Too Late to Paint the Roses

by Jeanne Whitmee

  ‘How is Henry Ingram these days?’

  Amanda stiffened. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Janet shrugged. ‘Why not? He’s your friend, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s perfectly fine,’ Amanda said, hiding her flushed face in her coffee cup.

  ‘I happened to run into him a couple of weeks ago,’ Janet went on. ‘I was out to dinner with some friends and Henry was at the same restaurant.’ She drained her coffee cup and looked across at Amanda. ‘He was with a woman.’

  Amanda glared at her. ‘You were probably mistaken.’

  Janet smiled. ‘He was extremely attentive. The chef brought in this beautiful cake and all of us were sent a little piece to celebrate Mrs Ingram’s birthday. They looked the perfect couple.’

  ‘It’s a common enough name.’ Amanda snapped. ‘As I said – you must have been mistaken.’

  ‘There was no mistake. I went and had a word with him when his wife had gone to powder her nose, actually. I was surprised to hear that he and you had been finished for months,’ Janet said. ‘He begged me not to say anything to his wife as she had found out about his little … indiscretion and he was trying his hardest to make it up to her.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. I don’t believe you!’ Amanda slammed her cup and saucer down. ‘You’re making it all up!’ Amanda had turned from pink to puce.

  ‘Shall we drop the subject now?’ Ian put in.

  But Janet was well into her stride. ‘It explains the sudden resurgence of interest in your family. So what about your flat, Amanda? Who’s paying your rent now?’

  Again Ian attempted to intervene, ‘Aunt Janet, don’t you think…?’

  Amanda rounded on him. ‘Shut up, Ian!’ She turned back to Janet. ‘I’m paying it of course!’

  ‘You?’ Janet laughed. ‘With what, may I ask?’

  ‘I’m not exactly a pauper you know. My television appearances pay very well.’

  ‘Your television appearances!’ Janet scoffed. ‘Blink and you’ll miss them! A couple of walk-ons twice a year can hardly be called appearances!’

  ‘Amanda! Janet! Please – that’s enough. Remember where you are!’ Ian looked upset and I reached for his hand.

  Janet turned to him. ‘I’m sorry, Ian, but your mother has behaved abominably today. She’s exceeded even her standards of nastiness. She was downright insulting over the meal. I think Mary and Elaine deserve an apology.’

  Amanda’s face darkened. ‘Can I help it if I have a delicate stomach? The truth is, Janet, you hoped to have centre stage today and you’re jealous because Ian chose to invite me too. The truth is, you’ve always been jealous of me. I’ve always had everything you wanted – looks, talent, men, and you can’t stand it, can you, even now?’

  The colour left Janet’s face. ‘I suggest you leave it right there, Amanda,’ she said quietly, ‘before you say something you’ll regret.’

  ‘Why stop now, Janet?’ Amanda said, half rising from her chair. ‘After all, you started it.’ Her eyes were glinting and she was visibly shaking. ‘And of course in the end you had every reason to be jealous too, didn’t you?’ she said triumphantly.

  The colour left Janet’s face. ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think it is! Why did I refuse to tell anyone who Ian’s father was?’ She stepped forward to deliver her fatal blow. ‘Because it was George – yes, your husband, Janet. That was something to be jealous about, wasn’t it?’

  Deeply humiliated, Janet shrank back in her chair, her eyes filling with tears. A white-faced Ian sprang to his feet. ‘Get your coat, Amanda. You’re going home.’

  She got up and began to fumble in her handbag. ‘Yes, I’m only too glad to – and don’t worry, you can relax. I’ll ring for a taxi.’

  ‘You bet you will!’ He bundled her out into the hall and Mary and I looked fearfully at Janet. Mary went to her and took her hand.

  ‘My dear, I’m so sorry. Can I get you anything – a brandy?’

  Janet shook her head. ‘I asked for it, didn’t I? I must apologize to you both. I shouldn’t have goaded her. She always brings out the worst in me. But she was so rude to you – after your kind hospitality too. It was unforgivable and I’m so ashamed.’

