by Maeve Binchy
‘People are always a bit shy coming into any kind of gathering,’ Harry had said. ‘By the time I’ve got their names sorted out for them, they’ll be so relaxed they’ll be asleep.’
And of course he was right. People were delighted to talk to the cheerful man who hadn’t an ounce of shyness or self-consciousness. He hunted for their names happily in the display in front of him, he complimented the ladies, he pointed the gentlemen towards the table where the drink was being dispensed, he answered questions about the place, questions which many of the guests would never have put to Elizabeth.
‘No, this is not Miss White’s own shop, she does help out as a consultant and I do believe she is on the board of directors. …’
‘Yes, Miss White is my stepdaughter. I’m very proud of her. I am glad you like the art course, I’ll certainly pass that on to her. …’‘Yes, it is a nice shop, isn’t it, and I believe it does very well. It’s run by a great friend of mine, Stefan Worsky … that is him over there, the elderly gentleman … and that’s his assistant and manager, Mr Stone. Mr Stone’s a card, you’ll enjoy talking to him. …’
Elizabeth had no idea whether or not Johnny would come to the party. She had been deliberately vague when Harry wanted to know, and Stefan with his sharp old eyes had asked her nothing but obviously knew nothing either. Johnny was busy, she had explained to Harry. But Harry said no matter how busy Johnny was he would be able to come to the night of Elizabeth’s triumph.
Johnny had even bought Stefan, Harry and himself buttonholes to wear for the part. Elizabeth couldn’t believe it when she arrived, Harry at the door sitting up at a high desk and wearing a huge carnation; Stefan with his flower, examining the glasses to make sure that they were shining. … And Johnny – she still felt a tightness in her chest when she looked at him. He was so handsome in his dark suit and a cream shirt and the jaunty flower in his buttonhole. He stood smiling with welcome and she realised with a start that at the end of the gathering perhaps two dozen of these people would go away pleased and warmed by Johnny’s personality. They would never know he dismissed them as amateur dabblers, as poseurs who wanted to learn the jargon of artistic conversation, they would only think he was a marvellous man to talk to. And he would never reveal to anyone, man or woman, that he was Elizabeth’s lover, or that she was in any way special. That sort of thing didn’t come into Johnny’s conversation.
She saw him talking to the Clarksons, a middle-aged couple, both short-sighted, eager and intense. Both their faces were a study in concentration as Johnny explained something to them. He made no move to talk to the two attractive-looking girls among the guests, Grace and Susannah. Elizabeth knew Johnny well. He didn’t need to make any move to talk to them, he could bide his time talking to the Clarksons, it would not be long before Susannah and Grace managed to find their way to Johnny. That’s the way it worked.
Elizabeth looked around and smiled as she saw Henry Mason and Simon Burke. They were so funny, those two. They had been in the art course from the very beginning because their office was near the art college. She had been slightly surprised when they joined, somehow she had thought that they would both have had plenty of things to fill their leisure hours. … She imagined they would have gone to lunches with people who had big gardens sloping down to rivers, and they would have passed cocktail sausages and drinks to jolly girls.
They were always the first to laugh if she made any little joke, they had walked her back to her office several times when the coffee evenings were over and it was time for her to put away her notes and pointers and lists. Now tonight they had come early and had been very helpful at the start, making sure that the conversation kept going.
Simon was a big, rather flamboyant man, though how anyone could be flamboyant in his city suits she didn’t know, but there was a hint of it waiting to escape. It was as if he had only dressed up in fancy dress for this life … but in another world he would have been a troubadour, a sultan, a cowboy. She giggled to herself at the idea … and caught Henry’s eye. He was nice too, Henry. Tall and pale, his fair hair always seemed to fall into his eyes. He was possibly taller than Simon but he didn’t stand in such a shoulders-flung-back way as Simon did. He used to finger his tie a lot when he had talked to Elizabeth in the beginning, but she noticed he didn’t do that any more. It was a mannerism she supposed, like the way she used to shake her own hair out of her eyes. She used to do that a lot, the O’Connors used to imitate her, it had irritated Mother even further back than that. And once or twice Johnny said she still did it and it made her look like a schoolgirl again. Henry Mason had a patterned tie on tonight, he must have changed it especially to be more festive for the party. She thought that was nice.
