Wives & Mothers

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  Harry looked at the jewel-coloured mountain of satin, lace and sparkling sequins laid out on her bed, ready for hanging in the spacious wardrobes of her stateroom. ‘I’m sure it will,’ he said. He’d come to give her a card and the posy of flowers he’d bought as a good luck gesture before they sailed. ‘But I can tell you here and now that you’d still be a hit if you walked out there in sackcloth.’

  She laughed. ‘I hope it won’t ever come to that.’ Opening a cupboard she produced a bottle of champagne. ‘I was keeping this till after our first show, but let’s drink it now,’ she said impulsively. ‘It may be warm and we’ll have to use tooth mugs, but what the hell?’

  Harry went through the open door to the bathroom and returned with the tooth mugs. He held them out to her, grinning. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘What the hell?’

  Chapter Four

  In her bedroom, Grace took off her smart black ‘shop’ dress and arranged it carefully on a hanger. As she pulled on a skirt and blouse she heard Elaine downstairs begin her piano practice. Ever since Harry had left six weeks ago she had practised for an hour after school each day, even before starting on her homework. Grace was vaguely irritated. She’d quite thought that with her father away Elaine would have let her music lapse. It seemed that Harry’s influence affected her even from the other side of the world. Though at least she didn’t have to sit silently by while they discussed the technical difficulties of Chopin and Beethoven before switching with equal enjoyment and bewildering speed to the instrumental dexterity of Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington.

  He’d written regularly — separate letters to her and Elaine, from every port. Places with romantic-sounding names: Madeira, Capetown, Bombay, Columbo, Rangoon, Bankok. The letters were short. They said that he was enjoying the trip — seeing all the exciting foreign places; that Stella’s singing was going down well; and that he missed them both. Grace had no idea what was in Elaine’s letters. As soon as the child had read them, she folded the flimsy blue air letters and hid them away in a drawer with her most prized possessions.

  She walked out on to the landing and stood for a moment in the doorway of her daughter’s room. As usual it was untidy. Her bed was still unmade and an open geography book lay face down on the eiderdown. From the arrival of the first letter, Elaine had looked up all Harry’s ports of call in her school atlas and read avidly about them in her geography book.

  Grace looked around at the schoolgirl clutter: the pictures of Cliff Richard and the Shadows pinned to the walls; the record player Harry had bought her, records lying on the stool beside it. Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto incongruously cheek by jowl with ‘What Do Ya Want If Ya Don’t Want Money?’ The floppy-haired likeness of Adam Faith smiled brashly up at her from the record sleeve as she tidied the pile.

  Absently she picked up the discarded green and white school frock, flung carelessly over the back of a chair in favour of jeans and tee-shirt. For a girl nearing her teens, Elaine wasn’t at all interested in clothes or her appearance. Grace found that she slightly resented the fact that her daughter was far more interested in music than in the exciting new stock that was arriving daily at the shop. She hadn’t even wanted to come to the Grand Opening, even though it was during the holidays and Margaret had very generously invited her. On the day that ‘Margot’s’ had opened she’d gone with her friend Jenny to the swimming pool — just as though it were an ordinary day and not important at all.

  Grace was missing Harry even more than she’d expected to. Apart from his company he did a lot around the home while she was at work all day. More than she’d realised. She stood at the landing window, looking down into the garden. The lawn needed mowing again. And there were weeds everywhere. She would have to get down to it this Sunday. And Elaine would have to help, whether she liked it or not. Recently she had asked if she could join the local church youth club. Her friend, Jenny sang in the church choir and she wanted to be involved too. Grace had been vehement in her refusal, her voice rising shrilly as she told Elaine that the church was a sham. For days the thought had upset and haunted her. It was all a confidence trick, she told herself. It swallowed people whole, drained them of everything they had that was worthwhile, and then tossed them mercilessly aside. No daughter of hers would ever become sucked into it. Bitterly she recalled the Sunday when she’d spoken to Harry for the first time, and how she’d asked God to send her a red coat. He’d answered her prayer, but He’d made her pay a cruel and terrible price. She’d no time for Him any more.

