Wives & Mothers

by Jeanne Whitmee

  ‘You’re still young,’ she said gently. ‘There’s still plenty of time for you to make a new life. Look for a new place to live. Make a real home, for yourself and for Tricia. Then there’s the business. You and Alison have done so well. How can you call yourself a failure?’

  Elaine tried to smile. ‘Thank God I’ve still got you,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been so strong.’ She hugged her mother.

  But the face that looked over her shoulder was full of sadness. Strong, yes — if only it had been the right kind of strength. Her eyes filled with the stinging tears of regret.

  *

  It wasn’t until Tricia got out of the train at Notting Hill that she pulled out the envelope Harry had given her to look at the address. It was only then that she noticed the name: ‘Mr H. Wendover’. She stood in the station booking hall, staring down at the tattered envelope in her hand, oblivious to the crowds milling round her. Wendover. That was Granny Grace’s name. Could this Harry also be her Harry? Excitement quickened her heartbeat as the implications began to pile one upon the other in her mind. Everything seemed to point to the fact that she was right. It wasn’t a terribly common name, and the chances of there being two Harry Wendovers who were also pianists were surely slim. It wasn’t really such a coincidence that they should have met either. The world of music was comparatively small. Even in her own limited experience she had discovered that.

  But what should she do about it? She had promised to ask Harry to play at the wedding on Saturday. Should she warn him first? Warn her mother and Granny Grace? Or should she keep it as a wonderful, gigantic surprise? She’d always known that deep down Gran longed to find him again. And Harry seemed so lonely.

  As she made her way along the busy street her mind raced, making one plan — discarding it to make another, then going back over it again. First and foremost she must make absolutely sure — and do it discreetly. It would be too embarrassing if she were to speak out only to find that she was wrong after all.

  *

  Harry was impressed with Tricia’s playing. He had been so afraid that playing with an orchestra would rob her of her individuality; take away some of the spirit and zest he had admired so much at the audition. As they came to the end of the last piece, he rose and turned off the tape recorder.

  ‘Want to hear it through?’ he asked as he pressed the rewind button.

  Tricia shook her head. ‘Not for a minute. Could we have a cup of coffee first, please?’

  He looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was three o’clock. ‘Good heavens. I’d no idea it was as late as that. I’d planned to give you lunch.’

  ‘Oh, Harry, there’s no need for that. I’ve already taken up too much of your day.’

  He grinned. ‘Rubbish. I’ve enjoyed myself. I wasn’t doing anything today anyway. As a matter of fact the jobs are a bit thin on the ground at the moment.’

  ‘Ah, that reminds me.’ Tricia put her violin in its case, turning her back so as to hide the excitement in her eyes. ‘I told you I was going home, didn’t I? Well, I’ve been asked to play for a wedding reception on Saturday. I’ve also been asked to find a pianist. Would you like the job?’

  Harry looked pleased. ‘Good of you to think of me. Where is it?’

  ‘Cambridge. It’s quite a classy wedding, and they’ll pay proper rates.’ She grinned. ‘I daresay there’ll be some posh nosh and the odd glass of champers too if we play our cards right.’

  He laughed. ‘Right, you’re on. Never could resist champagne. Had you thought about a programme?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve brought some music along with me. Maybe we could have a run through if you agree.’ She passed him a sheaf of music, which he glanced through.

  ‘Looks fine. All stuff I’m familiar with so it shouldn’t be a problem. Just give me the details, will you? Time and venue. Write it down while I go and get us something to eat. You must be starving.’

  Tricia scribbled down the details on Harry’s telephone pad, then wandered through to the small kitchen and asked if she could help. It was strange and exciting to think she was about to sit down to lunch with her grandfather.

  ‘Nothing to do,’ Harry said, expertly slicing French bread. ‘It’s all ready. Just some cold meat and a salad.’

  She watched him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, ‘You look very much at home in the kitchen. How long have you been on your own, Harry?’

  ‘Quite a while.’

