Wives & Mothers

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  ‘Oh, very.’ He laughed. ‘I did have to take an entrance exam,’ he added. ‘But it wasn’t too much of a problem. London is no distance really. You can get there in no time on a fast train. Will you come up and see me?’

  She felt the warm colour in her cheeks. ‘You’ll meet all sorts of people once you get there,’ she said. ‘You’ll forget all about your Cambridge friends.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ He took the half empty glass out of her hand and put it to one side. ‘But you see I don’t count you as one of my Cambridge friends. You’re different — unique.’

  Mesmerised by the fathomless blue eyes she slipped willingly into his arms. The skin of his cheek felt smooth against hers and she reached up to twine her fingers in the strong fair hair. His mouth was sweet on hers. He kissed her once briefly, then again, this time gently parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. For a moment Elaine stiffened slightly, but Patrick murmured against the corner of her mouth:

  ‘Relax, darling. Let me kiss you properly.’

  She did as he said, letting her lips part for him, allowing him to explore her mouth. She grew bolder, responding, finding a pleasure more intoxicating than she could ever have envisaged in the sensual intimacy of his mouth. A delicious, tingling sensation that began in the pit of her stomach, spread through her until every nerve in her body sang and vibrated with delight. They kissed for a while, then Patrick released her to pour more wine. She lay back against the cushions, dreamily trying to decide whether the heady feeling making her feel so marvellous was caused by the wine or his kisses.

  They ate the biscuits. Elaine wasn’t hungry but Patrick said she would get tipsy if she didn’t eat something. He knows everything. He’s wonderful, she told herself as she happily munched. They talked about everything under the sun. Elaine found that Patrick shared many of her own feelings about things. Opinions she’d never dared to express before in case people laughed. Patrick didn’t laugh. He leaned over her, resting on one elbow, studying her face intently as she spoke. With one finger he traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the slenderness of her neck. Her trusting naivety aroused and excited him far more than the flirtatious tricks most girls used. She wore a denim skirt and a white sleeveless top with tiny buttons down the front. Very slowly and carefully he began to undo them.

  *

  Morgan sat on the settee at the flat, looking relaxed. He’d had two glasses of Grace’s best sherry and it had loosened his tongue in the way that she had hoped it might. If she were to work with this young man, she wanted to know more about him.

  ‘So you come from a farming family?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘My father and his two brothers all farm. Near Cardigan Bay.’

  ‘And you never wanted to follow in their footsteps?’

  ‘No. I have three brothers and two sisters, all older than me. I’m twenty-six. They’ve all taken to the farming.’ He glanced ruefully at her. ‘I’m the odd one out.’

  Grace nodded. ‘I know how that feels. I was the eldest of five. I left home when I was seventeen.’

  ‘When I announced that I wanted to take up art and design I might as well have confessed to a murder. My dad wouldn’t hear of it, so I had to work on the farm until I’d saved enough money to see myself through.’ Morgan fell silent, his face thoughtful. ‘My mother always encouraged me, mind. But she died the year I left school,’ he said quietly.

  ‘My mother died young too,’ Grace said sympathetically.

  ‘My father is a lay preacher: Methodist.’ Morgan looked up, forcing himself to laugh. ‘You know the kind of thing — Hellfire and brimstone.’

  Grace knew only too well. The mere word ‘Methodist’ made her heart begin to thud, but she said nothing.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he went on. ‘Religious people are supposed to be loving and forgiving, but my father couldn’t forgive me.’

  ‘For not farming?’ Grace asked gently. ‘Or for dropping out of college?’

  ‘For anything. I told you, I was the odd one out. In more ways than one. The runt of the litter — the bad apple. It’s only on sufferance that he lets me buy his wool.’ He sighed. ‘But you don’t want to hear about me.’

  ‘Yes I do. Where do you live?’

  ‘Now, you mean? I’ve got this little bed-sit in Rowan Street,’ he told her. ‘It’s not much. The only view is of the cemetery.’ He laughed. ‘That’s a piece of irony that my dad would enjoy. But I have the use of the kitchen so food doesn’t cost me much. As for the view — when I’m not out hawking my stuff around, I’m busy working, so it doesn’t bother me too much.’