  She was enjoying her new job. A whole new world had opened for her with the arrival of Margaret Bennett. On their first buying trip together Margaret had taken her to lunch in an Italian restaurant in The Strand. For the first time she had eaten spaghetti that was called ‘pasta’ and hadn’t come out of a tin, and been outrageously flattered by the handsome dark-eyed young waiter who had insisted that ‘The signora’s figure is far too slim for her to deny herself a second helping.’

  In the train on the way back to Stanmore she learned a little more about Margaret’s background. Grace had often wondered about her husband. Now she learned that Margaret had divorced.

  ‘Jim and I married far too young,’ she said. ‘It was during the war. We hardly knew each other really. Once the war was over and he came home for good, it just didn’t work. The romance had gone. In civvy street he was a grocer’s assistant.’ She smiled ruefully at Grace. ‘Can you imagine anything more boring that being married to a man who turns the handle of a bacon slicer all day?’

  Grace surprised herself by saying: ‘Not if you loved him, surely?’ Margaret shrugged. ‘What you think is love at eighteen often turns out to be mere sexual drive.’

  Grace digested this piece of psychology in silence. Was what she felt for Harry really love? she wondered. It certainly wasn’t ‘sexual drive’, whatever that was. Most people seemed to take it for granted that the sexual side of marriage was a pleasure. Was she alone in finding it so repellant? Was the thing that Margaret called ‘sexual drive’ something women were supposed to have as well as men?

  ‘Yours is a happy marriage, isn’t it?’ Margaret was looking at her. ‘You’re lucky. Handsome, talented husband, nice little home and a pretty daughter.’

  ‘Yes, I’m very lucky.’

  ‘Is this the first time Harry has worked away from home?’

  ‘Yes. Except for summer seasons. When Elaine was little, we used to go with him.’

  ‘That must have been nice.’

  ‘It was.’ Grace looked dreamily out of the window, thinking longingly of Bournemouth and the idyllic summer when Elaine had been born.

  ‘This singer — how old did you say she was?’

  Grace turned in surprise. ‘I’m not sure. Young, though.’

  ‘Oh. You haven’t met her then?’

  ‘No.’

  Margaret’s eyebrows rose. ‘Trusting, aren’t you?’

  Grace looked at her, frowning a little, then she laughed. ‘Oh no, there’s no danger of anything like that. They’re both musicians. Professionals, working together.’

  ‘Really?’ Margaret was tempted to say something, then changed her mind. Was Grace really as naive as she seemed, or was the marriage that secure? ‘Are you managing all right with Elaine at home for the holidays?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Everything’s fine, thanks. Anyway, they’ve gone back now.’ Grace stifled a sigh. Elaine had been difficult since Harry had left. She was missing him. She resented having to go to Jenny’s each day after school and begged to be allowed to have a key so that she could let herself into the house. Grace was adamant.

  ‘It’s only for an hour and a half. I’ve made arrangements with Mrs Smith. She’d be offended if I changed it all now.’

  ‘But I could be getting on with my piano practice.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My homework then.’ In her disarmingly perceptive way, Elaine sensed that her mother resented her having music in common with her fat
her.

  Having her daughter see through her annoyed Grace intensely. ‘I’ve told you, Elaine, the answer’s no. We’ll have no more arguments. It’s only for a few weeks after all.’

  ‘Why can’t you be at home like other mothers?’ Elaine had demanded accusingly. ‘I’m fed up with going to Jenny’s. We have Marmite for tea every single day. I hate Marmite.’

  But Grace had won. It gave her quite a lot of satisfaction to see Elaine not getting her own way for a change. Harry always gave in to her, especially when she wheedled and flattered him. If Grace had her way there would be a lot more no’s said. She had to put up with Elaine’s sulks for an hour or two but it was worth it. Besides, Grace had so much to think about. She was learning so much — more with every day that passed; — about fashion and make-up, about clothes and what to wear with what.

