BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

 

                                                                           Chapter Twelve

 

John Bellamy and Jennifer Kramer had never met, and had little in common. If Bill Marshall had gone to a different bar that night five years ago, he would not have met Jenny and then, one might conclude, that John and Jennifer would have absolutely nothing in common. Totally different lifestyles; completely different interests, and a considerable difference in age.

    But when they met, they liked each other from the start but theirs was not a sexual attraction. Some natural instinct was telling them sex was not at work here, and that their attraction, whatever it might be, was of another kind.

    Time was gently slipping by, and Jenny, coming to terms with her loss, was, almost reluctantly, slowly emerging from the shadow. She had been looking through some bits and pieces she had come across in a cardboard box, along with some photographs of herself with Bill. Mostly they had been taken at different sea side resorts they had illicitly visited . Bill had become quite skilful in his invention of ‘conferences’, which would take him away from home. A few days here, and a few days there, and Wendy had found her employer surprisingly tolerant of her occasional periods of sickness, or ‘last minute’ requests for time off.  They had therefore been able to share many short ‘holidays’ away from the confines, and the risks, of the home environment.  On one memorable occasion they had a whole week in France. Jenny never found out how he had managed to get round his wife about that one, and she used to wonder if she ever complained that she didn’t get any holidays. It never occurred to her that Bill’s wife had little interest in his whereabouts. It simply never crossed her mind that she did not much care, or indeed, that Mrs Marshall was quite aware of what her husband was up to.

    In the box with the photographs she had found an envelope on which were the words, written in Bill’s rather untidy handwriting, ‘ Jenny. Open this tomorrow, any tomorrow - only open today if you have to.’

    Jenny pondered those words. For poor Bill, there would be no tomorrow, but she wondered, is this the 'today' he was meaning. She opened the envelope. It contained an insurance policy on Bills life, but in her name. Then she remembered the day he had told her about it'. “Just put it away, out of sight; it’ll be something for a rainy day.”

    When she complained that she would never remember it, he said, pretending to be irritated, “Oh’ give it to me.” and wrote those words.

    Jennifer was not wanting for money, though she was far from being 'well off'. Unlike some young women, she had to use her money wisely, and budgeted to make it go round. Luxuries had to be justified, and often rejected. Bill was as generous as he could be, but she knew that he had other home and family commitments, so she tried to live out of her salary and use whatever Bill gave her for ‘their’ pleasure.

    She looked at the document again. Four times already she had looked at it, and each time she found it hard to comprehend. She had never doubted Bill’s commitment to her, but had there ever been a moment of uncertainty, this document would have removed those doubts.

    “Ten thousand pounds !” she said to herself again, and again she was dumbfounded. Bill had never even hinted of anything like this, and her eyes were wet thinking of the love he must have had for her - the love she knew he had for her - the love that now was gone forever.

    There were days when she thought she was over it; and there were other times when he would be right back with her. This was one of those days, and it was, as always, hard to bear.

    The next morning she had phoned a number found on a compliments slip with the policy. It was for a local branch of a large insurance company, and she arranged an interview to discuss this remarkable find. That phone call led to her being shown into Mr Bellamy's office.

    “Miss Kramer to see you Mr. Bellamy." announced the secretary, as she pushed open the door to his office.

    "Thank you Ann," he said smiling at his secretary, and then switching the same smile to his visitor. Please come in Miss Kramer, and take a seat.” indicating as he spoke, a  comfortable chair by a small table by the side window of his office. Getting up from his desk,  he walked round so that he could join her, sitting in the other chair by the table.

    He held out his hand as he approached, which she took in a friendly and gentle hand shake. “I’m John Bellamy,” he said, “please call me John.”

    In her relatively short life Jenny had become something of an expert about men, and from an early age had developed a knack of making instant judgements about them, usually with a fair degree of accuracy. At one time this had been part of the mating game, but that little exercise not been required since she met Bill.

    She had met many men on different occasions, and in different situations, and it had become second nature, almost a game, to size up new acquaintances, especially male, and come to an instant character assessment.

