Gemma Makes Her Mark, page 5
***
The air of affluence and class was apparent as they negotiated the south side of Farnham before turning into Lynch Lane and the impressive detached houses, almost hidden behind hedged and manicured front gardens.
‘Yes, it is bloody impressive down here,’ Mark muttered almost to himself.
Gemma could see that Mark’s brain was whirring. The Times crossword page had long since settled on the floor by his feet.
The family house itself was at the top end of the road, built to a contemporary, but still slightly neo-Tudor style in the early 1950s. It was set in large grounds of at least half an acre; but it wasn’t just the house, it was the furniture and contents that also evidenced more than new money. Anne’s grandfather had invested in what was at the time modern art: particularly impressive were a couple of Maxfield Parrish paintings he’d brought at some sort of private sale when he was in New York on shipping business in the 1930s. The pictures, ‘Winter Sunrise’ and ‘Hilltop’, were hung alongside one another at the top of the staircase. Gemma had pointed them out at his previous and first visit to the house and Mark had resolved to check out the potential value as soon as he got back to Petworth. He had looked into it and had found out that Parrish had died sometime in the 1960s, which made it highly likely that his work must have soared in value since. However, Mark hadn’t yet got round to taking his interest any further.
As the house itself came into view, Gemma felt her usual wave of bitterness. She had been brought up there and stayed until she was almost twenty. It should have been the ideal place to grow up but she had few happy memories of it. She’d felt the solitude, almost abandonment, of an only child and had spent hours and days in her room, or else, and particularly when she was younger, in the trees at the bottom of the garden, often escaping there while her mother and father were arguing with one another, or more typically just not communicating at all.
Gemma parked on the gravelled forecourt in front of the garage doors and they let themselves in through the side door and into the kitchen. They found Anne in the sitting room, looking out over the large rear garden, smoking as usual with a couple of her magazines on the occasional table next to her. Gemma noticed Country Life and Vogue, magazines that had arrived regularly for as long as she could remember. On first impression her mother looked quite elegant and even attractive, but a closer look highlighted the heavily applied make-up doing its best to hide a somewhat ravaged complexion. As was the norm when Anne was growing up, she hadn’t taken much notice of the sun and the fact that her family had been able to enjoy lengthy summer holidays in France and Spain had gradually but inexorably left their mark.
Mark had only met Gemma’s mother on a few brief occasions and it struck him that he’d never really looked at the person who possibly – presumably, really – was his potential mother-in-law. On closer inspection, she looked a good deal older than her fifty-five years – or fifty-six, he couldn’t remember which. In spite of that, she still retained a certain attractiveness, albeit in a strange sort of way. However, the overall effect was oddly disconcerting; he couldn’t quite decide whether it most resembled a kind of faded femme fatale look or, perhaps more accurately, a watered-down type of gothic horror. He could see what Gemma had meant about her not necessarily planning to stay single for ever, or even long. It definitely smacked of a desperate attempt to turn back the years and remain desirable.
Gemma went over and gave her mother a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
‘I’ll make some sandwiches and tea for lunch – ham and mustard, if that’s okay – then we’ll have a go at sorting through a few of Dad’s things. You stay there, Mother.’
Anne seemed happy enough to let her daughter take charge.
‘That’s nice of you, Gemma. Elaine was here to do some cleaning this morning but she never stays longer than a couple of hours on Saturdays and spends most of that time making herself coffee. I sometimes wonder what I’m paying her for.’
Mark trailed after Gemma into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘Who the hell’s Elaine?’
‘She’s mother’s sort of servant really – does a little cleaning and cooking; and washing, ironing and the rest, come to think of it. She was even around when I was a child. It’s strange, you know, but thinking about it my mother didn’t really seem to do very much at all. As well as that there’s even another woman, Alma, who seems to clean once or twice a week as well. Heaven knows what the division of labour is, though.’
