bow, slowly turned and walked away, presumably to fetch the tea.

“You mentioned visual aids, sir. How would that work?”

“I’ve been thinking about hiring a crew to partition off various areas, in this

warehouse-sized room, creating faux living spaces to be decorated in different styles as guidelines, don’t you know. So that decorators, such as yourself, and the general public can view a possibility and then adjust the decor to their own tastes.”

“A marvelous plan, Mr. Humphrey. But, until the spaces you describe are created, would you happen to have some corkboard that I might purchase? I want to pin a variety of fabrics, wallpaper patterns and paint chips together in order to create the rooms that I have pictured in my mind before all of these ‘possibilities’ confuse me.” Margaret smiled, enjoying her conversation with Mr. Humphrey.

A chrome and glass tea trolley rolled up and a young woman nodded politely as she poured them each a steamy cup and offered milk and sugar.

Glancing up at the young woman, Mr. Humphrey passed Margaret the plate of biscuits. “Thank you, Miss Watford. Thought you were with a customer.”

“Mr. Porter told me I was to serve you and your guest some tea, sir, and he would see to Mr. Bernstein’s needs.” Her cheeks were flushed and she kept her eyes lowered.

“I see. Well, there’s apparently been a misunderstanding, Miss Watford, and I will see you right. Don’t worry. Thank you for the tea ... very nice ... carry on.”

“I’m glad you will ‘see her right’ Mr. Humphrey. And, as to that ... ‘seeing people right’, I mean ... have you chosen a crew to work on the partitioning project?” Margaret daintily wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

“No, not yet. Have you a suggestion, Miss Gregor?”

“Yes I have. A dedicated young man of my acquaintance runs a veteran’s hospice. One of his many responsibilities is to procure employment for veterans who live in or near his facility and are physically able to work. My family is very much involved with this hospice. If you are aware of and concerned with veterans needs, you might give Mr. Travis a call.” Ready to take her leave, Margaret shifted in her chair.

“Gregor ... of course. Please, Miss Gregor, if you are in no hurry, could we discuss this further? I much admire the work of your father and brother.”

She settled back into her seat. “I am glad to hear that. If you would like, I could give you the phone number of Mr. Travis.”

“Yes ... I would appreciate that. Uhh, Miss Gregor, as you can see, I’m in quite a muddle here ... bit off more than I can immediately chew, I’m afraid. I need to put in those ‘visual aids’ I spoke of as soon as possible. Therefore, I need a qualified decorator to design the various rooms in all the current styles ... modern, traditional, country cottage, French provincial, oriental, etc. I need someone of your expertise.”

“But, Mr. Humphrey,” Margaret was stunned. “We’ve just met. You have no idea of my expertise.”

“Ahhh ... now, there you are mistaken. I’ve been to Hill Manse on several occasions and have seen the downstairs rooms before and after your renovations. I complimented your brother on the beautiful rooms and he gave you, Miss Gregor, all of the credit.”

Margaret blushed. “I do have a partner and she and I are each working on a project ... mine is to be finished before Easter and Miss Bourne’s by summer. Let me see if I can make the time to work up some ideas for you. If so, we can discuss the monetary terms then.” Standing up, she rustled around in her purse and found Jordy Travis’ card and handed it to him.

Extending her hand, she said, “I’m so pleased to have met you, Mr. Humphrey.”

Taking her hand in both of his, “The pleasure is all mine indeed, Miss Gregor. I hope we will be working together. Here is my card ... may I have one of yours?”

----

Running up the stairway, Margaret called out, “Cara, Cara, I’ve just met a most interesting man.”

“Well, it’s about time! And, that’s all I’ll say until I hear more.” She stood in her bedroom doorway toweling her hair dry. “Come in and be an angel. Roll the hair I can’t reach in those monster rollers on the dressing table and tell me all about him.” Cara ran a brush through her hair and sat down at her dressing table.