     In accepting John’s handshake she noted his friendly demeanour, and his soft hands. She noted his gait, his voice and inflections, and his body language as he sat down.

    Importantly, though this was only their first meeting, she noted his ability to look her in the eyes. That, more than most things revealed a man to her, and usually she would have reached her conclusion without her quarry being aware of her mental probing.  

    Indeed, more often than not she will have got the measure of a new acquaintance, before he had taken half a dozen blinks.

    Jenny knew instinctively that she would be comfortable with Mr Bellamy, and that, even though he was much older than she; in the age group that normally pleased her, he would not attempt to score with her. She knew too, with the same degree of certainty, would she would not be drawn to him.

     “Thank you.” she responded, as he laid his nice fountain pen, and his spectacle case, on the table.

    “I’m Jennifer, but most people call me Jenny.” Just for a moment she faltered at the thought of Bill, the one person, in all her life, who had always called her ‘Jen’.

    “Very pleased to meat you then Jenny, lets see what we can do for you.”

    She gave him a brief description of her situation. She told him about the loss of her boyfriend, and of his farewell gift to her. He asked some questions as she spoke, and very soon had the gist of things. Jenny had not yet given him the policy to look at, and no names had been mentioned.

    “There might be some complications.” he said at last, “It could depend on a number of things, and it’s possible that there might be a claim from his estate. May I look at the policy,” he asked “just to see if there are any obvious loopholes?”

    He took the document from her and opened it up, and proceeded to read. He seemed to falter, and then read some more, before finally putting the paper down. He asked Jenny one or two more pertinent questions, specifically about Bill. He had put on his reading glasses to examine the policy, which he now removed, and laid them on the table, next to the now folded document.

    After a long pause, during which Jenny started to get anxious, sensing some difficulty, he said. “I’m sorry to tell you that there is a problem.”

    There was something in the tone of Johns voice that Jenny found hard to fathom.. “What is it then; is there something not legal about it?"

    John stopped her. “The problem isn’t a legal one, at least not that I know of.” he paused briefly, “No, it’s more of a personal one really, so I had better put you in the picture.”

    Another Pause “You see,” he said, “as well as Mr Marshall being a client of mine, I am representing his widow; Mrs Marshall; in a dispute, and also advising her in settling her husbands estate.”

    He could see that Jenny was unclear about that and so he continued. “You see,” he said again “Mr Marshall, was a client of the company, and when he died his wife consulted with us on the matter of his policies, and we also undertook to act on her behalf in one instance where there was, and still is, a dispute.”

    He paused to allow her to take in what he was saying. “We did not know of course, or expect, that there would be another claimant, and I don’t see how, ethically, I can act for you both.”

    “What should I do then?” she asked

    “I don’t know of any definite problems, perhaps there won’t be any,” he answered in a slightly round about way, “but there might be a chance that Mrs Marshall could challenge your right to be a beneficiary; she might claim your policy as part of Mr Marshall’s estate.”

    “How would she know?” Jenny asked looking straight at Mr Bellamy.

     “Naturally your conversation with me is confidential, so you can be certain that I will not tell her; but it is astonishing what can be found out by someone who knows where to look, and how to look.”

     “Do you think I will loose it?” she asked directly.

     “I don’t say that, but I think that it would be a good idea for you to consult a solicitor. I think you should get some legal advice.”

     John Bellamy was trying to be as even handed as he could, aware that his ‘crisis of conscience’ was a personal one more than a legal one. Unbelievably he had found himself in the middle of a romantic and possibly legal five star tangle. First were his sympathies to two ladies following the death of a man he hardly knew. Plus on the one hand there was Margaret, now contemplating a new life with a man who until recently had played a big part in his own life. While on the other hand there was Jenny, who had played an equally big part in in the life of Margaret's deceased husband.

     John Bellamy was at a loss to know which of these two ladies would win out, or indeed whether he himself might be drawn into a legal situation.

 

The post man came late, so Rodney found his daily quota of bills and junk mail lying on the floor when he returned to his flat after a trying day. 'Today’s' collection looked pretty average, for, apart from 'junk' he didn't get that much mail. He wasn’t looking for anything special as he scooped up his letters, and casually leafed through the bundle. A book club: a bank offering him lots of money, and another bank offering him even more. He stopped shuffling the pack when he found one very special envelope.

