Wives & Mothers

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  She lifted the phone again and dialled her mother’s number. Grace answered almost at once.

  ‘Mum, I wondered if you’d do me a favour,’ Elaine said. ‘Would you take Tricia to church for me this morning? It’s the school’s fiftieth anniversary service and I promised we’d go, but I have someone to see.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Grace said. ‘After all, business is business, even on Sundays.’

  ‘And could she stay for lunch with you afterwards?’

  ‘Of course.’ Grace laughed. ‘You don’t have to ask. You know how I love to have her.’

  ‘Oh thanks, Mum. I’ll join you later for tea, as planned. See you in about half an hour then.’ She replaced the receiver with a sigh. She hated herself for letting her mother believe it was a business appointment. How many more half-truths would it be necessary to tell before this day was over? If only Tom hadn’t invited her to the party last night. If only she’d had the strength to say no to Patrick. If only...

  *

  The church clock was striking twelve as she drove into the village of Little Hinton. She wore a black trouser suit with a bright yellow shirt and had taken special care over her hair, shampooing and brushing it till it curled around her face in a shining halo. She refused to admit that she wanted to look her best for Patrick, telling herself that she wouldn’t have him thinking that she turned into a dowdy provincial housewife.

  He was waiting for her when she drove into the car park at the rear of the pub. She saw him at once, sitting in the driving seat of a dark green Triumph Stag. He spotted her too and got out of the car.

  Seated by the fireplace in the old inn they ordered drinks and their meal. Then the practicalities over, they looked at each other. Elaine said bluntly: ‘This is all wrong, Patrick. We shouldn’t have come.’

  He laughed wryly. ‘That’s a good start.’ He covered her hand with his. ‘Two old friends meeting for a drink and a bite to eat, in broad daylight in a village pub. What could be more innocent?’

  She looked at him. ‘But what’s the point, Patrick? We’re both happily married. I have a child. There’s nothing to be gained.’

  ‘Do old friends meet in order to gain anything? I told you, I want to hear all your news.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to know that you haven’t already heard from Morgan.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know about me?’

  She looked up and met his eyes. Of course she wanted to know about him — all about him — with one part of her. The other half knew that to know would be to suffer. ‘No,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Then why did you come?’

  ‘Look, Patrick, tomorrow you’ll be gone again, back to London; to your job, your home and your wife.’

  ‘Not my wife,’ he corrected. ‘Hardly ever my wife.’

  ‘That’s your business, Patrick. Not mine. I have my life to live now and I think you should leave me to get on with it, the way you did before.’

  He winced. ‘I suppose I asked for that.’

  She picked up the glass of sherry in front of her and put it down quickly when she realised how much her hands were trembling. ‘Why did you ask me out today anyway?’

  ‘Why did you come?’ He watched as she shook her head helplessly.

  ‘I wanted to know why you married him so soon after,’ he went on quietly. ‘I wanted to know why you’re so unhappy.’

  Her eyes snapped up to meet his.

  ‘Well, are you going to deny it? You are unhappy, aren’t you?’ he insisted.

  Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Mind your own bloody business,’ she snapped. ‘Christ, but you’ve got a nerve. You go away. You make up your mind what’s best for me. Then you come back years later and calmly demand to know about my emotional state. Why should you care? Why should I tell you anything?’

  ‘All right.’ He laid a restraining hand on her arm. ‘I put it badly. I’m concerned for you, Elaine. That’s all. I feel partly responsible for you.’

  ‘Then don’t. I suppose I’m as happy as I deserve to be. Can any of us expect more than that?’

  ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  ‘Look, Patrick. Everyone I grew up with has a worthwhile, satisfying life. I’m just the one who stayed at home. I’m a dull, boring housewife. I’ve been nowhere — done nothing. There’s absolutely no reason why anyone should be interested in me.’ She looked up at him. ‘There — are you satisfied?’

  He shook his head. ‘What’s the matter? You’re so defensive. You weren’t like this last night.’

