Wives & Mothers

by Jeanne Whitmee

  The journey seemed interminable, but at last she was stepping down from the train, thankful that the flat was within easy walking distance of the station. She let herself in through the street door with her own key and climbed the stairs, hoping for once that her mother would be busy with Morgan, working out some new scheme, so that she wouldn’t be expected to talk about her fictitious weekend and the show she was supposed to have seen. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and be alone with her own misery.

  But Grace was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, her face strained and pale.

  ‘So you’re back.’

  ‘Yes.’ Elaine reached the landing and put down her case and the wrapped picture. ‘Is the water hot? I’d like a bath.’

  Grace’s face was stiff and unsmiling. ‘I’d like to talk to you first.’

  Elaine tried to push past, all her senses suddenly alert. ‘Do we have to? I’d rather...’

  ‘Up in your room. Now.’

  Elaine stared at her mother. She’d never heard her use that tone before. Without arguing she walked up the stairs and into her room. Turning she faced her mother defensively.‘Right, what is it you want to talk about?’

  Grace slammed the door behind her. ‘How could you?’ she demanded.

  ‘How could I what?’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. How could you make yourself so cheap? How could you lie and cheat just to go to him — to sleep with him? You make me feel sick.’

  Elaine’s heart was beating fast. She must keep calm. She’d told no one, so how could her mother possibly know where she’d been? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She looked round the room, suddenly aware that things had been disturbed. Things from the drawers lay strewn on the bed — including the contents of the box of souvenirs of her father. She swung round angrily.

  ‘You’ve been prying into my things. Those are Daddy’s cards.’

  ‘Yes. You’re your father’s daughter all right. Perhaps you’d like to explain this!’ Grace strode across the room and reversed a stretched canvas that had been leaning against the wall. Elaine froze. It was the nude painting Patrick had done of her; her Christmas present. Ever since he’d given it to her it had been hidden at the back of her wardrobe.

  ‘Patrick painted it. It’s me,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘I can see it’s you, you disgraceful, shameless girl. What decent man do you think will ever want you now? Because he won’t, I’ll tell you that. I wouldn’t mind betting you’ll never hear from him again, once he leaves for France.’

  The truth hit her like a blunt instrument, but she weathered the blow. Swallowing hard she said: ‘These are the sixties, Mum. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Elizabeth on the throne, not Victoria. You may have grown up in a vicarage, but that doesn’t...’ She stopped speaking to cry out as Grace picked up a pair of scissors from the dressing table, and slashed the canvas of the picture from top to bottom.

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t. Please don’t. It’s mine. You’ve no right.’

  ‘Don’t tell me my rights.’ Grace was trembling with rage. ‘I was so proud of my daughter. I thought I’d brought you up to be decent and good. Now I find that you’re nothing but a little slut. I wish you’d never met those Carnes. When I think of what must have been happening — under my very nose. Why, if it hadn’t been for Morgan...’

  Elaine had been crying quietly, on her knees as she held the ripped edges of the canvas together. Now she stopped, tears streaming down her face to stare at her mother. ‘ Morgan! How did he know?’

  ‘There was a telephone message for you at the Carnes’. Your wonderful Patrick tried to stop you from going at the last minute. Unfortunately he was too late. Morgan happened to be there at the time.’

  Elaine rose slowly to her feet. ‘And he ratted on me? He told you?’

  ‘He was concerned for us both. At least he has a sense of what’s right and wrong.’

  ‘Oh, yes? That’s why he’s queer, I suppose?’ Elaine was almost beside herself with rage now. The injustice — the betrayal — was almost more than she could bear. She took a step towards her mother, her eyes blazing. ‘Or are you so naive you don’t know what that means?’ She threw back her head. ‘You think Morgan is God’s gift, don’t you? Maybe you even think he’s in love with you. Didn’t you know that your precious boy is as bent as a hairpin? I expect you think he doesn’t do all those nasty things you find so disgusting? Well, I can tell you that he does — only in his case it’s with other...’ The sentence ended in a cry of pain as Grace’s hand struck her a ringing blow that made her ear sing and sent her reeling across the room to tumble on to the littered bed.

