Cecily Markby looked down at her hands as they rested on her lap. She decided that they had seen better days; there were more age spots than three years ago - not that she was counting. Today could have been better to be sure.
Behind her, hanging on the wardrobe door, was the blue silk dress Earnest had bought her just before his trip to America. She hadn’t worn it since seeing him off at the airport and today she would wear it to welcome him home and to say a final farewell after three long and difficult years.
Seated at her dressing-table after her morning shower, partly made-up and naked, she took stock of herself. Never much given to vanity, she could honestly say, and indeed, her friends from Tai Chi and the swimming club and even her GP would concur, that she was in pretty good shape. She’d always taken care with her weight and had stuck to a sensible balanced diet. Her first husband’s ultimate undoing was that he hadn’t. Too many city business lunches (long and liquid in the early days) and too little self-control. ‘Myocardial infarction’ it said on Algernon’s death certificate but it was really a slow suicide. He’d had plenty of warnings and shots across the bow. They’d been married for just twenty-three years. She’d made the effort to live well; he hadn’t. She’d known what was coming and was prepared for it. If he was also prepared, she never knew; they were barely speaking at the end.
When the first grey hairs had appeared, she coloured them out for a year or so before deciding it was the cut and style that mattered rather than the colour. Currently, it was asymmetric; cut up from the nape of the neck and longer on the right, covering the ear.
Her make-up regime was subtle and usually understated, although on special occasions she’d push the boat out with a few stronger colours and shades. In the last three years, these were rare. But today, sadly, was such an occasion.
As a child and a teenager, the importance of good posture had been drummed into her and her sisters. Her mother, headmistress of one of the better private girls’ schools, insisted that if girls were to survive and prosper in the world, in either the professions or in marriage, then chin up and (like it or not) shoulders back and chest out were the first steps to success. Of course, good academic qualifications and confident social skills were also crucial but, in a male-dominated world, first impressions count. Cecily had lived by this and she had, indeed, prospered.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she considered her figure from the front and then from the side. For sixty, she thought, it’s pretty damn good. True, the effects of gravity were evident but as Mrs Merriman, her cleaning lady had said, “There’s not enough fat on you to fry a rasher, missus.”
Her moisturising and hydration regime had helped to keep the crepey wrinkles and lines at bay. If they appeared, she wasn’t going to fill and hide them with the myriad of products and their fake promises on the shelves of Boots and Superdrug. She refused to entertain the nip and tuck culture or HRT. Botox was, naturally, quite beyond the pale.
A serious show-jumping accident when she was twenty had resulted in a hysterectomy that ensured a childless future. Her family were very sympathetic and Algernon seemed very understanding when they were engaged a year later. Reflecting on this in the difficult years prior to his death, she felt that he was rather pleased that there’d be no need for bothersome birth control. That there had been no children of their own to witness the gradual disintegration of their parents’ marriage, as well as their father’s untimely death, was, in some small way, compensation for her deep disappointment.
Cecily had had an active and adventurous sex life from the age of sixteen. As good Brownies and Girl Guides, she and her older sisters, Gwen and Augie, well understood the precept ‘Be Prepared’. Her boyfriends, however, were never let off the hook; they had to be good Boy Scouts as well. When she met Algernon at Bristol University the same applied to him. Only after the accident did she relent. As his weight and associated health problems developed, the physical side of their marriage declined. Neither had expected to maintain the level of intensity, adventurousness and passion of the early days but Cecily was distinctly disappointed when things ground to a halt. All her attempts to encourage Algernon to lose weight, take some exercise and keep up his medication were in vain. He’d make half-hearted attempts and give up. So she gave up, too. At least with Algernon. In her late thirties and early forties, she had no difficulty in finding discreet kindred spirits ready and willing to share her needs and desires.
One of these was a tall, wiry former rugby full-back called Earnest Markby; an aerospace engineer and widower whose job took him all over the world. At the age of forty-seven, she married him. Together, they travelled widely, rekindling the excitement of youth but in possession of the credit cards of successful middle age.
Then, after ten years of bliss, on a solo trip to Cape Kennedy, Earnest vanished. The Florida police did their best, as did the British police with the lukewarm assistance of Interpol. Cecily was interviewed and her life picked over. She mourned and reconciled herself to the loss, whatever its cause. Of Earnest, there was no sign and no leads. None, that is, until an eagle-eyed amateur investigator from Texas spotted something rather odd-looking on Google Earth in a lake in Florida. Upon investigation, first by himself and then by the local sheriff, it turned out to be the car on hire to Earnest when he disappeared. Inside the car were the remains of Earnest himself, along with his belongings. Damage to the front of the vehicle indicated that it had collided with a large animal, causing it to leave the road and enter and sink into the adjacent lake. From the road, the car couldn’t be seen. The local alligators would have seen to the dead or injured beast in no time.
So now, today, was the day she had to say farewell to the love of her life. Breaking her reverie with an optimistic smile, she told her reflection, “With good fortune, he will not be the last.” She finished her make-up, put on her best matching silk underwear, topping off with the beautiful blue silk dress. Downstairs, she picked up the large G & T on the hall table and joined Augusta and Gwendoline in the drawing-room, as they awaited the funeral cortege.
