Wives & Mothers

by Jeanne Whitmee

  She longed to work for him, hoping that some of his charisma would rub off on her. In her dreams she saw herself embarking on long earnest discussions with him. But that was just a fantasy — an indulgence she only allowed herself late at night when she was alone with the lights out.

  So preoccupied was she with thoughts of Max that she almost missed her solo. But as she looked up from the music after her five bars, she saw that he was watching. He had stopped talking to his companion and was staring intently at her. Her heart sank, and she was grateful for the gloom, feeling the hot colour flood her cheeks. If she’d had any chance at all of impressing him at the audition, she’d have lost it after this.

  It was as the group were preparing to leave the stand to take their break that she turned and found herself looking straight into the penetrating brown eyes.

  ‘I know you, don’t I? Didn’t you audition for me a couple of weeks ago?’

  ‘That’s right. Patricia Kingston.’

  He nodded, smiling to himself. ‘I thought so. Do you work here permanently?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s just a part-time job to help out my grant — two nights a week.’

  ‘I see.’ He smiled suddenly, completely disarming her. ‘Come and have a drink.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  He didn’t take her back to his table but led her across to the bar. ‘What will you have — er — Pat, is it?’

  ‘Tricia. A Perrier, please.’

  ‘You don’t drink?’

  ‘Not alcohol. I don’t like the taste — or the way it blunts the senses.’

  He laughed aloud. ‘Good for you. Not many people would share your opinion.’ He sat on one of the stools and indicated that she should do the same. ‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.’

  Her heart leapt, but she managed to keep her expression cool. ‘Really? Why?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Well, you did audition for me.’

  She sipped at her Perrier, resisting the urge to roll the cold glass against her burning cheek. He probably felt guilty about not telling her he’d filled the vacancies. ‘That’s all right. I might be leaving London soon — going home to Cambridge.’ Instantly she was appalled. What on earth had made her say that?

  ‘I see. That’s a pity. Any particular reason?’

  She looked at him. She’d better come clean. He’d have to know anyway. ‘I opted out of my course at the Guildhall,’ she said. ‘Left in the middle of term.’

  He looked at her enquiringly. ‘A row?’

  She shook her head. ‘Call it impatience if you like. I didn’t feel I was getting anywhere. Well, I can’t afford to stay in London any longer on what I earn here, so I’ll have to go home.’

  ‘Supposing you got a job though?’

  She caught her breath. ‘Oh, well, yes of course — that would make all the difference.’

  ‘I’d like you to audition for me again,’ he said.

  Her eyes snapped up to meet his. ‘Why? I’ve already auditioned. If I wasn’t any good the first time...’

  ‘Woaah...’ He held up his hand. ‘Who said you were no good? I’ve filled the second violin section vacancies I was auditioning for the other day.’

  ‘And you don’t see me as a first violin?’

  ‘No.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘But then, I didn’t see you as a tenor sax player either.’ He smiled. ‘My leader is leaving soon and there’ll be a re-shuffle. It would help not to have to advertise again, but I’d still like to re-appraise your work.’

  She relaxed a little. ‘Well, all right then. Fair enough. When and where?’

  He regarded her for a moment. ‘Give me your phone number. I’ll have to let you know.’

  He took a pen from an inside pocket and offered her the back of a menu card from the bar. She scribbled the number and he slipped it carefully into his wallet. Tossing back the last of his drink, he stood up.

  ‘I’d better join my party again. I promised faithfully not to talk shop this evening. I’ll be in touch, Tricia, Goodnight.’

  In the staff cloakroom she looked at herself in the chipped mirror. If she’d known he was going to be here tonight she would have put on some make-up. Tracey was always going on at her for not making the most of her looks. And tonight there was Gran chiding her for her poor taste in dress. She pressed cool palms against her hot cheeks. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he’d said. Would he really ring her? Or would he forget all about it tomorrow morning? A good thing she’d thought to write her name above the telephone number, otherwise he’d probably have puzzled over whose number it was. Just wait till she told Gran.