  ‘But what she said to you.’ I moved to sit by her side. ‘What a terrible thing to say.’

  Dry-eyed, Janet looked at me. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I always knew right from the start. George confessed everything to me at the time and begged for my forgiveness. Amanda knows that and she always has. It was what she couldn’t handle. She thought George would leave me, you see. In retaliation she refused to enter his name on Ian’s birth certificate and held out against our legal adoption of him. She told us that if we ever told Ian that George was his father she’d claim him back and have him adopted.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘All that she said just now was purely for your benefit. She hasn’t hurt me. That pain healed years ago. Today it’s Ian she’s hurt – again.’

  That night after we were in bed I encouraged Ian to talk, which he did, well into the small hours.

  ‘I can’t bear the thought that George was really my father and I never knew,’ he said again and again. ‘We were always so close and now I know why – now that he’s gone and it’s too late to tell him how proud I am to have been his son, and how much he meant to me.’

  I held him close. ‘But you had him all those years when you were growing up,’ I told him. ‘He knew you were his son and he had the privilege of bringing you up. You might have been adopted by strangers and never known who your real parents were.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive Amanda for what she did to us all,’ he said passionately. ‘How could she be so cruel – not only to me but to the very people who supported her?’

  There was nothing I could say so I just held him close. ‘Just let’s be grateful that we have each other,’ I said. ‘You must try to put it behind you or it will spoil our future together.’

  He looked at me. ‘You’re right. From now on there’s only the future.’

  Long after he fell asleep I lay awake, thinking about Amanda’s behaviour today and her shocking revelation. It was such a complex situation. Janet forgave her husband for cheating on her with her sister but even taking into account Amanda’s imposed condition they could never have revealed to Ian that George was his father without giving away his betrayal. It would have soured their relationship and ruined any chance of happiness for them as a family. Why had Amanda allowed it to happen, I wondered? Could she really have hated her sister that much or did she have some other deeply buried motive? Maybe one day I would find out.

  Five

  After Christmas and throughout the New Year period Mary-Mary was booked solid. Every weekend was packed with functions of one sort or another and Mary and I were rushed off our feet. The business was really doing well so when Janet tentatively asked if we needed any help Mary jumped at her offer. It turned out that when she gave up her singing she took up cake making as a hobby. She turned out to be extremely skilled. The specimen cake she made for us impressed and surprised us. The icing was spectacular; easily as good if not better than the local confectioner we normally commissioned to make our wedding cakes and we decided to ask Janet to join us. She turned out to be a quick and eager learner and it was invaluable to have her help.

  Ian and I finally managed to book a weekend away at the beginning of March. We booked into a hotel in the delightful little village of Bourton-on-the-Water in the Cotswolds and spent four days just relaxing and enjoying being together. Since Christmas we hadn’t seen or heard from Amanda. Ian hadn’t even mentioned her and when I confided in Mary that I had thought of paying her a visit on my own she advised against it.

  ‘Let sleeping dogs lie, darlin’,’ she said. ‘Family loyalty is complicated. If you take my advice you’ll stay well out of it, and when all’s said and done, it’s really nothing to do with you.’

  ‘But Ian is,’ I said warmly. ‘He was devastated by what she said at Christ
mas. There has to be more to it. I might be able to make him understand better if I talked to her and heard the other side of the story.’

  But Mary was still dead against the idea. ‘It’s all in the past. If her attitude at Christmas was anything to go by she’d only send you off with a flea in your ear! If you want to make Ian happy concentrate on the future,’ she said.

  I decided that she was probably right and put the idea on a back burner.

  At Easter Jamie was playing with the school orchestra at a concert. As well as playing in the second violin section he was to play a solo piano piece. It would be the first time he had ever played in public and he was very excited about it. I telephoned Dad to ask him if he could come but he said he couldn’t leave Mother, especially at Easter.

