Wives & Mothers

by Jeanne Whitmee

  She gave a shuddering sigh. ‘Yes, Max. Oh, yes — please.’

  He looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes softening, then he drew her slowly into his arms and kissed her. He knew he was probably giving both of them a whole new set of problems — ruining all he’d just said; even shattering the chance of a truly professional relationship between them, but he couldn’t help himself. She looked so lost and so young with her wide blue eyes looking up at him and her mouth soft and tremulous. But he found her response astonishingly adult. Under all that child-like naivety she was all woman and as her body arched towards him and her lips parted beneath his he found her surprising fire arousing him to unexpected passion. What had started as a light kiss developed into a passionate embrace that left them both breathless and shaken.

  ‘Tricia,’ he murmured her name wonderingly. ‘We shouldn’t...’

  ‘Yes — yes, we should,’ she breathed against the corner of his mouth. ‘It had to happen, Max. Can’t you understand that? Now everything will be all right. Now you won’t have to be angry with me any more.’ She drew her head back to look into his eyes. ‘Because it wasn’t my music that was getting under your skin, was it?’

  The deep blue eyes teased him wickedly and he felt laughter rise in his throat. ‘You’re not as green as you look, are you? I’ve half a mind to put you to the test.’

  Her lips teased his playfully. ‘Only half a mind? What happened to all that positive thinking?’

  Getting to his feet, he held out his hand to her. ‘All right, challenge accepted. Let’s find out whether your theory is right, shall we?’

  ‘Not when there’s a chance that Consuela might walk in.’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘But she might. And if she did...?’

  He stood for a moment, looking down at her. Then he said: ‘Tricia — do you trust me?’

  She put her head on one side. ‘I trust you as a musician — and as my teacher. As a man, I’m not so sure.’

  He sat down and pulled her down again beside him, pulling her hand through his arm as though to hold her captive. ‘Tell me, who do you really imagine Consuela is?’ When she paused he urged her: ‘Come on, cards on the table. Tell the truth. What have you been thinking?’

  ‘We-ell, what I said: that she’s your girlfriend.’

  ‘Do you want to know the truth? Are you grown up enough to bear it? Will it make a difference to the way you feel? The truth now. If I’m going to be completely honest, I shall expect the same from you.’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I want to hear the truth. And it won’t make any difference to the way I feel, but it might make a difference to what I allow to happen.’

  ‘I see.’ His face was grave. ‘A woman of integrity.’

  She frowned. ‘You’re making fun of me. Are you going to tell me or aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Consuela is my...’

  ‘Yes, she’s your what?’

  ‘She’s my step-mother.’

  She stared at him for a moment, then pulled her hand away and began to get up. ‘If you’re going to be facetious...’

  He took her hand and jerked her down again. ‘It’s the truth, Tricia. My mother died when I was ten. Five years later, my father went to Argentina to stay with a friend. He met and fell in love with his twenty-two-year-old daughter.’ Tricia was silent, lost for words, and Max went on: ‘I hated them both for a long time. I deeply resented having a stepmother who was only a few years older than me. But Consuela won me over in the end and we became good friends. She was like the older sister I’d never had. And she really did — does — love my father.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ Tricia asked in a whisper.

  ‘In Argentina. They live there. My father went into partnership with Consuela’s father. They breed horses. She comes over for the occasional week in London, to buy clothes and to see her friends. She stays at the Savoy, but she usually spends some time with me because we enjoy one another’s company.’

  ‘Did you ask her to chaperone me?’ Her eyes were beginning to twinkle again now.

  He laughed. ‘No, that was her idea. Consuela was brought up very strictly. Our English freedom and sex equality shocks her profoundly. She thinks you’re very talented and very attractive.’ His eyes danced. ‘She also thinks you fancy me.’

  ‘Really? And what do you think?’ She reached up to stroke his beard and found it smoother and softer than she imagined.

