‘Yes.’
‘I wanted to see you before I went. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, you see. I may not be back for some time.’
The candid blue eyes met his. ‘You’re not ever coming back, are you?’
‘Well, not for a very long time.’
She met his eyes solemnly. ‘Because you love her — Stella — better than us, and you want to go as far away from us as you can?’
He winced. ‘No, sweetheart. Look, sometimes we have to make very hard choices. To begin with, I’m going to America because I’ve been offered a job there. But Mummy and I talked about it and we think that in the long run it will hurt you less if I don’t see you for a while.’ He tried hard to smile at her. ‘You will keep on with your music, won’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘Mummy says that when we move to a smaller place we might not have room for the piano.’ She picked abstractly at the bright pink icing on her cake. ‘And, anyway, I don’t like it so much now that you’re not there.’
He stared at her in dismay. He’d been so proud of her musical talent. But you must keep it up. You were doing so well. He stopped himself from saying it, depression descending on him like a black cloud. He had no right to tell her what to do any more. He’d forfeited that right when he’d walked out. He shouldn’t have asked to see her today. It had been a mistake. ‘Have you finished your tea?’ he asked. ‘Do you want another cake?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘What would you like to do now?’
She brushed the crumbs from her hands and looked at him. ‘Can I go home now, please?’
He went with her all the way to Stanmore, leaving her at the end of St Olaf’s Avenue and watching as she walked the rest of the way in the gathering January dusk. His daughter, tall for her age, her brown curls bobbing on the collar of her best red coat. Suddenly he remembered another red coat, and how pretty Grace had looked in it. Soon, very soon, Elaine would be a teenager — a young woman. Next time he met her she would be a child no longer. With a stab of pain he realised it was possible he might not even recognise her. When she reached the gate, she half turned, looking to see if he was still there. He lifted his arm to wave but the next moment she had disappeared from view behind the privet hedge. It was only then that he realised that not once during the afternoon had she called him ‘Daddy’. Harry pulled up the collar of his coat against the chill of the winter afternoon and turned his face towards the station.
*
Day by day the new spring stock was arriving at ‘Margot’s’. It helped to take Grace’s mind off her problems. The agent’s FOR SALE board outside the house had so far brought several interested parties to view, but so far none had made an offer. Grace had had no luck in finding a flat for herself and Elaine either. She worried constantly about where they would go if they found a buyer who wanted to move in quickly.
‘You could always have the rooms over the shop as a temporary measure,’ Margaret suggested. ‘But there’s no bathroom or proper kitchen so it would be a last resort.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Grace sighed. ‘If it wasn’t for the shop I’d like to move right away from here. I’m so sick of all the pitying glances I get from the neighbours, and women gossiping behind their hands when I go shopping.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that. It’ll soon blow over. Someone else’ll be the butt for their gossip before long.’ Margaret looked thoughtful. ‘Now that you mention it though — moving away from here, I mean — I’ve been toying with an idea lately. I wonder what you’d think of it?’
‘I’m open to any suggestions.’
‘Well, you know I’ve been talking about opening another shop?’
‘Yes.’ Grace looked up with interest.
‘I couldn’t afford to do it on my own, of course. At least not yet. But I have a friend — a gentleman friend — who has business interests in Cambridge. He knows of a nice little property there and he’s interested in buying it.’ She glanced at Grace. ‘As an investment of course.’
‘I see.’ Grace didn’t see at all but she hoped her employer would eventually come to the point.
Margaret busied herself with a clothes brush, taking coats from the rail and brushing them meticulously as she spoke. ‘Bryan is in property and insurance, you see, so he gets to hear of these things quickly. The shop has a flat above it. It’s in Prince Regent Street — a very good position close to the town centre. I did think I’d have to turn it down. I want to stay here, you see. And I couldn’t afford to put in a manageress. But if you were to take it on for me, I’d pay you a little more than you’re getting now, and you could have the flat rent free.’ She laid down the brush and turned to Grace. ‘What do you think?’