Elizabeth liked them, and particularly Simon who had an endearing streak of self-mockery. He had enquired whether any of her friends could start an Instant Music Appreciation class, and a Learn to Love Literature source; then he would feel ready to face the twentieth century.
Elizabeth had often seen Henry and Simon chatting to Grace and Susannah and had wondered whether or not the class was acting as a lonely hearts club, one of the many things that Johnny had suggested it might be.
‘Henry and I would like to take you to dinner, will you come out with us one evening?’ Simon was smiling at her.
‘With both of you?’ Elizabeth asked, amused.
‘Yes, I said I’d been thinking of asking you out to say thank you for the marvellous course, and Henry said the same so we agreed to do it together, if you were willing. That way we could take you somewhere splendid. And that way you wouldn’t be afraid of our ulterior motives … not if there were two of us.’
‘That’s true, I’d feel safer certainly,’ Elizabeth said gravely. Simon smiled. He was a very pleasant young man. Why couldn’t she set her sights on him rather than that man with the crinkly smile and the dark hair who was standing there effortlessly delighting both Grace and Susannah, and who now was shaking Henry Mason warmly by the hand and including him in the group. How simple it would be if she didn’t have this ridiculous chain attaching her to Johnny. Then she could look at Simon flirtatiously and allow herself to become interested in him and his uncomplicated life.
Harry and Stefan had wondered whether anyone should make a little speech. They consulted Johnny and sought his advice about what should be done.
‘It would be nice to mark it for Elizabeth,’ Harry had said. ‘And the people here obviously think a lot of her.’
‘Yes, to round it all off there should be a few words,’ Stefan had said.
Johnny looked at Henry Mason. ‘Can you do it? It should be someone from the course. I don’t want to butt in, you could say something that everyone would relate to, and you know the people. Elizabeth would like that.’
‘Oh do, Henry,’ squeaked Grace.
‘I’m not very good at speaking in public,’ Henry began.
‘This isn’t public, this is your group, friends now more likely, I’d say. Go on, just a few words. I’ll call for hush.’
Elizabeth was startled to see Johnny clapping his hands. Her heart leapt in that anxious way it often did when Johnny did things. Oh, he wasn’t going to say anything awful about it being time to go home, was he? Please no.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, forgive me for interrupting you for a moment, but a lot of you have said that you would like somebody to express on your behalf thanks to Elizabeth White for all she has done to open doors into the world of art for you. …’
Elizabeth nearly dropped her glass. Oh Johnny, darling, darling Johnny, he knew how much it meant to her and to everyone there. He was not cruel and dismissive. He stood with the eyes of everyone in the room on him and he was going to make a little speech about her. Her face went red and white and red she could feel the burning come and go. She saw Harry and Stefan looking pleased and proud … oh she would never be able to thank Johnny enough for this.
‘… so on your behalf I have asked one of the long-standing members of your gro
up, Mr Henry Mason, to say these words to Elizabeth from you all. Henry, the floor’s yours. …’
The red went from Elizabeth’s cheeks again. Johnny was smiling and pointing at Henry and everyone took their eyes away from him reluctantly and looked at Henry. But Elizabeth didn’t. With a glassy smile she looked at Johnny’s face as she heard Henry’s stumbling clichés … debts of gratitude, never spared herself, interesting and stimulating talks … he stuttered and repeated himself and all the time Johnny Stone’s face watched him with a pleasant, alert expression and when Henry finally ground to a halt it was Johnny who led the clapping and the cheers for Elizabeth. Her heart felt like a heavy weight and there was a choking sensation as if she had swallowed a hard crust of bread which would not go down.