  For a shocked second Grace stood staring numbly at the sobbing girl. It was the first time she had ever laid a hand on Elaine in anger. And all because of a man — and sex; the root of all evil; the reason for all the misery, all the turmoil in her life. Now it had come between her and her child. Instantly she was on her knees beside the bed, gathering Elaine into her arms, tears of shame and remorse streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Darling, I’m sorry. Oh, Elaine — my baby, I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Neither did I. Oh, Mummy, I’m sorry.’ Elaine allowed herself to be comforted, sobbing against her mother’s shoulder as though her heart would break. ‘It wasn’t the way you made it sound, Mum. I love him, I really do. I don’t think I can bear it now that he’s gone. Oh, Mummy — what am I going to do without him?’

  Grace hugged her daughter close, angry and fiercely protective. She knew all too well what her daughter was feeling. That bleak sense of loneliness and abandonment. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she whispered. ‘The hurt will fade and heal, I promise it will. When your father left me, I went through hell.’

  Elaine swallowed her tears to peer into her mother’s face. She could imagine now what she must have been through. She thought about the letter she had written to her father and felt like a traitor. Suddenly she was glad he hadn’t replied. She knew now that she never wanted to see him again. She touched her mother’s tearstained cheek. ‘Oh, Mummy, if I’d only known then. Listen — I didn’t mean what I said about Morgan. It isn’t true.’

  To her surprise Grace smiled calmly. ‘Yes it is. It’s all right, I already knew. Morgan told me a long time ago.’ She stroked Elaine’s hair. ‘He knows all about love and rejection too. He lost his family because of the person he loved. Then that person broke his heart and left him. It makes no difference who or what you are, Elaine, the emotion — the hurt — goes just as deep. You can’t call yourself a human being till you can understand that.’

  ‘Then why couldn’t you understand — about me and Patrick?’ Elaine asked.

  Grace looked down at her own hands, tightly clenched in her lap.

  ‘You’re my daughter,’ she said quietly. ‘I want the best for you. Happiness and contentment; a successful marriage; a good life. If you’d told me, I could have warned you that Patrick Carne wasn’t the kind to give you those things.’

  Elaine frowned. ‘But if you love someone...’

  Grace’s face hardened. ‘Love is a trap — a cheat,’ she said vehemently. ‘It’s hard but it’s the truth, Elaine. It’s like the golden unicorn in the old story — a mythical beast, a half-truth. It demands everything — takes all you have and leaves you with nothing. Not even your pride.’

  Elaine shivered, bewildered at the bitterness she saw in her mother’s eyes. Then Grace turned suddenly and kissed her on the cheek, smilingly herself again.

  ‘Come down and have your bath, darling. I’ll have supper ready by the time you’ve finished.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary Kingston’s dinner party had been arranged for the evening of Easter Monday. Since she had insinuated herself into their lives, Grace and Morgan had both come to realise that she was a force to be reckoned with. It was no use trying to wriggle out of her invitations. If she wanted you to be present at one of her little parties she wouldn’t take no for an answ
er. But when Grace had broken the news to Elaine that she was expected to attend too, she had been dismayed.

  ‘Why me? I’ve got nothing to do with the business.’

  ‘Come just this once, darling,’ Grace said. ‘I think she’s inviting you because you’re a friend of Paul’s. If you refuse you’ll probably upset her numbers.’

  ‘A friend of Paul’s? What gave her that idea?’

  ‘Well, he did help you with your driving test, didn’t he?’

  Elaine shrugged resignedly. She supposed she might as well go. After all, she had nothing else to do. Alison had gone to France with her family for the whole of the Easter holidays and Tom was busy helping his father. Besides, she didn’t particularly want to go to the Carnes’ house. There were too many hurtful memories there.

  On the morning after she had returned from her weekend with Patrick, Morgan had sought her out. Her mother was busy in the shop downstairs and she was making coffee in the kitchen when she heard his step on the stairs. He stood hesitantly in the kitchen doorway for a moment, then he said: ‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry.’