Margaret wrapped a wet wedge of dark auburn hair over a wire cylinder, rolled it up and poked a couple of bobby pins into each side of the huge curler. “Well, firstly, it’s not what you’re thinking, my cheeky friend. It was not a romantic encounter or anything of that sort.”

“Well, that’s a wretched beginning. What’s the matter with him? Here, let me hold the pins while you roll.”

“Nothing’s the matter with him ... just listen.” Parting off another hank of hair, she again rolled and pinned it. “I went to Humphrey’s this morning to get paint, paper and fabric samples for your house in Sto’ven and Da’s rooms and met the owner, Charles Humphrey. Over tea he told me about a scheme he was thinking about in order to better display his merchandise. Stop with the eyebrow wiggles, Cara.” She pinned a third roller in place. “As I was saying ... he had a project in mind that needed a crew of workmen and I suggested he call Jordy. Then, he asked me to design some sample rooms in different styles to be set up in this humongous showroom of his. This assignment could benefit the design studio tremendously.”

“What does he look like? Ouch! Watch the pin jabs.”

“Sorry. About Duff’s size, I suppose ... late-forties ... salt and pepper medium brown hair ... hazel eyes and, yes; he’s a nice looking man. All his front teeth were intact, had ears on both sides of his head and his nose was quite ... hmmm ... patrician.”

“Was he wearing a wedding band?”

“I have no idea. Really, Cara, you don’t notice such things ... do you?”

“Of course I do. Not for myself, mind you, but ... for you, my friend. And, by the way, you need to go to a salon and bring your hair style up to date.”

Charlotte could hear the women discussing Margaret’s dated tresses as she lightly knocked on Cara’s door.

“Come in. Oh, good, so glad to see you, Charlotte ... uh ... Mom. Sorry, I keep forgetting.

“That’s alright, my dear. It may not have been one of my better ideas, although, Fiona is quite comfortable with it. And, only if you’re at ease calling me ‘Mom’ should either of you even attempt to do so. I’m just as pleased to have you call me Charlotte.”

“I was just suggesting to Margaret that she needed her hairdo spiffed up a bit. She’s a career woman ... post-war modern ... and long hair wound up on the back of the head is turn-of-the-century dreary.”

“Oh, dear. Then I suppose I should also be spiffed-up. After all, Alistair managed it well enough. He is quite ... dashing, I think. Could I go with you, Margaret?”

“Hadn’t decided yet that it was necessary that I be ‘spiffed-up’. I’d look ridiculous in one of those ‘pixie’ things that are so popular nowadays.”

“Film stars like Jean Simmons and Deborah Kerr don’t wear ‘pixies’, silly ... either chin or shoulder length is the way to go. I’ll call the Duchess’ Hair Salon and make appointments for you both.”

----

Alistair was taken aback when he saw Charlotte’s new hairdo. The short soft mink curls framing her lovely face no longer had any silvery gray streaks running through it. This woman might be too young for him, he thought as he tried to smile nonchalantly.

“You look wonderful, Darling. And, much too young for an old man like myself.” He waited uneasily for her response.

“You don’t fool me, Alistair. I know all your charming ways. A little deceit perpetrated by a thirty-something hairdresser may have taken a few years off my head, but we both know the frame is the same. Come into the drawing room and take a look at your daughter.”

“Good lord, Margaret, you look so very different. I always thought you were an attractive girl, but that hairstyle makes you look like a ... a stage actress.” Alistair scowled. “And, what’s that stuff smeared all over your eyes

“I’m afraid Madame Hortense, as she likes to be called, got carried away. After styling my hair in this longish Dutch pageboy with the bangs lopped to just above my eyebrows, she felt my eyes should be more pronounced. So she outlined them in black pencil, added a blue powder to the lids and blackened my lashes with mascara. Don’t worry, Da. After my bath tonight, I will no longer look like a painted panda at the London zoo.”

....