Grace’s heart was racing with excitement. A shop of her own to run — more money and a free flat — right away from here, where no one knew them. It was like the answer to a prayer. ‘Oh, it sounds wonderful.’
‘Of course you’d want to see the place. And hear more details about it,’ Margaret began, but at that moment a customer came into the shop. ‘We’ll talk again later,’ she whispered. ‘After we’re closed.’
When the door had been locked for the night, the two women sat in the back room over a pot of tea. Grace had been eagerly awaiting this moment all afternoon, ever since Margaret had briefly outlined her plan. Now she waited, looking forward to hearing about it in more detail.
‘Bryan and I have been friends for several years,’ Margaret told her. ‘He’s a very successful businessman, and of course I trust his judgement implicitly.’ She took a sip of her tea, looking at Grace over the rim of the cup. ‘He’s married, which is why we have to be discreet. It’s been a marriage in — er — name only for some years, if you know what I mean.’ She gave Grace a knowing look as she replaced her cup on its saucer.
Hot colour rose to her cheeks. She knew only too well.
‘Oh, I know what you must be thinking,’ Margaret said hurriedly. ‘But it’s an entirely different situation to yours and Harry’s. I mean, women like that have only themselves to blame, I always say. Anyway, that’s besides the point. Bryan helped me buy this place, though I’m paying him back of course. It’s a business arrangement, properly drawn up and all that. Our — er — personal relationship has nothing to do with the business side of things. I’d be renting the Cambridge shop from him.’
Grace was looking at Margaret with new eyes. She’d always admired her employer’s fashion sense and style. She was always dressed in the height of fashion, knowing instinctively what styles and colours suited her. Recently she’d adopted the latest beehive hairstyle, her blonde hair backcombed and teased into the high bouffant coiffeur and her grey eyes dramatically emphasised with shadow, mascara and liner. Till now, Grace had taken it all at face value, assuming that it was designed to attract business. Now strange equivocal feelings about it began to stir at the back of her mind. Could it be that her employer was slightly — ever so slightly — common? She shook her mind free of the thought, inwardly admonishing herself as Margaret said: ‘So what about all of us going up to Cambridge on Sunday to look at the place? Bryan will take us, of course. We could make a nice day out of it.’
‘Next Sunday, you mean?’ Grace chewed her lip. ‘What about Elaine, though?’
‘Oh, bring her with you,’ Margaret said at once. ‘I mean, her opinion counts too, doesn’t it? She’s going to have to live there as well.’ She smiled. ‘It’ll be a wonderful place for a young girl growing up.’ She gave an arch little giggle. ‘All those dashing young undergrads. She’ll be in her element a few years from now.’
Not if I have anything to do with it, Grace told herself grimly. To Margaret she merely smiled. ‘Well, thank you. I’m sure we’d both love to go.’
The pale blue Jaguar drew up at exactly nine o’clock outside number forty-seven St Olaf’s Avenue the following Sunday morning and Grace, who spotted it first from the bedroom window, called out to Elaine: ‘They’re here. Get
a move on now. We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?’
Elaine stood at the bottom of the stairs, buttoning her coat. ‘Oh, Mum, do I really have to go?’
‘Yes, you do.’ Grace tweaked at the collar of her daughter’s coat and smoothed her hair. ‘A lot depends on this, Elaine. I’m relying on you to behave yourself and be polite.’
‘Oh, all right, but I bet I hate the place. I bet it’s a rotten hole.’
Grace shook her head. ‘Just don’t you dare say so,’ she warned. ‘Even if it is.’
Margaret stood on the doorstep when Grace opened the front door. She wore a well-cut navy suit with a white ruffled blouse. Behind her stood Bryan Bostock. He was fifty-two and had been a good-looking man in his time, but too many business lunches and an over-indulgent lifestyle had turned his broad build to a podginess that strained the seams of his well-cut grey-striped suit and blurred his ample jaw-line. His dark wavy hair had begun to grey and thin and the moustache he had grown in his twenties to make him look older had now totally outgrown its purpose. His sharp eyes had not lost their twinkle, however, or their darting appreciation of an attractive woman. They lit with interest as Margaret introduced Grace.