    It was from Wendy. He knew her handwriting very well, and looking at the post mark only confirmed the fact.

    It had been a trying day, but only in the sense that everyday since Wendy left him on the station platform had been a trying day. In every other way it had been a perfectly ‘normal’ day, but recently Rodney had lost contact with ‘normal’. More than a week had gone by without a call from her, and every time he called her the phone remained unanswered. Even her answering machine was not answering any more.

    Now there was a letter.  “Why a letter?” a worried expression took over his face. He knew that it could only be bad, and he put it down to look at later when he felt he could face it.

     Rodney prepared his evening meal in gloomy silence, and with no enthusiasm. No sooner had he sat down to eat, he pushed it away, not wanting it after all. This had been a bad time for him, and he contemplated the contents of Wendy’s letter with apprehension as he sat down on his large settee, and put his head back. Hardly had he sat down however a sudden decision brought him to his feet, and he went to where he had laid the letter down.

    Before he got there however, the phone rang. He froze. Dare he hope?. Slowly he lifted the phone to his ear. “Wilson.” he said, but in a voice lacking it’s usual crispness.

    “Hello darling.” a ladies voice said.

    Rodney was not elated, recognizing the voice at once. “Hello mother,” he answered “How are you?”

    “Rodney my dear, I had to ring as soon as I got the news; you must be devastated.”

    “What do you mean Mother, what is it you are saying?”

    "The letter."  

    "What letter?" 

    “Do you mean; Rodney, are you saying that you don’t know?”

    Expecting the worst now, Rodney sat down. “Mother,” he said wearily “Will you tell me what you are talking about?”

    “I’ve got a letter from Wendy; she says she has written to you; she says it’s all off.”

    Rodney was speechless, unable to answer even though he had suspected it might be that. “Rodney!” he heard his mother calling, “Rodney, can you hear me?”

    “Yes mother I can hear you; I’m sorry but I’m a bit stumped; you got in first I’m afraid.”

    “Oh’ Rodney, I’m so sorry, I just assumed you would know.” she said, concerned for her son, and tried to calm him. “It must have been a blow for you my dear; can’t you take some time off work. Why don’t you come home and have a few day’s with us?” she asked him.

    Rodney told her he wasn’t up to that at the moment, “But perhaps later.” he added, as though to please her.

    When he got to the point that he couldn’t put off any longer, he asked. “What did she say Mother?”

    “She said that you’d had a blazing row, and that you had been very hurtful; I’m sure that can’t be true dear; can it?”

    “Perhaps it’s half true.” he answered.. “We did let go a bit, and we both said things we shouldn't have; things we didn't mean.”

    “It’s such a pity, you were such a lovely couple, and just made for each other.”

    “Yes Mother, it is a shame, but perhaps it’s for the best, especially for Larry.”

    “What do you mean?” said Mother “Who’s Larry?”

    “I’ll explain later Mother.” said Rodney, managing to find a smile at his little joke, but unwilling, for now at least, to explain it.

    They talked for some time and when he eventually said goodbye Rodney had recovered his composure. And, now that the uncertainty had gone, he was able to raise another whimsical smile. "All over a pair of bloody rings.” he said to himself.

    During the last few days, Rodney had thought of little else but the events of that week end, and had tried to figure it out. He couldn’t seem to get a sensible perspective on it, and a number of times his thinking had taken him along roads he did not wish to travel. Now that it was over he was able to look at it from a different viewpoint, and in a new light.

    “Could it be - ?” he thought, perhaps seeing things more clearly now. “Might it just be, that subconsciously I had been uneasy about our relationship, and the matching rings became a way out?”

     He pondered that thought, but only briefly, then stood up. “What utter rubbish!” he told himself angrily “I love Wendy!”

    He put a few things away, poured himself a decent sized whisky, drank it down in one go, poured himself another, turned off the light, and took himself off to bed.

    Wendy’s letter lay unopened where he had left it, with the other junk mail.