Music from Home

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Yes, she agreed, it was definitely something to be proud of.

  “You see, Maria, to be a good businessman you have to be willing to take a risk. But you must weigh up – very carefully – all the pros and cons. And Charlie has done precisely that with every shop before he opened it. He told me that he did his homework on each area and made sure that there were big customers there like hotels and restaurants, hospitals and even convents – all those sorts of places. Then he made sure that his meat was the very best and that his shop was the cleanest. And he never lets his standards down. The way he starts off is the way he keeps going.” He took his gaze off the road to look Maria in the eye for a moment. “That tells me that Charlie is a man who knows his business. And I believe that he will put the same care and attention into Bella Maria – I know he will! He has put the same effort into finding the right horse as he put into his business, so I know it is a safe bet, and I’m honoured that he thinks I’m a suitable partner for it.”

  Maria could hear pride in her father’s voice at being included in this venture. He had always given his heart and soul to Leonardo’s and she felt that maybe it was a good thing that he had something else to take up his interest. So, as she looked back at him, and in spite of all her misgivings, she found herself nodding and smiling as though everything in her world was fine.

  Chapter 3

  When they arrived at their house in St Aiden’s Avenue, Leo accompanied Maria inside as usual to check all was okay. Mrs Lowry had left the place shining, with a warm fire crackling safely behind a fireguard in the sitting room.

  “I won’t be too late tonight,” Leo promised as he headed back out the door after pulling all the blinds down. “And make sure you have all the phone numbers beside you, keep the blinds down and don’t answer the door to anyone.”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “You say that to me every night, Dad. I’m not stupid.”

  “You can’t be too careful. You just never know who could be watching the house and noticing that a young girl is at home on her own.”

  The area they lived in was a good one with much bigger houses than their own, and burglaries were not unheard of. When Maria turned fifteen, she had insisted that Mrs Lowry go home in the evenings, as she felt much too old to have a baby-sitter. After several arguments about it, Leo had furnished her with list of phone numbers – of the restaurant, of people like Mrs Lowry whose phone bill Leo paid as she only needed it to talk to him, of their next-door neighbours, the Coxes, and the number of Father O’Donnell, the Parish Priest from the local Catholic Church, in case of emergencies.

  After she had settled in and was changed into her pyjamas and dressing-gown, Maria curled up in the armchair by the fire, lifted the phone from the Italian marble-topped side table and dialled her friend Stella’s number. It gave only two short rings before it was answered.

  “I was just waiting until Mum went to make the supper, then I was going to ring you,” Stella told her. “She’s in the kitchen. Hang on a second until I close the doors . . .”

  Maria felt a little stir of anticipation as she wondered what news her friend had that she didn’t want to be overheard. She could hear Stella’s footsteps going down the hallway of their big Edwardian house, closing the doors which led into the main reception rooms and the kitchen. Then she heard her friend coming back to the phone.

  “Guess what?” Stella’s voice was low and excited.

  “What? I’ve no idea . . .”

  Her voice went lower still. “Tony rang me.” Stella’s voice was a bare whisper.

  Tony O’Brien was one of the riding instructors at the stables.

  “Did he ring the house?”

  “Yes. Luckily I got to the phone first and I just said it was you.”

  “You’re terrible,” Maria gasped. It annoyed her that her friend lied to her mother so easily and never gave a thought to involving her in the deception. “One of these days you’ll get both of us into trouble.”

  “He’s asked me to go to the pictures on Thursday – tomorrow night. He’s going to speak to Paul Spencer tomorrow morning and arrange a double date for the four of us!”

  “Oh, no! Don’t let Tony ask him! I’d be mortified if he says he doesn’t want to go! Ring Tony back and say you two can just go on your own.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Maria. Everyone knows that Paul fancies you. Tony told me that the first time we were riding together.”

  “I’m not too sure about that. He’s never given me the impression he was going to ask me out. He’s always quiet when we’re together.”

  “It’s just because he’s shy,” Stella said. “Some boys are like that. They just need a bit of a nudge. I bet he’ll jump at the chance of a date with you if it’s all arranged.” There was a sudden pause. “Hold on . . .”

  There was silence on the line then Maria could hear a muffled conversation going on in the background. A minute or so later her friend came back on the phone.

  “My mum drives me completely insane.”