  Elaine didn’t turn round. ‘What for?’

  ‘For spilling the beans about your weekend. I didn’t mean to, believe me.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Morgan.’

  ‘But I do.’ He came into the kitchen. ‘It happens to be important to me not to break confidences. I just wish that Tom and I could have been in time to stop you going.’

  ‘Don’t wish that.’

  ‘If you want my opinion — and I’m sure you don’t — you’re better off without him.’

  She sighed and spooned instant coffee into the cups. ‘Well, you would think that, wouldn’t you — being on Mum’s side?’

  ‘I’m not on anyone’s side really. I just wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘Well, there isn’t.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Do you want any coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ He gave her a tentative smile. ‘I meant what I said about Patrick, Elaine. I think it was despicable, asking you up there and then trying to put you off at the last minute because this French girl had turned up and...’ he saw the colour drain from her face and winced. ‘Oh, Christ, I’ve done it again. You didn’t know.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ She held her chin hight as she poured boiling water onto the coffee. ‘Her name is Ann-Marie Labeque and she’s an exchange student from France. She arrived unexpectedly — and I know Patrick tried to stop me going.’ She didn’t tell him that he had carefully avoided telling her that he’d tried to stop her going to London because of Ann Marie. Small remembered things dropped into her mind like pebbles into a pond. The apartment Ann-Marie had mentioned. Her intimate, enigmatic little smile and the mysterious way she’d promised to see Patrick again before he left. Then there was the length of time Patrick had spent with her downstairs, no doubt explaining Elaine’s presence. He’d have made up some convincing story — lied about her to suit himself. She took a bottle of milk from the fridge and slammed the door.

  ‘Black or white?’ she asked him, with flashing eyes.

  ‘White, please. Look, Elaine, I know it hurts but it’s better you know the truth about him. It might not seem that way now, but it is, I promise you.’

  She took a long, deep breath. ‘Isn’t it marvellous that so many people are so concerned for my good?’ She pushed a cup of coffee at him across the worktop, slopping it into the saucer.

  ‘I do understand, Elaine, really. Look, if you ever need anyone to talk to... Oh, I know I messed things up for you this time, but Grace would have found out anyway. It’s that intuition of hers. It’s uncanny at times.’

  ‘Morgan,’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do stop talking crap, will you?’

  He stared at her with startled eyes. ‘Oh — right.’

  For a moment they stood looking at each other, then he laughed. After a moment Elaine joined in, releasing her pent-up tension.

  ‘I’d like us to be friends,’ he said simply. ‘I expect you know that I’m, well — I’m sure you know. What I mean is that you don’t have to worry about me having — well, designs on you.’

  ‘Thanks, I won’t. Worry, I mean.’ She looked at the gentle eyes and the wide, mobile mouth and suddenly found herself liking him. He really meant what he said. He was offering her unconditional friendship and she had never needed an unbiased friend as much as she did now. She smiled and held out her hand. ‘Friends,’ she said.

  He took her hand between both of his and pressed it warmly. ‘Friends.’

  *

  Langmere Lodge was the Kingstons’ family home. Mary’s husband, Henry, had been born there and it was to this house, newly inherited from his parents, that he had first brought his new bride in 1930. Both their sons had been born there and since Henry’s death in 1955 Mary had lived there with Paul and Edna, an impoverished cousin who served as housekeeper in return for a home. In all the years the house had changed very little. The rooms were still furnished with the heavy mahogany furniture that had belonged to Henry’s parents. In the hall Henry’s father’s hunting trophies still held pride of place: the stag’s head with its doleful expression adorned the wall at the foot of the stairs, flanked by a fox’s mask and the head of a motheaten wildcat, wearing a cynical snarl. Beside the front door with its stained glass panels stood an elephant’s foot umbrella stand with its collection of walking sticks and umbrellas at the ready.