  He stood up and scooped her up into his arms. ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ he informed her, his face close to hers. ‘Maybe it’s time I showed you.’

  *

  Elaine wakened to the sound of church bells. Alison’s flat was in the heart of the city within hearing of several churches. Just for a drowsy, half-awake moment she fancied she was in Switzerland. She lay for a moment, thinking of the magic, idyllic days she had spent there with Patrick twelve years ago, wondering if he remembered and sometimes thought of it too.

  Maybe I’ll see him today, she told herself. And felt her heart lift and quicken. Yesterday it had seemed as though her life was grinding inexorably to a halt. Her own divorce; Alison’s imminent departure for Canada; Tricia’s independence... they all seemed to point to the fact that she was becoming redundant, that her life was hurtling downhill out of control. Her mother’s reunion with her father had been the final straw. She would never come to terms with that. She deeply resented her father’s selfishness. He hadn’t replied to her letter, hadn’t cared when she needed him. But now that he was alone and getting old he had come back to insinuate himself into their lives again — at the instigation of her own daughter too. But her mother’s obvious pleasure at the prospect hurt most of all. It was as though all the people she had devoted her life to, wanted and needed her no more. They were all casting her aside.

  In three more years she would be forty. A landmark. It was too young to retire and yesterday she had told herself despairingly that it was too late to begin again. But this morning, with the sun shining through the window and the leaves turning golden on the trees outside, things looked brighter. Zoe believed that Patrick still wanted her; that he had always loved her. If it were true, perhaps it would be possible to start again — to share their lives at last. After all, there was nothing standing in their way any more.

  *

  ‘What shall we do today?’

  Grace and Harry sat at breakfast in the kitchen. Outside the window with its frilled blue gingham curtains the sky was blue and the autumn sun bathed the small neat garden in a rich golden glow.

  ‘You choose,’ Harry said. ‘You live here. You know all the best places to visit.’

  Grace considered. ‘Well, I could take you to Grantchester where Rupert Brook used to live. It’s such a pretty village with real picturebook thatched cottages and everything. We could have a pub lunch. Or we could take a picnic to Gog Magog Hills and look at the iron-age fort at Wandlebury Ring. Then again, if you don’t mind travelling a bit further, we could visit Sandringham House.’ He was smiling at her across the table. She’d changed so much — grown in confidence and assurance. Yet she was still the Grace he had known all those years ago, delighted by small things; a sunny morning, the prospect of a day out. ‘Anywhere will do as long as we can do it together,’ he said softly. As she passed on her way to refill the teapot, he caught her hand and squeezed it. ‘This weekend — I was so nervous and apprehensive She looked down at him. ‘Oh, Harry, so was I.’

  ‘But it’s been marvellous. I can’t tell you what it’s meant.’

  ‘You make it sound as though it’s over,’ she laughed. We’ve got all today yet.’ She freshened the pot and refilled his cup, unaware that he hadn’t asked for more — her sub-conscious memory reminding her that he always drank two cups at breakfast. ‘So come on. It’s make-your-mind-up time. Where shall we go?’

  ‘I won’t have you packing lunch,’ he said decisively. ‘Let’s make it Grantchester, and I’l
l take you out to a slap-up lunch. We can see all those other places some other time.’

  *

  Tricia opened her eyes and stretched like a cat. She turned to look at Max. He lay on his back, one arm flung out, the other above his head. In sleep he looked much younger and she noticed for the first time how long and thick his eyelashes were. Now, perhaps for the first time ever, I’m looking at the real Max Crichton, she told herself. Just for this moment he’s an open book — and he’s all mine.

  Raising herself on one elbow she studied him long and hard, savouring his oblivious defencelessness. His shoulders were wide and powerful, his arms strong and muscular. And the thick, curling hair on his chest was as dark as his hair and beard.