  Back on the stand she noticed that Max and his party had left, but in a way she was glad. She would have felt so terribly self-conscious with him watching and listening. As it was she played with a renewed zest that brought a smile to the faces of her older, male colleagues.

  It was half-past one when she arrived back at the flat. She’d taken a taxi home — partly in celebration and partly to satisfy her grandmother. As she climbed the stairs her heart quickened in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to tell Grace her news.

  *

  Grace had been waiting for hours, though she had hardly noticed the time passing. She felt stunned. If only she had telephoned first to let Morgan know she was coming. How could she have been so naive as to expect him to welcome her decision after she had kept him waiting so long?

  She’d arrived at his flat in Park Lane soon after eight. Taking the lift up to the second floor she had rung the bell and waited, looking forward to seeing the look of surprise light up his face. The surprise had been there all right, but from the moment he set eyes on her it was clear that he had been expecting someone else.

  ‘You’re early...’ he began as he threw open the door. Then he stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes startled. ‘Grace! I’d no idea you were even in Town. Why didn’t you let me know?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Were you going out?’

  ‘No — no, of course not. Come in.’ Collecting himself, he held the door open for her. Through the open dining-room door she could see that the table was carefully laid for two, with tall red candles in a silver candelabra. Grace looked at it, then at Morgan.

  ‘You’re expecting someone?’

  ‘Well, yes. But I can easily lay another place.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of intruding. Look, perhaps we can meet tomorrow?’

  Morgan looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘Grace, don’t go. Look, is there anything you particularly wanted to see me about?’

  She shook her head. Something was badly wrong. They were behaving like strangers. It was so unlike the easy, relaxed manner in which Morgan always greeted her.

  ‘My visit was meant to be a surprise,’ she said. ‘What I really came to tell you was that I’ve decided to accept your offer to share the flat. I know it’s long overdue but...’ She trailed off. Morgan was staring at her.

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Look, I can see that this isn’t the right moment.’ She backed towards the door. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow, Morgan.’

  He glanced briefly at his watch, then reached out to take her hand. ‘Grace, please listen. Oh, God, I feel terrible about this. I’d given up all hope of your taking me up on it.’ He drew her down on to the settee with him. ‘Perhaps I should have told you this before. I’ve met someone — someone who means a great deal to me. I never thought I would. Not again. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be quite sure.’

  ‘And now you are?’

  ‘Yes, Grace. I’m sure.’ His eyes met hers and suddenly her heart contracted. She stepped towards him and framed his face with her hands.

  ‘Oh, Morgan. My dear, I’m so glad for you. Don’t be uncomfortable about it. You’ve been alone for so long.’

  ‘No, Grace, I was never alone while I had you. I thought you’d never join me here. You have family, Elaine and Tricia. That’s where you belong. I had no right even to ask.’

  ‘You had every rig
ht.’ Standing on tiptoe she kissed his cheek. ‘You’ve meant so much to me over the years. You’ve been my best friend, son, confidant, all rolled into one. A mirror of myself, almost.’

  ‘I’d have been nothing but for you,’ he said quietly. ‘All my success is yours really. You were the first person to believe in me, even before I did myself. If I ever thought I’d hurt you — that I’d failed to be there for you when you needed me...’

  She shook her head. ‘No. It’s nothing like that. You could never hurt me by being happy.’ For a moment they looked at each other, then she said: ‘I’ll go now. Before you friend comes.’

  ‘There’s no need. He knows all about you. I’d like you to meet.’

  She shook her head. ‘Maybe some other time. You must bring him to Cambridge. But not now, Morgan. Not tonight.’

