Chapter 15
Sweat beaded Margaret’s forehead and her heart pounded crazily as she steadied herself against a load-bearing beam a few yards from a slight, scruffy man pounding nails, measuring and sawing boards. Forcing dusty air in and out of her lungs, she coughed into her handkerchief and slowly moved ... made herself walk up the stairs to Charles Humphrey’s closed office door and knocked.
“Yes ... come in. Ahhh, I expected you earlier, Miss Gregor. Did you get caught in a snarl of early morning traffic?” Mr. Humphrey smiled pleasantly and held the chair for her in front of his desk.
She sat down smoothing her skirt modestly over her knees, giving herself a moment before she spoke. “Only partly ... had to wait in a petrol queue for ages. I should not have ignored the need for fuel for so long. Served me proper, having to wait with all the other commuters and procrastinators while inhaling nocuous fumes from the exhaust tubes lined up ahead of me.” Could it be that the petrol fumes have fuddled my brain?
“Sounds as if a cup of tea is in order. The pot is fresh and hot.” He poured and served the tea and then sat down facing her. What has she done to herself ... looks a bit younger than she did a couple of weeks ago. Dammed attractive woman ... too pale from those fumes she inhaled, but dammed attractive. “Thank you, by the way, for steering me to Jordy Travis. His men are building the major partitions in the space as we speak ... filthy, noisy business, that.”
Raising her voice over the clamor downstairs she said, “Yes, it is, I’m afraid. Do you have the measurements handy for the individual spaces?”
“I believe that everything you’ll need is in this folder.” He slid a buff colored file across the desk toward her. “Miss Gregor, please, let us step across the road to a quiet restaurant and discuss matters. My head is already thrumming and I don’t wish to yell in order to be heard.”
“But, of course ... that is a sensible suggestion.” This time she noticed that he did not wear a wedding band. Cara will be so proud of me.
He stepped quickly around his desk to stand behind her chair as she stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Humphrey.” Margaret took the arm he offered as he escorted her through the door. He is a gentleman of the ‘old school’ ... much like Da, but a couple of decades younger. Is it really him ... dear Lord, am I crazy?
Charles Humphrey insisted that a light luncheon be served them. He was headachy and hungry and wanted to spend some time in Margaret Gregor’s company. They discussed the designer spaces, her fee per hour, and the price limit on the paint, paper, and fabric that she would choose to use in the spaces. The conversation gradually moved on to a more personal level.
“Miss Gregor, as we will be working closely together in the next few weeks, may I ask that we confer on a less formal basis? My friends call me Charlie.”
“Certainly, Charlie. I’m Margaret.” She was relaxed in his company. She liked him very much and wished she could tell him about what she was thinking, imagining ... suspecting. But, she knew she couldn’t ... wouldn’t ... couldn’t say anything ... not to him.
----
“Margaret, you look quite ill”, fussed Cara. “What is the matter?”
“I saw someone today. It may have been a hallucination caused by the petrol fumes, but I don’t think so. I’m not crazy, Cara. I don’t know what to think!” A huge lump closed her throat and tears sprung to her eyes ... rolled down her cheeks.
Cara opened a dresser drawer and removed a couple of handkerchiefs, handing them to her sister-in-law. “You are the least crazy person I know ... obsessively neat, and stubborn as hell, but not crazy. Charlotte is in the garden with Alistair. I’ll ask her to join us so you can tell us both who you saw.” Cara gently maneuvered Margaret onto her bed and pressed her back against the bed pillows. “Stay right here ... I’ll be back in a few minutes with Charlotte.”
“My dear girl you’re trembling.” Lifting a snifter of brandy to her lips, Charlotte murmured, “Take a sip, Margaret. That’s a girl. Cara, plump up those pillows so she can sit up ... that’s it ... another swallow should do it.”
“I’m being terribly silly ... so sorry.” Margaret sniffed and looked at the two women. “I was obliged to enjoy luncheon with Charles Humphrey this afternoon. We talked of business mostly and he asked me to call him Charlie and, Cara, he does not wear a wedding ring.” A weak smile curled her lips. “What I’m trying to say is ... I behaved perfectly well until I got home. When I came into Cara’s room, I fell apart ... so silly.”
