Mary seemed not to have heard her. She stared into space, the tears dripping on to her shawl as she said: ‘All my life, every man I’ve ever loved has disappointed me. I lost my Richard, my brilliant, lovely boy. Paul — well, 1 don’t have to tell you about him. But I always thought my memories of Henry were safe. I looked up to him so, thought him a perfect husband. I always considered myself so lucky. Then when Edna was dying she told me that she and Henry had been lovers. They’d been seeing each other, sleeping together behind my back, for years before he died.’ She thumped the arm of the chair in sudden impotent rage. ‘Bloody cringing, mousey little Edna of all people! All those years sucking up to me, when all the time... The lying bitch said she wanted to die with a clear conscience. Never mind about the agony she left me with.’
Elaine looked at the shrunken figure in the chair. She couldn’t see — Mary really couldn’t see — that she was doing precisely what she was blaming poor Edna for. But somehow she couldn’t find it in herself to reproach the frail old woman. In her own way she had suffered too. Anyway, it was too late now to alter anything. Much too late.
She said: ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
‘Never mind. It’s all over now — all over a long time ago.’ The old woman looked up, her pale eyes pleading. ‘You won’t hold it against me, will you, Elaine?’
‘No, Mother. I won’t hold it against you. There’s little point now, is there?’
Mary sighed. ‘Thank you. I feel so much better now that I’ve told you. So much better.’
Elaine stood with the door half open, her hand on the handle. She felt numb. Her heart was so heavy, and yet there was nothing left to say to the woman who had done so much to help wreck her life. Mary looked at peace now, her eyelids already heavy with drowsiness. She was happy in the knowledge that she had repaid her debt.
Little did she know that the coin she had used was counterfeit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tricia was happy. She was playing with an orchestra — the one she’d dreamed of playing with. So far she’d enjoyed every minute of it: rehearsals, concerts, even the travelling. The New World Youth Orchestra had just completed a summer tour of cathedrals up and down the country. It had been hard work, but Tricia thrived on it. The musicians travelled in their own bus. A large blue van carried their instruments whilst another carried all the sound equipment, plus technicians. She loved being part of it all. She felt she truly belonged as she had never belonged anywhere before. In the whole ten months that she’d been with the orchestra she’d only been home once. And that was only on a flying visit to attend Granny Mary’s funeral last February.
At Peterborough the BBC came along and televised the concert. Their programme included the Bach double violin concerto, and the soloists were husband and wife violinists, Marc and Juliette Kass. From her place right at the back of the first violin section, Tricia watched and listened raptly. One day she would be standing up there instead of providing a small part of the background. But she was impatient. She wanted to begin preparing right away. But how did one start?
Since she had been playing with the orchestra she and Max Crichton had hardly exchanged a word. Apart from the occasional nod of acknowledgement as they passed in the corridor or on the stairs, she might not have existed. She was disappointed. After her audition at his flat when he’d washed all the curl out of her hair, she’d imagined there would be some kind of rapport between them. Naturally he couldn’t single her out for attention, but all the same she hadn’t expected him to resume the remote, godlike aura he had had before.
Max’s rehearsals were an education. She learned so much in those first months — about Max himself as well as music. He seemed two different people. The shaggy giant in jeans and sweatshirt who threw so much emotional and physical energy into the preparation of a concert, seemed to put on the cool, suave, sex symbol image that the media had given him along with the formal evening dress he wore for concerts. Tricia found the enigma a little bewildering. Which one was the real Max Crichton? Or maybe underneath it all there was yet another man hiding.
She found most of her fellow musicians friendly but she had made two special friends among her colleagues in the first violin section. Eunice Holtby, who sat next to her, was a year older, whilst Terry, her brother, who occupied a slightly more elevated position two desks in front, was twenty-one. They were from Bolton in Lancashire and their warm Northern personalities had embraced Tricia from the first day. However, apart from Max, she had confided to no one her ambition to be a concert soloist. It was something she hugged to herself, believing that somehow, someday, a miraculous opportunity would arrive and it would all happen for her. It was her fate, written in her stars, she was certain of it.
At the end of the tour there was talk of an overseas tour, to take place sometime in the New Year. The excited buzz of rumour went round. Some said it was America — the East Coast: Boston; New York; Philadelphia. Others said it was Australia. But Tricia didn’t much care where it was. She had always wanted to travel and to travel with music — and to do it with Max seemed to her the best of all worlds.
But before their next round of engagements they were to have a two-week break. There was just one concert to record, to go out on BBC television later in the autumn. After that she could go home for the much delayed visit to see her mother and Granny Grace.
It was after the recording session, when she and Eunice and Terry were having lunch in the canteen, that she spotted a familiar figure at a corner table. Telling the others that she would catch them up later, she went across to him.
‘Harry, how are you?’
He looked up and smiled in surprise. ‘Hello there. It’s Tricia, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’ She looked at the empty chair opposite him. ‘Are you waiting for someone or can I join you?’
‘No, please do.’
‘I’m not holding you up — I mean, do you have to rush off?’
‘No. I’ve just finished accompanying Ben Seton, the tenor, on the midday magazine programme “Today Live”.’