  ‘Last night I’d been drinking. I’m not used to it. I’m not in the habit of throwing myself into the arms of every man I meet. Sorry to disappoint you.’

  He smiled at her, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘You married Paul Kingston so quickly after we — after we said goodbye.’

  ‘So? He swept me off my feet.’ She tossed back her drink and stared at him. ‘Did you think it was on the rebound? You always did have a high opinion of yourself, didn’t you?’

  The landlord brought their food and they ate in silence. From time to time Patrick glanced at her, noting the firm set of her mouth, the resentment glittering in her eyes. When they’d finished he said: ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we?’

  She shrugged. ‘Why not? Nothing to stay for.’

  In the car park he took her arm. ‘Sit in the car with me for a while. There’s plenty of time.’

  She wanted to scream. This was agony. Why couldn’t she just shake him off — tell him to go to hell and drive back to town, to the warmth and safety of her mother’s house, to her child? Against her better judgement, she allowed him to propel her towards the car. she got in, despising herself for her weakness.

  He turned to look at her, his eyes dark as they looked into hers. ‘Would it soften that hard heart of yours to know that I’ve never, for one minute of one day, forgotten you, Elaine? Would it help to know that I’ve never really stopped loving you?’

  She gave a stifled cry of exasperation. ‘Stop it. For God’s sake leave me alone, Patrick.’ She wrenched open the car door and jumped out, sprinting across the car park. Switching on the ignition with fumbling fingers, she revved the engine wildly, then with a squeal of tyres and a shower of gravel she sped out on to the road, willing herself not to look at Patrick as she passed. She drove fast, much too fast, looking from time to time in the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t following.

  After a few miles she eased her foot off the accelerator and turned off the road into a quiet lane. Stopping the car, she wound down the window and forced herself to breathe the fresh air quietly and deeply to steady her raw nerves. She had been so close to giving in. It would have been so easy — so blissful — just to cave in, fall into his arms again and tell him everything: that Tricia was his child; that she had never stopped loving him and probably never would. But she hadn’t done those things. And now, thank God, she never would. Patrick was bored again. He regretted his marriage and saw her as an amusing and safely married diversion. At least now she was adult enough to recognise that much. No, Tricia was hers and hers alone as she always had been. The child was her life — all she had and all she wanted. The one thing she could be really sure of. She’d never let anything or anyone alter that.

  *

  Grace stood at the window, waving as Elaine and Tricia drove away. She’d enjoyed having her granddaughter for the day. On the weekends when Morgan didn’t come she was often lonely, even though she had her garden to enjoy and sometimes paperwork from the factory to catch up with. Truth to tell she missed the shop. When Elaine had told her about the new venture that she and Alison were starting she had caught some of their excitement. It had been all she could do not to ask to be allowed to help, but she had restrained herself, knowing that the girls wanted the venture to be all their own, just as she would have at their age. It had reminded her of the time when she and Margaret had turned the shabby little drapery shop in Stanmore into a boutique. She’d contented herself by offering the
girls an introduction to some of her contacts and advice, if and when they needed it, and forced herself to take a back seat.

  But this evening loneliness wasn’t troubling her. She had plenty to think about as she drew the curtains on the darkening spring evening and set about tidying the room. Elaine had been in a strange mood when she arrived for tea. She seemed nervy and on edge. When spoken to she seemed miles away. Grace wondered if it was the worry of the new business. She’d mentioned that she’d been to see someone about it that morning. But Elaine wasn’t her prime concern at that moment. She had something much more immediate to think about. And a special visitor to see.

  Grace had taken Tricia to church. Attending a service was something she rarely did. Since her childhood she had avoided so-called places of worship. The memories and associations connected with church were far too painful. But this morning, with the spring sunshine slanting through the stained glass windows, the church decorated with bright spring flowers and filled with children’s voices, the occasion had been pleasant.

