Raw Deal

‘Yes—I think I’ll go and tackle my grandmother on the subject of her suddenly precarious health.’

Jo chuckled. ‘Good idea. Give her my love.’

‘Not until I’ve strangled her!’ she replied with a strained laugh. ‘See you tomorrow.’

She drove her little VW Polo back to her flat, the converted middle floor of a Victorian pile in the old part of town, and, running upstairs, she lit the gas fire, kicked off her shoes and let down her long red-gold hair before picking up the phone and settling comfortably in the armchair by the fire.

‘Lucinda? Hi—it’s Maggie. How are you?’

‘Oh, Margaret, darling, how lovely to hear from you. I’ll be all right—just a little weak, that’s all, darling. Don’t worry about me.’

Maggie twiddled the flex of the phone, winding her finger into the coils. ‘I thought I’d come and see you——’

‘Oh, no, goodness, dear! That would never do! I think it’s a touch of flu, actually, and that’s positively the last thing you need with all those tiny babies you come in contact with. No, no, dear, you stay away, do you understand?’

Maggie’s lips twisted into a wry smile.

‘I understand, Grannie, darling.’

‘Don’t call me that, dear—so ageing! Anyway, now, are you all set to go?’

Old fraud, Maggie thought fondly. There wasn’t a trace of a fluey cough or sniff, and she sounded about as weak as a barracuda.

‘Yes, I’m all set, but I don’t think I should go without you——’

‘Nonsense! You need a holiday, darling, more than I do. You must go, otherwise I shall feel obliged to drag myself out of my sick bed and accompany you, and God knows what that’ll do to my precarious health!’

‘God knows!’ Maggie agreed drily. ‘Anyway, I could do with some company later—maybe I will drop in just for a short while—I promise to keep out of your way so I won’t catch anything.’

‘No! No, Margaret, you mustn’t! I simply forbid it!’ her grandmother all but shrieked, then, collecting herself almost audibly, she continued in a noticeably weaker voice, ‘Anyway, darling, I thought I’d have an early night. What was it you wanted to see me about?’

Your interview for RADA, Maggie thought ruefully, and then remembered.

‘Oh, nothing drastic. I just had a rotten day.’

She told her grandmother all about Samuel Grainger, and Lucinda tutted and ooed and oh, deared and made all the right noises.

‘You must have a holiday, darling,’ she ended, ‘otherwise you’ll get dreadfully depressed and you’ll get wrinkles. So ageing. You go.’

‘Yes, Grannie,’ she replied, and cut off the protest with a kiss. ‘I’ll try and pop over on Christmas Day if not before, but anyway I’ll come and see you before I leave,’ she promised.

In fact she didn’t get a chance before Christmas Day, and even then she was working.

Christmas Day on the paediatric wards was hectic from start to finish, the normal routine squeezed into half the time to allow for the obligatory merrymaking, with Peter Travers dressed up as Father Christmas and Maggie forced to play the Fairy Godmother in a little panto they put on in the afternoon.

She finally got away at seven o’clock in the evening for a short while, and, without even stopping to change out of her working clothes, she drove the short distance to the smart side of town and pulled up outside her grandmother’s house. There were lights blazing in all the downstairs rooms, and a very new-looking Mercedes dominated the drive. She squeezed in behind it and, picking up the parcel which contained some very lacy and extremely ungrandmotherly underwear, Maggie slipped out of the car and walked up to the front window. Peering in, she saw her grandmother dancing with a tall, distinguished-looking man in his seventies, at a guess, and remarkably good-looking for his age.

They were obviously alone, and totally absorbed in each other’s company. Mesmerised, Maggie watched her grandmother flirt outrageously with her handsome escort.

Her head was thrown back, and even through the glass Maggie could hear the light ripple of coquettish laughter emanating from Lucinda’s enviably well-preserved throat—a throat Maggie was tempted to wrap her fingers round and squeeze firmly!