Mark thought he’d have a closer look around the house while Gemma was getting lunch organised. He had noticed a few interesting bits and pieces on his only previous visit but hadn’t had time or a particular reason to examine them closely. With what Gemma had told him earlier it seemed sensible to check things out properly.
Although there was no discernible pattern or coherence to the furnishings and décor of the inside, it was obvious that there were some pretty pricey items there. The large, open-plan hall had a couple of matching Victorian spoon back chairs, one gentleman’s and one lady’s, which Mark reckoned must be worth a good £500 each. They still had their original castors as well. He’d have to get the Miller’s Guides out and check them later. In one of the four rooms off the hall there was what he reckoned to be a mahogany dining table along with six matching carved chairs that were equally impressive and presumably valuable. The study, which clearly hadn’t been touched since Jeffrey died a few years back, contained an elegant leather-topped desk and a separate Davenport, as well as a couple of what looked like original Victorian watercolours. In contrast, the chairs and sofas in the sitting room and morning room had presumably been top of the range in the late 1950s but looked out of place and out of time too; and probably of little real value. The 1960s style sideboard and record player were even more incongruous next to a stylish, glass-fronted, and what he reckoned must be late nineteenth-century, walnut bookcase.
As well as the Parrish paintings on the upstairs landing, which he double-checked and resolved to get valued as soon as he could, there was an enormous unattributed landscape done in heavy, dark oils, and an ornate gilt framed mirror. He had no idea about the various china vases and jugs scattered somewhat randomly around the four bedrooms on the first floor – but they’d be worth checking out later.
By the time Gemma called out that lunch was ready, he was well aware that there had been and still was serious money in her family. She caught him at the bottom of the stairs as she was taking a tray of sandwiches through.
‘Look Mark, you’re good with older women, remember you told me all about you and Jean and how you had her eating out of your hand. Why don’t you try your charm on Anne, she’d love a bit of attention and sweet-talking and it might be useful, who knows?’
It crossed Mark’s mind that maybe he and Gemma were coming to the same conclusion, or at least thinking along the same lines. He was fed up with not bringing any money in and she had made it clear that being a probation officer was not the be all and end all for her. Obviously he’d have to be the one to take the lead but maybe she wouldn’t need much persuading if it came to it. It was all very well thinking he had moved on but things hadn’t really happened for him since his release and if he was honest he was getting bored with the lack of direction in his life.
Gemma knew Mark well enough to be pretty sure he’d been weighing up the value of the family’s bits and pieces. Once he’d got the idea in his head that it should all come to her, she could just sit back and let him take the lead, with a nudge here and there maybe. The next step would be to let him know she would be pretty jarred off if any of her legacy went elsewhere and to convince him she wouldn’t actually give a damn if anything happened to Anne. She perhaps hadn’t let her real feelings about her mother come through fully yet. Fair enough, she had laid the groundwork but hadn’t really let rip. It wouldn’t be difficult to do that: even though her father had died four years ago, the memories of that Easter and early summer of 1977 were as vivid as ever.
She had been nineteen and at the end of a year off after completing her A-levels at Farnham Girls Grammar School; and until then she wasn’t sure if she would bother with university. After all, she wouldn’t need a career or even a job particularly. That all changed after her dad had gone. She knew that was the end of her family life and another three years as a student would be the obvious and easiest route away.