Fiona felt happy. Good things were happening and more good things were going to happen. She had no boyfriend, hadn’t been asked out to the pictures or to go dancing in several weeks, and that was okay with her. Mom ... Charlotte Hamblin ... needed her. After work she’d get a lift from Mr. Pearl, Judge Featherstone’s bailiff, to the Hamblin house for dinner at least twice a week ... usually more often. Margaret had moved into Richard’s room and the three of them would go over Margaret’s vision of the rooms in the west wing of the Manse. Fi’s opinions were regarded with respect. She was afraid to voice them at first. But, eventually was able to pluck up the courage and participated in the exchange of ideas. This happened when discussing the wedding plans, too. Fiona felt like ‘family’. She missed her mother, but like Mom said, she could now smile when she thought of Ma instead of bawling her head off.

Margaret and Charlotte felt transformed. It was amazing how a flattering haircut could make a woman feel younger, more attractive and more energetic. Margaret smiled more, laughed more and began to use a teeny bit of mascara and a touch of light pink lipstick before she left the house.

Charlotte spent a great deal more time in front of her looking glass, too, primping, peering this way and that with the help of a hand mirror, trying on her score of hats, albeit some were prewar and some a decade old, in order to discover which styles looked best on her now. Alistair had always made admiring comments on her appearance, but now, he fairly gushed. She loved it.

“Five more weeks to go and I’m already as nervous as a cat.” Charlotte looked over her shoulder into the full-length mirror at the back of her wedding dress. The very pale dusty blue lace overlaying the simple straight-lines of the outfit was extremely flattering to her figure, complexion and hair color. “Try on your dress, Fi, so Miss Smythe can alter the hem. I love the soft coral polished cotton. It’s a great color on you.”

“I appreciate that you chose a style in material I can wear for any dressy occasion. It is just beautiful and doesn’t cry out ‘bridesmaid’ at all.”

-----

“We are cold, wet and hungry, Victor. And, we are also aware that you have probably been pulled away from your toasty fireside and new Rex Stout novel. Nevertheless, I appreciate that Mr. Gregor sent you out in this nasty slush to pick us up because we will now arrive at the Manse safe and sound.” Charlotte scooted from beneath Victor’s extra large umbrella and slid across the back seat of the Bentley.

Margaret gave his arm a slight squeeze. “We could have come in the Mini, but three is a bit of a crowd and the heat that pumps through this luxurious interior wraps us in minky warmth and we are also safely surrounded by at least a ton of dark blue steel.” She moved in beside Charlotte.

“Mind if I sit in front with you?” Fiona grinned at the chauffer. “I promise not to prattle.”

He smiled and opened the car door. “You always ask to sit in front, Miss, and you never prattle ... not at me, anyway.”

Fi plopped onto the lush leather seat and twisted ‘round to face the backseat passengers. “How many of these charity functions have you been to, Mom?”

“Oh, my dear, I couldn’t say. My father was a contributor to the Gregor Veteran’s Aid Organization ever since Alistair started it up following the Big War. That would have been in 1919, I think. Since he has four large functions a year, you’d have to do the multiplying for me. I attended after I was married. That would have been in the summer of 1920.”
Figuring out the math problem in her head, Fi said, “That would be approximately one hundred and forty functions.”

“That sounds about right.” Margaret agreed. “Victor helped with every one of them and I started helping when I was about ten. Now Duff hires Jordy’s Vets to do it. But for years we worked very hard, didn’t we, Victor?”

“Yes, Miss, that we did ... humped chairs and tables, hung satin swags and crystal lights across the great hall and laid fresh flowers, candelabras and bits of falderal on all the tables to bring more pizzazz into that already elegant ballroom. Needed that kind of show to impress the toffs into digging deeper into their golden pockets.”

Charlotte chuckled. “It worked, Victor, and, hopefully it will continue to work."

Introducing Fiona to the “toffs”, as Victor would have it, happily fell to Charlotte. “Lady Smythe-Wells, I’d like you to meet a dear, dear friend of mine ... Fiona Dunne. Fiona, Lady Smythe-Wells is the person responsible for easing me into Rosemary’s good graces when I became engaged to her father and I’m terribly grateful for her Ladyship’s gracious and prompt effort on my behalf.”

