“Sounds exciting. So, when does this project begin?”
Jen wished that it could begin as soon as tomorrow, but she explained that she had to be patient, for one, as the transfer had to go through, “and my birthday will be at home. There’s no way I want a party on a building site.” The waitress had brought them another round of cocktails courtesy of two of the men at the bar. They held up their glasses to thank them, then carried on with their conversation.
“And Brigit? How’s she doing?” Sharon asked.
“She seems to have made peace with not knowing who her real dad is. The fact that John had chosen to raise her as his own, she says, not knowing for certain that she was his, has made her decide to abandon the idea of a paternity test. This is also why she chose to forgive him: for not being perfect. And she seems to have forgiven me. Well, I assume as much because she’s asked if she can help me with my party preparations!”
“No!” Claudia said. “Then all must be forgotten.”
“Mmmm. I’m not so sure, she’s still in therapy.”
Sharon laughed. “Nothing wrong with therapy, am I right, Claudia?”
“Somehow, she relishes the notion that she had two dads who both loved her, despite not knowing whose she was,” Jen said. Claudia and Sharon seemed to understand better than she did, but she supposed that they’d heard weirder things as therapists themselves.
“How’s Pete coping on the farm with his dad?”
Jen held the straw of her cocktail, sucked gently, swallowed and then spoke.
“It seems to be a little smoother. For a while there, I doubted myself, throwing them in the business like I did. But Pete says that they stay out of each other’s way as much as possible and that their relationship is strictly business related.”
Claudia had met Pete with Jen over lunch a few times when he had come into the city to follow up with one of the farm’s biggest restaurant clients.
“He’s a good boy, Pete. Seems to me he’s coming into himself.” Claudia commented.
“He is. I’m so glad. He really has come a long way, even though he’s still my boy.”
Sharon downed her cocktail and motioned to the waitress to bring her the bill. It was after sunset and she had a lot of paperwork to finish before the next day. Jen still could not believe how hard Sharon worked.
“Well, you’re certainly proof that only good things can happen when people are given the space they need to be themselves,” Sharon said kindly.
Jen was almost, but not quite, accustomed to how supportive Sharon and Claudia were of her. Not only were they kind and encouraging, they really seemed to value her. She had never in her life had friends like these. Jen had never felt valued, even when she and Frankie were besties.
She didn’t know where Frankie was now, and she didn’t care. Frankie had tried calling her, but Jen had blocked her calls. She had heard, through Pete, that Clive had left university to take over his father’s business and was doing a good job. He and Pete saw each other quite often, both being in the wine industry. Apparently, Clive had a steady girlfriend whom Frankie despised.
And, of, course Jen’s friendship with the book club girls had dissolved since she had left, except for Patricia. Jen knew Patricia needed her more than she did Patricia, so she always answered the phone when she called. She listened politely to Patricia’s news, told her a little about what was going on in her life, being considerately careful not to make everything seem too good.
But the truth was, she thought, as she walked towards her beloved little hatchback down Camps Bay’s bustling street, festive with Friday-evening revellers, her new life was glorious. She had been given a second chance and she had grabbed it with both hands.
Thirty-eight
It had been just over a year since John’s fifty-fifth birthday, with all the ensuing fallout. Jen had now reached the big five-oh she had once dreaded but had come to embrace it. There was no way that she would pass up a celebration to commemorate her transformation and her new beginning. And what better place to celebrate than her new home?
She finished getting ready for the party and examined herself in the full-length mirror. This time, Jen didn’t care what Brigit◦– or anyone else◦– thought of her outfit. She had chosen a long, Grecian-style gown in emerald green, which showed off her shoulders and long neck. She had splashed out on gold earrings, and her hair had been tied back in a chignon at the nape of her neck. There was a slit up the side of her dress from which a tanned and toned thigh peeped as she walked. She felt◦– and looked◦– absolutely gorgeous.
Jen went through to the kitchen to check on the caterers. The guests would start with canapés during the speeches, followed by a sit-down meal of beef fillet or fish with a medley of vegetables. She’d decided on an assortment of desserts to be left on the table for the remainder of the evening, so the guests could tuck into them if they wanted something decadent and sweet. She had her eye on the lavender macarons.
Pete and Brigit were the first to arrive. Claudia, Sharon and Patty had helped her to get the house ready in the afternoon and were now laughing uproariously over a bottle of wine on the little stoep in front. Jen joined them and noticed that Brigit, leaning against the railing with a glass of wine, was resolutely ignoring Patty. Previously, Jen would have fretted about tension between two of her guests, but tonight she didn’t let it worry her. They’re both adults. They can sort themselves out.
Among the fifty guests to arrive were her friends’ lovers, followed by Angie, Leonard’s secretary, with whom Jen had made a strong connection, as well as Jenny and Gerard from the spa; perhaps they were an unconventional choice, but Jen would forever be grateful for the way they had treated her when she’d been so vulnerable and hurt. She had also made new friends through her work, some of whom she invited to join her celebration. She had included some of her kids’ friends, one of which was Clive, who had grown up in Jen’s house.
And of course, Myron was there: tall, tanned and handsome and extremely sexy.
He had pursued Jen from the time she blew him a kiss and walked out of his house, closing the front door behind her. But at the time, there had been no place in her life for a permanent romance. Jen was only interested in romancing Jen. She had spent years in self-imposed imprisonment and there was no way she would allow her newfound freedom and energy to be compromised by another relationship. Not then. She had stuck to her guns, and Myron, to his credit, had respectfully, if grudgingly, given her the space that she had needed.
The closest thing she had to a relationship during that time was a brief encounter with a former client, but when he gave her a diamond necklace as a token of his commitment, she ran for the hills.
It had only been Myron she wanted, and when she was ready, she summoned him to her newly purchased home on a Friday evening by way of a hand-delivered invitation. She asked him to meet her at her home address, and wrote, “Expect to wear nothing on entering”. He told her later that he had cancelled a date with a woman he had met online.
He knocked on her door at exactly eight o’clock. She had worn a long chiffon dress over a bronze body suit and tied her long hair up in an untidy bun above her head. She had wanted to look sexy, but not as if she had tried too hard.
The first things Jen noticed about him were his trendy glasses and new haircut. He looked even more attractive than she remembered. She breathed in the delectable smell of him as they stood facing each other. She was sure that her desire was radiating off her in waves.