  Ian and I went along with Janet and Mary. We had seats in the front row and Ian and I held hands nervously as the time came for Jamie’s solo. He walked onto the platform and took a bow just as Ian had taught him, then he took his place at the piano with all the confidence of a seasoned performer. He played the piece, a Chopin waltz, to perfection and received loud applause.

  Later he confided that he was so nervous that he’d been afraid his fingers were going to fall off but he was elated that it had gone so well. All the parents were invited to stay after the concert to have coffee with the teaching staff so Ian and I attended while Mary and Janet took Jamie home. It was while we were chatting to another pair of proud parents that the headmaster came up and introduced himself.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Law?’ He held out his hand. ‘Jeremy Kenton, Jamie’s headmaster.’

  We shook hands. ‘I’m Ian Morton, Mrs Law’s partner. I’m not Jamie’s father,’ Ian explained.

  The Head nodded. ‘I see. I just wanted to have a word with you about Jamie. He did very well this evening. He’s extremely talented.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘As a matter of fact most of the credit is due to Ian. He’s Jamie’s music teacher – has been ever since he was five and a half.’

  ‘Really? Well, I must say you’re doing a wonderful job. I don’t know whether you’re aware of the fact that St Cecilia’s School offers a scholarship every year to a talented music student.’ He looked at Ian. ‘You’ll know, obviously, that St Cecilia’s is a local private school that specializes in music.’

  Ian smiled. ‘I certainly do know. It’s my old school. I went there until I moved on to the RCM.’

  The Head smiled. ‘Then you’ll know that their academic record is second to none. Specializing in music takes nothing away from their general curriculum.’ He looked at me. ‘Do you see a professional future for Jamie in music?’

  I glanced at Ian. ‘He’s still very young. What do you think, Ian?’

  ‘We could ask him.’

  ‘Have a think about it,’ the Head suggested. ‘Talk to Jamie. He’s very mature for his age. Let me know what you feel about it. If you like I can put a word in for you, recommend Jamie and let you have the details.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s very kind of you to take an interest.’

  He nodded. ‘I always like to encourage talent.’ He was about to turn away, then he paused and looked at Ian. ‘Weren’t you in the Greencliffe Symphony Orchestra?’

  Ian nodded. ‘I left because I wanted to teach.’

  ‘Really? Where are you teaching at present?’

  ‘I’m self-employed, teaching privately,’ Ian told him. ‘I have a full list of pupils. I get the odd engagement to play too, at functions of various kinds.’

  ‘I see.’ Mr Kenton looked thoughtful. ‘Off the record, John Franklin, our music teacher, is leaving at the end of this school year. Would you be interested in applying for his job?’

  Ian looked taken aback. ‘Oh – I don’t know – perhaps.’

  ‘Well, applications should be in by the end of next month. If you’re interested let me know later, when you’ve decided about Jamie’s scholarship.’

  We put off speaking to Jamie about Mr Kenton’s suggestion for a couple of days. Ian pointed out that we should wait until the euphoria of his first successful public performance had worn off as it might colour his decision. When we did broach the subject to him he flushed with excitement.

  ‘St Cecilia’s? Wow!’ He frowned. ‘But doesn’t it cost a bomb to go there?’

  ‘That’s the whole point of a scholarship,’ I told him. ‘They give a free place each year to someone they think has talent.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Have I got talent?’

  I smiled. ‘Well, Ian and I think you have but we would, wouldn’t we? After all, I’m your mum and Ian is your teacher. But now Mr Kenton thinks so too, so you must have.’

  He was quiet for a moment as he digested this piece of news then he looked up. ‘What would I have to do?’

  ‘An audition,’ Ian put in. ‘Just like the one you did to get into the school orchestra, but as well as that you’d have to sit an entrance exam.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘They’d test you on your other school work.’

  ‘What, you mean like maths and English and that?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He looked doubtful. ‘Would it be hard?’

  Ian grinned. ‘I don’t think it’d be too hard. But if you want to get that scholarship I suggest you start studying as well as practising.’ He raised an eyebrow at Jamie. ‘Well, what do you think? Are you up for it?’