  She took a taxi back to Fulham and climbed the stairs to the empty flat. Changing into a dressing gown and slippers, she settled down in front of the TV but found herself unable to concentrate on the programme. Deep inside she recognised this evening as a watershed in her life. All these years Morgan had been the only man in her life and now she examined her true feelings towards him. She was fond of him in the way she would have been fond of a son or a younger brother. Perhaps she had been unfair to him in a way. Perhaps they had both been hiding from reality all these years; each of them afraid of facing up to their own sexuality. But nowadays these things were brought out into the open much more freely; discussed and resolved in ways that had been unheard of in Grace’s younger days. Now Morgan had found happiness again in the only way he could find it. For her it was too late.

  Her thoughts went inevitably to Harry. Since her talk with Rachel it was as though a mist had cleared in her mind. She no longer felt the deep revulsion she had once felt towards anything of a sexual nature. And now she realised with surprise that in some inexplicable way Morgan had unwittingly helped to cure her of that.

  Where was Harry now? She thought of him more and more lately. In the eyes of the law they were still married. He had never asked her for a divorce again. She knew that Stella Rainbow had died. She’d seen it quite by chance five years ago — a few lines of print in an old newspaper wrapped around something she had bought in the market. ‘Fifties singing star dies of cancer in Australia’. Smoothing out the paper she’d seen that it was already two months old. Had Harry stayed out there or had he returned to England? Either way he hadn’t been in touch with her — or with Elaine as far as she knew. Harry. She smiled wistfully to herself. With a pang of surprise she realised he would be sixty now. How quickly the time went as one grew older. It was hard to imagine him getting old. How was he coping with life on his own? Had he found someone else? Was he still working? She sighed. She had loved Harry so very much. If only he could have understood why she couldn’t respond to him. If only she could have told him. Everything might have been so different for them all.

  She’d fallen into a doze by the time Tricia returned. Hearing the door slam and the light footsteps on the stairs she roused herself and went into the kitchen to heat the milk for the promised cocoa.

  Tricia was full of her meeting with Max Crichton. ‘He didn’t seem to disapprove of my playing with the group,’ she said excitedly. ‘And he’s going to audition me again. Oh, Gran, I know I shan’t be able to sleep a wink tonight. I can’t wait till Tracey gets back so that I can tell her.’

  Grace looked at her granddaughter’s shining eyes, remembering herself at that age — married with a baby; her life already beginning to disintegrate.

  Elaine’s youth had been short-lived too. She often agonised over the life her daughter had had — suspecting that she herself might be to blame for that disastrous marriage. She’d guessed that Elaine had been pregnant before she and Paul had married, of course, but been unable to talk to her about it. She’d been cowardly about everyone knowing — afraid of the shame and disgrace had Paul refused to marry her after all. And she was ashamed at the relief she had felt when the knot was safely tied. Marriage to Paul had seemed ideal to her at the time. He’d been so stable and steady, unlike the Carne boy. But she’d been wrong — so very wrong. Now, she hoped fervently that life would be better for Tricia. She was their stake in the future. Maybe through her they could recoup the happiness they had missed. To this end she must have all the help they could give her.

  ‘But what about you, Gran?’ Tricia was saying. She too had changed into a dressing gown and sat, feet tucked under her in a corner of the settee, her hands wrapped round her mug of cocoa. ‘Was Uncle Morgan surprised to see you? Was he pleased about your decision?’

  Grace sighed. ‘I should have let him know I was coming. I should have given him some warning.’

  Tricia laughed. ‘Warning? You make your visit sound more like an invasion.’

  ‘It almost was.’ Grace smiled wryly. ‘He was expecting a friend for dinner — the friend who is about to move in and share the flat with him.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Tricia nodded. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve seen him around with someone once or twice. I did wonder.’ She glanced apprehensively at her grandmother. ‘Granny, you did realise that Uncle Morgan was gay, didn’t you?’

  Grace’s eyebrows rose. At nineteen she had been a wife and mother, yet she hadn’t known half of what young girls knew nowadays. And maybe it was a good thing they did. At least they were prepared for life — something she had never been. In spite of herself, she laughed.