The lousy old fraud! she thought crossly, and then hesitated, her hand raised to rap on the glass. Why not go along with her? She might not be ill now, but she was getting on, and plotting the romantic downfall of Maggie’s spinsterhood was one of the greatest pleasures of her old age.

‘Oh, hell, how can it hurt to allow her her fun?’ Maggie muttered. ‘And she’s right—I do need a holiday.’

So she rang the doorbell, cheerfully wished a Merry Christmas to the tall stranger who opened the door, kissed her grandmother solicitously on the cheek, pretended not to notice the slightly heightened colour or the litter of sherry glasses, and perched beside Lucinda on the couch, eyeing her thoughtfully.

‘You do look a little peaky, darling—and a bit breathless. Perhaps you’re right—it’s a long flight.’

‘But you will go without me, won’t you?’

Maggie stifled her smile. ‘Yes, I’ll go. I expect there’ll be a lot of boring old fuddy-duddies, but perhaps there’ll be some nice young officer to cheer me up,’ she said naughtily.

She inadvertently intercepted the look her grandmother and the stranger exchanged, and fiddled with the present to cover her sudden need to laugh. That stage wink! So he was in on it, too, was he?

‘Is that for me?’

‘Yes—saucy undies. Happy Christmas, darling.’

‘Oh, Margaret, how sweet—Gerald, pass me that envelope from the mantelpiece, would you?’ She pressed it into Maggie’s hand. ‘Just a little spending money and your ticket—have a lovely time.’

‘I will. Bless you. I’ll take lots of photos. And Grannie,’ she admonished, ‘you haven’t introduced me to your guest.’

‘How rude of me! Darling, this is Gerald Palmer, an old friend from simply years ago …’ She waved her hand to indicate possibly several decades—or even centuries. ‘Gerald, my granddaughter, Margaret——’

‘Maggie,’ Maggie corrected.

‘Enchanted, my dear,’ Mr Palmer murmured as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘So like your grandmother at your age—I would have known you anywhere.’

Well, no wonder she looks a little breathless! Maggie thought as she excused herself and left them to continue their merrymaking. The man overflowed with charm. She instantly forgave him his part in the conspiracy—and her grandmother. They were probably helpless to defend themselves against each other! But she did rather wonder about his part in it all …

Dawn was just breaking over the sea as the Singapore Airlines flight touched down in Changi Airport. It was the thirtieth of December, and England was in the grip of a sudden, biting freeze.

As Maggie stepped from the plane and lifted her face to the sun, she was flooded with warmth and a sudden, unexpected surge of excitement.

The last week had been hectic and exhausting, and she was so tired after the previous eighteen months that she had slept right through the flight. Now it seemed as if she had woken to a dream world.

Once in the terminal building, she retrieved her luggage, and, after clearing Customs, referred to her instructions and proceeded to the allocated rendezvous point.

There her party was warmly welcomed by a young ship’s officer, who checked them all off on a list, ensured that they all had their luggage and then shepherded them to a waiting coach.

Then they were whisked in air-conditioned comfort along the East Coast Parkway past the glorious profusion of vast banks of bougainvillaeas, over the harbour bridges under the lee of the towering skyscrapers to the World Trade Centre harbour, and were very soon ensconced aboard the Island Pearl, their home for the next ten days.

Looking around her, Maggie decided that it was certainly sumptuous without being in the least bit tacky, and small enough for a definitely family feel. Her grandmother would have enjoyed it, Maggie thought with a pang, but then reminded herself that it was entirely her own fault she was missing it.

She was shown to her cabin, a surprisingly spacious twin down on the Java deck—by a freak of fate, she thought, on the same deck as the medical centre. There and then she vowed to tell no one that she was a doctor, or she’d be hounded by the malingerers if she so much as emerged from her cabin and caught them in search of the ship’s MO.

The cabin, she noted, was blissfully cool. Even this early the air outside was hot, and given time would soar into the eighties or nineties.