  She and Tricia had taken up their position in a pew about halfway down the nave and Tricia had chattered happily, pointing out her friends and teachers as they arrived. The church was almost full when a tall slim woman wearing a smart grey suit had come in. Tricia nudged her grandmother.

  ‘Granny, look. That’s Miss Troughton, my teacher, and she’s brought a friend who’s staying with her. They were at college together. She told us.’

  Grace looked at the woman standing beside Harriet Troughton and her heart seemed to miss a beat. Rachel! She was sure it was her sister, Rachel.

  After that she found it impossible to concentrate on the service. Her eyes kept straying to the pew across the aisle where the woman sat with members of the teaching staff. Rachel had always been a plain child and she was still plain, but she had made the most of what good features she had with careful, tasteful make-up and good clothes. Her figure was good, and her hair, thick and dark like Grace’s, was arranged in a soft style that suited her rather sharp features. She still wore glasses, but becomingly shaped frames made them a fashion accessory rather than a disadvantage.

  Grace was in a quandary. Should she make herself known or not? The last time they had met, Rachel had sent her away. But she had been little more than a child then, bitter and resentful at what she saw as her elder sister’s abandoning her, knowing nothing of the reason for it. Clearly she had made good in spite of having to take over the upbringing of their three younger sisters. Grace was relieved. She had always felt guilty about her sister’s disrupted education. She found herself longing to make her peace with her. And most of all to hear news of the other girls: Sarah and the little ones, Christine and Victoria, who must now be grown women. And her father...? Although she had deliberately put him out of her thoughts long ago, her heart lurched sickeningly at the memory. How was he? she wondered. Was he still alive? And there was that other thought — the one that had haunted her — that she had never quite been able to erase: had he abused the others in the way he had abused her? If he had, could she ever forgive herself for leaving them? The impotent, helpless anger she thought she had laid to rest churned anew in the pit of her stomach and quickened her heartbeat. For a moment her surroundings swam dizzily before her eyes and her knees buckled. She glanced at the child beside her, Tricia, with her wide blue eyes and cornsilk hair. She mustn’t let her down — mustn’t faint and make a scene. With an enormous effort she forced her mind to concentrate on the words of the hymn they were singing. ‘ All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small. All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all. ’ At her side Tricia sang. Her sweet young voice reached Grace’s ears and soothed her tortured mind.

  The service ended and they all filed out of church. Ahead of her, Grace could see Rachel as she walked out of church, smiling and confident, talking with her friend. She knew then that she could not approach her. She could not risk another rebuff, could not risk hearing the news she dreaded to hear. She was just turning away when she felt a hand on her arm and a voice said: ‘It’s Mrs Wendover, isn’t it?’

  She turned to see Harriet Troughton, Tricia’s teacher, smiling at her.

  ‘We’re all so proud of Tricia’s success at St Cecilia’s.’

  Grace smiled. ‘So are we.’

  ‘I’d like you to meet a friend of mine from college days. I’ve been telling her all about our star pupil.’ Before Grace had time to think she had called out: ‘Rachel, do come and meet Tricia’s grandmother.’

  Rachel left the others and walked across. She held out her hand and smiled into Grace’s eyes without a flicker of recognition. ‘How do you do? Does your granddaughter get her musical talent from you?’

  ‘No. From her grandfather, I think.’ Grace held a gloved hand in hers and looked into the other woman’s eyes. Tricia had skipped ahead with two of her friends and Miss Troughton had moved on to speak to some other parents. Rachel’s eyes narrowed slightly and clouded with uncertainty.

  ‘Haven’t we met before, Mrs... I’m sorry, what did Harriet say your name was?’

  ‘Wendover. Grace Wendover.’ Grace smiled. ‘Don’t you remember me, Rachel?’