  On her visits to fashion warehouses with Margaret on half-closing days she saw that subtle changes were taking place. Skirts were becoming shorter and straighter, trouser bottoms wider. Colours were brighter, brasher, more adventurous.

  She and Margaret were becoming good friends. And though Grace was never left in any doubt that Margaret was the boss she was allowed more and more say in the running of ‘Margot’s’. She discovered a new skill for window dressing, gleaned from window shopping expeditions in Bond Street. Taking one good garment, a small gilt chair and a scarf, she could create an ambiance of good taste and luxury which the customers found irresistible. On her half days she had started attending a flower arranging class too, so that she could create tasteful flower arrangements for the shop. Yes, life was opening out for Grace in the most exciting way.

  *

  Stella was a big hit. Every evening she appeared with Harry for fifteen minutes’ cabaret during the after dinner dancing. Her performance always brought thunderous applause and compliments from admirers during the day, who would seek her out when she was relaxing on the boat deck. The young ship’s officers were particularly attentive, asking her repeatedly to have a drink with them. But none of them interested Stella in the least. She fobbed them off, saying that she needed to rehearse or rest.

  The rehearsal part was true. Though her repertoire was wide, frequent shows before the same audience soon exhausted it. They did a nightly request spot and the same numbers were asked for time and time again, but new material was constantly needed. She and Harry usually rehearsed the new numbers they had brought with them in the mornings when the dining saloon was empty.

  In comparison to the luxury of Stella’s stateroom, Harry’s cabin was cramped and small. On ‘E’ deck, it grew hotter and stuffier as they neared the Equator, the throb of the engines making sleep impossible for him. Stella was indignant.

  ‘Why should you have to pig it down there while I have all this luxury?’ she complained one evening when he saw her back to her room.

  ‘Because you’re the star,’ he told her with a good-natured grin. ‘I’m only the hired help.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ She looked wounded. ‘Never say that, Harry.’ He laughed. ‘I’m only joking. I’m happy with my job anyway. I’m going to enjoy watching you going places.’

  ‘I hate to hear you put yourself down. You have talent too.’ She sighed. ‘Maybe I didn’t do you any favours, asking you to be my pianist.’

  He took both her hands. ‘It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Look, Stella, I’m not a bad pianist, but I don’t kid myself I’m ever going to make a name for myself. This is the highest I’m likely to get. I’m happy to bask in your reflected glory.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. It’s not true anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re a real musician, not just good at playing the piano. You’re sensitive, perceptive, quick to pick up my slightest mood or thought.’ She smiled. ‘Even before I’ve thought it. I know my performance wouldn’t be half as good without you.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s nice to know.’

  ‘It’s true. Sometimes I feel you can read my mind.’

  He laughed. ‘Maybe I can.’

  She removed the diamante clip that held her hair, so that the silky black mass fell heavily down her back. She turned to him, moving closer. ‘Can you read it now?’

  She wore a shimmering black and silver dress, moulded closely to her body to flounce out into a fishtail of sequinned net around her calves. She stood so close that he could feel the length of her body against him and smell the exotic perfume that he was becoming so familiar with as they worked together. She looked into his eyes.

  ‘What is it, Harry? Do you miss your family — your little girl and your — wife?’

  He didn’t miss the slight hesitation before she spoke that last word. It seemed to hold much more than the question she asked.

  ‘Yes, of course I miss them,’ he said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. ‘Elaine’s a wonderful girl. I’ve a feeling she’s going to be a better musician than her old dad...’ He caught the look in her eye and knew she was waiting. Moving away from her he went and sat down, taking out a cigarette he didn’t want and lighting it with trembling fingers. She’d guessed, with typical feminine intuition — about what was missing from his life, about Grace’s coldness. Was it really that obvious? God, what a stupid, inept fool he felt. Panic made him want to get up and leave — now, before he made an even bigger fool of himself. Their working relationship was fine. He didn’t want anything to happen that would spoil it. He didn’t want anything to spoil his marriage, such as it was, or his family life either. But he couldn’t deny that he found Stella irresistibly attractive. He wanted her more strongly with every breath he took. He stood up suddenly, stubbing out his unwanted cigarette.

