Jane hasn’t yet finished her revelations; she is surprised by an unexpected encounter. Jenny becomes “A Woman of Property’.

Part 23 of 25 — New Home

December 10th arrived, and we duly completed the purchase of Wroxall Gardens. One of the advantages of our new house was that it was only a ten-minute walk to my place of work, whereas a walk from Jane’s previous apartment would have take me the best part of an hour. I was still reeling from the knowledge that I was now joint owner of a house worth several hundred thousand pounds.

We’d had a super holiday, and we’d already spoken to the police, the council, my parents and my brother to make arrangements for Christmas and New Year. Jane and I had already agreed on December 22nd to January 3rd so as to cover the holidays, with little or no disruption to work and the children’s’ schooling.

~ O ~

I’d managed to sneak out at lunchtimes to do some shopping for Christmas gifts; I had no idea what Jane had done; I didn’t ask as I was sure that she’d surprise and embarrass me at some point. I still couldn’t get over the fact that I was now a Woman of Property. As long as nobody called me Margaret Brent.

~ O ~

Despite my regular asking, Jane wasn’t forthcoming regarding the travel arrangements.

“Just get everyone to Wroxall Gardens and I’ll do the rest.”

I was really looking forward to seeing the family over the festive period, and showing them around our ‘little house’. It was ‘so small’ that you could probably fit my collection of rooms at Coleridge House inside at least six times and still have space to spare. Wroxall Gardens was too big if it were just we two but we planned a lot of entertaining and visitors.

Meanwhile, the family would stay overnight at the nearby hotel, and Jane and I would stay at Coleridge House.

~ O ~

22nd December soon arrived and my family left their cars at Wroxall Gardens. We took the opportunity to give them a short tour of the property, prior to settling them into the hotel for the night. Like me, they were stunned by the size of the house and garden.

Just before lunch the next day, Jane said, “The car is here” and we emerged to find a large white stretch limousine outside the front door. The driver acknowledged our greetings, collected the suitcases and held the car doors open for us.

The car glided into the airport and over to an executive jet that had a stylised ‘S-G’ motif on each side. A petite woman, in a smart trouser suit, appeared and seemed overjoyed to see us.

 « Bonjour.  »

I looked at Jane, who said, “May I introduce Luisa? She is our pilot.”

Jane and Luisa exchanged hugs and cheek kisses.

We all echoed Luisa’s “Hello”, followed her onto the aircraft and buckled our seatbelts for take-off. Very soon, we were hurtling down the runway. It was the first time that I’d flown and, from what my father had told me when I was younger, a long time since my parents had. They’d kept their passports up to date; they were the preferred form of identity for most organizations.

After we were settled into our seats and had reached cruising altitude, Jane walked to the little galley and returned with a large jug. “Our holiday has started; who’s for some fresh orange juice?”

I was content to hold Jane’s hand. I said, “Jane, I don’t know what to say; “Thank you” seems awfully inadequate.”

She smiled at me. “Only the best for my girl and her family. Just think; soon they’ll be my family too.”

She told me that we’d have lunch on the plane so, after an hour or so, we headed for the galley, where we made drinks and sandwiches.

It took several hours to fly across France but with catching up on events since September, a discussion about the house, and so on, it wasn’t too long before we were lining up for our landing at Lyon.

~ O ~

“Is it big enough?” I asked, incredulously. I pointed at the helicopter towards which we were walking. It looked as though Peter had the same idea. My parents hadn’t yet returned from la-la land, where they’d gone when they first saw our new house; they simply moved as directed.

“It looks like an overgrown, upside-down, flying egg whisk; will we get everyone in?”

Jane smiled and steered us towards some steps. “It can carry twelve people in addition to the two pilots; you’ll be quite safe.”

Once we were airborne, she said, “To the North is the River Saá´ne, which flows through Má¢con, where your friend Mike comes on his wine-buying trips. We will then be heading in an eastwards direction and following the course of the River Rhá´ne, which flows into Lac Leman; you probably know it better as Lake Geneva, much of which is in Switzerland.”

I looked down in wonder at the beautiful countryside. I couldn’t help noticing that we were climbing steadily. After a while, I spotted a building perched seemingly precariously on a hill overlooking the River Rhá´ne.

“That’s where we’re going,” Jane said, smiling at me.

“Goodness; how big is it?”

“There are thirty rooms; this is, after all, only a small chá¢teau.”

I gulped.

Luisa landed in the car park and the co-pilot helped us to disembark — or whatever you do when you get out of a helicopter.

Jane led us into the building and we marvelled at the entrance hall décor and sumptuous carpet. I could tell that my parents were impressed; my mother’s “Ooh” and my father’s “Wow” were enough to let me know that they were overwhelmed by the luxury and history of their surroundings.