“Silk and gin: the best medicine for funeral blues,” she said as they toasted Earnest in the wedding photo on the mantelpiece.
Behind her, hanging on the wardrobe door, was the blue silk dress Earnest had bought her just before his trip to America. She hadn’t worn it since seeing him off at the airport and today she would wear it to welcome him home and to say a final farewell after three long and difficult years.
Seated at her dressing-table after her morning shower, partly made-up and naked, she took stock of herself. Never much given to vanity, she could honestly say, and indeed, her friends from Tai Chi and the swimming club and even her GP would concur, that she was in pretty good shape. She’d always taken care with her weight and had stuck to a sensible balanced diet. Her first husband’s ultimate undoing was that he hadn’t. Too many city business lunches (long and liquid in the early days) and too little self-control. ‘Myocardial infarction’ it said on Algernon’s death certificate but it was really a slow suicide. He’d had plenty of warnings and shots across the bow. They’d been married for just twenty-three years. She’d made the effort to live well; he hadn’t. She’d known what was coming and was prepared for it. If he was also prepared, she never knew; they were barely speaking at the end.
When the first grey hairs had appeared, she coloured them out for a year or so before deciding it was the cut and style that mattered rather than the colour. Currently, it was asymmetric; cut up from the nape of the neck and longer on the right, covering the ear.
Her make-up regime was subtle and usually understated, although on special occasions she’d push the boat out with a few stronger colours and shades. In the last three years, these were rare. But today, sadly, was such an occasion.
As a child and a teenager, the importance of good posture had been drummed into her and her sisters. Her mother, headmistress of one of the better private girls’ schools, insisted that if girls were to survive and prosper in the world, in either the professions or in marriage, then chin up and (like it or not) shoulders back and chest out were the first steps to success. Of course, good academic qualifications and confident social skills were also crucial but, in a male-dominated world, first impressions count. Cecily had lived by this and she had, indeed, prospered.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she considered her figure from the front and then from the side. For sixty, she thought, it’s pretty damn good. True, the effects of gravity were evident but as Mrs Merriman, her cleaning lady had said, “There’s not enough fat on you to fry a rasher, missus.”
Her moisturising and hydration regime had helped to keep the crepey wrinkles and lines at bay. If they appeared, she wasn’t going to fill and hide them with the myriad of products and their fake promises on the shelves of Boots and Superdrug. She refused to entertain the nip and tuck culture or HRT. Botox was, naturally, quite beyond the pale.
A serious show-jumping accident when she was twenty had resulted in a hysterectomy that ensured a childless future. Her family were very sympathetic and Algernon seemed very understanding when they were engaged a year later. Reflecting on this in the difficult years prior to his death, she felt that he was rather pleased that there’d be no need for bothersome birth control. That there had been no children of their own to witness the gradual disintegration of their parents’ marriage, as well as their father’s untimely death, was, in some small way, compensation for her deep disappointment.
Cecily had had an active and adventurous sex life from the age of sixteen. As good Brownies and Girl Guides, she and her older sisters, Gwen and Augie, well understood the precept ‘Be Prepared’. Her boyfriends, however, were never let off the hook; they had to be good Boy Scouts as well. When she met Algernon at Bristol University the same applied to him. Only after the accident did she relent. As his weight and associated health problems developed, the physical side of their marriage declined. Neither had expected to maintain the level of intensity, adventurousness and passion of the early days but Cecily was distinctly disappointed when things ground to a halt. All her attempts to encourage Algernon to lose weight, take some exercise and keep up his medication were in vain. He’d make half-hearted attempts and give up. So she gave up, too. At least with Algernon. In her late thirties and early forties, she had no difficulty in finding discreet kindred spirits ready and willing to share her needs and desires.
One of these was a tall, wiry former rugby full-back called Earnest Markby; an aerospace engineer and widower whose job took him all over the world. At the age of forty-seven, she married him. Together, they travelled widely, rekindling the excitement of youth but in possession of the credit cards of successful middle age.
Then, after ten years of bliss, on a solo trip to Cape Kennedy, Earnest vanished. The Florida police did their best, as did the British police with the lukewarm assistance of Interpol. Cecily was interviewed and her life picked over. She mourned and reconciled herself to the loss, whatever its cause. Of Earnest, there was no sign and no leads. None, that is, until an eagle-eyed amateur investigator from Texas spotted something rather odd-looking on Google Earth in a lake in Florida. Upon investigation, first by himself and then by the local sheriff, it turned out to be the car on hire to Earnest when he disappeared. Inside the car were the remains of Earnest himself, along with his belongings. Damage to the front of the vehicle indicated that it had collided with a large animal, causing it to leave the road and enter and sink into the adjacent lake. From the road, the car couldn’t be seen. The local alligators would have seen to the dead or injured beast in no time.
So now, today, was the day she had to say farewell to the love of her life. Breaking her reverie with an optimistic smile, she told her reflection, “With good fortune, he will not be the last.” She finished her make-up, put on her best matching silk underwear, topping off with the beautiful blue silk dress. Downstairs, she picked up the large G & T on the hall table and joined Augusta and Gwendoline in the drawing-room, as they awaited the funeral cortege.
“Silk and gin: the best medicine for funeral blues,” she said as they toasted Earnest in the wedding photo on the mantelpiece.