Kitty handed it to Jeanie. ‘My cuz. For you.’
‘Bert,’ she said to him. ‘I’ve told Kitty about our conversation.’
‘You promised not to…,’ he started to say.
‘Just the personal stuff,’ she reassured him.
‘Okay. I was wondering if you had time for lunch tomorrow? Or the next day?’
Life was getting complicated. Should she? She almost refused then thought, what the hell, this is my life. ‘I’ll make the time. Same place?’
She hung up the phone after making the arrangements and turned to Kitty. ‘Is he married?’
‘Not any more.’ Kitty followed her to the kitchen with their dirty plates. ‘His wife left him a couple of years ago. I think he’s been dating somebody, or a couple of somebodies since. Why? You think he’s cute?’
Jeanie pictured the earnest but plain man sitting across the table from her. ‘Cute? Nope. Not a word I’d use. Although he does have lovely grey eyes.’
‘My grandfather’s eyes. Family eyes that go through the generations. Too bad I didn’t get them,’ she said.
‘And what a voice,’ Jeanie said, hardly hearing Kitty’s contribution to the conversation. ‘Low. Melodious. Is that the word? Or is it mellifluous?’
Kitty laughed. ‘He sings in some choral group. Bass, I suppose.’
‘But no wife.’ Jeanie wanted to make sure.
The next day Jeanie called on Mrs Hanson again. The first client she’d signed up. She would have to admit to Neil that she hadn’t been able to curb Mrs Hanson’s spending, and sooner rather than later.
‘I’ve found a lovely television on sale in Auckland,’ Mrs Hanson said when she opened the door. ‘I thought I’d never be able to afford one of those ones with the really big screens. And now I can.’ She sounded delighted. ‘I just have to figure out a way of getting to Auckland.’ She looked at Jeanie. ‘Is there any chance you’re going up this week?’
Jeanie had been thinking that she hadn’t emptied the post office box in weeks and weeks. At least not since she had been staying with Kitty. It certainly needed doing. Maybe this was a good excuse.
‘I’ll think about it, Mrs Hanson. There is a chance.’
‘Well, that would be wonderful, dear. I do love my television but my screen is awfully small for my old eyes,’ she said gesturing towards the ancient model in the corner of her lounge. ‘And one of the channels is a bit fuzzy.’ She demonstrated a snowy picture.
‘That’s fixable,’ Jeanie said. ‘We can get someone in to tune your aerial right away if you want.’
Mrs Hanson’s face fell. ‘I really want a new one. Not fix this old thing. There is a super sale on and I can get a lovely big one at a really good reduction.’ She pulled out the advertisement. ‘See?’ She had circled the item. Jeanie knew what Neil would say.
‘How are your new clothes?’
‘Look,’ the old lady said as she twirled in front of Jeanie, one hand on her hip like a model. She was wearing a long grey skirt and matching jumper. ‘Isn’t this a beauty?’
‘Lovely,’ Jeanie said honestly. ‘Catalogue?’
‘Of course. I adore my catalogues.’
Jeanie felt awkward. How could she politely ask this delightful older woman to slow down a little?
‘I see by your face that you don’t approve.’ Mrs Hanson eyes were bright. ‘But I haven’t had anything new for almost five years. Did you know that? And clothes are important to how you feel about yourself. I’ve tried to live on my pension, but it’s difficult. Especially with my foster daughter.’
‘Foster daughter?’ Jeanie hadn’t heard about any foster daughter.
‘In Africa. I’ve been sponsoring her for ten years. And now she’s about to go into nursing. Isn’t that wonderful? But her expenses are going up, not down. The PeopleCare scheme is making such a difference in my life. That’s why I chose it.’
‘How about we set aside Friday?’ Jeanie asked, deciding that she really did need to clear that post office box. And, she reminded herself, the money Mrs Hanson was spending actually was her own. ‘I’ll come over in the morning and you can show me your expenses for your foster daughter and I can check that they’re all above board.’ That at least, she could do.
‘And then we’ll go up to Auckland?’ Mrs Hanson asked.
‘I’ll pencil it in,’ Jeanie said. Of course Mrs Hanson was entitled to spend her own money, and spend it how she liked, Jeanie thought, but how could she justify the expense to Neil?
Jeanie drove to a lookout point high above the Waikato River and parked where she could see down to the water below. It was a sun-filled day with a keen Springtime wind and she had no desire to get out of the car. The river was dark as it wound its way between steep banks far below. She should treat herself to a proper camera, better than the one on the mobile phone, but needs must. The black water, the verdant banks and the odd roof just visible above the rampant greenery. She clicked the shutter. Almost as peaceful a scene as the horse grazing in the paddock.
Jeanie stretched languidly, relishing the isolation and quiet of her parking place. She had picked a position where she could see any approaching cars from some distance down the road, and that provided a needed respite from her wary vigilance. She lowered her window and let the early spring air fill her car. The life of a professional carer suited her, if only she could be assured she wasn’t being watched. Yet again on the way to the office that morning, she had thought she’d spotted a green car travelling the same route. Her stomach roiled, and she wasn’t sure she could keep her breakfast down. But when she got back into the car to set out for her picnic lunch, she saw nothing suspicious. Not that she would ever drive anywhere without a hyperactive state of vigilance. Not now.