  She sighed reminiscently. Last night had been wonderful. When she first wakened she thought she had dreamed it all. She had often secretly fantasised about what it would be like to make love with Max. She had guessed that he would be positive, even slightly ruthless, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he could be so gentle and tender. Clearly he was experienced. Her own sexual experience was sketchy. There had never been anyone she had cared for enough to spend a whole night with, or even to make love ‘all the way’, and Max had somehow known this without having to be told.

  Someone — she couldn’t remember who — had once said that when one fell in love, everything came naturally. Last night she had discovered this to be true. Making love with Max had been gloriously instinctive. There was obviously a lot to learn, but that was something to look forward to, a wonderful adventure. And she was happily convinced that he would be as good a teacher in matters of that kind as he was in music.

  Would their new relationship improve her playing? she wondered excitedly. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to find out. Rising to her knees she threw one leg across him and shook him hard.

  ‘Wake up, lazy slob,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t you know what the time is?’

  Max drowsily half opened his eyes and peered at the naked girl perched unselfconsciously astride him. She had skin like ivory and small bouncing, rose-tipped breasts. Her face was aglow with life and her eyes were shining. She was totally irresistible.

  ‘Come on.’ She leaned forward to shake him again and her blonde hair brushed his chest tantalisingly.

  He grasped her slender waist and turned her swiftly so that their positions were reversed. ‘Are you always this disgustingly energetic first thing in the morning?’ he growled.

  She giggled. ‘Absolutely. Without fail.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ He lowered himself on to her and covered her lips with his. And as his hand stroked along the length of her body to cup one breast her breath caught in her throat and he had the satisfaction of feeling her eager, quivering arousal.

  ‘The idea was to — get up and — and begin work,’ she said breathlessly as their lips parted.

  ‘And so we will,’ he murmured as he gently parted her thighs. ‘All in good time. First things first, my love. First things first.’

  *

  Elaine made herself a snack lunch, then got ready to visit the hospital. As she showered she wondered whether she should telephone Red first. Tom and his wife might come for the weekend as well as Patrick. Zoe had had major surgery. They probably wouldn’t allow too many visitors at this stage.

  She dialled the number and waited, listening to the ringing at the other end. But there was no reply. Perhaps they had all gone out to lunch and would go straight on to the hospital afterwards. Well, she would go anyway.

  She locked up the flat carefully and went down in the lift. It came to a halt on the ground floor and the doors opened to reveal a man waiting, his back turned towards her. He wore a trenchcoat with the collar turned up. The sound of the doors made him turn and Elaine caught her breath. It was Patrick. For a moment they stared at each other in surprise, then he said: ‘Hello, Elaine. I was on my way to see Alison. I’ve been ringing you at your mother’s house but there was no reply.’

  ‘No. I’ve been here all weekend. Alison’s away.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  There was something wrong. His face was white and drawn and his mouth moved wordlessly. She reached out a hand to him instinctively.

  ‘Come back up to the flat. There’s no one there.’

  It seemed to take an age to get out her key again and unlock the door. At last, in the small hallway, she looked at him.

  ‘Tell me.’

  He looked at her with eyes that seemed to fill his face. ‘She’s dead, Elaine. Zoe’s dead.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth and she stared at him disbelievingly. ‘But — she can’t be. She was doing so well. What went wrong? The operation...’

  ‘It was nothing to do with the operation,’ he told her. ‘A heart attack at ten o’clock this morning. It was sudden and unexpected — all over in half an hour. There wasn’t even time for us to get there.’

  ‘Oh, Patrick.’ She held out her arms to him and he walked into them. They held each other silently for a long moment. It seemed hopelessly unreal to her, ludicrous even, that someone as alive and vital as Zoe could suddenly just not be any more. She couldn’t feel anything. No grief, no regret, no sense of loss — not even shock. Just numbness. Inside her heart there was nothing but a hollow, empty space. In the silence she could hear the muffled sounds of traffic in the street below and Alison’s antique wall clock busily ticking. Suddenly, over Patrick’s shoulder, she noticed a mark on the door handle and found herself making a mental note to clean it off. Patrick felt cold and heavy; a dead weight in her arms as he leaned against her. The stiff unyielding stuff of his trenchcoat rubbed coldly against her cheek.