  ‘How do you manage about your washing?’ asked practical Grace.

  ‘There’s a bathroom that four of us share,’ he said. ‘I wash my smalls in there. Other things, I take to the launderette.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s washing myself that’s the problem. The bathroom’s a lean-to affair and in winter the water freezes before you’ve finished filling the bath.’

  Grace shuddered. ‘It doesn’t sound very comfortable. Can’t you find anything better?’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘Nothing I could afford. You know how difficult it is to find accommodation here.’

  They talked on till the summer evening light faded and Grace had to switch on the light and draw the curtains. She found that she liked Morgan Owen. He was one of the few men she felt easy with. In some strange indefinable way he reminded her of Harry as he had been when they first met — in the days when she had trusted him too; he reminded her of herself too. But when Grace had risen to switch on the light Morgan looked at his watch.

  ‘Oh, dear. I hadn’t noticed the time. I’m afraid I’ve outstayed my welcome. I’ll say goodnight, Mrs Wendover. And many thanks for a pleasant evening.’ He rose to leave, and it was only then that Grace remembered Elaine. It had been a little after seven when she’d left and it was now almost half-past ten. She’d been gone almost three and a half hours. Immediately visions of capsizing boats and thrashing figures filled her mind. Morgan saw the colour leave her face and asked: ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘It’s Elaine,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so late.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’

  Grace’s heart was thudding with alarm. Elaine had never been out this late before. Surely they couldn’t still be on the river at this hour?

  ‘No — no, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring her friend’s house. I expect the girls have been playing records and forgotten the time.’

  Lugging his case downstairs Morgan said: ‘Shall I get in touch again in about a week?’

  ‘Yes, do that,’ Grace said abstractedly, her mind still on Elaine.

  As they reached the bottom of the stairs Morgan turned and saw the anxious look on her face. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘Mrs Wendover, please let me help. I feel partly responsible. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d have noticed how late it was getting. If you know where she might have gone I could look for her.’

  Grace looked up into the concerned hazel eyes. He meant it. He really wanted to help. But before she could reply they both heard the sound of running footsteps on the pavement outside. As Grace opened the door Elaine almost tumbled in.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Grace demanded.

  Morgan cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’ll be off then. Goodnight, Mrs Wendover.’

  Relief had turned Grace’s anxiety into anger. ‘Mr Owen here was just about to come and look for you. What have you been doing till this time of night?’

  Elaine’s face was crimson. ‘It’s only half-past ten,’ she said. ‘I’m not a child, Mum. All the other girls stay out much later.’ She glanced at Morgan who was standing awkwardly by, shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to the other. What did he want — standing there gawping at her humiliation?

  ‘Please don’t let us keep you, Mr Owen,’ she said sharply.

  Outraged by her daughter’s rudeness, Grace shot Morgan an apologetic look and drew Elaine inside, cl
osing the door firmly. ‘How dare you speak to Mr Owen like that?’ she demanded. ‘And you haven’t answered my question yet. Where have you been?’

  ‘I told you — in a boat.’ Elaine turned and clattered up the stairs, her eyes filling with tears. It had been a wonderful evening; the most perfect of her whole life. All she wanted to do was to shut herself in her room, lie on her bed with closed eyes and re-live every ecstatic moment of it. But now her mother was ruining it all.

  ‘In a boat — till this time of night?’

  ‘We had supper. We just didn’t notice the time, that’s all. It’s summer anyway. It’s hardly dark even now.’

  ‘That’s not the point. If you were going to be late, you could have telephoned.’

  ‘Oh, yes. The river bank is full of telephone boxes.’