  ‘So you’re a widower?’ She saw him hesitate and bit her lip. ‘Oh, look, sorry. Take no notice of me. I’m famous for putting my foot in it. You don’t have to answer my silly questions.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s just that I had to think. I was married once — well, still am as far as I know. But the marriage broke up years ago. The woman I used to share my life with died. She was ill for a long time which is how I got so domesticated.’ He began to spread butter on the bread. ‘I think of myself as a widower, though as far as I know, I’m not.’

  Tricia tried hard to keep her voice from rising. It all added up. ‘I see. I’m sorry,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘Don’t be. I’m fine. Now — shall we listen to the tape while we eat?’ He carried the plates through to the living room.

  Tricia was fairly satisfied with the tape, though she had some reservations, which she aired when it came to an end. Harry waved them away.

  ‘You can’t expect to be completely satisfied. One never is. What are you going to do with your demo tape now you’ve got it?’ She looked blank and he laughed. ‘Would you like me to pass it on to my agent?’

  ‘Oh, Harry, would you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I can try. I can’t promise anything, of course, but even if she can’t represent you herself, she might have some ideas.’ He got up and began to clear away the used dishes. ‘Now you can help me with the washing up if you like. Then we’ll have a look at this programme you’ve got planned for Saturday.’

  *

  Elaine received the telephone call from Red at the office on the day Tricia was due home. When her secretary put the call through to her she was surprised.

  ‘Red, how nice to hear from you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Elaine. Look, if you’re not too busy could you meet me for lunch?’

  ‘Of course. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘I’m afraid there is, but I’ll tell you about it when we meet. Shall we say The Anchor at twelve-thirty?’

  ‘Right. I’ll see you later then.’

  He had rung off abruptly, leaving Elaine wondering for the rest of the morning what it was he wanted to talk to her about.

  When she arrived at the pub by the river Red was already there. He looked worried, his lean face pinched and drawn. He bought drinks for them both and they found a quiet corner table.

  ‘What’s wrong, Red?’ Elaine asked, seriously worried by now. He looked up at her. ‘It’s Zoe. She’s ill.’

  ‘Zoe? But I saw her last week. She was all right then.’

  ‘I thought so too. We all did. It was only two days ago that I found out the truth.’

  ‘Found out? Please, Red, what is it?’

  He took a long pull of his beer. ‘She has to have major surgery quite soon. It’s cancer, Elaine.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh, no. Oh, Red, what can I say?’

  ‘She’s known about it for months and kept it to herself.’

  Elaine shook her head. ‘That sounds like Zoe.’ She reached across the table to touch his hand. ‘Have you talked to the doctor yourself, Red? Do you know just how serious it is?’

  He nodded. ‘I saw her consultant yesterday. He won’t know how much he can do until he operates. He may be able to get it all. On the other hand...’

  She pressed his hand. ‘Red, if sheer will power can help, Zoe will be all right. She’s the strongest person I know.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ When he looked up at her she was dismayed to see that there were tears in his eyes. ‘I can’t imagine life without h
er, Elaine,’ he said brokenly. ‘She’s got to get well again. She’s just got to.’

  A lump filled her throat. ‘She will, Red. I know that if it’s possible to will herself better, she’ll do it.’ She moistened her dry lips. ‘Do Tom and Patrick know?’

  ‘I telephoned them both last night. They were as shocked as me.’

  ‘Naturally. When is the operation?’

  ‘The week after next. They’re taking her in a week on Monday — operating next day.’ He looked at he. ‘Will you go and see her? She’s very fond of you, Elaine. She’s often said that you’re the nearest she’s ever had to a daughter of her own.’

  ‘Of course I’ll go and see her.’

  All afternoon thoughts of Zoe filled her mind. How could she have kept her illness form them all? Why hadn’t she mentioned it to anyone? Her eyes kept straying to the head of Tricia that Zoe had done almost twelve years ago. Since she’d left Langmere Lodge it had stood on her desk where she could see it all the time. Zoe loved Tricia. If only she could have known that she was her own granddaughter. Suddenly she recalled a conversation they had had not so long ago. ‘The world is changing so fast,’ Zoe had said. ‘One day, quite suddenly, it could be too late. I want so much to see you both happy before I die.’ She must have known she was ill then. Poor Zoe. If only she could have shared it with them. Surely it would have made it easier to bear?