Having pushed two overstuffed armchairs from the sitting area to face the bed, Cara puffed, “You are not ‘silly’. You are upset but are now safe with Charlotte and me. We have our sherry to hand and are ready to listen. Please, Margaret, tell us who you saw today.”
“Robbie ... my fiancé, Robert Findley ... an older, tired, sad and shabby, but not dead, Robert Findley.” Her voice rose then fell when the tears began to roll again. She wiped her face. “You remember, Cara. I told you about Robbie. Maybe you should tell Charlotte.”
Turning to Charlotte, Cara told her about Robert Findley, Margaret’s exile in Scotland and the baby she’d named in her heart, June Elizabeth.
“You were a brave young woman, Margaret. I am so proud of you.” Charlotte leaned forward and tenderly stroked her hand and arm.
“How can it be that he is alive? The Home Office telegraphed me. They said he was killed in Italy along with several hundred other British soldiers. His older half brother, Eddie something-or-other who survived the bombing, identified Robbie. But I saw him today. I’d swear it was Robbie.”
“If it was Robert Findley you saw, he was with the Vets so we can check on him ... that is, if you are sure you really want to know.” Cara had scooted closer to Margaret. “You see, dear, now only you, Charlotte and I know who you think you saw. If we go any further ... Alistair, Duff and Jordy will have to be told.”
Charlotte sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “Let us make sure before we let it go that far.” Getting up from the chair, she settled herself on the bed beside Margaret. “Let us say that this sad and shabby veteran is Robert Findley. Number one ... he is not likely to be using that name. Number two ... he may lie or not want to talk to you at all. Number three ... he may have a perfectly reasonable explanation. Let me tell you what happened to my dear friend Daisy when her first fiancé disappeared right after the war ended in ’45 and, when her second fiancé disappeared after the Korean Conflict in ’53.” Charlotte proceeded to tell them Daisy’s story.
“So you see, my dears, it would behoove us to give the man the benefit of the doubt. If he were a mentally ill case like Pat ... you would probably forgive him. But, if he were caught in a moral dilemma like David, you could probably count yourself lucky that he kept his distance. I imagine there are as many reasons for a man to disappear, as there are men who manage to do so.” She squeezed Margaret’s hand. “You’ll need a day or two to calm yourself and then the three of us will go to the hospice where he lives. Cara and I will be right beside you when you see him again ... maybe talk to him.”
Margaret sat forward her eyes wide with misgiving. “What on earth would I say to him?”
“We’ll make a list. You’re very good with lists, Margaret”, said Cara.
“Cara’s right. We’ll write everything down so you’ll feel comfortable. Well, hardly comfortable, but at least confident that you know who he really is.”
“Let me think about it.” Moving off the bed, Margaret and Charlotte began to straighten the coverlet. “I don’t want to hurt the man. I just want some answers.”
....
“He’s nice, very nice, in fact. I haven’t said no ... but I probably will. I just don’t want to date right now ... maybe next year.”
Fi was laying the table for supper while Charlotte pulled the fragrant casserole from the oven.
“Next year! My dear Fiona, next year is almost eight months from now. It’s just the pictures he’s invited you to. I’ve seen a preview of Giant ... it looks like a marvelous film. How can you possibly pass up seeing Rock Hudson and James Dean make love to Elizabeth Taylor in ‘fabulous Technicolor’?”
Sighing, Fi reached for the napkins. “There is that, I suppose, and I would like to see it. Maybe Margaret, you and I could go to a matinee sometime next week.”
“Too busy ... the wedding and ... uh ... you know how last minute things seem to mount up.”
“I’m more than happy to help with last minute things”, said Fiona.
“I know, dear, thank you. Why does ‘dating’ someone you consider ‘very nice’ bother you?”
“Well ... one date leads to another date which leads to expectations and then to disappointments. I’m not ready to make the effort, I expect.”
“That’s quite understandable. What if you thought of going to the pictures with Jordy as just an ‘outing’ with a new friend rather than a ‘date’; would that make you feel less pressured?”
“How can changing the word ‘date’ to ‘outing’ make a difference?”