  ‘Yes, darling. I’ve always known that.’ A thought occurred to her and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, you didn’t think that I had any romantic ideas?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Tricia looked shocked. ‘I thought you just wanted to mother him.’ She peered anxiously at Grace. ‘Are you terribly disappointed?’

  Grace shook her head resolutely. ‘No, I’m glad. Things are working out very well. Morgan seems to have found a partner he’ll be happy with. Your mother is able to take an active part in her business again. Your future looks promising...’

  ‘Yes, but what about you, Gran?’ Tricia asked. ‘What are you going to do with your retirement?’

  Grace stifled a sigh. ‘Retirement’ sounded so very elderly. ‘Never you mind about me,’ she said. ‘I’ve had my life.’

  ‘But you’re not old. You have lots of energy and you still look wonderful. You have so much to offer. You can’t just merge into the wallpaper.’

  Grace laughed. ‘I’ve no intention of doing any such thing. I’ll think of something to do with my spare time. Now I’ll have time for all the things I’ve always meant to do. I might travel. Follow Morgan’s example and buy myself a little place somewhere in the sun.’

  ‘Do you ever wish...’ Tricia glanced at her grandmother hesitantly. ‘Do you ever wish that you and — and grandfather were still together?’

  Grace smiled. ‘It was all so long ago, Tricia. I daresay we’re both different people now. In marriage you grow together down the years. You change together — mould to each other’s ways. If I met your grandfather in the street now, I probably wouldn’t even recognise him.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so sad,’ Tricia whispered, her eyes bright. ‘Because I know you loved him. I’ve always known that by the way you speak about him. Do you think he’d have liked me? Do you think...?’

  ‘I’m certain he’d have been very proud of you.’ Grace stood up. ‘Have you seen the time, young lady? Off to bed with you this minute. Plenty of time for talking tomorrow.’ In the doorway of her room Grace took Tricia’s face between her hands and kissed her.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself about me or what’s past,’ she said softly. ‘Your future is what matters now. You have talent and plenty of common sense. Make good use of both those things and you won’t go far wrong. Goodnight, my darling. Sleep well.’

  But they both lay awake through the last dark hours before dawn; thinking about themselves and each other. About the regretted past and the hoped for future.

  *

  It was five days befo
re Max Crichton rang, Tricia had given up hope of hearing from him. She imagined him finding the card on which she’d written her name and number in his pocked and tossing it away without remembering who she was. But she was wrong. She arrived home from shopping the following Friday afternoon to hear the telephone ringing inside the flat. She hastily found her key, fell in through the door and snatched up the receiver.

  ‘He-hello?’

  ‘Hello. It’s Max Crichton. You sound breathless.’ He sounded amused.

  ‘I’ve been out. I heard the phone as I came up the stairs.’

  ‘No rush. I’d have rung again. Any chance of you coming round to play for me tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘If it’s inconvenient...’

  ‘ No. No, it’s fine. Er — where?’

  He gave her an address in Knightsbridge. ‘Make it about eleven. Okay?’

  ‘Yes. Fine. I’ll be there.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodbye.’ And before she could say another word he had rung off.

  Tracey, coming in a few minutes later had been sceptical. ‘Knightsbridge? I take it that’s his place eh? You want to watch it. He sounds like a dirty old man if you ask me.’

  ‘Nobody is asking you. And he’s not old,’ Tricia said indignantly. ‘Anyway, he’s a dedicated musician. It’s in your profession they have casting couches, not mine.’

  Tracey laughed and tossed her beautiful auburn head. ‘Want to bet?’

  ‘Anyway, he’s got an absolutely gorgeous girlfriend. I’ve seen her,’ Tricia said. ‘She might even be his wife, for all I know.’

  ‘When did a little thing like a wife ever stop any of them?’ asked Tracey cynically. ‘Just you watch yourself, young Trish. You’re far too innocent and trusting for your own good.’ Then she grinned. ‘Mind you — you’ll be boringly safe if you turn up dressed like that.’