  *

  Elaine heard their excited voices as soon as she opened the front door. Tricia was telling her grandmother all about Max Crichton and the cathedral tour. When she heard the front door slam, she ran into the hall.

  ‘Mummy.’ She threw her arms round Elaine and hugged her. ‘Oh, it’s lovely to be home and see you both. Gran’s got the most sumptuous meal waiting. Wait till you see.’

  The meal was a happy affair. But later, when Grace left them to make coffee, Tricia asked: ‘Why aren’t you at home, Mum? What’s going on? Is it Dad?’

  ‘Hasn’t Granny told you?’

  ‘She said it would be better coming from you.’

  Elaine looked at her daughter. ‘There isn’t much to tell, darling. I’m sure it won’t come as too much of a shock to you to hear that Dad and I have finally parted. He wants to turn Langmere Lodge into a home for the disabled — with Josh Grey’s help. He feels we’d be happier apart.’

  Tricia’s eyes widened. ‘Just like that? After you’ve sacrificed so much for him?’

  Elaine shook her head. ‘It’s not quite that simple, darling. Believe me, it’s better for everyone this way.’ She smiled. ‘All these years he’s resented his dependence on me. And if I’m truthful, I’ve resented it too. It doesn’t make for a happy relationship.’

  ‘Yes, but what will you do now?’

  ‘Well, to begin with I’m looking for a nice house where we can make a home, you and I,’ Elaine hurried on. ‘Maybe we can look together while you’re home?’

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ Tricia said. ‘Was it anything to do with me — your parting with Dad?’

  ‘Darling, of course not.’

  ‘Why has he always hated me?’ Tricia looked up at her mother. ‘Don’t say he didn’t, because he did. I always felt it. Langmere Lodge never felt like home to me. He didn’t really want me there, did he?’

  Elaine knew that this was the moment. Tricia had given her the perfect cue. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s mine,’ she said slowly. ‘Our marriage hadn’t been happy for a long time — from the very beginning, in fact.’ She looked up apprehensively at her daughter. Would she see her in a different light after what she was about to say? ‘You see, Paul Kingston isn’t your true father, Tricia.’

  For a long moment mother and daughter looked at each other. Then Tricia said dazedly: ‘I think I always knew, deep inside me somewhere. There was never any real closeness between us. So who was he? My real father, I mean?’

  ‘Someone I loved very much,’ Elaine told her. ‘Someone I expected to share the rest of my life with — at the time.’

  Tricia’s eyes were misty. ‘And he let you down?’

  ‘No. He never knew about you. And he never will — which is why I can’t tell you either. It was all over a long time ago and there isn’t any point. No one else knows, Tricia, not even Gran, so I’d be grateful if we could keep it between ourselves.’

  Tricia was disappointed and a little let down. After learning something so dramatic, it seemed something of an anti-climax.

  ‘We must look to the future now, not the past,’ Elaine went on. ‘It’s so long since Granny, you and I spent any time together. Let’s make the most of it, shall we? She’s helping the florist with the flowers tomorrow, so all three of us will all be taking part.’

  Tricia smiled to herself. ‘All four of us,’ she corrected excitedly under her breath. Finding Harry would make up a little for what felt like the loss of her father.

  *

  Harry had told Tricia he’d arrive at the bride’s home early on Saturday afternoon. The wedding party wasn’t expected until four-thirty, so they’d have plenty of time to run through their programme of music before the reception. In actual fact he was a little early, having caught an earlier train. A housekeeper took him through the house to the marquee where the reception was to be held. He took off his coat and sat down at the piano, running his hands experimentally over the keys. It was in tune and well maintained. That was a bonus.

  ‘Harry, you’re early.’

  He looked up to see Tricia coming towards him. ‘Yes. I was so anxious not to be late that I caught the train before the one I intended. The piano’s good, listen.’ He played a snatch of Cole Porter.

