“Oh yes, Your Grace. How about making that very soon? I could always come over for an hour or two. Make sure you are really relaxed.”
Margaret’s heart skipped a beat but she was resolute. She wanted to savour him wanting her for a very long time and the longer she kept her distance, the better it would be when they finally got together.
“I can manage perfectly well on my own. Goodnight Simon.”
She had replaced her telephone receiver before he could answer her, smiled and virtually skipped up to bed where she spent a restless night imagining what it was going to be like when she did eventually get him into bed, although it was going to be a while longer before she found out.
Then, early the very next morning, came the phone call from Charles, furiously demanding she return to Yorkshire. Apparently, the tabloids were having a field day, with more and more photographs of her appearing almost daily. Questions were being raised as to why Margaret spent so long away from Yorkshire without Charles. What exactly was she up to? Was their marriage on the rocks? Was there another man? Margaret had to return to Canleigh and that was that.
* * *
Margaret twirled her wedding ring as the train began to slow on its approach into London. Charles was going to be even more furious when he discovered she had left Canleigh after insisting she spend the whole summer at Canleigh and Blairness. God forbid! She couldn’t do it, not now that Simon had called. She knew she was heading for disaster but she would deal with that when it came. For now, all she could think about was Simon. He made her feel so alive, vibrant and so very excited and she was going to see him tonight. She hugged herself with delight as the suburbs of London began to take precedence over the towns and countryside through which they had passed. It wouldn’t be long now and she would be back at Canleigh House and able to get herself ready for what she was sure was going to be one of the most thrilling nights of her life.
Half an hour later and Margaret was out of the train at noisy, bustling Kings Cross and heading towards the nearest taxi rank. She sighed with pleasure as she walked through the throngs of people, feeling alive again after the deadness of Canleigh. This was her kind of life. She was thrilled to be back in the drama and excitement of 1960’s London and had no intention of leaving it this time until she had done what she came to do … and Charles would have to lump it.
“Canleigh House, Mayfair,” she ordered, hopping into the first available black cab. The driver placed her case in the boot and as he threaded the car into the busy traffic outside the station Margaret sat forward eagerly in her seat to gaze at the scene before her. Her London. Her world. She had only been away a short while but had missed it all so badly; the bustle, the buzz, just being part of a dynamic city.
The traffic was crawling. Vespa scooters suddenly appeared from nowhere and surrounded the taxi, both male and female riders with short hair, flared jeans and either tight fitting short jackets or navy-blue reefer coats. Margaret hoped they weren’t being followed by the ‘Rockers’ with long hair and clad in full leather gear on their heavy, noisy motorbikes. So far this year there had been a lot of trouble between the two groups all over the country and she didn’t fancy being caught up in one of their pitched battles.
The scooters whizzed deftly in between the cars and sped away. The taxi turned into Oxford Street with its department stores incredibly busy at this time of the day with people dashing in and out, many carrying an array of brightly coloured carrier bags bearing the names of famous stores announcing their presence in this grand metropolis. Posters and banners adorned bill-boards advertising forthcoming events in the coming days and weeks. Margaret noticed one for the Beatles’ film, ‘A Hard Day’s Night’. As much as she would have liked to see it, she wouldn’t attempt to, unable to bear the thought of being in the midst of a crowd of screaming girls. She had attended a Rolling Stones concert not so long ago and even though she was really turned on by Mick Jagger gyrating on stage, the yelling and catcalling from the audience gave her a real headache and she decided she would just enjoy the music on the radio or buy their records in future.
The taxi negotiated the streets of Mayfair and then Canleigh House, looking grand with its Georgian facade of honey-coloured stone, highly polished oak door and gleaming sash windows, came into view. Margaret had seen a letter from the agents on Charles’ desk only a couple of days ago, indicating they would commence looking for a new tenant next week. It would be a tremendous wrench to have to give it up and she would have to make the few days of perfect privacy that were left to her really worthwhile.
The driver hopped out to take her case out of the boot of the cab; she paid him and then walked up the steps, unlocked the door and stepped into the coolness of the hall with its highly polished Italian tiles. She pulled off her sandals and made her way down the winding stairs to the left, holding onto the black wrought iron handrail. Before leaving Canleigh she had made a quick phone call to the woman who she had employed to clean the house and in accordance with her instructions the humming refrigerator was stocked with fresh salad vegetables and milk.
