Change of Season Read online

  All of a sudden Liz was fed up of humouring her friend. ‘It’s time you thought of him. You’ve always put the children first before.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘You have, you know!’ Her voice softened. ‘You might even enjoy staying in England for a few months. You should be thankful Paul wants to spend some quality time together. I’d swap places with you any day, believe me.’

  Her voice had such a vicious edge Rosalind realised something was wrong. ‘Not – trouble with Bill again?’

  Liz nodded, lips tight and bloodless.

  ‘You shouldn’t put up with it.’

  ‘I’m not going to this time.’

  ‘You mean – you’re going to leave him?’

  ‘Heavens, no! I’m still fond of the old bugger – too fond for my own good. I just got to thinking of giving him a taste of his own medicine for a change. See how he likes that. It’s simply a question of finding someone I fancy and diving into the nearest bed.’

  ‘You shouldn’t joke about something so important.’

  ‘Who’s joking?’

  The bitterness in her voice worried Rosalind, but Liz didn’t mean what she’d said, of course she didn’t.

  After her friend had left, Rosalind wandered out into the garden. She sighed as she nipped off a few dead leaves. Perhaps something would turn up to prevent her having to go to England. Paul was always changing his plans and rushing off to deal with an emergency for the chairman.

  Oh, please, let something turn up! she prayed.

  That evening their elder daughter, Jenny, popped in unexpectedly. ‘Hi, Mum! Louise not around?’

  ‘She and Sandy have gone to the movies.’

  ‘Good. I need to talk to you both.’ She opened her mouth to speak, then burst into noisy, gulping sobs.

  Rosalind hurried across to hug her till she’d calmed down, not saying anything, simply waiting for an explanation.

  Jenny finished mopping her eyes. It was her mother she looked at as she said, ‘It’s Michael. I’ve left him.’

  Paul leant forward. ‘Is he the guy I met last time I was home? Well, it’s about time you came to your senses. He’s a real no-hoper, that one, and I was against you moving in with him, if you remember.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Rosalind asked, frowning at him. No need to sound so triumphant when the girl was hurting.

  ‘He’s been unfaithful to me and – and he’s not even sorry about it!’ What’s more, when Jenny had confronted him, he’d hit her, though she wasn’t going to tell her parents that. She’d known then that the relationship was over. Irrevocably. She wasn’t into being thumped. ‘The split’s been brewing for a while, I guess. Could I stay here? I can’t go back. I’ve got my things in the car.’

  Paul gave her one of his icy looks. ‘You can’t stay for long. The house is going to be closed down. Your mother’s coming to live in England with me for a few months.’

  Rosalind felt annoyed. She hadn’t actually agreed to go yet and he knew it.

  ‘I could look after the place for you,’ Jenny volunteered. ‘It’d be safer to have someone living here.’

  Paul gave a scornful laugh. ‘No way. I haven’t forgotten the last time you looked after it. That party of yours cost me over a thousand dollars in redecoration, as well as upsetting all the neighbours.’

  ‘But what am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to pay the bond on a flat of my own.’ She began to sob again.

  Rosalind put her arm round Jenny’s shoulders. ‘I’m not turning my daughter away, Paul.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. And of course she can stay with us till we find her a flat. I’ll even pay the bond. But after that, we’re closing the house down and we’re off on our second honeymoon.’

  Jenny smiled at them through her tears. ‘That’s so sweet. Second honeymoon. I’m always glad you two are still together. Nearly everyone else’s parents are divorced.’

  ‘No chance of that as long as your mother behaves herself.’ Paul grinned across the table.

  ‘And as long as you behave yourself, too, Paul Stevenson,’ Rosalind retorted.

  ‘Don’t I always?’

  Jenny laughed. ‘You do when you’re at home, Dad. We don’t know what you get up to when you’re overseas.’

  He stiffened. ‘I work far too hard to misbehave, believe me, young lady. Even if I were that way inclined, which I’m not.’

