Gemma Makes Her Mark, page 4
Over the years since then, Anne had used every opportunity to throw in Jeffrey’s face the fact that it was her family who had the money and who had provided the house and the rest. She had used that strategy to force Jeffrey to attend to her every need and had never wasted the opportunity to demean him and his background, even if in what she convinced herself was a playful manner, and especially whenever they were meeting with or entertaining any friends or family.
Although she hadn’t been aware of it at the time, years later as she reviewed her feelings, Gemma had realised that her mother had no real interest in her and didn’t really enjoy motherhood, and especially the restraints it might have put on her. However, these could hardly be deemed onerous, particularly as most of the domestic work had been farmed out to nannies, cooks and cleaners. The only times Gemma could remember laughing and playing at home had been when her father was with her. Even that would have been manageable if it hadn’t been for the way her mother had treated her dad when he became ill, which had occurred when Gemma was old enough to be aware of what was happening. Although Jeffrey was only in his mid-fifties, heavy smoking had caught up with him, as with many men of his era, and lung cancer had taken hold. Looking back it appeared to Gemma that Anne had seen her husband’s illness and subsequent death as an opportunity to move on and essentially had done her best to ignore both her husband and her daughter. She had gone on mini-holidays and nights out with Ruth – Anne’s best friend, a would-be socialite who was distantly related to the Cunard family and had become friendly with Nancy Cunard, the only child of the Cunard Line heir Sir Bache, in the years before her death in 1965. Ruth had her own apartment on New Bond Street in the West End and Gemma recalled that Anne seemed to be spending more and more time there once her husband became ill. Sure, Anne had paid for private treatment for Jeffrey but that was doubtless only for appearances’ sake and as some sort of salve for her conscience. By the time Gemma reached her mid-teenage years and even before her father’s illness had taken hold, she had grown to hate the pretentiousness of her mother, and of Ruth for that matter. On top of her swanning around while Gemma’s dad was dying, her mother had decided to take up golf and had joined ‘The Sands’, better known as the Farnham Golf Club, no doubt seeing it as another opportunity for social networking and climbing.
In part because it was expected from the upper sixth formers of Farnham Girls Grammar School, but also to avoid living in the family house with her mother, soon after her father’s death in 1976 Gemma had gone straight to university and then on to her probation job. Although Surrey University was only a few miles away in Guildford, Gemma had made sure she got a place in the halls of residence for her first year and had never moved back to Farnham. However, she had determined at her dad’s funeral that she would get some sort of revenge on her mother in due course. She would never forgive the way her dad had been left knowing his wife was more interested in moving on and socialising than caring for him.
It was odd how all of that played back in her mind on the journey back from court that Friday afternoon. She wasn’t going to forget her father or let her mother get away with how she’d treated him; and, unbeknown to him, Mark would be given a big part to play in helping her carry it all through. As she turned into the parking space alongside their cottage – one of the benefits of it being an end terrace property – she could smell and hear the barbecue and see the smoke drifting invitingly over the side gate into their back garden. Before getting out of her car she dabbed a bit of her oddly-named Opium perfume around her wrists and ears – Gemma thought it was strange that perfume manufacturers used class A drugs to label their products. Gemma felt good that she had made a decision of sorts about her future.
As she wandered into the garden, Gemma could see that Mark was wearing his compromise for shorts, cut away jeans, and a white T-shirt and was oblivious to anything other than the task in hand. Gemma felt a twinge of guilt: he looked happy and really quite cool. He really had no idea of what had been going on in her head ever since she’d sat with her then boss, David, in one of the interview rooms at Ford Prison and helped prepare Mark’s parole application. In actual fact, she had really quite enjoyed helping him sort himself out after his release and then them becoming a couple; and even if it wasn’t true love she had certainly felt some affection for him. It might have been manipulative but in spite of his gullibility to any kind of flattery it had been good fun as well; and to be fair he was better company and better in bed than the various males she had hooked up with at university and since. Nonetheless, Gemma had her motivations and felt they were more than merited; and anyway, they didn’t necessarily preclude some sort of a future for Mark and her. She was prepared to see how things went.
She crept up on him and put her arms round his chest.
‘Hi, you look cool! I hope you’ve got something ready to drink too.’
‘Yes there’s some white wine in the fridge, or else a lager if you’d prefer.’
He was quite domesticated too, which had impressed Gemma. He knew that she would have had a trying day at court and had prepared an inviting-looking side salad to go with the burgers and chops sizzling and spitting away on the barbecue.
Gemma poured herself a glass of Riesling and pulled the somewhat rickety wooden table they had found in the shed into position. Although the shadows were beginning to lengthen it was still a lovely, slightly muggy summer evening. Mark served up his culinary effort; even though food always seemed to taste better when eaten outdoors, it was still quite impressive. They sat in a couple of fold-out chairs, looking out over the fields that backed onto the row of cottages and watching, a way further on, a herd of black and white Friesians meandering back to the farm buildings for their evening milking.
‘You know I do appreciate this, Mark. Let’s go down to the pub for a couple of drinks later on. I’m going to go and have a shower and change. Why don’t you come and give my back a massage after that, before we go out?’
