The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

Home > Other > The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood > Page 16
The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood Page 16

by Whitmee, Jeanne


  ‘‘Stuart! Do come in, darling. How handsome you look. You know, I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’ve offered to take poor Rossie out. So kind of you. She doesn’t have much fun, poor love. She hasn’t any friends — spends most of her time tucked away upstairs with her books.’ She took his coat almost forcibly from him, then smiled up at him coquettishly. ‘Now, you will have a drink while you’re waiting, won’t you? After all, it is almost Christmas.’

  Stuart smiled. ‘Thank you. A drink would be very nice.’

  Rosalind walked slowly down the stairs. They were in the drawing room, now furnished in a bizarre blend of peacock blue and jade which went together surprisingly well. Una stood at the new cocktail cabinet where she’d already made up a shaker full of martinis. When she caught sight of Rosalind, standing hesitantly in the doorway she said, ‘Ah, there you are, darling. Why don’t you put some music on? That new record Stranger on the Shore. Or perhaps Stuart is more of a classical fan?’ She looked enquiringly at him as she pressed a glass into his hand.

  He shook his head. ‘I like most kinds of music, thanks.’ He looked at Rosalind. ‘Aren’t you having a drink with us?’

  Una wagged an admonishing finger at him. ‘Orange juice for Rossie. She’s still a schoolgirl, remember. Can’t have you leading my little girl into naughty ways, can we?’ She sat down, crossing her legs and hitching up one velvet trouser leg to display a shapely ankle adorned with a fine gold chain. ‘Now — where are you off to, you two?’

  ‘I thought we’d go to the pictures,’ he said.

  ‘Very nice. Well, don’t be late home, will you, Rossie?’

  She walked with them to the front door and while Rosalind was putting on her coat, said, ‘Oh, by the way, we’re having a party on New Year’s Eve. Would you like to come, Stuart? There’ll probably be some theatrical celebrities there. You never know, you might meet someone who could be useful to you. Bring your flat-mate too if you like. Julian, isn’t it? The more the merrier.’

  Hot with shame and humiliation Rosalind followed Stuart silently to the car. It was the first she’d heard about a party. And as far as she was aware, Una didn’t know any theatrical celebrities. If Stuart and his friend came with high expectations they were likely to be disappointed.

  As he settled into the driving seat he looked at her. ‘You’re very quiet. Are you all right?’

  She nodded. ‘My mother treats me like a child. I’m eighteen.’

  He laughed. ‘Parents are hell, aren’t they? Don’t worry. My mother used to be just the same when I lived at home.’ He drove in silence for a moment then he said: ‘Of course, your mother is incredibly young to have a grown-up daughter. I daresay seeing her child growing up makes her want to hang onto her youth.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Rosalind began to feel better. Stuart was so kind and understanding. She still couldn’t believe that he actually wanted to take her out.

  After the film they went to a coffee bar close to the cinema. During the film Stuart had held her hand. It had felt so warm and comforting in the dark, but now, as they faced each other across the small table, Rosalind found herself embarrassed and tongue-tied once again. She thought of Carla Maybridge, who was always boasting about her numerous conquests and the older men she had dated. ‘You have to show them you’re in control, that’s the trick’ Rosalind had heard her boasting to an eager audience. If only she could be more like her, self-assured and confident.

  ‘Thank you for taking me out,’ she said shyly. ‘I enjoyed the film very much.’

  ‘So did I.’ He smiled. ‘I enjoyed being with you too.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t think why.’

  He looked concerned. ‘Why do you say that?’

  Her throat constricted as she stared hopelessly into her coffee. He wasn’t going to see her again so she might as well be honest. ‘Because I’m not pretty. I can’t think of a single interesting thing to say. And I haven’t a clue when it comes to knowing how to dress.’

  ‘I don’t agree. You’re much too hard on yourself.’ He reached across to take her hand. ‘But if any of those things were true I’m sure there’s plenty you could do about it.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Such as?’