  They both stared at him in amazement, his tone was so sharp.

  ‘She was only joking,’ Rosalind protested.

  ‘Well, it’s the kind of joke I can do without, thank you very much.’

  After the silence had gone on for a bit too long, Rosalind said, ‘How about I get us all a drink, then we can discuss what to do?’

  Later, when Jenny had taken up residence in the guest suite, Paul sat down beside his wife on the bed and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Feeling better about the trip now? You are coming, aren’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She’d made up her mind to give it a try, because she really did want to put their marriage to rights. That was the main reason. She wasn’t going to tell him that, of course.

  He nibbled her ear. ‘What am I going to do with you, woman?’ As her breathing deepened, he took her in his arms and kissed her. His hands knew all her body’s weaknesses, as hers knew his.

  And then, of course, she forgot everything else, for he was a superb lover, always had been. Their reunions were fantastic. She missed the sex greatly when he was away. He must do, too, because he was a passionate man.

  Maybe they did need a change – and she loved the idea of a second honeymoon.

  Four days later the chairman’s personal assistant rang from England. Rosalind handed the phone to Paul feeling faintly anxious. The PA only rang in emergencies. She went to sit in the kitchen because Paul hated people listening in on his business conversations.

  After a few minutes a shadow fell across her. She looked up and her heart sank. He was looking excited and alert. She knew that expression of old.

  He perched on the edge of the chair next to hers. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to London straight away. They’ve booked me a seat on the six o’clock plane. Big crisis.’

  ‘But you’ve been home less than a week!’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s how things go in this job, and it’s exactly why I want you over there with me.’

  ‘That means I’ll have to travel to England alone!’

  Breath rasped impatiently in his throat. ‘I think you’ll be able to find your way to the airport from here, and I’ll be there to meet you in London.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll meet me. Promise!’

  ‘I promise faithfully. Now, come and help me pack, eh? Good thing we found that flat for Jenny, isn’t it? And I’ve been talking to your mother. She’s agreed to have Louise.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me!’

  ‘I asked her to let me do that.’ He held her at arm’s length and stared at her with mock sternness. ‘So you have no excuse for trying to wriggle out of this trip, my girl.’

  ‘I’ve said I’ll come, haven’t I?’

  He nodded and let her go. ‘I’m rather looking forward to having a wife around. Dinner parties, regular sex, theatres and restaurants. We’ll have a great time.’

  When she got back from taking Paul to the airport, Rosalind took out her embroidery things and set up the smaller spare bedroom as her workshop again. She always put everything away when he came home to avoid arguments and snide remarks. The routine of arranging her things usually helped her settle down after he’d left – though this time she’d only be here for a couple more weeks herself.

  The embroidery worked its usual magic and even when Jenny rang up to complain that the new flat was noisy and Michael was still pestering her to get back together, Rosalind didn’t let it worry her. She spoke soothingly and claimed a pan on the stove so that she could end the conversation quickly.

  When Paul
went away, she always needed a few hours of peace to reorient her life. Everything was so different without him. And this time she had a lot to think about. She’d agreed to spend the spring and summer in England and wouldn’t go back on her word.

  But next time someone had to compromise about what they were doing with their lives, it wouldn’t be her, she was quite determined about that.

  INTRODUCTION TO RAISED STUMPWORK

  This highly individual type of embroidery flourished in its original form for only a few decades of the seventeenth century …

  Its capacity for conveying life and humour, and the way in which it combines many different embroidery and lace-making techniques makes this work an ideal vehicle for modern embroiderers seeking to achieve similar effects in a contemporary idiom.

  (Barbara and Roy Hirst, RAISED EMBROIDERY, Merehurst Limited, London, 1993, p.6 − quotes used with permission)

  SIMULATING LIFE

  The stitches, techniques, threads, fabrics and other materials used to create a raised embroidery are all carefully selected to express, simulate and describe the subject …

  A sampler of this type might be designed with a particular theme in mind – family, nature, the seasons, a period in history, or a particular event.