“ An ‘outing’ can be reciprocated and kept on a ‘friends only’ basis, if that is what you wish. You should make your feelings clear to Jordy at the outset. I am quite certain he is no more interested in jumping into a romantic relationship than you are. Merely be opened to getting better acquainted with the man. As you have season tickets for the Lion’s, you could invite Jordy and two of the Vets to a game, occasionally. I’ve talked about you so often I think he just wants to see why you’re so special to me.”
“You’re playing Cupid, Mom and we both know it.”
Charlotte giggled. “I have the plump figure for it, but not the sang-froid, as the French would say, to carry-off the costume.”
----
“She’s gun shy.” Charlotte stood beside Jordy in the recently rain-soaked garden at Hill Manse, snipping flowers, shaking sparkly droplets from each blossom and arranging them in her basket. “Let’s just say that 1955 was not a particularly good year for Fi. Jordy, I asked you out here ... not to speak about Fiona ... but another matter entirely.”
“Say away, Mrs. Hamblin. I’m all-ears.”
Stowing her garden gloves and sequiters in the basket with the flowers, she slipped her arm through his as they walked along the squishy garden path in their warm jackets and rubber boots.
Editing the story to just ‘Robert Findley, Margaret’s thought-to-be-dead fiancé who may be alive and living at the Veteran’s Hospice’, Charlotte asked Jordy if he would be willing to help identify the man.
Jordy had stopped walking halfway through her narrative but did not interrupt. When she finished, he frowned and asked thoughtfully, “Her fiancés name was Robert Findley? You’re sure it was Robert Findley?
“Yes, of course. She called him Robbie back then, I believe.”
Mulling over her story, he said, “I know the names of the men ... those living at the hospice and those vets that live round about and work with us, if we have a job big enough. Don’t know of anyone called Findley.”
“We think it is likely he is using another name, since Robert Findley is supposed to be dead. Do you, by chance, know a veteran called Edward or Eddie? Margaret recalled that Findley had a half-brother by that name who saw him die ... identified him.”
“Let’s see, we’ve an Edward Pembroke ... mates call him Ted; Eddie Bascomb and Eddie Collisforth. Sound familiar?”
“Not to me ... I’ll ask Margaret. She described the man as just over medium height, quite thin, in his late thirties, sad and shabby. His sparse gray-brown hair straggled over his shirt collar and his nose was long and narrow with a noticeable bump in it, as it was broken in a fall when he was a youngster. He also had a habit of hitching his shoulders up when he was concentrating on something, a mannerism she remembered.”
“Sounds like Bascomb, Eddie Bascomb.” Jordy turned them around toward the house. “I think Miss Gregor should take another look at him, just to be sure. If she is sure, then we’ll talk about what to do next. Is she in the house?”
“Yes ... she’s waiting for us in the small drawing room.”
----
“Lord, I’m so nervous I’m likely to wet myself. What if he recognizes me?”
“Shush, dear. Stop talking about soiling your drawers. Jordy might hear you.” Charlotte held Margaret’s elbow and whispered, “He will only see three affluent matrons, supporters of the Veteran’s Hospice. You’re hairstyle and tinted glasses veil your features. Don’t worry.”
Cara and Charlotte positioned themselves on either side of Margaret as they followed Jordy into the Hospice dining hall.
He spoke in a lecturing tone. “This is the dining area. All the men living at the Veteran’s Hospice are assigned to crews that are responsible for keeping the facilities clean and well maintained. They also prepare, cook, serve and clear up three meals a day. These five gentlemen, here, will be serving the mid-day meal in about a quarter of an hour.”
Leading the ladies to the service counter, Jordy took his time introducing them, without revealing their names, to Mr. Gus Netherford, Mr. Eddie Bascomb, Mr. Ted Pembroke, Mr. Albert Mayberry, and Mr. Edward Collisforth, asking each man to tell the women from what part of the Isle he was from originally. Then he thanked the men.
“If you will follow me, please, through these doors, I’ll show you the lounge where we have a well-used telly, books and magazines of varying subjects stacked on the shelves, and then there’s the billiard room just beyond.”
Margaret was very pale. The food smells from the kitchen were making her already roiling stomach more nauseous. Cara and Charlotte held her firmly between them as they exited the dining hall. Jordy closed the doors firmly behind them.
