Lorna Page
When Marion Hemming accepts an invitation to spend the Christmas holidays in Switzerland with an old classmate from her boarding school days, she’s on the brink of doubting her marriage. She never suspects that the seemingly innocent invitation is part of her husband’s plan to involve her in a bitter power struggle which includes unanticipated treachery and leads her into uncertain partnerships and liasons. From a luxurious, forboding house in the Swiss mountains to London’s room eleven on the eleventh floor of a hotel, A Dangerous Weakness catches Marion up in a breathless chase which brings her full-circle to the realities of love and one woman’s strength.
“I’ve always written,” Lorna Page says, “I started as soon as I could hold a pencil; fairy stories, poetry, short stories, magazine articles, and now a novel. Seems I’ve been writing for a hundred years…” She’s not far off the mark. At age 93 her first novel was published…and she planned her first skydive… and she moved to a larger house in Devonshire so she could give a real home to a few friends from a nursing home.
The house had been in darkness when we arrived, no light anywhere to give a hint of where Jim might be - if indeed he was still here. Betsy had gone straight to her room saying how tired she was. I bade her goodnight outside her door and saw it close before walking farther down the passage to my own room.
For a while I paced up and down far too alert to consider going to sleep. I suppose it was about half an hour before I switched off my light and went to the window to draw back the curtains. Sleep seemed impossible but the peaceful, clear night and glow from the snowcapped mountains in the moonlight brought a certain calmness and sanity. I gazed out for a while wondering, as no doubt countless others have, how so much unease and subterfuge can exist amidst such beauty and grandeur.
It was when I turned to climb into bed that I realised I was not alone.
Standing a few feet away from me, Jim put his hand swiftly across my mouth to silence the gasp which rose instinctively. Very quietly he led me to the bed and we sat on the edge, side by side almost touching so that we could speak in undertones which could not possibly be heard from outside the room.
“It’s our only chance to talk,” Jim explained. “Tomorrow I leave.”
“You were staying for Christmas, is it because the Hoppers have come?”
“Right. Betsy wasn’t expecting them.” He smiled, the lopsided smile I remembered from previous meetings.
“Who are you?” I asked. "Jim Martin or Jim Bellamy?"
He shrugged, “It all depends.”
“Does Betsy know- - - “
He broke in; “She knows me as Bellamy.”
“Why did she get you to trace me - and just how long were you digging around into my life?” This still rankled and I let it show in my voice.
“Poor little Marion!” Again the lopsided grin. “It was very interesting, I learned a lot, about Bill as well as you.”
“No doubt, but why?” I repeated.
“Betsy was lonely, surely she told you.”
Obviously we weren’t getting anywhere so I tried a different tack, there was so much I wanted to know it was pointless to waste time on this one query. “The Hoppers,” I said. “Why doesn’t Betsy want them to know you are here?”
“You ask a lot of questions, Marion,” he said calmly. “Now I am going to ask you one. Just exactly where is Bill and why isn’t he at home with you for Christmas?”
It was a personal question and I strongly resented it. Probably, I admitted to myself, because it was a sore point with me too. “That is entirely our affair.” I said coldly.