  At last she pushed him gently and said: ‘Let me make you some coffee.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  It was good to have something with which to busy her hands. She put the kettle on and arranged cups on a tray, took biscuits out of the tin and found a plate for them. She was struck by the ludicrous normality of everything around her. It was all exactly the same as it had been an hour ago. How could that be when something so outrageously unacceptable had happened? While she worked she watched Patrick out of the corner of her eye. He sat slumped on a stool at the breakfast bar, his eyes unfocussed.

  ‘What about the — the arrangements?’

  ‘Next Wednesday,’ he said dully. ‘At least, that’s what we think. Being Sunday, all the business will have to be done tomorrow. I’m staying to help Red.’

  ‘Of course. How is he?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s taken it in yet. Tom is with him. It fell to me to do the rounds.’

  ‘Patrick — look, I don’t want to keep you.’

  He looked up, startled. ‘What? Oh, no. This is my last call.’ he took the cup from her and swallowed his coffee gratefully. ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t asked you how you are,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time, Elaine.’

  ‘Yes, it has. I’m fine. And you?’

  ‘Fine too — apart from...’

  ‘Of course.’ He was the same Patrick, yet suddenly he seemed like a stranger. ‘You may have heard that Paul and I are divorcing,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Zoe told me. She seemed pleased about it. She always said you deserved better.’

  ‘She was my closest friend. Closer in some ways than Alison or even my own mother. She understood things without having to be told. I shall miss her terribly.’

  He nodded unhappily. ‘We all shall. I just wish I’d seen more of her these past few years.’ He looked up. ‘But at least I was able to give her some good news.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Yes. She was always worrying about my single state. I’m getting married again, Elaine. I thought — after us, you and me, that there’d never be anyone else. Then I met Jessica. She’s my secretary. Fifteen years my junior, which raised a few eyebrows, but I’ve never been one for following convention, as you know. She’s very mature for her years. A cultured, intelligent girl, and very beautiful. I’m a very lucky man.’


  Her mouth was dry and she had difficulty in forcing her voice past the sudden constriction in her throat. ‘I’m — sure you are,’ she managed to say. ‘Congratulations. When — when is the wedding to be?’

  ‘Next month. It’s to be a very quiet affair. No fuss, so we shan’t postpone it. Zoe wouldn’t have wanted that.’

  ‘No. No, of course she wouldn’t.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I’d better get back.’ At the door he turned. ‘We’ll see you at the funeral?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I’ll let you know the details. Thanks for the coffee.’ He walked out into the hall, Elaine following. ‘Goodbye.’ He bent to kiss her cheek briefly. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as the arrangements are made.’

  She closed the door and leant against it, listening, still numb, to his footsteps going along the corridor to the lift.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zoe,’ she whispered. ‘I was too late after all.’

  She heard the clatter of the lift gates and then the hum of the lift descending. He had gone — this time for ever. Then the blackness descended on her. It came down like a heavy, stifling cloak; dense and suffocating, making her heart thud and the breath catch in her throat. Gasping, she rushed to open a window, and as she leaned out to gulp in the air she felt as through she were drowning; as through black waters were closing over her head, pressing down on her relentlessly.

  Suddenly she knew that there was only one person in the world who could stop the blackness for devouring her. One name rose in terrified desperation to her lips, like the cry of a wounded animal.

  *

  ‘That was better — much better.’ Max beamed at her from the piano.

  They’d been practising for three hours and Tricia had never enjoyed playing more in her life. She put her violin down and threw herself full-length on the Chesterfield.

  ‘Yes, I thought so too,’ she said, clasping her hands behind her head. ‘But are you sure you’re not saying that just because you’ve had your wicked way with me?’