  He smiled. ‘Well, for a start, you have all Hallard’s fashion departments at your disposal.’

  ‘I can’t afford to buy clothes from Hallard’s.’

  ‘Then there’s your hair.’

  ‘It’s poker straight.’

  ‘It’s a lovely colour, like a ripe chestnut, and it’s thick and shiny. Have it well cut or even permed.’

  Her hand went automatically to her head. ‘I did have it cut last summer when I went to visit my father in Brighton. Lots of people said it looked nice, but Mum didn’t like it so I grew it again. I was thinking of getting some contact lenses too.’

  ‘No need. Glasses suit you — though you could get more flattering frames. You have beautiful eyes, Rosalind. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?’

  ‘No.’ He was looking at her with such sincerity that she blushed crimson and fumbled in her handbag to hide her embarrassment.

  He looked at his watch and sighed. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose I’d better get you home. I don’t want to get into your mother’s black books.’

  He stopped the car two doors away from Blake’s Folly, saying that the corner wasn’t a safe place to park. Turning towards her, he cupped her face in his hands and looked at her. ‘You should try to have more confidence in yourself, Rosalind.’ Very gently he removed her glasses and lifted the heavy fringe away from her forehead. ‘You have beautiful bones. A face like something from an Egyptian frieze. You shouldn’t hide it.’ He drew her towards him and kissed her, his lips holding hers firmly as they trembled like a captive butterfly under his touch.

  ‘My poor frightened little Rosalind,’ he whispered, stroking her hair. ‘Relax, darling. Keep telling yourself that someone thinks you’re beautiful. It’s true.’

  When he pulled her gently into his arms she allowed herself to melt against him and when his lips sought hers again she responded as everything in her cried out to do. Closing her eyes she gave herself up to the warmth of his kiss and even when he gently parted her lips with his tongue she resisted only for a moment. It was like a miracle. Someone actually wanted her. Not just someone — Stuart. Handsome, talented Stuart. And because he had said she was beautiful she believed it. She actually felt beautiful.

  When he released her she was trembling. He looked at her for a moment. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine.’

  ‘I think you’d better go in now or your mother will be worrying.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She took her glasses from the dashboard where he had put them and slipped them on again. As she was getting out of the car she turned and asked him: ‘When — when will I see you again?’

  He laughed and she saw the gleam of his eyes and his teeth, shining white in the dimness. ‘At the party of course. On New Year’s Eve.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I forgot.’ She licked her lips. ‘What about Christmas?’

  ‘Off home to Berwick.’

  ‘Of course. Well — thank you for a lovely evening, Stuart. See you on New Year’s Eve then.’

  ‘You bet.’ As she got out on to the pavement he started the car. ‘Happy Christmas, Rosalind,’ he called out. ‘Take care of yourself. And remember what I said.’

  ‘I will. Happy Christmas.’

  She stood watching until the red tail lights of the car rounded the corner and he was gone. Then she hurried indoors, hoping that Una wouldn’t be waiting to quiz her about the evening. All she wanted was to snuggle down in bed, put out the light and re-live every detail of the whole magical evening, hugging his words and the warmth of his kisses to herself like some wonderful gift.

  Chapter Nine

  Gerald was walking across the reception hall of Zenith’s offices in Marble Arch when he bumped into Kay Goolden. If he’d seen her in time he would pro
bably have avoided her but she’d already spotted him stepping out of the lift and it was too late. As she made her way determinedly towards him, her high heels tapping on the marble floor and her face alight with determination, his heart sank.

  ‘Gerry darling! Long time no see. What are you doing here? Have you decided to renew your contract after all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re going to record for another company?’ She shrugged. ‘Well it’s a shame after all these years, but I can’t say I’m surprised. If it’s a question of money …’

  ‘It isn’t. I’m retiring from music. At least from public performing.’ He allowed himself a small ironic grin. ‘As I’m quite sure you’ve heard.’

