A Much-Weighted Reunion

By Eliza Potts

Prepare to embark on an unforgettable journey with A Much-Weighted Reunion, where the weight of the past bears heavy on the present. As the reunion unfolds, guests who have long pursued success and happiness find themselves confronted with their deepest fears. Initially, their nightmares take on a strange and humorous form, lulling them into a false sense of security. However, nothing could prepare them for the true events that await, forever binding them together in a tangled web of intrigue, lies, and deception. Brace yourself for a captivating tale that explores the enduring consequences of the past and the unyielding bonds forged amidst a backdrop of suspense.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035800414

Eliza Potts

From a very early age, theatre and dance were important to Eliza Potts, regularly going to ballet classes and performing in plays locally; writing and performing her own little productions to any caring adult who would watch. Becoming a professional ballet dancer plus doing some acting and then finally teaching ballet and theatre. Her multi-set comedies were performed in England, France and Monaco. Like so many people during COVID restrictions, unable to put on her Murder Mystery Evenings, etc., she decided to turn them into humorous novels.

Book preview

About the Author

From a very early age, theatre and dance were important to Eliza Potts, regularly going to ballet classes and performing in plays locally; writing and performing her own little productions to any caring adult who would watch. Becoming a professional ballet dancer plus doing some acting and then finally teaching ballet and theatre. Her multi-set comedies were performed in England, France and Monaco. Like so many people during COVID restrictions, unable to put on her Murder Mystery Evenings, etc., she decided to turn them into humorous novels.

Dedication

To my wonderful parents for their great story telling.

And my fellow actors; I envisage their faces when I write:

Hugh, Johnathan, Jane, Issy, Chris, Steve, Gary and Helena.

Copyright Information ©

Eliza Potts 2023

The right of Eliza Potts to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035800407 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035800414 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter 1

The Path That Leads to Nowhere

More than two decades ago, George Symonds had bought an austere Victorian mansion on the outskirts of London. It had tall ornate chimney pots, large sash windows, and a dark patterned tiled floor in the entrance hall leading to a heavy oak front door. There were lattice windows with sombre historical events depicted in dark leaded framed glass. They greeted the guests as they arrived. The worst portrayal being the two young princes sleeping in the Tower of London, about to be smothered by their uncle who lent over them holding a large cushion with murderous intent in his heart. The entrance hall was always dim as the large solid dark oak front door blocked all the natural light. As time went by, the mansion became more and more unwelcoming; it sent shivers through the spines of all who entered the house. George liked that as he had no desire to entertain family or receive visitors. As night fell, he would gaze up at the ornate chimney pots heavily splattered with black soot and smile; he was delighted they looked sinister, their scary dark stern silhouettes seemed to transform into mysterious black soldiers who guarded his domain from above staring down through the dreary grey London sky.

George was an up-and-coming divorce lawyer; he revelled in the tragedies of others and profited handsomely the longer he kept the feud going between the troubled couples. He needed a wife who would stay with him forever however he behaved. He hoped she would eventually fear him and cower under his severe dominance. His scheming brain knew how she had to be, a woman of upper or middle-class background, naturally timid as he wished to dictate his demands from the very beginning. As their time passed, he would reduce her confidence by belittling her until he controlled her completely. He intended to be master of the house and he would rule over her with a rod of iron. He pondered on her character, she must be naturally reserved, obedient and not overly intelligent or a free thinker. He detested women with strong characters who made suggestions and demanded change. All his acquaintances were purely to aid him to meet wealthy people which would secure his position in the right social circles.

Christopher was one of these; he was rich, well-connected and had a generous spirit, and he frequently held lavish cocktail parties. George always made it his top priority to attend. It was there he espied Jayne; she was sipping her champagne alone surveying the scene nervously. It was evident to George she could be a possible candidate for his spouse. He watched her and pursued her like a fox following his prey. She appeared shy and seemed to lack self-confidence. George asked Chris about the girl; he liked what he heard-she was called Jayne, an only child from a good family. He studied her more carefully; she was not wearing any makeup or nail varnish.

She was well dressed in a classic grey suit; she reminded him of a scared rabbit. George noticed her antique marcasite brooch on her lapel, another indication her family were upper middle class. He was aware of her excellent manners and her efforts to be very polite. He moved in, posed as a charming suitor, he remarked how attractive she looked and added that her genteel qualities shone through more than any other woman in the room. Jayne had flushed.

George cordially invited her to dinner whenever she was free. Jayne accepted graciously, blushed again, evidently disarmed by his charming manner, she smiled at George. He was delighted, he felt his power over her, and he knew he could control this woman, and that she should be his partner in marriage, and it would be easy to reduce her confidence to dust. Her average looks and figure would not interest other men, even if she tried to escape his prison. Her bosoms were too small, and she possessed no flirtatious qualities to tempt them. Her hair was light brown, curved below her ears and her eyes were pale blue. George was satisfied he had his prisoner in his sights, he worked steadily on their courtship. They were engaged within the year; George promised her stability, a fine home in the right area when they wed.

One year later, they were married, Jayne wore a traditional white high-necked dress with a short veil. It was a Parish church wedding with three groomsmen wearing top hat and tails. Michael, Jeremy, and rich Chris and two bridesmaids, Melissa and Joanna who wore long apricot flowery dresses. The reception breakfast was held at a country house hotel paid for by Jayne’s parents who were delighted that their only daughter had made an advantageous marriage to an aspiring lawyer. They were itching to leave England to escape the gloomy dark cold winters for their villa in Ibiza to take in all that winter sunshine. Now, they could go as their only daughter was in secure hands. Little did they know that George’s pomposity and cruelty would grow over the years like a twisted old tree maturing with knots and malformed branches that would pierce into their daughter’s soul, killing her joy for living.