‘Oh, that’s all right then.’ She slipped into the seat opposite. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I got a job with the NW.’
He could have told her that he already knew. Some weeks ago he’d seen Max who’d made a special point of telling him that he’d taken his advice and engaged the young girl violinist with the blonde hair and the cocky air of self-confidence.
‘That’s wonderful,’ he said with a smile.
‘First violins — not second,’ she added with a smile. ‘And we’ve just finished a tour of cathedral concerts. It’s been fantastic. And now there’s talk of an overseas tour next year. But I’ve got a break to look forward to right now.’
‘Good.’ Harry looked at the shining blue eyes and swinging fair hair and felt a pang of nostalgia. All that enthusiasm. All that vibrant energy. What it was to be young. ‘So are you going home? East Anglia, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And ambition-wise, what’s the next step on the way to stardom?’ She looked wistful. ‘What I really want is to be a soloist,’ she told him earnestly. ‘People younger than me have achieved it. I’m getting older all the time.’
‘You poor old lady.’ He laughed. ‘You’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘Not really,’ she told him earnestly. ‘You know about these things. What could I do, Harry? I mean, how are the people who matter ever going to hear me at the back of the first fiddles in the New World Orchestra?’
‘You’d be surprised — never know who’s listening.’
She shook her head impatiently. ‘That’s no good. I want them to hear me. What can I do?’
‘Make a demo tape like the pop people do,’ he suggested, half jokingly.
Her eyes brightened and she latched on to the idea eagerly. ‘Hey — that’s a great idea. But I couldn’t do it on my own. I’d need an accompanist...’ She broke off to look appealingly into his eyes. ‘Harry �
�� I suppose you wouldn’t...?’
He laughed. ‘I walked right into that, didn’t I? Okay, why not? I’ve got a reasonably good tape machine at home, and the piano of course. When would you like to come?’
‘I’m free from this afternoon onwards,’ she told him eagerly.
He took an envelope out of his wallet and removed the letter inside. ‘Here, that’s my address. It’s not far from the Underground station. Think you can find it?’
‘You bet. Would tomorrow morning be okay — around ten?’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Fine, if you think you’ll be ready by then.’
‘I’ve been ready for months,’ she told him confidently. ‘I’ve been practising hard and I’ve got at least four pieces I could do. If I go home now and work on them this afternoon and tonight...’
He laughed. ‘Okay then. I hope you have tolerant neighbours. Tomorrow it is. I’ll look forward to seeing you.’
*
She was still practising that evening when her mother rang.
‘Tricia, you haven’t been in touch, darling. I wondered when you were coming home.’
‘Would Friday be all right? I’m making a demo tape tomorrow.’
‘That sounds exciting.’
‘It’ll only be an amateur one. A friend is helping me with it.’
‘So you’ll be home at the end of this week?’
‘Yes. And I can stay for a week, if that’s all right.’
‘That’s lovely. Tricia — I’m staying at Granny Grace’s at the moment, so you’ll be coming there too.’
‘That’s okay.’ Tricia frowned. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Gran isn’t ill or anything?’
‘Good heavens, no. You know Granny. She’s as fit as a flea. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Listen, darling, Alison had an idea this morning. I don’t know how you feel about working during your holiday, but we need some live music for a wedding on Saturday.’
Tricia paused. Why had her mother changed the subject so abruptly? Was she really all right? ‘I thought most people booked a disco nowadays,’ she remarked.
Elaine laughed. ‘Oh, they do, and they have — for later on. But this is rather a classy affair and they want some live musicians to play during the formal reception in the afternoon. You’d get paid proper union rates and everything.’
‘Oh, well, in that case I’ll do it,’ Tricia said, laughing. ‘Any idea what kind of programme they’ll want?’
‘Oh, light popular classics, you know the kind of thing. I’ll leave it to you.’
‘Andrew Lloyd Webber — “Evita”, “Phantom”, that kind of thing?’
‘Lovely. Maybe some oldies too.’
‘Mum...’ An idea suddenly came into her head. ‘You’ll be wanting a pianist too. Do you have one?’
‘Not yet. I was going to make some enquiries today.’
‘Well, I think I can save you the trouble. Would you like me to fix one for you?’
‘Certainly, if you know of someone good.’
‘I do. The person who’s helping me make this demo tape. I owe him a favour. I know he’d be grateful for the work.’
‘Ah, do I detect romance in the air?’ Elaine asked.
Tricia’s laugh trilled down the line. ‘Good lord, no. He’s really old — must be well over sixty. But he’s a real sweetie. I’m sure you’ll like him.’
‘Well, fine, if you can fix it all up, it’ll save me another job. See you on Friday then, darling. Bye.’
*
Elaine put down the telephone with a sigh. Tricia seemed so happy and fulfilled in her new job. She had been worried last year at the news that she had opted out of college. As her daughter grew older, Elaine saw Patrick in her again and again. She had the same restlessness; the same impulse to snatch at everything life had to offer. Elaine had been so relieved when things had worked out well for her. They might easily have been otherwise.