  On the evening of the dinner party Mary made sure she was ready early. She wore her royal blue velvet and the pearls Henry had given her on their last wedding anniversary before he died. Her hair was newly set in the rigid style she had worn for the past twenty years, the rows of little curls glinting like steel wool. First she went into the dining room to check the table; straightening a knife here, tweaking a flower petal there. Then she went into the kitchen to make sure that Edna had the meal under control and wasn’t indulging in one of her hysterical flaps.

  ‘You can serve the consomme chilled with slices of cucumber,’ she said. ‘And the sweet is cold too, so there’s no reason for you to panic. Cheese and fruit will be served at the end, after the sweet and before coffee. Please try to remember that. We don’t want everything dumped in front of us at once. Last time you made the table look like a bring and buy sale. Now — are you sure you’ve remembered everything?’

  Edna, a whisp of a woman with a perpetually harassed expression, pushed a strand of damp grey hair out of her eyes and counted off the items on her fingers. ‘The wine is chilling in the fridge, the chicken is done and the vegetables are just going on now. I’m quite sure I’ve remembered everything, Mary.’ She bit her lip. ‘At least, I think I have.’

  ‘And don’t call me Mary in front of the guests. I know we’re related — distantly — but it doesn’t sound right when you’re waiting at table.’

  ‘No, I’ll remember this time.’

  ‘Have you called Paul?’

  ‘I thought you...’

  ‘Really, Edna, I can’t do everything myself. You know how carried away he gets with all that marking he brings home. You’d better go up now and make sure he’s out of the bath. No...’ She held up her hand. ‘You stay here and make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. I’ll go myself.’ She left the perspiring Edna and climbed the stairs again to rap smartly on Paul’s door.

  ‘I hope you’re ready. Our guests will be here soon.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘Have you managed to tie your tie without making it look like a dish rag?’ She laid her ear to the door, straining to hear his mumbled reply. ‘Oh, look, I can’t hear a word. I’m coming in.’ She opened the door and strode in. Paul was in his shirt sleeves, struggling to tie his evening dress bow tie. He looked at his mother with a sigh.

  ‘Do we really have to get ourselves up like this? It’s only a few people coming for dinner.’

  Mary tweaked savagely at the tie. ‘The slack way people behave would make your father turn in
his grave. There’s no reason why we should drop our standards too. We should set an example.’

  ‘Did you make it clear to Mrs Wendover that she was expected to dress formally?’

  ‘I certainly did. I want this to be a memorable occasion — to seal our partnership.’

  Paul winced. ‘Mother, you’re only lending this Owen chap some cash. That’s not a partnership, you know. And I still think it’s a bit rash of you. How do you know he won’t lose the lot?’

  ‘Because he’s got Grace Wendover behind him. That’s how I know.’ Mary smiled. ‘Behind every successful man there’s a strong woman. Anyway, you don’t know dear Morgan. He’s a true artist — brilliantly clever with those designs of his. With his talent and Grace’s business sense he’s going a long way, mark my words. I’ve always admired creativity and enterprise.’ She gave his tie a final tweak and brushed a speck of fluff from the dinner jacket. ‘There’s another reason for this dinner party. I particularly want us all to become good friends.’ She peered over his shoulder at him in the mirror. ‘Especially you and Elaine,’ she added with a sly smile. ‘You do like Elaine, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Very much.’ He opened a drawer and took out a clean handkerchief.

  ‘That was a good move of yours — helping her pass her driving test. Now you know what I told you?’

  He turned to look at her. ‘Look, Mother, she’s a very nice girl but I doubt if she...’

  ‘Oh really, Paul,’ Mary’s eyes snapped at him.‘You’re so negative. If you hadn’t let the Phipps girl slip through your fingers, you’d have got the headship last time.’ She flicked at his hair. ‘You’re not a bad catch, and Elaine is young. She’s an impressionable little thing. Show off a bit, can’t you? Or is that totally beyond your capabilities?’ She looked back from the door, her blue eyes glinting a warning. ‘Don’t mess this one up, Paul. I shan’t always be here to see to everything for you, you know. Now — come down as soon as you can. I need you to play host.’ She shot him a final exasperated look. ‘And do try to look a little more affable. Really, I believe this household would fall apart if I weren’t here to prop you all up.’