  A chill gripped Grace’s heart. There was something alarmingly different about Elaine tonight; a new brashness; a defiance she’d never displayed before. It frightened her. As she moved closer to her she could detect something on her breath too — the sweetness of alcohol. A bolt of pain shot through her as she remembered that terrible night, years ago when her father had smelt the whisky Harry had bought her on her breath. She remembered it all with such vivid clarity that the breath caught in her throat and her stomach tightened. It had all been so innocent, yet her father had suspected the worst; had beaten her within an inch of her life. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly as the horror of the frenzied attack assailed her as though it had happened only yesterday. Elaine’s hand shot out, her eyes wide with alarm.

  ‘Mummy, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Grace pulled herself together quickly. It was years since she had allowed that memory to invade her mind. ‘I’m sorry I was cross, darling. I was worried about you, that’s all. I know you’d never — I know — know you’re sensible.’

  Still shaking, she sat down suddenly on the settee. Elaine sank down beside her, taking her hand. ‘Mummy, you look terribly pale. Let me make you a cup of tea.’

  Grace waved her concern aside. ‘No, I’m all right. It’s a warm evening and Morgan — Mr Owen — and I have been talking. I may just be a little excited, because I think I’ve found a gem, darling. A real gem.’

  Chapter Nine

  Grace sat in the passenger seat of Bryan’s car, moodily watching the flat fenland landscape as it flashed past.

  He glanced at her. ‘All right, my dear?’ She’d hardly spoken a word since they set off for London twenty minutes ago and he was beginning to wonder if it was something he’d said.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Elaine and her friend,’ she said for the fourth time. ‘I don’t know what gets into young people these days. When I was her age a visit to a London theatre would have been a dream come true.’

  Bryan shrugged good-naturedly. ‘It doesn’t matter a bit. You and I will have just as good a time on our own, eh?’

  ‘That isn’t the point. It’s so rude,’ Grace said. ‘And after you’ve paid all that money for the seats.’

  ‘Don’t give it another thought. It’s for a good cause,’ Bryan said. ‘When we get there I’ll give the two spare tickets back. They might be able to raise more money on them. No harm done.’

  Grace fell into an uneasy silence. Elaine’s last minute refusal to accompany her and Bryan to the charity concert was completely beyond her. Some of her favourite pop stars would be appearing and Grace had been under the impression that she had been looking forward to it. She had even offered to let her choose a new dress from the last of the summer stock in the shop. Yet apparently she preferred to go to one of those puppet plays at the Carnes’ tatty barn theatre instead. It didn’t make any sense to her at all.

  ‘But you know we may not be back till the small hours of the morning,’ she’d warned when she’d realised she was losing the battle.

  ‘That’s all right. I can stay the night at Alison’s.’

  ‘Are you sure her mother doesn’t mind? And what about Alison? Bryan invited her to the concert too. She might want to go.’

  ‘She doesn’t.’

  Grace had shaken her head. ‘Well, I don’t know, I really don’t. The chance of a lifetime. All your favourite stars — those that aren’t appearing will probably be in the audience. Bryan had to move heaven and earth to get tickets. And you two turn it down as though it were some — some village hall concert or something.’

  Elaine had sighed in the irritatingly arrogant way she’d acquired lately. ‘Don’t go on about it, Mum. What’s the use of going when I’ll hate every minute? Anyway, you know I can’t stand Bryan. Neither can you if you’re honest.’

  ‘That isn’t true. You and I owe Bryan a lot,’ Grace admonished. ‘If it weren’t for him I don’t know where we’d be today, so don’t you talk about him like that.’

  ‘Okay, so we owe him. That doesn’t mean we have to like him, does it?’ Elaine had replied.

  *

  Grace turned to look at Bryan. He had squeezed his portly figure into a dinner jacket for the occasion. At least that was better than the awful casuals he had taken to wearing lately. A man of his size in jeans — it was positively embarrassing. She had chosen a sleeveless shift in black chiffon for the occasion. It was embroidered with silver beads and sequins and was from one of her favourite fashion houses. Her hair was newly styled too, and she’d really been looking forward to this evening. What Elaine had said about Bryan was partly true, but he had been more than generous to her since the row with Margaret and she felt she owed it to him to co-operate and show her appreciation. If only Elaine hadn’t been so awkward about it.