“I know it’s still drizzling, but I need to step outside for a minute or so ... need a bit of air.” Margaret moved toward the French windows in the billiard room and pushed through them holding her handkerchief against her mouth. Charlotte stayed beside her beneath the roofs wide overhang.
Standing in the opened window next to Jordy, Cara observed, “I think it’s safe to say that she is sure. That second man, Eddie Bascomb, is Robert Findley.”
“Seems to be the case”, Jordy nodded.
“Before we make further inquiry ... which is to say ... have a ‘conversation’ with Mr. Bascomb, there is another party I must speak to about this.” Jordy was facing the three women seated in his office. “I would appreciate a day or two. It will give you time, Miss Gregor, to discuss the matter with your father and Duff. It is imperative that I be present during this ‘conversation’.”
“Yes, of course.” Margaret was twisting her handkerchief around in her lap. “I don’t want Robert to be hurt. As I said before, I just want to know what happened.”
Victor was patiently waiting for the women to egress the hospice building. Climbing out of the driver’s seat, he unfurled a huge black umbrella and went to meet them at the building entrance and escorted them back to the Bentley.
“Has my husband hidden brandy or scotch or anything strong and warming in the drinks compartment back here? How do you get the damn thing to open?” Cara was pulling at the burled doors that fronted the rear seat.
“Let me help you with that, Madam. It is this spring-catch, here. Ahhh, there we are, Madam ... brandy and some malt whiskey ... four small snifters behind the slide on this side.”
“Thank you, Victor. We’re quite frazzled and can do with a bit of a knock-back. First one’s for you, Margaret, and no argument.” She handed one to Charlotte, poured one for herself, put the bottle back in its proper place, slid the door closed and snuggled into the soft leather upholstery. “When do you suppose would be the best time to tell Alistair and Duff ... before or after the evening meal ... today or tomorrow ... when?”
Margaret moaned. “Oh, lord, I don’t know. Whatever happens, I’ve created a fuss involving my family and likely it will all come to nothing.”
Charlotte wasn’t paying attention to the remarks made by the two younger women, as she’d been chewing over the “Robbie” problem since leaving Jordy’s office. “The wedding is next Saturday, so it must be settled this week”, she began. “Jordy wants a day or two and if we say something to Duff and Alistair too soon, they will stew. This is what I think might be the best thing to do ... if you both agree. We’ll call Jordy tomorrow morning and ask how soon he will be ready for the meeting. Then, we’ll have a timeframe and be able to tell our men folk all about the matter just before we have the so-called ‘conversation’ with Mr. Bascomb.”
“Smart thinking ... Mom. What do you say, Margaret?”
“Yes ... I think it’s a good plan ... Mom.”
....
Tuesday afternoon after tea, Margaret, feeling stronger and convinced that what she intended to do was warranted, sat between Charlotte and Cara and told her father and brother about Robert Findley. Jordy was also present. At first, all either man could say was ... “Are you certain? “Are you positively certain?”
Having established that she was indeed positively certain, Alistair paced the drawing room floor angrily chewing on his unlit cigar. Duff swore and whipped the air in front of his feet with his cane. Jordy kept his head bowed and said nothing.
“Alive ... the damn scoundrel has been alive all this time, was alive when he read Margaret’s letter telling him she was carrying his child. The sniveling coward never wrote her, never called her, and never bloody married her. I’m sorry”, Duff growled. “I can’t fathom a man that could behave so gutlessly.”
“I wanted to keep that child of yours, Daughter ... but your mother wouldn’t have it. In her mind, adoption was the only possible option ... to save the family from ruin and disgrace. Poppycock!!” Alistair slammed his cigar into the nearest waste bin. “I should have stood up to Louisa ... stood up for you, my girl. It was always that way. Your mother had a way of getting what she wanted most of the time ... made life easier for me when she did. How old would she be now, that girl of yours?”
“Sixteen ... Sixteen in June, Da, a young lady.”
Having earlier steeled her resolve, Margaret told them that she had decided to talk to the man who called himself, Eddie Bascomb ... alone. It was, after all, a personal concern between the two of them, not the whole family.