It had been a short illness and swift decline. He had been diagnosed with lung carcinoma in the March and had died within two months, from what his death certificate termed a pulmonary embolism. It wasn’t the unfairness of it that got to Gemma, but the way her mother dealt with it, basically implying that he had been a constant burden and disappointment to her. Gemma had sat with him every day, firstly at Frimley Park hospital and then at home when they’d been told it was too late to do anything other than wait. Meanwhile her mother had taken every opportunity to get away, claiming she couldn’t stand illnesses or hospitals and wasn’t any good at nursing. She had spent a good few nights out in London, apparently staying over at her friend Ruth’s apartment. Particularly galling for Gemma, she had even spent that Easter, when her dad was dying, visiting Joseph, an old friend of her Uncle Arthur’s, in his fancy villa, a few miles inland from Benalmadena on the Spanish Costa del Sol. Anne had been her uncle’s favourite, indeed only, niece. As Anne had grown older the regular family speculation over his sexuality hadn’t bothered her; although that had died down after her uncle’s death within a few months of her father’s. Maybe Joseph had been a partner to Anne’s uncle in more ways than one; and if so, good luck to them, thought Gemma. However, even though Gemma was sure that there wasn’t some sort of hideous physical attraction between Joseph and her mother, it was no excuse for her to abandon Jeffrey virtually on his deathbed. It had crossed Gemma’s mind that her mother might even have helped her dad’s deterioration along – and not just with her attitude. She’d been pretty keen to get him on the prescribed medication and to keep him heavily dosed up on it too.
Gemma couldn’t wait until it was her mother’s turn; and as far as she was concerned, the sooner the better. Anyway, it was time to galvanise Mark into doing something useful. She knew he’d been having difficulty getting anything going after prison and would be ready to throw himself into helping her sort things out. The thing was, his neediness was beginning to get to her. He obviously saw a long-term future for the two of them and Gemma knew that she’d need to keep that belief going for as long as it took. It would have to be handled delicately – she would have to balance involving him in her plans while starting to prepare him for the fact that as far as she was concerned there was no way they would be together permanently. As ever, though, one step at a time.
She took her mother’s plate and cup.
‘How about some of that chocolate cake Elaine must have made?’
‘No dear, I’ve had enough, that was very nice.’
‘Look Mother, I’m going to go through some of Dad’s stuff in the study and then the boxes in the garage. It’s been four years now and time to tidy up a bit. Why don’t you show Mark around the garden, and then get him to pour you a G & T or something? Maybe even watch a bit of TV and relax. You two should get to know each other a bit.’
There was no harm in encouraging her to drink and smoke. She winked at Mark and left them to it.
***
Mark and Gemma’s mother walked down the side of the recently cut lawn alongside the immaculately kept borders. Ever since Anne and Jeffrey had moved in soon after their marriage a little over twenty-five years ago, Jim, their gardener, had done two afternoons a week, whatever the weather. With the hot late summer sun high in the sky, it looked like a show garden, a mixture of lavender, peonies and petunias at the front of the flower beds, then an array of hydrangeas and foxgloves, with larger bushes, rhododendrons and magnolias, at the back.
‘My goodness, Anne, this is a lovely spot, you know.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. You know, it’s odd, I’ve never really spoken to Jim, the gardener. He just comes, does whatever it is he does, has a cup of tea from his flask and goes. Jeffrey used to spend hours talking to him. I don’t even know if he’s had a pay rise or anything since Jeffrey’s gone, I just leave paying him to Elaine. You’re right, though, he has done a pretty good job here. I don’t really appreciate it as much as I should.’
Mark couldn’t help himself.
‘Well, it does look in great shape; the colours are fabulous and they bring out the dress you’re wearing, you sort of match them.’
Anne turned towards him and smiled. He really was a nice young man, she was enjoying being in his company and being the centre of attention.
‘That’s nice of you Mark. As I said, it’s awful really but I hardly ever spend any time out here, I just look out and expect everything to be in order.’
Along with the perception that he was acting on auto-pilot, Mark felt a weird sense of déjà vu. Anne might have been Jean, his first, assuming for a moment she would be his second, mother-in-law. He’d tried the same sort of lines on Jean almost seven years ago, and also in her garden, near Rottingdean on the Sussex coast and overlooking the Channel, before plying her with drinks and a variety of drugs. If only he hadn’t been so fooled by Justine he’d have certainly got away with it and wouldn’t have wasted those six years. For the first time what he assumed must have been gradually developing in the back of his mind struck him forcibly; maybe he and Gemma could do things properly, and do them together this time.