‘Delighted to meet you,’ he said with a pronounced North Country accent. He took her hand and crushed it damply in his large paw. ‘Heard a lot about you. Any friend of Margaret’s, as they say.’
‘And this is little Elaine,’ Margaret said, putting her hand on the child’s shoulder and drawing her forward.
‘Well, well.’ Bryan looked down at Elaine. ‘What a bonny little lass. Takes after her mother, eh?’ He winked at Grace, and Margaret frowned.
‘Take no notice of him,’ she said, laughing it off. ‘Now, are we all set?’ She nudged Bryan. ‘Better get moving if we’re to make Cambridge before lunch, hadn’t we?’
The sleek car ate up the miles quickly, skimming along the quiet Sunday morning roads with ease. Sitting in the back and watching the countryside slip past as she leant against the soft leather upholstery, Grace began to feel excited. She had a feeling about Cambridge. Somehow she just knew everything was going to work out for them. She just wished that Elaine would try a little harder to compromise. They had fought the inevitable battle over the trip and Grace had been forced to remind her that it was her future too that they were planning.
‘Don’t you want to see where we’re going to live? It’ll be a whole new life for us both,’ she’d said encouragingly. ‘A new job for me, a new school for you...’
‘But I want to stay here,’ Elaine complained. ‘I only started at the Grammar School last term. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave Jenny either.’
‘You’ll get a place at another grammar school,’ Grace had assured her. ‘All that will be taken care of. And Jenny could always come and stay with you in the holidays.’
‘It wouldn’t be the same. I like it here.’ The argument had gone on and on until Grace’s patience had snapped. Not for the first time since Harry had left she’d been sorely tempted to slap Elaine’s legs as she might have done when she was a toddler. Instead she had contented herself with shouting her daughter into sullen submission.
Now she looked at the child out of the corner of her eye as she sat silently beside her in the back of the car. She deeply regretted losing her temper. She had little enough time to spend with Elaine as it was. And she’d promised herself to devote what time there was to building a good relationship between them. Since Harry had left she’d been so edgy, easily moved to tears or aroused to anger, and Elaine had often borne the brunt of it. It was hard for her too, and it was only natural that the child should want to stay in familiar surroundings with her friends under such unsettling circumstances. She reached for Elaine’s hand, squeezing it warmly, and was rewarded with a tremulous smile.
‘Nice car, isn’t it?’ Elaine whispered, returning the pressure of her mother’s hand.
‘Lovely,’ Grace mouthed back conspiratorially.
Elaine wrinkled her nose at Bryan Bostock’s bulky, grey-striped back and raised a surreptitious eyebrow at her mother. They shared a smothered giggle and immediately the rift between them was healed.
Cambridge was a surprise. As they’d approached it through the flat fenland landscape Grace had begun to wonder what kind of a place it would turn out to be. She knew it was a university town, but she hadn’t been prepared for the grandeur and majesty of the ancient buildings or the friendly atmosphere of the little market town. Bryan took them on a short tour first, giving them a brief glimpse of some of the colleges, then they had lunch in a small riverside restaurant on the outskirts. He was the perfect host, jovial and more than generous, encouraging them to choose the most expensive things on the menu, and ordering wine with the aplomb and flourish of the connoisseur. Sitting there with his napkin tucked under his pile of chins he beamed at them, determined that they should enjoy themselves.
‘Eat, drink and be merry,’ he urged them with a wave of his fork. ‘After all, who knows what tomorrow’ll bring?’
Grace began to reproach herself for her dubious first impression of the man and by the time they left the restaurant they were all in a mellow mood. As they climbed back into the Jaguar, Bryan rubbed his hands together.
‘Right, down to business now.’ he said. ‘Prince Regent Street, here we come.’