“Don’t argue with me, please. This is my affair and, even though I weakened and brought all of you into it, it is ultimately my responsibility to handle it alone. Da and Duff can come along and wait in another room. I know Cara and Charlotte have to pick-up their dresses tomorrow morning after a final fitting. We can meet somewhere for luncheon and I’ll tell you all what happened.”
It was the Wednesday morning before the Gregor wedding on Saturday that the ‘encounter’ with Mr. Bascomb was to be held in Jordy’s office.
The Gregor’s sat in the waiting room outside Jordy’s door. “We’ll stay right here in the waiting room, Margaret”, Duff assured her, “unless we feel it is absolutely necessary to interfere.”
Jordy escorted a short, plump, pretty woman in her late thirties into the room. “Hello all. Joyce ... I’d like you to meet the best people I know.” He then proceeded to introduce the Gregor’s to Joyce Travis Frye, his sister.
“Sit down, Sis. Let me tell the Gregor’s your story.” Jordy led his sister to the shabby sofa and sat down beside her.
“Joyce met a good-looking fellow by the name of Robert (Robbie) Findley, an up-and-coming young barrister, in the spring of 1938. They dated for several months and became engaged that Christmas. In the summer of ’39 he joined the infantry division of His Majesty’s army. A few weeks before his battalion shipped out, he and Joyce spent a romantic weekend together. They weren’t able to spend much time with each other before he shipped out, but she did have an address so she could write to him. And, she did write to him ... telling him she was carrying his child, but he never wrote back.”
Jordy hesitated and looked over at Margaret whose mouth was set in a stiff line, as was her body.
He continued. “She received the telegram in January 1940 that Robert Findley was killed in a battle against the Italians south of Barran, Italy. Daniel Robert Travis was born in April 1940. He is sixteen years old. In 1946, Joyce married Gunther Frye, a fine man, a good husband and wonderful father. Immediately after the wedding he adopted Danny and to date, the Frye’s have five children”, he said, pressing his lips to the back of his sister’s hand.
Cheeks flushed, Joyce looked at Margaret. “I understand you were also engaged to Mr. Findley, Miss Gregor, and I would like to join you in your ‘conversation’ with Mr. Bascomb. I know he treated you the same way he treated me. Which is to say ... he abandoned us to our ‘fate’.”
Margaret’s body ached to be able to stand in front of Robert Findley and wallop the be-Jesus out of him. She was livid ... that cowardly, two-timing bastard had dishonored two women, possibly more, who loved him and trusted him with their bodies. He had also ignored the existence of his children.
“Do you mind, Miss Gregor? I’d rather like to see the expression on his face when he sees the two of us sitting opposite him. I don’t think either of us has changed so dramatically that he couldn’t recognize us.” Joyce grinned shyly.
“I don’t mind at all ... and please call me Margaret.” She walked over to Joyce, reached for her hands and pressed them sympathetically.
With unwavering determination, the women walked toward Jordy’s office. Turning to the men who were looking doubtful and squirming in their seats, Margaret quipped, “Don’t worry, we’re not armed.”
A scruffy Mr. Bascomb came into the office through a second door that opened from a dimly lit hallway. He scrunched a battered hat in his hands and, not seeing Jordy, looked puzzled, as there were two well-dressed, nice-looking, middle-aged women sitting behind the desk instead of the hospice director. “Jordy asked me to come up here at eleven o’clock. Are you ladies needing some work done?”
“Please sit down, Robbie.” Margaret pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.” She said firmly when he staggered a bit and backed up.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the chair. “Name’s Eddie Bascomb, Maam, not Robbie. I don’t know a Robbie. Well, I did know a Robbie ... my half brother, but he died in the war ... uh ... ‘bout 1940. There was a strong family resemblance ... reasonable mistake.”
“We are not mistaken. You, Robert Findley, did not die in Italy in 1940, you are sitting right here in front of us. Surely we haven’t changed that much in seventeen years. Since we recognized you, you certainly ought to be able to recognize us”, replied Margaret coolly.
He took his time and looked at them, gazing first at Margaret because she seemed to be in charge. Then he looked over at Joyce. Shee-it! They know me for sure.