Beyond the lawn and the border at the bottom edge of it was the vegetable garden that had been Jeffrey’s domain; although Jim had kept an eye on it, it wasn’t the gardener’s interest or forte really and now it looked tired and quite out of kilter with the rest of the grounds. They wandered past some straggly stems which had presumably hosted sprouts in the past; there were little white plastic sticks indicating what had once been where but the writing on them had long since faded away, much as Jeffrey himself had. Further down, at the end of garden, was almost a mini orchard: four apple trees and the same number of pear trees, with the fruit already visible, and the pears looking as if they’d be ready to pick in no more than a few weeks at the most. Then along the back edge of the grounds a row of silver birch trees and the other side of their boundary fence the back gardens of the equally prosperous houses on Old Compton Lane. It really was very pleasant, somehow relaxing, and Mark felt the first signs of him slipping into a once-familiar, and what he had presumed would be a once-only, role.
‘This is gorgeous, Anne. You know, you should have a party here one evening. With your style I know you’d be a great hostess, and after all it’s been a long time since Jeffrey passed away. Why not live a little?’
He could see Anne was enjoying herself; but perhaps too soon to suggest something a little stronger than G & Ts and cigarettes, maybe that might come along in due course. She did look in her element.
‘Well I suppose you’re right, Mark. It has been a good few years since Jeffrey died and I think I’m over it now, you know.’
Mark smiled. Maybe the fact that she was a two-faced so-and-so would help him move things along.
‘Come to think of it, we could even go up to town and catch some live music. Gemma told me you liked a bit of jazz when you were younger and they still have some good nights at the Marquee. It’s a great place, just off Oxford Street, I used to go there regularly in the early ’70s; and it’s not just kids there, they cater for a nicely diverse audience. You’d fit in fine.’
Gemma’s comment about the potential difficulties, financially anyway, if Anne re-married had been playing on his mind since his pretty perfunctory valuation of the house and its contents. He needed to do a little digging and see what her future plans were and whether she had anyone in mind.
‘You could always take someone along and we could go as a foursome. I’m sure you’ve got a good few admirers.’
Anne lit a cigarette as they finished their tour of the garden and returned to the patio and up to the French windows that opened out onto the back of the house.
‘Well I must say I’ve been out a couple of times with Jenny, an old friend from before I met Jeffrey actually, just for a bite to eat at a nice little restaurant that’s just opened up in Guildford and I did get a bit of attention. You know I didn’t tell Jenny in case it gave the impression of showing off, but I was even given a phone number by a chap who was chatting to us on one occasion and I have actually met up with him for lunch a couple of times since. He’s single, either widowed or divorced – I didn’t want to ask – but seems to be a bit of a minor celebrity in Guildford. They all knew him at both restaurants and he’s certainly got a nice motor, not sure what but certainly expensive looking. But you know, Mark, and this seems a little big-headed, I felt he was too old for me. I didn’t ask him his age of course, but I reckon I could do better and after all in my position I’m not after someone just because of their money.’
Mark played along, and the flannel came out with long-practised and not forgotten ease.
‘I’m not surprised Anne, you look bloody good for your age, you know.’
‘You’re too kind Mark, even if it is just flattery. You know, Gemma’s lucky to have you. The thing is, Mark, even though I’m a lot older than you two I still have my needs.’
That was more than enough information for the moment, he needed to think things through. It felt odd: inevitable but also disturbing. It was as if he was watching himself from outside; and this was what he was actually good at – setting the bait, preparing to pounce.
‘Well, it’s been really nice spending a little time with you today. Let’s go back inside and see if Gemma’s done. And you know, Anne, as well as going to town for a night out, you could always come down and stay with us in Petworth, you must get a little lonely here by yourself. We’d be pleased to see more of you.’