Dear Elizabeth,
This is a picture of the beach in Brighton and the pier. But in fact we do not see much of it since play begins at 8.30 in the morning and there is only one hour for lunch. It is very interesting to meet so many bridge players from all over the country. Our club did well on Day One but we were allowed to slip behind yesterday. I find it all a very good change. I am glad you persuaded me to come here.
Regards, Father
Dear Elizabeth,
I am sending you two pounds ten shillings and an advertisement I cut out of the Sunday Express. Can you ever do me a great favour? Can you buy this strapless bra for me and send it to me? Mark the envelope old clothes so that the customs men don’t open it, and could you put in an old blouse or cardigan or something you don’t want so that I can tell Mam that’s what you sent? The bra costs forty-five shillings and the extra five shillings is for postage. I’m size thirty-four and if they have different cup sizes, which they may have, I’m kind of middle cup. About average. Thanks a million, and don’t tell anybody.
Love, Niamh
Dear Elizabeth,
Henry and I wish to take you up on your promise to have dinner with us. Will Saturday week be all right? Can you telephone us, either of us at the office, (telephone number above) to say if this is suitable and where we should collect you? It’s probably best not to leave any message in the event of our not being here. Efficient to the point of obsession they are about work matters, but private lives are wisest not entrusted to them.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Simon Burke
Dear Miss White,
Thank you very much for the kind donation you sent to the hospital. I have to inform you that the general opinion was that flowers would not be a suitable gift for your mother, Mrs Violet Elton, to receive considering her present state of health. Accordingly we went along with your alternative suggestion and have bought a floral arrangement for the Day Room of the ward. We would like to express our thanks to you for both the gift and for your understanding of the nature of your mother’s illness.
P. Hughes, Hospital Secretary
Hallo Funny-face,
I’ve arranged to collect no less than six Welsh dressers before I come back! Now how about that for a working holiday? And you thought I was just sunning myself in Bangor. It is super though, I must admit. No cares and a lot of rest. Remember that girl Grace Miller who was one of the people in your art course? She turned up here out of the blue, so we show each other the Mysteries of Wales … and wish you were here.
Home soon.
love always, Johnny
Roma. Anno Sancto.
There are millions and millions of people here, which is bad enough but those millions include Father John Murray … yes, he’s made it … and Mother-in-Law Murray and Joannie Murray who, between ourselves and the whole postal system, has become almost insane … and also the lovely young Mr and Mrs Tony Murray, toast of the continent. I dreamed last night you and I had some awful fight. We didn’t, did we?
Love, Aisling
XV
MAUREEN SAID SEVERAL times to Mam that it was unusual for Aisling to be so long in getting pregnant. ‘It’s not as if she had any reason to wait about, Mam.’ No indeed, Eileen had agreed. ‘And, Lord knows, there’s plenty of money in that house, a nurse could come home with her for three months like the Grays have whenever a child is born. It can’t be the money or anything.’ She found Mam unresponsive. ‘Not of course that it’s my business or anything. It’s not the sort of thing you feel you should bring up talking to someone … even your own sister. You know, you never like to say anything.’
‘Oh I’m glad to hear that,’ Mam had said.
‘It’s just that Brendan’s mother was asking me yesterday was there no sign of a baby and I didn’t know what to say to her.’
Mam had looked up suddenly and with a flash of bad temper she had shouted, ‘Why don’t you tell old Ma Daly to go and take a running jump at herself all the way down the road to the lake and right into it!’
‘Mam!’ Maureen had cried in shock.
‘I’m sorry, it’s the time of life. I’m going through the menopause. Why don’t you go past your mother-in-law’s house and discuss that with her too?’
Maureen had looked shocked. ‘Well, I must say Mam, I don’t know what I said to bring all that on me.’
Mam had relented. ‘I know you don’t. As I said, I’m becoming a bad-tempered old woman. Will you have a cup of tea or would you be afraid that I might pour it over your head?’
Maureen laughed, relieved. ‘Oh Mam, you’re an awful eejit at times. You’re worse than Niamh with your antics.’