Jane’s Aunt Sophie and her partner á‰lise came into the hall to greet us. The co-pilot unloaded the luggage and he and Luisa left for the return trip to Lyon.

Sophie welcomed us and made ‘follow me’ signals with her hand; we all trouped into the living room. This time, it was Jane who stopped suddenly.

 « Maman?  »

 « Salut, Jaqueline, c'est beaucoup de jours....  »

In French, Jane interrupted, “Yes, Mother; it has been a long time. And my name now is Jane.”

Hélá¨ne Manning was well into her sixties but was still a stylish and elegant woman. Jane, although her younger child, was of a similar age to Peter Smith.

Hélá¨ne smiled and said in French, “You will always be my Jacqueline. It has been just over eleven years. I’ve missed you.”

Jane asked, angrily, “Whose fault was that?”

Hélá¨ne shrugged and gave a weak smile, perhaps conciliatory.

Jane said, “Tante Sophie told me about my stepfather. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for you. I can’t feel anything for him, except relief that he’s gone.”

Hélá¨ne sounded almost regretful. “He seemed to be the answer to a need. Perhaps I was wrong.”

Jane looked at her. “He was an evil man.”

I thought that comment was a bit strong. Then again, I didn’t experience life with him. If I had, perhaps I’d have understood.

Switching to English, Hélá¨ne changed the subject with, “Sophie told me that you were all coming to the chá¢teau this year; I begged her to allow me to join you so that I could see you again. Please, let us introduce ourselves.”

Jane was the only person who knew everyone. She gave a small nod of acquiescence and then stood and indicated in turn.

“Your hostess, my Aunt Sophie Saint-Gerard, whose jet brought us all here; á‰lise Guerlain, Sophie’s partner; Hélá¨ne Manning, my mother and Sophie’s sister-in-law; Ellen and Bill Smith, Jennifer’s parents; her brother and his wife, Peter and Geena Smith and their children Rosalind and Geoffrey, who are twins.” Finally, she put her arm around my shoulder and said, “This is Jennifer Ellen Smith, Ellen and Bill’s daughter, Peter’s sister, my fiancée, and the love of my life.”

I struggled to suppress a tear and welcomed Jane’s reassuring hug.

My father looked shocked. He knew that my first name was Jennifer but I don’t think he fully realised that I had taken my mother’s first name as my second forename. I know it was in the letter I sent earlier in the year but it was obvious that, at the time, he hadn’t taken it all in.

I was delighted to meet Albert once again — he insisted upon calling me ‘Mademoiselle Jennifer’, and it didn’t take our five year olds long to start exploring. Given the size of the place, I could see Geena and me being very fit, but very tired, after nearly a couple of weeks here.

After dinner, we indulged in some small talk and soon opted for an early night. Sophie showed my family and Jane’s mother to their rooms; Jane took my hand and led me upstairs to a sumptuously decorated bedroom. It was about the size of my entire apartment, was decorated with embossed floral rose wallpaper and was dominated by a huge four-poster bed. It was some time before we got to sleep as I wanted to thank her for organising all of this …

~ O ~

Christmas Eve was spent in preparation for the main event and in getting to know one another. Hélá¨ne seemed to be somewhat different from the tyrannical person that I was expecting. Perhaps she had mellowed, or perhaps Jane had a view of her mother that had been coloured by her childhood relationship with her. In fact, Hélá¨ne and the children got on so well that she insisted that they call her ‘Grand-Tante’ or great aunt; she certainly gave the impression of relishing the presence of the young people in the house. The rest of us, except for Jane who called her Maman — or mother, were instructed to call her Hélá¨ne.

Jane, Geena and I kept busy with preparations for Christmas, while trying to avoid the wrath of Albert, who saw it as his domain and us as guests. We eventually compromised by simply helping out when tolerated and generally keeping out of his way, and that of his staff.

I noticed that Jane and her mother spent a long time in private conversation and hoped that it would lead to some reconciliation. At least they were talking to one another and, while there was the occasional heated discussion, they did seem for the most part to be polite. Perhaps it was the season, or Hélá¨ne’s recent loss, or perhaps something else entirely, but there certainly appeared to be less… bitterness between them. They were obviously by no means the best of friends — old wounds take time to heal, or even just accept — but at least they were talking in what, for the most part, seemed a civilised manner. They usually spoke in rapid French, so I only caught the occasional word.

A Conversation between Jane and her Mother

“Did my stepfather arrange for my sister to be killed?”

Hélá¨ne winced. “He was angry. I knew nothing until she was dragged from the lake.”

“You acknowledge that you had two daughters?”

“Yes, it was obvious that Rosalie wasn’t going be the son that Henry wanted or expected, but your stepfather….”