“I see”, he said, slowly shaking his head. “Never thought this day would come. But here it is. Both of you looking at me like I was a dung beetle.”
“Perfect description ... a scabby bug that eats faeces”, commented Joyce. “I’m a former teacher and know about such things.”
He was thinking fast. He used to be good at thinking on his feet. He couldn’t let two silly women from his past cause him grief now for what had been done seventeen years ago. Best to jolly them along ... tell ‘em just enough to placate their wounded prides. Then maybe they’ll sod off and let me be. A thin smile spread across Robert Findley’s stubbly face as he leaned back in the spindly chair, crossed his ankles and folded his hands in his lap.
He tilted his head and said nonchalantly. “Well, you ladies look prosperous and well tended. Tell me all about yourselves. Are you married ... have any children?”
Margaret rose and calmly walked around the desk to stand beside him, drew back her arm and smacked him across the face, satisfyingly stinging the palm of her hand.
The shock of the blow knocked him over causing him to hit his head on the hardwood floor. Rolling onto his side he grabbed the edge of the desk, levered himself to his feet, rubbed the back of his head while he held up his other hand to fend off any further assault, and yelled, “For God sake, Margaret, you’re acting crazy!”
“Stop whining!” Joyce snapped. “She was just wiping that stupid smirk off your face.“
“You were not asked up here to ask questions, but to answer them.” Margaret said over her shoulder as she rounded the desk and sat down again. “Pick up the chair and sit in it.” At this point, the ladies noticed that door to the waiting room was slightly ajar.
“Listen to me”. He growled. “I don’t have to stay here and tell you anything. No matter what you say ... my name is Eddie Bascomb and I, sure as hell, don’t know who you two balmy women are.”
He whipped around to leave the room and recoiled as Jordy and the two men who financially supported the Hospice walked through the doorway.
“They’ve made a mistake, Jordy. They’re thinking I’m Robert Findley. It’s an understandable mistake. Like I tried to explain to the ladies, Robbie was my half-brother and we looked a lot alike. But, he died in the war. I was there ... I watched him get killed.” He stood with his feet apart and his arms stubbornly crossed over his chest. “The war office will tell you that I am Eddie Bascomb.”
“You can stop your blithering ... we overheard everything, Findley.”
After putting three chairs that were stacked in the corner nearer his desk, Jordy laid his hand on Robbie’s shoulder and pressed him back into his appointed chair. Margaret moved from behind the desk and sat next to her father and Jordy took the chair next to his sister.
“We haven’t made plans, as yet, to report you to the authorities. That will depend on how cooperative you are. Having just met one another this morning, the ladies think they’ve figured out why you played dead, but these gentlemen and I know that Miss Gregor and Mrs. Frye had no way of proving their allegations against you those many years ago ... if either had tried to force you into marrying them, and, as a barrister, you knew it, too.” Jordy leaned toward the man he’d known as Bascomb and continued in a low menacing tone. “Why did you switch dog tags with your half-brother, Findley; the man who looked so much like you?”
“I know my rights and you can’t prove any of this jabber is true.”
“Nonsense, Findley”, retorted Duff, “The Royal Infantry has your fingerprints on file just as Jordy does. Remember? All Vets that are in residence at this hospice had to voluntarily submit to fingerprinting ... identity precaution should any of you go missing or have an accident.”
Robert Findley did remember and visibly shrunk in his seat. “It makes no difference why I did it ... it all came to naught anyway. I’m on the dole ... live in a hospice ... got nothin’. Just leave me be.”
“Tell us why you did it, Findley”, coaxed Jordy.
“Alright ... I’ll be cooperating.” He said snidely. Ignoring the women, he glared at the men and began: “The Wops were beating the hell out of us ... should have bloody been told to retreat days before, but we weren’t ... so kept our positions and battled it out. Hundreds of maggot covered dead Brits were piled around us and still we had to stay and fight.” He shuddered remembering. “The third day Eddie caught a blast in the face. Right beside me he was. Some shrapnel hit my face and chest so I went down next to him. I thought, ‘Gawd, Eddie’s dead. My soon-to-be-bloody-rich half-brother is dead. The heir to the Bascomb Estate is dead.’ It was like a flick in slow motion. Even as the hazy thought was forming, I’d slipped off my tags, then reached over and carefully removed Eddie’s tags so I wouldn’t touch the mass of squashy flesh oozing blood where his face had been ... put mine over his head and scooted as far from him as I could ... crawled behind a bunker and waited to be taken to an ambulance.”