  The brown eyes widened and Rachel’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ of surprise. ‘ Grace, ’ she breathed. ‘My God, it’s you. It’s really you.’ She shook her head bemusedly. ‘But how... when...?’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know where to start. Look, can we meet? How about lunch? I’m sure Harriet would understand.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m looking after Tricia for the day. My daughter is picking her up later and staying for tea. If you’re not busy, why not come this evening? We can talk then. I’ll give you my address.’ She opened her bag and found a business card. Rachel looked at it and smiled, her eyes misty.

  ‘Oh, Grace, it’s wonderful, finding you again like this. I can hardly believe it. There’s so much to tell you. And I want to know all about you too.’

  *

  Grace had just had time to make coffee, comb her hair and put on fresh lipstick when a ring at the door told her that Rachel had arrived. Her heart beating with apprehension, she hurried to open it.

  At first they were both a little uneasy. Grace brought in the coffee and they sat making polite small talk for a few minutes, both of them reluctant to break the ice, a little shy of each other. Grace lifted a plate of biscuits and offered it to her sister.

  ‘Do have one of these. I made them myself. Tricia loves them.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Nothing to eat, thank you.’ She smiled. ‘Grace — we’re getting nowhere, are we? We have so much to say to each other. How are you, Grace — really, I mean? Have you been happy? Was Harry worth leaving home for?’

  Grace bit her lip. ‘My marriage didn’t last. It was over many years ago, Rachel.’ She smiled. ‘But I have a lovely daughter and granddaughter. I had a good career too — for a woman with only a basic education.’ She went on to tell Rachel about ‘Style ‘N’ Grace’ and about how she had discovered Morgan and helped him take the first important steps towards his own career.

  Rachel was impressed. ‘I’ve heard of Morgan Knitwear, of course. I’m glad you’ve been happy and successful.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘You know, I hated you for leaving at the time. But later I saw how selfish I was. I’ve had a good career. I’m headmistress of a girl’s school in Yorkshire now. No marriage or children, but one can’t have everything.’

  Grace poured two more cups of coffee, her eyes on the cups. ‘And what about the others? How are they — Sarah and the little ones?’

  Rachel laughed. ‘Sarah is a nurse — a sister. She went to Australia five years ago. The “little ones” as you call them are both married — Vicki to a doctor and Christine to an architect. They have two children each. Three boys and a girl.’

  Grace avoided her sister’s eyes as she asked: ‘And — and Father?’

  The smile left Rachel’s face. ‘Father died twelve years ago. I’m sorry to have to tell you
that he took his own life, Grace.’

  She paused. ‘There was a scandal. It was terrible for us all at the time.’

  ‘Go on.’ Grace steeled herself for what was to come.

  ‘There was a young girl in the choir at church. She made — certain accusations against Father. Her parents went to the police and he was charged with...’ She glanced at Grace and swallowed hard. ‘With indecent assault on an under-age girl.’ She shook her head. ‘It was terrible — and ridiculous of course. We all knew he was innocent. But the girl stuck to her story and for some reason he refused to defend himself — wouldn’t answer any questions or even talk about it. Then, on the night before he was to have appeared in court, he took an overdose of sleeping tablets. I — I found him the next morning.’

  ‘Oh, my God. Poor Rachel. How terrible for you.’ Grace reached for her sister’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  ‘I know he was hard on you, Grace,’ Rachel went on, her eyes full of tears. ‘There were times — later — when he spoke of you to me. He often seemed troubled. He confessed to me that he’d thrashed you that time when you went to the theatre without telling him. But I know he was convinced it was for your own good. He was always so determined to bring us up to be God-fearing Christian women. After you left he was kindness itself to the rest of us. He even engaged a housekeeper eventually, so that I could go back to school. It must have been a terrible struggle for him to afford it, but he did it — for me. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.’

  ‘Of course you will.’ Waves of relief were washing over Grace like a refreshing balm. It was as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders; one she had carried with her for a long, long time. Now it was really over, her worst fears were unfounded. Now there would never be any need to tell anyone what had happened all those years ago. She need feel no more guilt. It was like an exorcism.