“He was an evil, egotistical man who thought only of himself and his image. I still miss Rosalie.”

“Does Jennifer know about Rosalie?”

“Yes, she does. I’ve learned that keeping secrets from her is not a good idea.”

“Then she knows about the baby?”

“Yes; I have mentioned it.”

“Have you told her everything?”

Jane said, “I’ve told her as much as I think she can take in. I still can’t believe that you didn’t make more of a fuss. I did wonder if my step-father arranged for me to be attacked.”

“We shall never know; he took that secret to the grave.” Hélá¨ne shrugged; a typical Gallic gesture.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Christmas Day brought back so many memories for me. When I was a child, before my terrible school experiences began, before my brother left home and before my father became so unreasonable, the innocence and joy of the festive season would make it a time to look back with some measure of happiness and forward with hope. Those feelings, of course, were always tempered by the constant feeling of wrongness that had dogged me all my life.

We all wrapped up warm on Christmas Day morning and went as a family to a small local park. I’m sure that Albert was glad for us to leave him for a couple of hours. Although my parents, brother, sister-in-law and the twins rarely followed what was said by Aunt Sophie, á‰lise, Hélá¨ne and Jane, we were all, especially the children, made to feel very much included. As I walked with my family and friends, I sent up a little prayer of thanks to a God I didn’t know for all the blessings that had been showered upon me over the preceding nine months or so. As we walked, I cuddled with Jane and felt such a glow of contentment.

We returned to the chá¢teau and attempted to do justice to the feast that Albert and his staff had created. The meal consisted not only of all the seasonal favourites from England but also some local delicacies which Sophie and á‰lise encouraged us to try. The meal was topped off with Albert carrying in a large flaming Christmas pudding surrounded by mince pies. One of his staff followed with a tureen of Crá¨me Anglaise.

Soon it was time to distribute the gifts and each one reflected a degree of love and thought which threatened to overwhelm me. When all the presents had been given out, Jane handed me a large plain white envelope bearing just my name in beautiful green copperplate writing. There was no clue as to the contents. Underneath my name was written, “Happy Christmas to my darling Jenny; with all my love, Jane.” The envelope obviously contained papers of some sort but I had no idea what they could be. I looked around but saw only curiosity on everyone’s face. I kept turning the envelope over in my hands.

Jane smiled and said, “Open it then.”

I thought at first it might be a late Christmas card, but it was too bulky for that. With trembling hands I carefully unstuck the flap and withdrew the contents….

I took out a couple of airline tickets and looked at them. They were for two First Class return air journeys from London to Zá¼rich in Switzerland. I looked over at Jane. “I’m puzzled. Why have I got these?”

“Simple; I’ve arranged a little break for us. I’ll tell you more this evening.”

Jane’s mother was the only one not in the know about my history and Jane seemed disinclined to reveal any information that might enlighten her. In addition, as she told me later, it was my decision whether or not to reveal details of my past to Hélá¨ne who, after all, I had known but a couple of days. Finally, Jane reminded me of the trouble she’d had with her family over her sexuality, her support of her sister and her grandmother’s legacy.

I leapt up and rushed over to Jane; I plopped into her lap, threw my arms around her neck and kissed her like my life depended on it. I didn’t care if my family, or her mother, were embarrassed by my action.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You can thank me properly later.”

I did.

~ O ~

After I had satisfied our needs, and in the privacy of our room, I asked, “why Zá¼rich?”

Jane explained. “Zá¼rich is where the clinic is. I told you that your little gynaecological problem would be sorted out as soon as possible. I spoke with Sally Ruskin, who spoke with Judy Davenport and Peter Brookfield and we have the final sign-off from Irene Cross at the Glendale Clinic.”

“Gynaecological problem?” I asked, smirking. “Is that what you call nature’s little fuck-up?”

“You have an outie; it needs to be converted to an innie.”

“But don’t I have to wait a year or two?”

“That’s for guidance only and doesn’t deal with your case, where your testosterone count is near enough zero, and no amount of testosterone will change that.”

“So I can go ahead, then?” I asked, excitedly.

“Yes you can.”

My face fell. “I’d better think about selling or re-mortgaging Coleridge House; I’ll need the money.”

“Your surgery is paid for; that’s the other part of your Christmas present.”

“You can’t do that! How will I ever repay you?”

“You already have; you just being in my life is payment enough.”

I kissed her again, which led to other things….

January 2005

All the adults stayed up on 31st December to hug and kiss and wish each other a happy New Year. Over the week between Christmas and New Year I’d got to know my prospective mother-in-law a little better. That’s the way I was thinking of her now; if she was averse to the idea, it wasn’t obvious.