It was a long, narrow street lined with shops. It led from the market place all the way to the open green stretch Bryan told them was called Parker’s Piece. The shop had been a hairdresser’s but now it was empty and devoid of character. Bryan unlocked the door and the four of them stood on the bare boards, looking around them.
‘It’s a nice size, and the window’s good,’ Margaret remarked.
But Grace could already see just how it would be. If she could choose she would have a charcoal-grey carpet and silver-grey walls, making a neutral background for the varying colours of her displays. She would have a gilt-framed pier glass, placed in a good position with plenty of light. And some spotlights rigged up — ones that she could direct wherever she needed light. There would be a little antique table with a tasteful flower arrangement, where customers could write cheques in comfort and privacy, and changing cubicles with silver-grey curtains...
‘Well, what do you think of it, lass?’
Bryan had asked the question, but Margaret was laughing. ‘Look at her, she’s well away,’ she said. ‘I bet she’s already got the place furnished and open for business, eh, Grace?’
Grace smiled. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said.
Upstairs, the flat consisted of a large living room with a bay window overlooking the street. There was a kitchen at the rear with a small bathroom leading off it, and Grace noticed that the water for both was heated by a convenient electric heater. A flight of stairs led to two good-sized bedrooms, one of which had a bay window to match the living room below it. A deep window seat filled the recess. Kneeling on this, Elaine looked out. The view looked over the rooftops to the green of Parker’s Piece. Outside the window was a ledge, edged with a tiny wrought iron railing. A pigeon strutted and cooed, its head on one side as it tapped the window with its bill, cocking a bright enquiring eye at Elaine.
‘Can this be my room, please?’ she asked, looking round.
Relief almost overwhelmed Grace. At last the child was coming to terms with it all.
*
After the visit to Cambridge things moved fast. One of the couples who had viewed the house when it was first on the market, suddenly came up with an offer and the sale was quickly put into motion. There was so much to do: at the Stanmore end there was the packing and selling of surplus furniture. Grace was loath to part with the pieces that she and Harry had worked so hard to buy, but some of the larger things had to go. The last of these was the piano. Neither she nor Elaine had mentioned it till now, but Elaine hadn’t touched the instrument since her father’s departure.
‘We could find room for it — just,’ Grace told her doubtfully
. ‘But I’m not taking it to stand idle. Are you going to carry on with your music or not?’
Elaine shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Think about it,’ Grace urged her. ‘Once the piano’s gone there won’t be another chance. And you were doing so well with it.’
Elaine shook her head. ‘Sell it,’ she said. ‘Now Daddy’s gone, it isn’t the same. I don’t want to play any more.’
At the Cambridge end there were shop fittings to buy and install, decoration of both shop and flat — all of which meant several trips up there to choose materials, paper and paint. Then there was the new stock to buy. Styles were changing fast, and on a buying trip to London Grace and Margaret discussed whether they should stick to the traditional or go in for more high fashion at the new shop.
‘Better stick to what we know will sell for the time being,’ Margaret said cautiously. ‘We can always introduce new styles one by one when we get to know the clientele.’
There had also been some discussion between the two of them and Bryan about what the shop should be called. Margaret had wanted ‘Margot’s’ to be exclusive to Stanmore and it had been Bryan who had come up with the answer.
‘Hey, I know — we’ll call it “Style ‘n’ Grace”.’
Both women had stared at him; Grace, her cheeks flushed with surprised pleasure, while Margaret coloured for a very different reason. Bryan took the cigar he was smoking out of his mouth and laughed.
‘You look right gob-smacked, the pair of you,’ he said. ‘Grace has come up with so many good ideas I reckon she deserves to have her name up outside.’ He looked at them. ‘Well, is it a good idea, or isn’t it? I think it’s brilliant.’ And as Bryan was putting up the money for the venture, neither of them argued with him. ‘Style ‘n’ Grace’ it was.
Chapter Six
1966
Wives & Mothers Page 9