“Not at all, not at all. More than pleased to do it, my dear. Louisa, Alistair’s late wife, was my dearest friend in school. I am more than willing to help the Gregor’s in any way that I can.” Glancing at the couple passing by her chair, she said, “Do excuse me, Mrs. Hamblin, Miss Dunne ... need to speak to Lord and Lady Wystoop before they get trapped by the Meisterhoffs.”

“Alistair is motioning for me ... come and meet the young man who will be walking me down the center isle of the ballroom on my wedding day.”

Surprised, Fi’s eyes raked the head table looking for Richard. “I didn’t know Richard was coming back so soon. Where is he?”

“Not Richard, dear, Jordy ... Jordy Travis, a dear Scottish lad with a charming brogue.” Charlotte held onto Fiona’s elbow, steering her toward a nice-looking, tall, broadchested, fair-haired man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a dinner jacket instead of a tuxedo, sitting not at the head table but at a smaller table adjacent to it.

A huge smile spread across his face as he rose to greet them. “Dear Mrs. Hamblin, I’ve been looking for you. And, this lass must be Fiona Dunne ... Mrs. Hamblin’s good friend cum daughter.” Jordy Travis extended his hand. “I’m happy to finally meet you.”

“Jordy, I put Fi’s place card next to yours. Would you mind playing host? I don’t mean to desert you, my dear, but Alistair keeps waving for me to come and sit down. Jordy will take good care of you.”

Fi patted Charlotte’s hand. “Go to Mr. Gregor ... I’ll be fine.” Turning toward Jordy she smiled and said, “Poor you ... stuck with having to entertain a stranger.” Then sat beside him, her breath hitching in her chest. I love the accent and his horn-rimmed glasses ... wow!

“I feel I know you already ... may I call you Fiona or, preferably, Fi?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve heard about you, too. Jordy the Scottish superhero ... can leap tall buildings in a single bound, etc. Mrs. Hamblin is very fond of you.”

“Since her son went to live in America and won’t be able to return for the wedding, she asked me to walk her down the isle. I’m extremely honored. We became acquainted at Hill Manse last summer and from that time forward she’s treated me like a favorite nephew.”

“She is very good at adopting people. In my case, caring for a stray, as it were. My mother died last year and Mrs. Hamblin came to my rescue. I love her.” Fiona’s large sea green eyes teared.

The din in the room had increased causing Jordy to move closer to Fi so he could hear her better. He wasn’t a shy man and he was immediately taken with Fiona Dunne. The sudden emotion that misted her eyes clutched at his gut. He wanted to comfort her and that made him bold. “I noticed you when you first walked in the ballroom with Margaret Gregor. Didn’t know who you were then, but ... I have to tell you, Fi ... I thought to myself ... if there is truly a God, and I believe there is, then let that auburn haired beauty be Fiona Dunne.”

Fiona blushed a deep crimson, turned her head away and kept her eyes lowered. “You are, what my girlfriends and I might call, a cheeky devil, Jordy Travis.”

“You’d be right, too ... that was an impertinent remark and I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Fi looked up at him. “A bit flustered, but not uncomfortable. Thank you. Redheads with freckles on their noses are usually thought of as ‘kind of cute’, not beautiful. And, please,” she held up her hand, “I’m not fishing for another compliment.”

A dignified waiter approached the table and began arranging plates of roasted chicken, tiny white potatoes, yellow squash stuffed with sausage and shredded cheese, and steamed greens in front of the Gregor’s guests.

Jordy smiled at Fi. “Let’s eat while I try to think of something un-complimentary to say to you. But, I already know ... that won’t be possible.”

Fi was having a hard time swallowing the bits of food in her mouth. Oh, gah ... is this really happening? How’s a girl supposed to cope with a superhero that called her beautiful?