  Jamie’s grin was so wide that his face almost split in half. ‘You bet!’

  He raised his hand to Ian’s for a high five and we all laughed.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I take it that’s settled then!’

  After thinking long and hard Ian decided to apply for the music teacher’s post at Jamie’s school.

  ‘After all, I’ve got you and Jamie now, haven’t I?’ he said. ‘And we want to save for that larger house.’

  I looked at him. ‘Ian, you’re a talented musician. If you’re really thinking of taking a permanent job why not go back to performing? Have you really given up all idea of making a career of it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Teaching is a career.’

  ‘I meant as an artist in your own right.’

  He smiled. ‘Teaching is what gives me the most fulfilment,’ he said.

  We made an appointment and went along together to see Mr Kenton in his office late one afternoon after school. He was delighted that Ian had decided to apply and gave him the necessary application form. He was also pleased that Jamie was to enter for the St Cecilia’s School scholarship. He told us that the entrance examination would be towards the end of the summer term. We filled in the necessary forms there and then and left in high spirits, celebrating with a cream tea at the Copper Kettle on the way home.

  It was about a week later that I realized that I might be pregnant. Life had been so busy that I hadn’t noticed the weeks slipping by, and when I looked in my diary I was shocked to see that it was two months since my last period. I decided not to say anything to Ian until I’d done a test but the thought of being pregnant revived my desire to go and see Amanda again – to hear her side of the story of Ian’s birth. I remembered Mary’s remark about Amanda sending me off with ‘a flea in my ear’, and decided that she was more than probably right. Was I prepared to risk that? I decided that I was.

  After thinking about it for a few days I decided to go one afternoon while Jamie was at school and Ian was busy with a pupil. I wouldn’t mention it to anyone, just in case Mary was right and it was a mistake.

  I found the apartment block again quite easily, took the lift up to the fourth floor and rang the bell, my heart beating a rapid tattoo in my chest as I waited for the door to open.

  She was longer answering my ring this time and I thought briefly about Janet’s remark about Amanda’s ‘gentleman friend’ not paying the rent any more. Could she possibly have moved out without letting Ian know her new address?

  I was on the point of turning away when I heard a movement on the oth
er side of the door. When it opened a crack I was shocked. The Amanda who peered at me through the small space was very different from the woman I’d been expecting to see. Her face was devoid of make-up and her hair was drawn back and tied loosely, the parting showing tell-tale grey roots. Although it was the middle of the afternoon she wore a crumpled dressing gown.

  ‘Oh – it’s you.’ Her eyes widened with surprise and she glanced anxiously over my shoulder, obviously relieved to see that I was alone.

  ‘May I come in?’ I asked.

  ‘Why, what do you want?’

  ‘We hadn’t heard from you since Christmas and I wondered if you were all right.’

  With reluctance she held the door open for me to pass her into the hallway. Closing it behind me, she looked at me. ‘Don’t I look all right?’ She held up her hand. ‘No! Don’t answer that. I look like shit and I know it. I’ll be frank with you, I object to people who drop in on me without any notice.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  ‘Clearly!’ She pulled the dressing gown around her and pulled the belt tighter. ‘Well, now that you’re here I suppose you’d better come through.’ She led the way into the living room and I saw that there was a bottle of prescription tablets on the coffee table and a bottle of cough medicine. I looked at her.

  ‘You’re not well?’

  ‘Ten out of ten for perception!’

  ‘I’m sorry. Did I get you out of bed?’

  ‘No, I was just getting changed,’ she lied.

  ‘Can I do anything for you – make a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, it’s only a dose of flu,’ she snapped. ‘Nothing terminal! And I’m not senile – or helpless.’

  I was getting nowhere but I decided to persevere. ‘This is a lovely flat,’ I said in an attempt at conversation.

  ‘Look, if you’re here to tear me off a strip about ruining your Christmas, for God’s sake get it over and done with,’ she said suddenly.