  ‘Well, one hears so much on the grapevine,’ she said with a dismissive lift of her shoulders. ‘One learns to take most of it with a large pinch of salt. I must say, though, that I’d hoped it wasn’t true.’

  ‘Well, it is, so you can consider the rumour officially confirmed.’

  She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘That can’t have been an easy decision, Gerry. I know you, remember? We go back a long way. Music has always been your whole life. What happened to bring about this change of heart?’

  ‘Sometimes life takes a twist that makes us take stock and realise that there are other things besides work.’

  She raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘The road to Damascus syndrome, eh? Very philosophical. I also heard that you’d inherited a young ward — the daughter of a deceased friend?’

  ‘Well, you heard correctly on that count too.’

  She took a step towards him and laid a hand on his arm. He caught a whiff of Arpège, the perfume that would always be exclusively Kay to him. She was looking marvellous; slender as ever in her dark tailored suit. She’d changed her hairstyle too. Now she wore it longer, high in front and with the ends flicked up. He was slightly dismayed at the discovery that he still found her attractive.

  ‘Gerry …’ She was looking almost imploringly into his eyes. ‘What’s the matter, love? There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Surely you can tell me.’

  ‘Tell you what? Why is everyone making such a mystery of my retirement? It’s just that I’m sick of concert halls — of temperamental conductors — of living out of suitcases. I want a different, a more peaceful life, that’s all. Call it old age creeping on if you like.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ She laughed. ‘You’re in your prime and you know it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that. All I know is that I want out of it. God knows I’ve made enough money to see me comfortably through the rest of my life. It’s time I enjoyed the benefits a little.’

  ‘And that’s really all it is?’ Clearly she didn’t believe a word of it.

  ‘Yes. That’s all it is.’

  ‘And you’re not going to touch a piano for the rest of your days? What a diabolical waste!’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, did you?’ She paused, looking at him speculatively. ‘Come and have lunch.’

  He hesitated. ‘If you’re hoping to pump me, forget it. You won’t get anything else out of me, Kay. There is nothing else.’

  ‘What a hurtful suggestion. As if I would!’ She laughed and slipped her arm through his. ‘Come anyway — for old times’ sake.’

  They took a cab and Kay told the driver to go to L’Escargot Bienvenu in Greek Street. It had once been their special place, their favourite restaurant.

  Seated at a secluded corner table upstairs, she took off her jacket. Under it was a plain white silk shirt and he noticed that she was wearing the gold chain necklace he had bought her in New York. When they’d ordered she rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward to study his face. ‘You’ve lost weight.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No. It suits you, that lean, hungry look.’ She smiled and reached for his hand. ‘I’m sorry I was such a bitch in New York, darling.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Maybe it was the pressure. Our relationship had been under a strain for some time if we’re honest.’

  ‘I agree that we both needed some space. I think I’ve had mine. At least enough to clear my mind.’ She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘How about you?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Me too.’

  ‘I’m forgiven then?’

  ‘Nothing to forgive.’

  Their food arrived and when the waiter had withdrawn she looked searchingly at him again. ‘So — what have you been doing? What are your plans?’

  ‘I’ve bought a beautiful old house in the country and I’m going to open it as a rather exclusive school of music.’

  Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Good heavens! I don’t think I quite see you as the professor type.’

  ‘No?’

  She ate in silence for a while, glancing up at him occasionally.

  ‘What about this child? Is she going to be expensive — boarding schools and so on?’

  ‘No. She’s well provided for, living with the woman who brought her up. Not a problem.’

  ‘Just as well, eh? I can’t really see you as a father figure.’ Kay chuckled to herself as she sipped her wine. ‘So you’re going to live like a recluse, out there in the sticks? Well, I give you six months at the outside. After that you’ll be climbing the walls with boredom, a man like you, used to parties and masses of people around you.’

  ‘Not a bit. I’ll have my students. I’m planning to invite friends and colleagues to come at weekends and give master classes. I shall have plenty of company and a busy life.’