Having a few French women around me — Aunt Sophie, á‰lise and Hélá¨ne - and Jane conversing with the other three - really did wonders for my French language skills.

~ O ~

All too soon it was time to return to England. We said goodbye to Sophie and á‰lise, promising to return on a regular basis. After exchanging a hug with Hélá¨ne, she said that she would return to England with us on the plane. I assumed that she would go back to her late husband’s home, but she intended to stay a couple of nights in the hotel prior to making the journey to Runnymede, on the River Thames, quite near the John F. Kennedy memorial and not far from where the Magna Carta was signed. The JFK memorial is on land given by the people of Great Britain to the USA.

Hélá¨ne could have stayed in my guestroom at Coleridge House but perhaps her relationship with her daughter was still a little precarious - and I had known her just a few days.

~ O ~

Jane and I spent the rest of January decorating Wroxall Gardens. This of course meant supervising decorators. We’d already agreed on colour schemes. As I worked nearby, it mainly fell to me to take maximum advantage of flexitime and visit the work in progress at lunchtimes and after work.

February 2005

Once decoration was finished, we had a lot of fun furnishing the house. With the rooms being bigger, most of the furniture from Coleridge House would be lost in the available space so the decision was taken to leave it behind. We would then have another furnished home for use by guests - or we could try to let it.

We finally celebrated our first year together by moving into Wroxall Gardens at the end of February. I joked that we would need tracking devices in order to find each other.

We had a house-warming party. Guests included a number of police officers, many of my colleagues in the Council offices, and all my family, for whom we now had the available space. The food and drink was catered and we were grateful that we didn’t have to clear up the inevitable mess.

One of the guests was Phil Sullivan. I’d expanded my circle of friends over the past few months and one of these was Debbie Lunt, who was engaged to Phil. Debbie worked in IT at the Council and literally bumped into Phil on her travels around the building. One thing led to another and Debbie was soon sporting an engagement ring.

Phil came up to me at the party and said, “I know that I’ve said it before but I can’t apologise enough to you; I admit that I was totally wrong about you. If I can get away without an elbow in the ribs from Debbie, I will say that you have become one of the happiest and most beautiful people that I’ve ever met; so different from that miserable bloke John. Smart, helpful, attractive, dare I say fun; it’s no wonder that Jane thinks the world of you and, if you ever need a friend, just call on me and I’ll come running. And I can understand why you were never interested in cricket!”

I thanked him. Judging by the looks Debbie was giving him, I think she was glad that I didn’t find men attractive and that I had a girlfriend!

March 2005

On Tuesday 1st March, Jane asked if I’d like to go out to dinner, to celebrate the anniversary of our first meeting. All I wanted to do was to have a quiet meal at home and celebrate by spending the evening by ourselves. So that’s just what we did. Of course it didn’t prevent me from spending a long time afterwards thanking her for everything that she meant to me.

~ O ~

Although I was looking forward to my surgery, there was a part of me that was dreading it. As it happened, it was as bad and as good as I’d expected, but it left me with a feeling of completeness that I’d never previously had. There was the initial pain, rapidly followed by a time of discomfort, aided and abetted by that ‘rite of passage’- dilation.

Jane was with me for the whole time that I was in Switzerland. We arrived on the Thursday before Easter; I was wheeled to the operating theatre just after eight o’clock on the morning of Saturday 26th March and, sometime in the afternoon of the same day, it was all done. I stayed for a further week or so, which allowed the medical staff to check that I was healing satisfactorily, and then we flew home.

I couldn’t see me ever using the vagina that had been created but, as my surgeon Doctor Schmidt said, it provided me with another option.

My overriding memories, however, were threefold.

Firstly, there was the thin soup; several days of the stuff. It was like drinking warm, flavoured water, the intention being to avoid feeding me anything that could cause me to need to use my bowels. I haven’t been able to think about, or even look at, a bowl of consommé since then without shuddering.

Secondly, and to my mind more important, when the swelling had gone down, was the steady tinkle of urine into water. No more random, messy spraying; no more yucky hands; no more waterlogged seats; no more wet legs.

Thirdly, and most important of all, was the knowledge that I could now have a full relationship with Jane. I don’t just mean sexually — although that was important to both of us — but a relationship without having to hide my body and its imperfections. Showering and bathing together brought a new intimacy, and Jane proved to me that shower nozzles were not just for showering! She never did reveal how much everything cost so I assumed that it wasn’t cheap, but the surgeon’s work was first-class and we were both delighted with the outcome.

~ O ~

Sally Ruskin was most impressed with Doctor Schmidt’s work. In her opinion, when my pubic hair had re-grown, it would take a medical professional and an internal examination to determine that it wasn’t the real thing.

End of part 23