  ‘Sounds great. Shall we have a little run-through? Or maybe you’d like coffee first. I’ve brought a flask.’

  ‘We’ll have that later. Let’s get started.’

  They worked their way through the programme of music they had chosen: a selection of old favourites, Cole Porter, Rogers and Hart, and some of the more modern work of Andrew Lloyd Webber. They rehearsed for about half and hour, pausing now and then to re-phrase a passage and mark their music accordingly. Tricia liked the way she and Harry played together. They seemed to have an almost telepathic rapport, each knowing instinctively what the other was thinking and following effortlessly. It was just as one would expect, she told herself, between close relatives. If there were butterflies in her stomach it wasn’t because of the coming performance.

  Grace had been hard at work all morning, helping to decorate the marquee for the reception, and had promised to go back to the bride’s house to collect surplus flowers and florists’ paraphernalia. As she loaded the last of it into the boot of the car she heard strains of music coming from the marquee and realised that Tricia and her accompanist must be running through their programme. She paused to listen, feeling the glow of pride she always felt, listening to Tricia playing.

  ‘They’re rehearsing for the wedding. Lovely, isn’t it?’ Grace turned to see the housekeeper watching her.

  ‘It’s my granddaughter playing the violin,’ she said proudly. ‘She’s with the New World Youth Orchestra but she’s at home for a few days.’

  The woman smiled. ‘Well, she’s certainly very talented. You must be very proud.’

  ‘We are,’ Grace told her. ‘Today is a real family occasion for us at HEA. Three generations of us, all working together.’ She nodded towards the floral equipment. ‘I’ve collected up all the debris. I’ll get if out of your way now.’

  ‘There’s no hurry. Why not go in and listen to your granddaughter for a few minutes, if you’d like to?’

  Grace hesitated. ‘It would be nice,’ she said. ‘I’ll slip in quietly without letting them see me.’

  Going round by the garden, she slipped into the marquee by one of the side entrances and stood behind a bank of plants she’d arranged earlier. The two musicians were playing on a small dais in the far corner. Tricia looked very pretty in her black velvet skirt and white frilled blouse. She was wearing her hair as G
race liked to see it, swinging loose; straight and silky. At the piano sat a rather distinguished-looking man with grey hair, his back half turned to her.

  Grace watched and listened for a few moments. They paused briefly to discuss something and the pianist turned his face in her direction. Grace caught her breath sharply. Harry! Dear God, it was Harry, she was sure of it. Slowly, her heart thudding against her ribs, she went out into the garden. Her heart raced sickeningly and her legs felt like jelly as she made her way back to the car and when she reached it she stood for a moment, leaning against the door as she tried to steady the sickening thudding of her heartbeat.

  The housekeeper noticed her from the window and came out onto the drive, concerned at the sight of the woman’s ashen face.

  ‘Are you feeling ill? Can I get you something?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘N-No, thank you. I’m quite all right. It’s just — just rather warm.’

  ‘Let me get you a glass of water.’

  Grace straightened her shoulders and took a firm hold of herself. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind but I’m fine now. And I have some other jobs to do.’

  She got into the car and drove away, her mind still spinning. What would Tricia say if she knew that the man accompanying her was actually her own grandfather?

  Once safely home her thoughts seemed to slow down and she found she was able to think logically. What about Elaine? She hadn’t seen her father since she was eleven years old. She wasn’t likely to recognise him now. If she simply said nothing, Harry would go back to London without ever knowing, and no one would be any the wiser. On the other hand...

  She made herself a strong cup of coffee and sat for several minutes thinking of the opportunity she held in the palm of her hand. It was almost as though fate was offering her an option. Should she let it pass? It would be so nice to see Harry again — talk to him. Lately he had been in her thoughts so much. What had happened was all so long ago now. And Stella was dead after all.

  Making up her mind quite suddenly, she got up and went to the telephone. When the housekeeper’s pleasant voice answered she said: ‘It’s Mrs Wendover speaking. I’m so sorry to trouble you when you’re so busy, but would you give my granddaughter a message for me? Will you ask her to bring her accompanist home with her for a meal when they’ve finished playing?’