  (Hirst, p.60)

  Chapter Two

  The twenty-hour flight to London seemed interminable. Rosalind was too tall to be comfortable in planes and couldn’t manage to do more than doze for an hour or two. By the time the plane arrived in London, she was exhausted.

  Pushing her luggage trolley, she walked out into the terminal looking for Paul, pleased at the prospect of being with him again. When she couldn’t see him anywhere she began to feel apprehensive. He’d phoned last week and promised that nothing, absolutely nothing, would prevent him from meeting her at the airport and helping her settle into the English house. So where was he?

  She saw a young woman holding one of those signs with people’s names on them and didn’t look at it, then something clicked inside her brain and she turned slowly back. It said STEVENSON in ominous black letters.

  He’d broken his promise!

  ‘Oh, damn you, Paul!’ she whispered. ‘Couldn’t you even do this for me? Does the company have to come first every single time?’

  The woman holding the sign looked across at her and nodded in recognition. She was so trim and well-groomed, she made Rosalind feel huge and even more dishevelled than before.

  ‘Mrs Stevenson? Paul’s wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The woman stuck out one well-manicured hand. ‘You look just like the photo on Paul’s desk. I’m Gail Johns from personnel. I’m afraid Paul’s been called away. He’s in New York at the moment, actually.’

  ‘New York!’ Rosalind could hear her voice wobble, couldn’t prevent it.

  Gail gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ve arranged everything for you. Let’s have a coffee and I’ll explain.’ She set off across the concourse.

  For a moment Rosalind stood watching her, then sighed and began to push the luggage trolley through the crowds. Around her people were hugging one another, some weeping for joy. Children were running to and fro. Everyone, it seemed, was with family or friends.

  Everyone except her. Only pride kept her head up.

  And anger.

  The refreshments area was seedy and predominantly brown. The tables had been swiped over casually with a cloth and were still smeary.

  Gail brought back two coffees and some food for herself. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t had any lunch yet.’ She took a huge bite of the sandwich, then got out some papers. ‘I have full instructions for you, Mrs Stevenson, all in alphabetical order – so much better than my trying to explain everything now, don’t you think? You’d never remember all the details afterwards.’

  Her tone was that of an adult dealing with a rather dull child. Rosalind breathed deeply but said nothing. It had been the same when Paul worked in the company’s Australian branch. Ambitious young things like this had treated her as if she were in her dotage because she was a mere housewife.

  ‘We’ve found you a house in Dorset. The chairman’s family came from there originally and he always speaks well of it. The house is quite large and there’s a nice villagey atmosphere, so you should find it easy to make friends. It’s only about two hours’ drive from London.’

  Aligning the papers carefully on the table, Gail dipped into the briefcase again. ‘This is the key to the house – front door key only, the others are waiting for you in Burraford Destan. It’s a nice little place and really easy to get to, mostly motorway from here. Paul said you’d be all right with the driving.’ She raised one eyebrow questioningly.

  ‘Of course I shall.’ Rosalind was absolutely terrified of driving in a strange country, but she’d let herself be hanged, drawn and quartered before she’d admit it to this bright young thing.

  Gail picked up the sandwich again, then glanced across the table with it halfway to her mouth. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs Stevenson? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I’m just a bit – um – jet-lagged. It’s a long flight.’

  ‘Well, if you’re too tired to drive today, we can easily book you into a hotel.’

  Rosalind struggled to ‘get her head together’, as Louise would have said. ‘I – what time is it here?’

  ‘One o’clock in the afternoon.’

  Rosalind thought furiously as she adjusted her watch. If she booked into a hotel now, she would fall asleep then wake up in the middle of the night. Paul always said it was better to fit into the day−night pattern as soon as you could after you changed time zones, and he ought to know. ‘No. I won’t bother with a hotel. I’ve all afternoon to drive down to Dorset, haven’t I? So I can just take things easily.’ One step at a time. Her old motto brought its usual comfort.

