Page 65 of Beyond Her Manner
“Precisely. We were two people who got along, a little too comfortably for my mother’s liking. I was her ticket out of poverty, if only I would marry someone respectable. Hen, she…” Gillian sniffed and swallowed, trying to regain control of herself.
“Hen, was never part ofthatplan?” Viola finished for her.
“No.” Gillian dabbed the corner of her eye with her serviette as she pretended to wipe her mouth. “I may have lost Hen, but that’s one thing she left with me: a love for horses. After university, for which I was awarded a scholarship, I got a good job in PR. The salary was good, and I saved every penny to buy a horse.”
“And that led you to stable the horse at Kingsford?” Viola questioned.
“Yes, where I met Jonathon. I rather fell on my feet as my mother said — repeatedly. At the age of thirty he was in danger of becoming a professional bachelor. As soon as he showed an interest in me, I encouraged him. I didn’t stop to think about things like love. He made me laugh — to begin with, anyway. We got married before the end of the year. I believe he loved me to begin with, but over time I felt more like a prize he’d won and wanted to show off. I was fond of him, of course, but to me, he was an escape from poverty. I didn’t need love then. I needed to not be poor. I’m not the first and I won’t be the last to marry for those reasons.”
Viola nodded her agreement. “Everyone has a different motive to get married.”
Gillian smiled as she tucked into her sea bass, grateful for Viola’s understanding rather than judgement of her actions.
“We worked well together for a time; then bitterness and resentment kicked in as we got older, and we grew apart. The money flowed less, and my looks… well, I wasn’t twenty anymore.”
“Gillian, you’re still beautiful. I couldn’t help noticing the photographs of a younger you on your windowsill. All you’ve done is blossom more.”
Goosebumps tingled down every extremity of Gillian’s body at her words. “That’s kind of you to say—”
“It’s the truth,” Viola pressed. “I’m sorry for what I said to you, about being wealthy and entitled. Well… the wealthy bit. If I’d known about your backgrou—”
“It’s fine. You didn’t know. I haven’t exactly been living in poverty since then, so yes, I have become a bit entitled. None of this is to go any further,” Gillian said, reaching out and tapping the table.
Viola placed a hand on top of Gillian’s. “Everything you say to me stays between us. I would hope the same goes the other way around too.”
“Yes, of course.”
Viola gestured between the two of them. “This is a safe space; you can tell me anything.”
“You’ve heard it all now,” Gillian said, retrieving her hand as she realised she was enjoying Viola’s soft hand and caressing fingers a little too much.
“You seem embarrassed to have come from a poor background.”
“I built a life at Kingsford, crafted it over decades. It would wipe away my last shred of dignity if people were to find out now. I would be a liar, an imposter.”
“Is it not time for the real Gillian to step into the limelight and reveal who she really is?”
“No, I’m not sure it is. I’ve already lost so much; I can’t risk losing the last remnants of my life.”
“Do you even like this Gillian, the one you’ve crafted?” Viola asked, placing her knife and fork down on her empty plate.
“I don’t dislike her. I’ve grown used to her over the years,” Gillian replied, with a hint of defeat. “I had to.”
“Like an old, worn-out pair of slippers that don’t quite fit right?”
Gillian glared at Viola. “They may be worn, but they still fit comfortably.”
“Yet they no longer support you properly.”
“They still aren’t ready to be discarded into the waste,” Gillian bit back, hoping to stop the conversation in its tracks.
Viola had said Gillian could tell her anything, and she had, leaving nothing out. When had she become the person Gillian confided everything in? There was nothing left to share; Viola knew it all, from her unhappy childhood and marriage to her first love.
After they both declined dessert, Viola insisted on paying the bill. Gillian couldn’t exactly argue with her. Having seen the prices on the menu when they had sat down, she’d calculated the maths in her head. She wasn’t normally one for accepting handouts, but on this occasion she was happy to relent. It helped that Viola was extremely insistent that it was her treat.
As they were getting ready to leave, two women sat at a table behind them. One proceeded to speak to the other in a concerned voice about a Labrador with an upset stomach.
“He’s probably eaten something he shouldn’t have,” the other woman replied nonchalantly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