“So why aren’t you living in a fancy house enjoying your brother’s inheritance?” asked Alistair.
Findley ignored him. “In the hospital I couldn’t think straight ... kept getting my name wrong. The doctors told me I was Eddie Bascomb, not Robbie Findley. I got better ... made plans as Eddie. By the time I demobbed, my mother and stepfather in London thought I was dead and Eddie’s estate was in Manchester hundreds of miles away. As Eddie, I made excuses every time Mother, who was Eddie’s stepmother, wanted me to come to London or suggested she should come to Manchester ... travel was difficult, German air attacks were always a problem, unsuitable weather, whatever.”
Robert Findley rubbed the back of his neck, sighed and continued. “Had a ‘breakdown’ in the summer of ‘42 ... was sent back to hospital and released in the spring of ’43. While I was in the wards, His bloody Majesty’s Royal Army took over Bascomb Manor. Made it into their area headquarters. I had to stay in a room over a pub feeling hopeless and miserable most of the time, unable to sleep ... spent the days wandering about the countryside and the nights drinking and gambling with the local toffs too old for military duty. At first, I’d win a lot of the time. But, that streak didn’t last long ... due to the drinking, I suppose. To make a long story short, by the time the war ended I no longer owned Bascomb Manor ... lost all the money. I spent 1946 in a military hospital outside of Manchester and have been in and out of mental wards and nursing homes ever since. When I came here a year or so ago, I didn’t connect you Gregor’s with Margaret Gregor, because I hadn’t thought of her in years ... same with Joyce, there. My mind isn’t usually as clear as it is today.”
He looked at Joyce and then over at Margaret. “I’m surprised I was able to recognize the two of you this morning or remember your names. The medication I’ve been taking has helped me to hold a job, live in the hospice instead of a nursing home, and to think quick like I used to ... was a pretty smart lad, once upon a time.”
Looking up at Jordy he asked, “Well, what happens next?”
Jordy turned to the Gregor’s and Joyce. “May I make the determination concerning the immediate future of this man?” They nodded ... agreed that he could.
“Nothing, actually. Stay on your medications, continue working at Humphrey’s, and do the chores you’ve been assigned here at the hospice. As far as I’m concerned, you may continue to pass yourself off as Eddie Bascomb. But, understand this, you may never speak to or try to get in touch with either of these ladies. Agreed?”
“Fine with me”, he said. “This inquisition sure as hell wasn’t my idea. Can I go now?”
Jordy nodded and Eddie Bascomb strode quickly through the door.
....
Spontaneous applause and joyous shouts of congratulations filled the ballroom as gold and silver confetti flakes floated and settled on the high styled hairdos and formally dressed shoulders of the bride and groom and all who attended the Gregor wedding as the Most Reverend Alexander McNamara pronounced the elder pair ... husband and wife.
Alistair held tightly to Charlotte’s arm as each guest approached them and passed on their good wishes with a vigorous handshake or an affectionate hug, depending on whether the well-wisher was male or female. He had his precious bride and all he wanted now was to spirit her away to their honeymoon suite at the London Hilton on Park Lane. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. There were the many toasts, speeches and the cutting of the cake that had yet to take place. We should have eloped ... flown to Paris ... maybe not Paris, too wet, too busy, but somewhere warm ... Madrid ... should have flown to Madrid ...
“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear, my mind took flight ... but I had you with me all the same.” He smiled at Charlotte and whispered. “I want to be off ... just you and me.”
She gazed up at him nodding. “As soon as we slice the cake, let’s dash to our rooms and call Victor to meet us near the Conservatory. Due to your brilliant foresight, our luggage is already in the boot.”
----
“They’re off, are they?” Jordy met Fiona as she re-entered the ballroom. He’d been watching for her return and was getting anxious. She’d been gone nearly a half an hour. But, here she was ... a beautiful, brightly polished vision in a soft shiny tangerine-colored strapless dress.