  ‘And what about feminine company? Planning to live like a monk, are you?’ She raised her eyebrows suggestively at him. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but I’m not convinced. It doesn’t sound like you at all. Not like the Gerry Cavelle I used to know and love.’

  ‘Well, maybe I’m not the Gerry Cavelle you used to know and love.’ Fighting down his mounting irritation, he made himself smile at her. ‘Come on, that’s enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing?’

  ‘I’m leaving Zenith at the end of this month,’ she told him gleefully.

  ‘No, really?’

  ‘Yes. I had a wonderful offer from Summit Films, almost twice what Zenith is paying me. And they approached me. I didn’t even have to apply.’

  ‘Well, why wouldn’t they? You’re a damned good publicist.’

  ‘I’ve taken the lease on a gorgeous flat in Chelsea too.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ He raised his glass to her. ‘You’re obviously on the up and up. Here’s to your success.’

  She touched her glass to his and drank, appraising him over the rim. ‘I’ll be giving a flat-warming, of course. I’ll see that you get an invitation. All your old chums will be there.’

  ‘Ah … ’ He looked guarded. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m expecting to be away a lot after Christmas, supervising the work on the house.’

  ‘Oh, surely you can spare one evening!’ She put down her glass and regarded him speculatively for a moment. ‘It really is lovely to see you again, Gerry.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. Good to see you too.’

  ‘Quite like old times, eh?’ She put down her glass and leaned across the table, lowering her voice. ‘Look, I don’t really need to go back to the office this afternoon. Why don’t we go back to your place like we used to in the old days?’

  Something inside him recoiled from the predatory look in her eyes. ‘I — don’t think that would be a very good idea.’

  ‘No strings.’ She smiled seductively. ‘Just for fun. Why not?’ Her eyes narrowed as she watched his obvious discomfiture. ‘What is it, Gerry? Is there someone new?’

  ‘I haven’t said that.’

  ‘No. You’re not actually saying much at all, are you?’ She reached out to cover his hand with hers. ‘We had something special, you and I, Gerry. We were damned good together. I still miss you, you know — a lot.’

  He withdrew his hand uneasily from hers. ‘It’s over, Kay. Nothing can change that. As you sa
y, it was good while it lasted. And there’s no reason why we can’t still be friends … ’

  ‘Oh spare me the tired old cliches, for God’s sake,’ she snapped, her eyes flashing fire. ‘You know, there’s something about you I don’t quite get. Why don’t you level with me, Gerry — tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing’s going on as you put it.’ He drank the last of his coffee and took out his wallet. ‘I’m beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea, Kay.’ He took out a note and passed it across the table. ‘Perhaps you’d settle the bill for me? I have an appointment this afternoon and I think I should go now, before one of us says something we’ll regret.’

  ‘Well, don’t let me keep you.’ She picked up the note and thrust it back at him. ‘Here — take this with you. I’ll pay. After all, I can afford it. And it was my suggestion. Call me sometime when you’re feeling more communicative.’

  After he’d left she sat on for a while at the table alone. She ordered another coffee and lit a cigarette, puffing on it furiously. Why in God’s name had she subjected herself to humiliation like that? And why was he behaving with such uncharacteristic stiffness? It was blatantly obvious that he had something to hide — chances were it was something he didn’t want the media to get hold of if he wouldn’t even tell her! She bit her lip angrily. One thing was for sure: no one brushed her off like that without living to regret it.

  Chapter Ten

  Cathy began her second year at college with renewed enthusiasm. Gerald kept in touch regularly. The architect’s report on Cuckoo Lodge was encouraging and he found a builder who, in company with the architect, had been over the place with a fine-tooth comb. Between them, they had come up with some interesting suggestions. Gerald had made a formal offer for the house, and after some negotiations it had been accepted. It was well into the autumn before contracts were drawn up and signed, but as soon as the legal business was completed teams of workmen moved in and made a start on the marathon task of restoring the house.

 

‹ Prev