Mark recognised the invitation as a thinly disguised euphemism and couldn’t help smiling; not a bad way to start the weekend, he thought. It was encouraging that it was her idea as well. As usual Gemma certainly looked good in what she termed her ‘court clothes’ and he couldn’t miss the naughty smirk as she brushed past him on her way indoors.
After the initial excitement of the move to Petworth and since living together things had become less spontaneous and even less regular. Of course, he realised that Gemma had a full-time job but then he did more than his share of looking after things. It wasn’t that they weren’t having sex, just that it less frequently involved her taking the lead. He heard the shower spring to life and felt the usual stirrings as he took their plates to the kitchen sink and topped up their drinks.
It was nice to wash the week away and as she let the water sprinkle through her hair, Gemma knew she’d enjoy Mark sorting her out; and she would enjoy playing her part too. And even if it might be that she was using him, as people would no doubt put it, he was having a bloody good time of it as well. She enjoyed sex and it was a source of pride-cum-duty that she always liked to make sure that her partner did too.
***
Her meeting Mark at Ford Open Prison as he was being considered for parole had presented the glimmer of an opportunity that, perhaps even unknown to herself at first, Gemma had been waiting for ever since her father died. It was apparent that he had made a pretty decent job of poisoning both of his in-laws some years previously; and on reading up on his case she discovered that if he’d have been a bit more together and a better judge of character he would probably never have been found out. Gemma knew she was good-looking and had played on that of course, and played on him. Without having any definite plan but just an inkling that he could perhaps help her somehow, she had homed in on Mark as a potential ally in getting back at her mother, even perhaps getting rid of her. Rather pathetically, too, she actually quite liked playing along to the part of a soft, naïve and impressionable young woman coming to terms with work in the ‘real’ world. At the same time she had to admit that she had liked the looks he gave her on her first visit to Ford. Of course, there wasn’t much competition given he had been in prison for around six years, but he had an air of self-confidence bordering on arrogance that she liked, as well as a bit of class too, and he was obviously reasonably intelligent – and, to be fair, reasonable-looking as well. She had expected to be dealing with offenders who had problems reading and writing rather than those with post-graduate qualifications and university teaching experience.
As well as that, though, Mark had proved remarkably easy for her to manipulate. She smiled to herself as she remembered the way he had lapped up her massaging of his ego when he was telling her about the supposedly famous sociologists he’d known and worked with. They might have written the odd, fairly readable and indeed arguably erudite text – and she had enjoyed parts of her Sociology degree at Surrey too – but they were hardly iconic figures of the age or even household names. Harold Garfinkel, David Matza and the like were unlikely to be recognised and mobbed on the streets; and their work might not have moved humankind on a great deal. Nonetheless Sociology had given Gemma and Mark some common ground and getting to know him had proved more fun than she had imagined it would – he had more about him than her previous dates and boyfriends. Actually, it made her quite horny thinking of how she’d managed things since meeting him and since his release last November. She realised that she had been rubbing the soap between her legs for longer than usual and shouted to Mark to come up and see to her. No harm in mixing pleasure with scheming. As she waited for him she found herself pondering briefly on the difference between revenge and vengeance. Maybe revenge implied something more personal and more equivalent too, a sort of balancing out of things. Vengeance could be disproportionate, gratuitous even. It could go over the top.
Anyway, Gemma was quite prepared to take her time: if she had to play the long game, fair enough, but she wasn’t going to forget and she was determined and certain that she’d get what she wanted in the end. Even though Gemma had purposely not gone into that much detail about her childhood and family life, she had told Mark enough to get him interested. After all, his criminal career had involved manipulating his first set of in-laws and even if she wasn’t planning to marry him, her mother was a sort of quasi in-law. Since they had got together after his release, Gemma had hinted pretty strongly that she and her mother were left very well off after her father died, and that her initial description of her childhood as being a happy one was only true in part and that in reality she and Anne had a frosty if not dysfunctional relationship. She passed it off with a little psychological babble about her not being able to face up to and admit to the actuality of her childhood, and how she probably found it more comforting to believe that it had been the way she wanted it to be.
It hadn’t taken long for Gemma to start seeing Mark as a partner in more ways than one. Soon after their first few weeks together, she realised that it might well be sensible for Mark and Anne to get along; something told her that at some stage she would need Anne to trust him and perhaps, even probably, fancy him a little. Gemma was well aware of her mother’s love of any sort of interest or flattery and of Mark’s ability to deliver in that direction.
While there was certainly no love lost between Gemma and Anne, she had to admit that her mother wasn’t a bad looking woman. As with so many women of her background and generation, the cigarettes and drink had taken their toll but with a decent amount of make-up and her expensive dresses she did manage to exude a sort of glamour. As well as that, Mark was in his mid-thirties and probably less than twenty years younger than her mum; so really there was only slightly a bigger age gap than between Mark and herself. Strange how it was definitely more acceptable for older men to have younger female partners or lovers; the other way around always seemed to smack of desperation on the one hand or greed on the other – mind you, no doubt there were always exceptions.