Niamh was delighted when the parcel arrived from Elizabeth. It had been waiting on the hall table and she snatched it away and ran up to her bedroom to check the contents. There it was, boned and firm, standing proudly as if it were a part of a woman’s body, a waist-length strapless bra in white satin. And with it a lemon chiffon blouse. The letter said nothing about the bra at all, it was the kind of a letter you could show to Mam easily. Wasn’t Elizabeth cunning, she must have been accustomed to doing all this kind of thing for years with Aisling, of course. There was a book on the reproductive organs which Aisling had among her other books but with a different cover on it. Perhaps Elizabeth had sent that in the old days. She tried on the bra: it made her stick out very naturally. Now she could wear that dress with the little bootlace straps, as they were called. She had told Mam that the dress was worn with a bolero and Mam had said that was fine. But she had no intention of wearing the bolero. Anna Barry and her brother were going to have a party at the hotel at the end of August. Everyone had been looking forward to it. Niamh had washed her hair every four days with Sta-Blond shampoo. She had this feeling that if she went to quite a lot of trouble secretly she would burst upon an unsuspecting world. That’s what Aisling had done at her wedding last year. Nobody had known how good-looking Aisling was until that day, and now even if she hadn’t combed her hair and just wore her old gaberdine raincoat streeling open, she still had the name of being beautiful. It was odd but true. Once people decided you were beautiful then you remained beautiful for the rest of your life.
Niamh was going to wear a pony-tail at the start of the evening with a plastic clip on it, and then as the night went on she was going to take off the bolero and let her hair fall loose and when she was dancing people would notice her suddenly. She had thought of nothing else but the party since the school holidays began. She was waiting for the results of her Leaving Certificate and if she got three Honours Dad was going to let her go to university. The first of the O’Connors to go to college. She had prayed herself into a near coma for a while.
Mam had wanted her to work in the shop, but Niamh had been very unwilling. She was afraid that if she once got into O’Connor’s she might never get out. She saw herself sitting for years in the little glass office that used to be Aisling’s and had been empty for a year since neither of the new assistants had worked out well. She thought that if her Leaving Certificate results were not good she would do typing and book-keeping in the morning in the secretarial college and work in O’Connor’s during the afternoon. Aisling had said she would have no need
for shorthand in the shop. How dare Aisling interfere, why couldn’t she live her own life now and be grateful for it? It was what she had wanted wasn’t it? Why was she always down with Mam and filling Mam up with stupid ideas like Niamh working in the shop? What was she going for walks with Donal for? Why couldn’t she let Donal find friends of his own? Niamh thought that Aisling was just as mournful as Maureen in a way. God, the whole business would put you off marriage forever.
Donal was disappointed not to get any letters or postcards from Rome. ‘Aisling wrote three letters the first time she went,’ he complained.
‘Ah but she has the whole family out there now and the ordination and everything, she’s on her toes,’ said Sean. The girl can’t be rushing off every minute to write letters home.’
‘You’d think she’d send even one, to let us know how she’s getting on,’ Donal grumbled. ‘The place is very dead without her anyway.’
Eamonn was finishing his supper hastily, he thought he saw his mother looking round for rosary beads and the suggestion that since they were all gathered they might say it early tonight.
‘Isn’t it amazing that she doesn’t seem to be gone, not like Maureen? I mean we see as much of her as we ever did. She’s getting no value out of being married at all.’
The return from Rome was fretful and exhausting. Father John was full of names of priests in this order and that order, and of those who had come to the ordination and those who hadn’t. Aisling thought he sounded like an old woman. Mrs Murray sounded like a very old woman indeed. She seemed twenty years older than when they had left Ireland, the noise and the heat and the crowds had been very wearing. Aisling had felt sorry for her and had fanned her in the evenings beside an open window while Tony and Joannie went out on their regular four-hour search for a restaurant, coming back plastered both of them with the intelligence that the restaurant in the hotel was as good as anything they had seen in their travels.