  ‘Look, I’d better go. You need your sleep.’

  ‘Not yet, Harry.’ She stepped between him and the door, putting her hands on his shoulders. ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? You’ll sleep better.’

  Very firmly he took the hands from his shoulders and held them, looking into her eyes. ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  ‘You could if you wanted to. It’s as simple as that.’

  He tried to avoid her hypnotic golden eyes as they looked levelly into his.

  ‘Look, when I said I’d take this job

  ‘When you said you’d take the job, I was so happy,’ she interrupted. ‘I wanted a good pianist and manager. But more than that, Harry — oh much more than that — I wanted vow.’

  He could hear his own heart beating as her fingers curled around his neck and she laid her cheek gently against his. ‘Stella, you know there can’t be anything permanent — you know I’m married.’

  ‘I know you’re unhappy,’ she whispered, her breath soft in his ear. ‘I saw it from the very first day. We’re so good together in every way, Harry. It was inevitable — perfectly natural — that we should want each other like this too, eventually.’ She drew back her head to look at him. ‘You do want me, don’t you?’

  With a great shuddering breath he put his arms around her and crushed her to him. ‘You know damned well I do,’ he said raggedly.

  When he kissed her her lips parted beneath his and her tongue explored his mouth. Her sweetness was as heady and intoxicating as wine and he heard himself groan with desire as he unzipped the black and silver creation, his fingers fumbling awkwardly in their eagerness. As it slipped to the floor he drew in his breath sharply at the beauty of her. She wore nothing under the dress and her skin was like coffee-coloured silk, warm and slightly moist, the scent of her perfume mingling with her own rich musky fragrance. Gazing in wonder, he took in the high, firm breasts with their rosy brown nipples, the slender waist and softly rounded stomach. She was far more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Slowly, almost as though he were afraid she might disintegrate beneath his hands, he traced her cheek and the line of her throat with trembling fingers, following the smooth rounded shoulder to the curve of her breasts. Tenderly cupping them, he touched his lips to the brown nipples and felt them spring into hard
little peaks at his touch. Sinking to his knees he buried his face in the gentle curve of her waist, his tongue finding her navel and dipping into it while his hands encircled her hips to draw her closer.

  Stella sank to her knees to face him. Without taking her eyes from his, she began to loosen his tie, unfasten the studs of his evening dress shirt, pull at the waistband of his trousers. Gently she removed each garment, the touch of her hands arousing him to fever pitch. Then finally she took his face between her hands and kissed him long and deeply as he had never been kissed by any woman before.

  Making love with Stella was a revelation. She was as eager and uninhibited as he, as hungry and full of longing, and yet restrained — not wanting to hurry and spoil the exquisite pleasure of anticipation. She welcomed his seeking hands and lips as they covered every inch of her, lingering over the melting dewy flesh inside her thighs and between her breasts. She explored his body in return, her lips following her long sensuous fingers as she sought out the smooth and the rough of him, the hardening muscles and the sensitive, vulnerable places. She was imaginative, employing all she had ever learned to excite and delight, until at last, unable to hold himself in check any longer, he took her shoulders and pressed them back against the pillows, moving urgently over her. She opened for him like an exotic flower, receiving him with a warmth and passion that thrilled him as nothing else ever had. She moved her hips against him, heightening his pleasure, sending the blood singing through his veins until at last they came together in a climax so intense it was almost unbearable.

  Reluctant to let her go, Harry rolled on to his side, still inside her, his arms wrapped tightly round her, and they lay for a moment, waiting for their breathing to steady. He felt her moist skin sticking succulently to his; her warm breath caressing his cheek and the beat of her heart drumming insistently against his ribs. In that moment they were one being, and Harry knew that he had never felt so alive — never known such a depth of happiness in his life.