  ‘The new agreement came from your solicitor on Friday,’ she said to Bryan’s profile.

  He smiled. ‘Good. I hope you’ve read it carefully. Mustn’t sign anything you don’t completely understand, my dear.’

  ‘Yes, I read it carefully,’ Grace assured him. She slightly resented the way he always treated her as though she were a ‘little woman’, incapable of understanding anything to do with business. ‘I read it carefully, signed it and posted it back,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Bryan.’

  One pudgy hand left the wheel to pat her bare arm damply. ‘Not at all, my dear. My pleasure.’

  ‘There are one or two changes I’d like to make at the shop — if that’s all right. There’s this young Welshman I’ve come across. He designs and makes wonderful knitwear. I know I haven’t sold knitwear before but I believe he has a very bright future and I’d like to give him a start by selling his work.’

  ‘Just as you like, my dear.’ He glanced at her. ‘I told you — nothing to do with me. The business is all yours now. I was never Margaret’s actual partner, you know. More of a sleeping partner really.’

  Grace shot a quick look at him to see if the double entendre had been intentional, but he went on unsmilingly: ‘I have my own business to attend to. As far as I’m concerned I’m your landlord and nothing else.’ He turned to bestow a benevolent smile on her. ‘Except your friend, of course. I hope I’ll always be that.’

  ‘Naturally.’ She shifted uneasily in the expensive leather seat, wishing that Elaine and Alison had come with them.

  ‘And may I say how lovely you’re looking this evening?’

  Grace cringed slightly. It was the third time he’d said it. ‘Thank you, Bryan. You look very nice yourself.’

  They had just passed the sign that said: ‘Bishop Stortford Welcomes Careful Drivers’ when the car began to bump and swerve. Bryan slammed on the brakes, uttering a four letter expletive that made Grace colour in embarrassment. He pulled into the grass verge and switched off the engine.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve got a flat,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to change the wheel. It’s a damned nuisance when I’m dressed to go out for the evening, but it can’t be helped.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’ she asked uncertainly.

  He shook his head. ‘Just sit tight. It shouldn’t take a jiff.’

  But it seemed
to take an inordinately long time. Grace listened as Bryan fussed and fumed, muttering under his breath as he jacked up the car and unscrewed the bolts that held the wheel. Opening the boot he lifted out the spare wheel and trundled it round to the front. Then she heard him swear again. A moment later his face, crimson with exertion, appeared at her window.

  ‘Bloo — blasted spare’s flat too,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to find a garage. Will you be all right while I look for a phone?’

  ‘Of course.’ Grace looked at her watch. They were going to be late. ‘Are you sure I can’t do anything?’

  ‘No. Just you stay there. I’ll ask at one of those houses over there if I can use the phone.’

  It was the best part of an hour before a mechanic arrived in a van. He got out and assessed the situation gloomily.

  ‘Nothing I can do here, sir. Have to take your spare down to the workshop and repair it there.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ Bryan asked.

  The man scratched his head. ‘Well now...’

  ‘We’re supposed to be in London for eight o’clock. A special occasion as you can see.’ He flicked a speck of dust off the lapel of his dinner jacket.

  ‘Oh, ah?’ The man seemed unimpressed.

  Bryan extracted his wallet and extracted a five pound note, crinkling it pointedly.

  The mechanic’s face cleared. ‘Well, shouldn’t be too much of a problem, sir. Say an hour?’

  ‘I’d rather say half an hour myself,’ Bryan said. ‘Still have best part of an hour’s drive to do and then there’s parking.’

  ‘Well, I dunno, sir,’ the man said doubtfully. ‘I’ll do my best but with the best will in the world, I reckon you’re going to be late now.’

  Bryan sighed. ‘Oh, all right then. We’ll wait. Just do the best you can.’ When the man had driven off with the offending wheel, Bryan looked at Grace. ‘How about a drink and maybe a bite to eat while we’re waiting? There’s a nice little pub just down the road.’

  Grace opened the car door and got out. Anything was better than being shut up in a car with Bryan for an hour.