“Yes, they’ve gone. They are so happy, Jordy. Can you believe such happiness can happen to people ... and at their age, too?”
“Makes a bloke feel that it could happen to him... hope so, anyway.” He reached for Fi’s hand. “Dance with me?”
“I’d like that.”
He led her onto the floor and then let himself do what he’d wanted to do since he’d met her. Tightening his arm around her waist, he pressed her right hand against his chest, burrowed his nose into the mass of pale copper hair just behind her right ear, kissed it and murmured, “Would you call our dancing together like this an ‘outing’, Fi? Huh uh ... please ... don’t pull away from me, lass.”
Fi hesitated then allowed her body to soften against his, buried her face into the curve of his neck and moved as one with him across the floor, out through the double doors and onto the gallery.
They continued to dance toward the far end of the terrace until the music could no longer be heard. By that time he was kissing her. To be truthful, after the first few seconds, they were kissing each other.
“We’re supposed to be getting to know one another.” Fi mumbled before he covered her mouth with his again. Pulling back she looked up at him and said, “Behaving this way only complicates matters.” Then sighed and drew his lips to hers and held on.
Slowly breaking apart, Jordy cupped her face. “Have I told you that you look fantastic ... that I can hardly breathe when I’m so close to you?”
Face flushed with pleasure, Fi smiled up at him. “Thank you, Jordy. You look fantastic, too.” He took her hand and they strolled back to the ballroom.
“I’d like us to get to know each other better, too.” He said. “But, I want to take you on ‘dates’ not ‘outings’ ... kiss you hello and goodbye ... there’s lots more, but you’ve got the idea, I think”
Chuckling, she said, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the idea.”
“Dance the rest of the night with me and let me take you home.” He said and wrapped her in his arms once more and began swaying to the slow strains of Unforgettable.
“I came in Richard’s Topo”, she murmured. “Maybe Duff won’t mind if I leave it here and pick it up tomorrow.”
----
Fiona snuggled into the soft fresh smelling bed that had been Charlotte Hamblin’s, but was now hers ... for a while, anyway. She was tired and happy, but not sleepy. Too many things were whirling in her head. Of course, those ‘things’ happened to be only one ‘thing’... Jordy Travis. It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before. Many chaps had fallen for her pretty face, mass of auburn hair and large boobs, not in that particular order, she knew. Later, when her exuberance about sports, lively independent nature, average interest in cultural pursuits and the desire for hearth and home became clear, all bets were off. It was jealousy and the ‘hearth and home’ that bothered Richard. The rest of the list was a real problem for Jack.
What am I, or, what am I not that might be a problem for Jordy? I’m twenty-five and haven’t had much experience with men ... been seriously interested in only two and slept with only one. I loved him, back then, and he said he loved me. He didn’t, not really. Live and learn, Fi. Live and learn and, for heaven sake ... it’s two o’clock in the morning ... go to sleep!
----
His flat was all right, but what he really wanted was a home. Jordy was ready ... more than ready to settle down, get married and start a family. After all, he would be thirty-two this year. He had a job he liked, even though it was a volunteer position. He enjoyed working with the veterans and with the Gregor’s. The Travis Woolen Mills were family owned and operated. His older brothers, Hamilton and Woodrow, ran the two Mills in Scotland, which financially afforded Jordy the freedom to take on the Veteran’s Hospice. He had had the full support of his deceased father and his brothers backed him to the hilt, as well. Now it was time to find his ‘ideal’ woman and she just might be Fiona Dunne.
She was pretty and warm, smart, funny and high-spirited, he thought. She was also Richard Hamblin’s girlfriend for over a year. He worried about that. How did she feel about him now that he’d gone to New York? She’d been practically adopted by his mother, had moved into his mother’s house, and drove his car.
There’s no hurry ... just ask her out and get to know her.
I want to hold her and kiss her and too soon, I know that won’t be enough. I fancy her more than any girl I’ve met yet. She holds me like I want to be held and kisses me back. She blushes when I compliment her. How many girls blush anymore? She’s generous, too ... offered to take some vets to the Lion’s matches with the season tickets she got for Christmas. Figure Richard was probably the one that gave them to her.
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