Free Dear Beneficiary by Janet Kelly Page A

change in my own desires, I wondered if it was Darius who’d opened up my horizons, and a fair few other things, or the onset of late middle age? After all, sixty is the new forty, or so I’m led to believe when reading Cosmopolitan magazine at the hairdresser’s.
    I don’t see anything wrong with stretching the boundaries of propriety after a lifetime of compliance. Everyone over fifty should think about throwing away the rules now and then, particularly if you have played by them for so long. I no longer cared a jot what sandwiches were available or whether everyone got their chosen filling. Let them eat bloody cake.
    At the end of the bridge session, I left the hall hurriedly and was a little surprised to find my car had been moved and a rude note left about parking in the spot reserved for the hearse. A large yellow parking ticket was stuck to the windscreen, right in front of the driver’s seat. I pulled at it but it wouldn’t budge so had to drive with my head out the window for the entire journey home.
    I raced back as quickly as possible not only because of the ticket but in case anyone wanted to mention the last hand, the one that led to a spectacular downfall. At the time I’d been looking at the ace of clubs and reminiscing about Darius and his expert tongue.
    It was about time I got in touch with him – in person.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    â€˜Will the last passengers for flight NA345 to Lagos please go to gate number 105,’ a voice boomed over the tannoy at Heathrow airport.
    I’d been in the toilet, throwing up what appeared to be the remains of my macaroni cheese from the night before. I was surprised to note the strange addition of carrots, which I couldn’t remember having eaten, but other than that felt a lot better. I don’t like being sick and haven’t been for years, so can only put it down to nerves. At least at my age I knew it wasn’t pregnancy.
    It could’ve been the bottle of wine I’d drunk by myself before going to bed. I’d been looking around for something to take my mind off the flight and found one of the good burgundies Colin had laid down for an occasion he never came to see. He was a bit like that – keeping everything for ‘best’, but then nothing was ever good enough to qualify. I decided just the simple fact a good bottle was available to me, and I was able to open it with a waiter’s friend, unaided, was good enough reason to celebrate.
    There was no doubt the decision to go and find Darius was getting a bit nerve-racking. I knew I couldn’t ignore his plight when I received his email. I just booked the journey and made a decision not to worry about the consequences. I didn’t have time to reconsider, until it was too late.
    I took a quick look in the mirror and had to adjust my hair as it had fallen out of place while I was in the unfortunate position required for vomiting.
    You don’t look too bad under the circumstances , I thought, as I applied a fresh layer of the ‘Delicate Rose’ lipstick I’ve been wearing for the last decade. The woman at the beauty counter said it matched my English rose complexion. And that if I bought three I qualified for a free make-up bag, which I’ve never used.
    â€˜Would the final passengers for flight NA345 to Lagos please go to gate 105 for boarding. This is the last call for this flight, which will close in two minutes,’ the anonymous voice warned.
    They can call as much as they like, they can’t go without me, and as I was still feeling a little shaky I didn’t want to rush about. Numerous trips with Colin have taught me if the baggage is on board, the passenger has to be too or they will delay the plane. He used to delight in sauntering his way to the plane, particularly if they’d had to call for him by name. I suppose it made him feel important.
    Normally, on my own, I’d have been a good ten minutes early and waiting at