Mark’s self-belief, which had been apparent even given his situation as a lifer trying for parole, had amused her too. He hadn’t thought it odd or even unlikely when she had offered to arrange finding a flat for him in her name, so as to avoid any awkward questions about his past. It seemed he was too full of himself to assume it was anything other than the fact she was absolutely crazy about him and couldn’t wait to spend time with him when he got out. She’d been careful not to overdo it, but had started to plant the idea that, as employment prospects for him might not be too great after a lengthy prison term, maybe they could do something together. She hadn’t actually, or even yet over half a year on, referred to his pretty sound knowledge of poisoning and murder, but had let slip that maybe they could make use of her family’s wealth in some way.
Even before any type of plan had begun to be formulated, Gemma recognised that it would be important to ensure that Mark believed it was he who was the one persuading her – to feed him the ideas and let them take hold and him take over. For now, she must make sure that she and Mark spent more time with her mother, with more regular visits to Farnham. She would have to start to get Anne to trust Mark, but she needed him to know more about how much she hated her mother. Although she had started to hint at it, that was something she hadn’t really gone into any detail about with him. The key was that it would have to be Mark who believed he was persuading her to engineer and carry through any sort of plan.
***
Mark appeared at the bathroom door with a couple of glasses of wine.
‘I’ve done some strawberries and cream for after if you want.’
‘That’s nice. Come on, give me a cuddle; you smell of barbecue and beer. Look, I’ve been thinking, let’s go up to my mum’s tomorrow, I need to talk to her about what she’s going to do with the house and everything. Thing is, I’m getting a little worried ’cos the last couple of times I’ve talked to her she’s sounded a bit odd, and I’m getting a bit bothered about her desperation to find a new man. Even though she looks a bit of a wreck without her make-up, she’s still only in her mid-fifties and I’m not too keen on anyone else homing in on her, and particularly her money.’
That was enough of a hint for now. She wrapped herself in a towel, directed him to the bedroom and lay back and let Mark take over. He really was getting quite adept and seemed to enjoy it too. After she had finished, she undid the buttons on his jeans-cum-shorts, checked he was hard enough and pulled him on top of her. He didn’t take long himself.
‘I reckon all those years away has certainly improved your technique. I bet you’re better than ever now that you’ve had all that time to appreciate what you were missing.’
There was no harm in a little flattery after all; and he was pretty good, she had to admit.
‘Come on, after I’ve tried your skills in the dessert area let’s get dressed and walk into town. I fancy a drink or two tonight.’
***
Although they’d got through another couple of bottles at the Angel Inn in the centre of Petworth and meandered back the half mile or so home well after closing time, Gemma woke up early the next morning. The sun was streaming through the little upstairs cottage window and she could see the cows were already well into their day’s munching and chewing. She phoned her mother and said she and Mark fancied a Saturday drive and would call in and bring something for lunch and maybe spend the afternoon there. Even though Anne had an array of helpers, from cleaner to cook to gardener, Gemma said they’d help sort through and tidy up some of the junk that had been left in the garage since Jeffrey died.
Gemma brought a cup of tea up to Mark and reminded him that they had things to do.
‘You go down to the garage shop and get some cheese and ham for later, and maybe some of their nice bread. I’ll tidy up the barbecue stuff and then we’ll head off to Farnham.’
By the time they were ready to go, it was nice enough to have the roof down, so Gemma drove them up in the MG. The twenty or so mile trip would give her the opportunity to continue to work on Mark. The Downs looked spectacular as they drove up to Haslemere and the borders with Surrey and Hampshire before crossing the A3 Portsmouth to London road at Hindhead, which, according to a newly erected welcome sign, was the highest village in Surrey. As they slowed down to negotiate the congestion in the town centre before heading up to Beacon Hill and the Farnham road, she started.
‘Look Mark, there’s some things about my family you probably need to know. My dad did leave me a decent amount, enough to cover renting the flat in Littlehampton for as long as I wanted and for the car too, but he wasn’t particularly wealthy in his own right; the real family money was and still is my mother’s. She had all the money as well as a pile of shares from her father and grandfather and from what I’ve been able to pick up it’s a small fortune, close on half a million at least. The house itself may have been hers and Dad’s but that’s all hers now of course. Anyway, it was mainly her family’s money which enabled them to get the house in the first place.’
Mark put down the crossword he’d been toying with.
‘Well, sure, I guessed as much. So where does that leave you and us?’
Now she had his attention she pushed on.
‘The thing is, Mum and I never got on particularly well and never will. I’m sure you must have picked up on that anyway. And she’s so desperate to be the centre of attention I don’t trust her with that money. It might seem callous and mercenary but, I mean, it’d be difficult for me if she got herself another man, and from the way she lashes out on her clothes and hair and the rest I think she’s got her sights set somewhere. You know if she did re-marry, any inheritance that might come my way could well disappear.’
She’d finished by the time they pulled down through Frensham and were heading toward Farnham. It would be better to leave it to Mark to come up with the idea of the two of them working together to avoid the scenario she’d just presented. Sow the idea and let it grow. Mark might be a bit slow at times but she knew he wasn’t stupid.