But the work was both interesting and vital to their clients, and she loved her role. It made her think about her initial attraction to the idea of a language school. Teaching older foreign women to speak English, yes, that was the original draw, but really, it was to make their lives more meaningful. What was she doing in PeopleCare? Making the lives of older adults more meaningful. SpeakWell had Fred, a huge plus. PeopleCare had nasty Neil. No comparison there. Hamilton had Kitty and Auckland had Fred. Could she count him twice? Nope, eggs in basket stuff. The air had cooled her down enough to put up the window. She spotted a couple of huge soaring birds. What could they be? She didn’t know New Zealand birds and that was something she looked forward to discovering.
She returned to her comparisons. PeopleCare was a real, living job and the pay was good. SpeakWell was a potential. Here she was an employee. There she would be a principal. She gave up and tilted her car seat back so she could watch the soaring birds through the little opening window in the roof of the car. Round and round, higher and higher, silhouetted against the blue sky.
In some ways Jeanie agreed with Mrs Hanson about the importance of clothes. She had thought carefully about what she was wearing that day. Navy slacks, beige fitted blouse and navy and beige checked wool jacket. The jacket was new, courtesy of her increased pay packet. She met Bert at the little café near his office.
‘Beth or Jeanie?’ he asked. ‘Or something else?’
‘Jeanie, please,’ she said with a blush. ‘I feel more real as Jeanie.’
‘Nice old fashioned name,’ he commented. ‘With the light brown hair etc.’
Jeanie touched her own light brown hair, lifting one side to reveal the strands of grey over her ears. ‘Even that’s real.’ She told him a bit about her life as the blond Jeanette and he told her about the agony of losing a wife to a mutual friend.
‘Now, I can see the two of them are quite well suited,’ he added over their meal. ‘At the time it was pure betrayal on both their parts.’
‘Suited? How?’
‘They describe themselves as “people-people” but really they are into partying. Gambling too. They go on trips to the States and measure their progress by which casino is nearby. Vegas is their favourite.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m eternally grateful it’s her new husband’s money and not mine.’
‘No one wins but the house,’ Jeanie contributed as she forked up some salad.
‘Never a truer,’ he said. ‘But what do you like? Don’t tell me gambling.’
‘Definitely not gambling.’ She paused and thought carefully. ‘But what do I like? Truthfully, I am in the process of finding out. It’s been years since my opinion counted for anything.’
‘Tell me what you’ve found so far,’ he said, his voice soft.
Jeanie described the swimming that past summer, the lazing on the New Zealand beaches. She spoke of how she enjoyed sharing the little flat where her ideas counted as much as her flatmate’s. She told him how much she enjoyed the old folk in the PeopleCare job and the freedom of deciding how to spend her time. She talked of her friendships with Fred and Kitty and the possibility of setting up the language school. She spoke of Beau, and her worry about their estrangement.
‘And you?’ she asked a bit too brightly. ‘What do you like?’
He told her of his bit of land on the west coast of the North Island. ‘An isolated bay with only a few properties on it. We have to walk down a path to our beach through the woods, but unless some nosy yachtie has come in close, we can skinny dip whenever we want, it’s so private.’
‘We?’
‘Me and whomever I’ve invited to share my little bit of paradise,’ he said, looking over his glasses at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘You, maybe, if camping in a little caravan is your thing.’
‘Tell me more,’ Jeanie said, in slight confusion. Was he flirting? That was scary. But, at the same time she could listen to him forever with his tales of scrambling around rocks, swimming in sparkling water, followed by evenings in a cosy little caravan with no television, just loads of books begging to be read – and she liked caravans. His simple retreat sounded idyllic. A lifestyle streets ahead of casinos.
‘Someone’s been snooping,’ Neil said when she arrived for work the next morning. Jeanie found it hard to breathe.
‘Really? Why?’ Her voice was croaky.
‘Why? Because we have sensitive financial records in here, that’s why,’ he said frowning, misinterpreting her cryptic question. ‘People want to know stuff, all right? The heirs, for instance, who think we shouldn’t be interfering in their old mother’s affairs. They’d love to nose around.’ He looked up at her.
She cleared her throat, shoving her shaking hands deep into her pockets. ‘How do you know someone’s been snooping?’
‘The Bates file. Been put back alphabetically, right after “Baluster”. But I used it yesterday. And files I’m currently using, I keep in the front, here,’ He pointed a stubby finger. ‘You didn’t move it, did you?’
Jeanie was gaining confidence with each moment that passed. ‘No, I didn’t. I haven’t used it in a few days.’ The truth. ‘Besides which, Mr Bates the Younger seems satisfied with our involvement. Are you sure you left it in the front?’
Neil glared at her. ‘I know what I do. And did. I’m asking you because I don’t know what you do. Understand?’
‘Anyone can forget, Neil.’
He imitated her words, the sarcasm dripping. ‘“Anyone can forget, Neil.” Not your place to think. Or advise. When I say I put it somewhere, better believe it was there.’ He arched his back, looking up at the ceiling. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not more trouble than you’re worth.’
Jeanie didn’t want to be fired. Not now, not when she was truly making a difference in people’s lives; not now when she was thoroughly enjoying her work. She deliberately spoke in a soft voice. ‘It’s been moved. You didn’t move it and I didn’t so that means someone else did. Back to the snooping idea again. You may be right that someone has been in here.’
He glanced at her sharply to check she wasn’t making fun of him. Satisfied he said, ‘And another thing. My paperweight. It was moved too.’