It would be so lovely to have Tricia home for a few days and hear all her news. But she wasn’t looking forward quite so much to the talk they would have to have. She told herself that surely anything would be better than the atmosphere at Langmere Lodge over the past years, but nevertheless, it was the only home the girl had ever known.
Elaine had thought for a long time about what Mary had told her on the afternoon she had visited her. A week of sleepless nights had been spent agonising about the wasted years. Should she face Paul with it or leave it alone? Finally she decided that she must at least find out if what Mary said was really true. After that she would make a decision about the future.
As it happened, Paul made it for her. Apart from his paraplegia he had made a good recovery from his devastating accident. But for a slight slurring when he grew agitated, his speech was fluent again and he had regained the use of both hands and arms. Josh, his young West Indian nurse, and he got along well. They had a lot in common and seemed to enjoy being together as friends as well as patient and nurse. Because of this Elaine had to wait some time for an opportunity to speak to Paul alone. She had no wish to face him with his mother’s accusations in front of Josh.
At first he waved them away, dismissing them as the ramblings of a senile old woman.
‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying nowadays. Surely you can see that? She probably dreamed the whole thing. You know as well as I do that she was amnesic after the accident.’
‘She only said she was because she was afraid I might leave if I’d known the truth,’ Elaine told him. ‘Is it true, Paul? I think I have a right to know. Did she find you with someone that afternoon? Was the accident really an unsuccessful suicide attempt?’
His eyes suddenly flashed with anger. ‘What the hell does it matter now anyway? Don’t you feel I’ve been punished enough? You and Mother between you — you never stopped twisting me this way and that, trying to turn me into the person you wanted me to be. Well, now I’m nothing. Just a thing in a wheelchair. Can’t you be satisfied with that?’
‘It isn’t my fault, Paul,’ she said patiently. ‘And if I did something wrong in marrying you, I think you’ll agree that I’ve paid too.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ he shouted at her. ‘Do you think I don’t see it in your eyes every day of the week? How do you think it feels to realise that you stayed with me only out of some misplaced sense of duty? I don’t want your long suffering martyrdom any longer, Elaine. If you really want to know, all I want is for you to get the hell out of here and leave me to make some kind of life for myself again.’
She stared at him. ‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ He laughed harshly. ‘Because of what people might say — is that it? Because of the way it would make you look? Tell them all to get stuffed. To hell with what they think. I’m sick of having to pretend just to satisfy convention.’ He wheeled his chair closer to her and stared at her intently. ‘I don’t want you here any longer, Elaine. I’m sick of the sight of you. Can’t you get that through your thick head?’
Shocked, she backed away. ‘But — how would you manage? What would you do?’
His lip curled scathingly. ‘You really think you’re indispensable, don’t you? Well, you’re not. Listen, Mother left me the house and the rest of her estate. Josh and I have been making plans. We want to turn the place into a home for the disabled; convert it into self-contained flats — install a lift. I believe there’s even some kind of grant we could get, but we haven’t looked into that yet. He and I would live here on the ground floor and run the place. I’d manage the administrative side. Josh would be on hand for medical help. It could really work, if only...’
‘If only I got out and left you to it — is that what you’re saying?’
‘That’s it in a nutshell. But for you I’d have a fighting chance to be a person again. So why don’t you sod off?’ he said brutally.
She was stunned. ‘All right, Paul, if that’s what you want, I’ll leave immediately.
’
Later that night, when Paul was asleep, she’d tapped on Josh’s door and asked to speak to him. She asked him if the plan was real of just something Paul had thought up on the spur of the moment in order to get back at her. The nurse looked uncomfortable.
‘The plan is real enough, Mrs Kingston,’ he said. ‘But I only went along with it because I thought it was just a pipe dream. I hope you don’t think I was plotting to turn you out of your home.’
‘Of course not, Josh.’ She smiled, trying to put him at his ease. ‘Perhaps you already know that our marriage was over long before Paul’s accident?’ The young West Indian looked acutely distressed and Elaine went on: ‘I’d like an honest opinion, Josh. And I mean honest. Does Paul really want me to leave?’
‘Mrs Kingston — what you ask is very difficult...’
‘It needn’t be. Just tell me. Is he sincere? I’m not going to be upset. It’s important that you tell me the truth.’
‘He — it’s true that he would like to be independent,’ he said after a pause. ‘I think he feels that — tied together you might both drown, but cut free there’s a chance for you both to swim and be free again.’
Elaine smiled wryly. ‘I like your turn of phrase, Josh. Thank you for telling me.’
She moved in with Grace three days later. On the first night they sat up talking till dawn. It had been a shock to Elaine to realise that Paul actually wanted her out of the house — wanted to be free as much as she did. Suddenly it seemed to her that her whole life had been a sham. She had been so misguided, wasted so much time; not only her own but other people’s too.
‘Oh, Mum, what have I done with my life?’ she asked despairingly. ‘I was so convinced that what I was doing was right, and all the time... I’m such a failure.’
Grace was silent. She felt that she was the real failure. She had allowed the trauma of her early years to cloud her whole life; to go on leaving its mark — multiplying and spreading like ripples on a pond, wreaking havoc on the lives of those she loved. And the tragedy of it was that some of that damage could never be undone.
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