Many seasons had passed, sixteen years, the air of depression in their Victorian mansion was ever stronger. Jayne had never been allowed to change one detail which would have lifted her spirits and the atmosphere of their house. The interior could not have been duller, George had insisted on all the rooms be painted dark grey, a drab depressing shade. Their gardens were flowerless. George had not permitted Jayne to plant any shrubs. There were no climbing sweet, scented roses that would have softened the stark red brick walls. George, himself, had pulled them up and the wild honey suckles. He had complained. The perfume irritates my nose and makes me sneeze.

In the early years of their marriage, Jayne had begged George to let her plant a few flowers, but he had snarled and growled angrily like a wild dog.

You are so selfish, Jayne, you never consider my allergies, and flowers could bring on one my asthma attacks.

He had stormed out of the lounge, slamming the door after his final cutting speech; his cruel criticisms still rang in her ears.

It never ceases to amaze me; your thoughtlessness. I suppose it is because you are not a very intelligent woman. Jayne, you must be more considerate, and remember my needs. Everything is not always about what you want.

Jayne often walked alone in the bare gardens to escape the insufferable atmosphere George created in their home. She used to stare down at the lawns; they were boringly oblong with manicured borders like wooden rulers in a Victorian classroom. Jayne imagined how beautiful it could be if there were winding paths that led to a secret flower garden with an old stone seat. Maybe some moss would grow on the curved edges with little cheery cherubs on either side. There had been an old stone bench with winged, nearly naked fairies either side and a bird bath, but George had removed them. He had moaned they were vulgar extravagances. Jayne was becoming more and more demoralised; she had not worked for years as only two years after they married, George had insisted she resign her post as a primary school teacher, a job she cherished. Being with young children warmed her heart; she loved telling them imaginative stories which brought them sheer joy and took them away from reality, their poor homes and their poverty. She had desperately wanted to have children of her own, but every year George had said they should wait but soon she realised he was lying; he never wanted children; her world was crumbling away, she felt weak and trapped. She remembered George’s speech only too clearly, he had bellowed.

There is no need for you to work at all. You only teach in a very poor area to deprived street urchins, which is preposterous for a lawyer’s wife. The risk of bringing all sorts of diseases in my house is too great. Jayne had pleaded but George shrieked at her.

Children from such lowly backgrounds should be avoided at all costs. I do not want all their disgusting grubby germs passing through my front door as I said; if only you would listen when I give you sound advice. It is common sense to protect ourselves from unnecessary infections. You are so thoughtless, Jayne, you never think about my well-being, I am an important lawyer; I need you to look after me and be a proper wife.

Jayne attempted to defend herself.

I do try and look after you, George, I… George frowned and continued his criticisms. He shouted angrily at his unhappy wife.

Look after me! No! You do not, Jayne, you constantly put yourself first. Jayne felt the tears well up, George’s constant criticisms were becoming crueller. His tyrannical rants were like angry grey clouds that burst open and poured cold rain in her soul; like sharp thunderclaps, his evil remarks resounded in her ears. His heartless words hurtled painful raindrops down on her head which turned to sleet and battering hail which crept deep inside her body and thrashed against the walls of her heart. She sat motionless afraid to speak, George seemed calmer.

I suppose, I have to accept you are for who you are…An infuriating and utterly selfish slow-witted woman. Jayne cowered George continued.

You seriously are the stupidest female I know. Jayne felt totally diminished and was praying his chastisement would stop; then George blasted his last bullet out of his shotgun.

Truly, Jayne, you should spend more time in the kitchen making homemade jams and marmalade; that is what a good wife should do.

Her tear-filled eyes gazed sadly at his glowering face; she was thinking he wants to transport me back in time. Puffed up and pleased to see her tears, George bellowed.

You should take up needlework that would keep your idle fingers busy.

Jayne had nodded her head in agreement, but her brain had said, ‘Be very thankful, George never discovered that you had dared to sneak out of your prison every Tuesday and Friday morning to help in the charity shop. Imagine the tongue lashing you would receive? You know he would strongly disapprove?’

Jayne felt fretful, her mind continued talking. ‘It had been such a release, to laugh with the other ladies, sort out the old dresses and knickknacks while chatting to the other ladies. Jayne believed George would never find out, as the shop was some distance away, George would have no reason to walk down that street.’

Jayne dreaded the early evenings when George returned from the office and would drone on and on. She felt obliged to listen, but her brain was rebelling against the constant attacks. The front door would slam shut and he was off, no welcome greeting, no kiss just moaning about her.

Maybe you should take up knitting as you seem unable to do much else. Something very simple to start but useful, like a hot water bottle cover obviously something very basic as you are so slow-witted. Wifely pursuits will make you feel more grateful to me for all I have done for you. I have given you so much and hopefully, it will stop any frivolous thoughts entering your feeble head.

Chapter 2

The Evening Before

the Reunion Dinner

Jayne was sitting at her dressing table brushing her short brown hair. She was wondering what her old friends would look like. Would they look much older? She hoped their lives had been happier than her own. She gazed in the dressing table mirror and noticed a few more grey strands of hair; she sighed and wished she had done more with her life, perhaps she would have been happier. She remembered warm sunny days gone by; she saw herself as a happy child on her swing flying high in the blue sky gazing up at puffy clouds that seemed to transform into little animals with wispy legs that glided through the pale azure. How glorious her childhood had been, so many carefree days. She had been warmly loved by her parents, sadly, she realised that marrying George had dragged every moment of happiness out of her life. Her brain kept repeating the same question, it swirled round in her head.

Why haven’t you left him? She stared