  Gail devoured the last of the sandwich. ‘That’s terrific. Though you’d better stop on the way to pick up some groceries. Paul hasn’t managed to get down to Dorset yet and there’ll be nothing in the fridge.’

  ‘But I thought – Paul told me he’d approved the house himself.’

  ‘Ah. Well, I’m afraid a few things cropped up and he only had time to set the ground rules. But the agency we use for executive relocation is very reliable and I’ve shown him the photos. Very attractive house, delightful village. I’m sure you’ll like living there. Paul really fancies English village life.’ She took another gulp of coffee. ‘Dorset is a really pretty part of England. I looked it up online. Hills, farms with grey stone walls, very picturesque villages.’

  Her description made Rosalind realise that no one from the company had actually checked the house.

  ‘And we have a company flat in London for when Paul can’t get down to Dorset. You can get up to town in two hours by train from nearby Wareham, which is pretty convenient. I’ve got you a good road map.’ She unwrapped a piece of fruitcake. ‘Don’t know why I’m so hungry today. Must be the cold.’

  ‘Is it very cold outside?’

  ‘Freezing.’ Gail licked some cake crumbs from her fingers. ‘Everyone’s saying how late spring is this year. I mean, almost April and no sign of the sun. Even the trees are late getting their leaves.’ She glanced sideways, frowned and offered another glib reassurance. ‘I’m sure you’ll be all right, Mrs Stevenson.’

  Miss Efficiency was still talking to her as if she were a doddery old lady and Rosalind wasn’t having that. She straightened up and said crisply, ‘Well, if you’ve finished eating, we may as well go and get the car, eh?’

  It was a large, comfortable car and Rosalind had no difficulty driving it, though she felt a bit nervous at first coping with the heavy motorway traffic. Then, half an hour later, the engine coughed and spluttered before picking up. A few minutes later, it began to falter again. ‘No! Please, no!’ Rosalind begged. But the vehicle lost power and began to kangaroo, jerking forward briefly, then losing momentum.

  She s
ignalled to move left, cutting in front of a small truck, which blared its horn at her, then pulling off onto the hard shoulder just as the engine died completely. The car rolled slowly to a halt and she sat frozen in disbelief for a moment before opening the door.

  Icy wind howled around her. Traffic fumes assaulted her nose. Dark clouds were massing in the sky. What the hell was the matter? The car had a full tank of petrol, so it couldn’t be that. She lifted the bonnet, but could see nothing obviously wrong. The battery connections seemed good, the fan belt wasn’t slack and no water hoses seemed to be leaking. Beyond that, she didn’t know what to look for.

  Cars and trucks continued to drone past her and the wind blew icy dampness down her neck, as well as sneaking chill fingers up her sleeves. She hadn’t got a mobile phone yet. Miss Efficiency had expected her to have her own. She could only hope there would be an emergency phone nearby.

  Locking the car, she began trudging grimly along the hard shoulder, alternately buffeted by the backdraught from passing trucks and mocked by the wind, which continued to tug at her clothes and suck away what little warmth was left in her body.

  The phone got her through to the police, who telephoned the car hire company and then told her someone would be coming with a replacement car, but it’d take a while.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Sorry, madam. They didn’t say. You should remain with your vehicle or it might get towed away. If anyone stops nearby, it’d be safer to lock yourself in.’

  She tramped back to wait. Finding half a chocolate bar in her handbag, she devoured it hungrily, then wished she hadn’t because it made her thirsty. Time crawled past and the radio programmes were only half-audible because of the traffic noise, so she was left with her own thoughts for company.

  ‘Damn you, Paul Stevenson!’ she said aloud at one stage.

  In Australia that same day, Liz looked at her husband and anger rose like bile in her throat, scalding her with its intensity. She’d never felt so furious with Bill before, not even the first time he’d been unfaithful. ‘You must think I’m stupid if you expect me to fall for that line.’