  “What’s wrong?” Maria couldn’t imagine anything ever really being wrong in the Maxwell household. Stella was lucky: she had two ordinary parents, and two younger brothers – Thomas aged twelve and George aged ten – who at times she adored and at other times drove her mad. And although she complained about her mother and father being strict at times, Maria couldn’t see what her problems were. Her father was a solicitor with a busy practice, and her glamorous mother helped out in the office a few afternoons a week. The Maxwells had no money problems and Stella appeared to have everything she wanted, as she was the most fashionable girl in their year.

  “She’s on at me all the time about practising my ballet and studying to make sure I get the grades I need for college. She never lets up. She said I should consider giving up horse-riding until after my exams, but I know she’s only saying it because she doesn’t want me to see Tony.”

  “Have you told her that you’re going on a date with him?”

  “Are you joking? She would have a fit if she knew. She’s seen us talking and joking together at the stables and she said the way I was carrying on it was obvious that I fancied him. She said I was demeaning myself and our family name by having anything to do with a boy like that.”

  Maria’s brow wrinkled. “But most people think Tony’s a nice lad. What’s he ever done that she doesn’t like him?”

  “Maria,” Stella’s voice was now an urgent whisper, “surely you know that my mother is a complete and utter snob? She doesn’t think a riding instructor is a suitable boyfriend for me. She calls him a stableboy! She acts as if we’re landed gentry or something from the Victorian age. She’s told me that she doesn’t want me seeing anyone until I’m old enough to pick the right type.”

  “And who does she think is the right type?”

  “Let me think now . . . Prince Charles might just satisfy her . . . or maybe James Granger because –”

  They both chanted together in whispering voices: “His father is a top consultant!”

  “Oh, my God! Can you imagine it?” Maria said, putting her hand over her mouth.

  The two girls went off into a fit of giggles.

  Then Stella said, “She’s really got a bee in her bonnet about Tony. She’s been going on about him to Dad as well, and I even heard her moaning to her friend Diana on the phone about me. Thank God, Diana is more modern, and I hope will have told her to stop interfering in my life.”

  From what she had just heard, Maria didn’t think there was any chance of her mother stopping interfering as long as Tony was around. “So what are you going to do about the cinema tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll say I’m with you. It’s not really telling a lie – I just won’t mention the fact that Tony and Paul will be there too.”

  “No, Stella,” Maria said in a serious voice, “I’m not going. I really don’t want to go on a date with Paul when he hasn’t even asked me.”

  “Listen,” Stella said, “just answer me this – do you like h
im or not?”

  There was a pause. “You know I do . . . but I want him to ask me.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you! Tony is doing it on his behalf because he’s too shy.”

  “It’s not the same as him asking me properly.”

  “Right, Miss Fussy-pants,” Stella hissed, “I’ll speak to Tony tomorrow and I’ll tell him that Paul has to phone you or you won’t go.”

  “Good – and I’m not being fussy!” Maria laughed to keep things light. Stella would quite happily steam-roll over her if it suited her own agenda, but she wasn’t going to allow it.

  After the phone call Maria went into the kitchen and boiled milk to make a mug of cocoa to have while she was studying. As she walked back into the sitting room, slowly and carefully in case she spilled the hot drink, she had an uneasy feeling and her mind kept flitting back to the conversation with Stella – the part where she had said that her mother didn’t think Tony was good enough for her. She wondered now, if she did actually go on a date with Paul Spencer, what his family would think of her . . .

  It was something she had never considered before. She had always been proud of her father and Leonardo’s. Her father had always instilled in her the belief that it didn’t matter what people had – what mattered was whether they were decent people or not. She had presumed that most families worked on those same values and had thought, from the odd comments that Stella had recently made, that her mother was joking. She wondered now if all her friends’ families thought along the same lines. It was obvious that the Spencers were wealthy – Stella said they were much wealthier than her mum and dad, and Maria knew they were definitely much wealthier than her father. They not only owned the stables but a big farm with hundreds of acres and she had heard Stella’s mother going on about how successful a businessman Paul’s father was, and that he was often on the radio and television commentating when there were big races on. Jane Maxwell said that the Spencers had money coming in from all angles.

  More sensitive to financial things after the racehorse shock, she could now recall a number of conversations where Mrs Maxwell made reference to families being well off and that sort of thing. If what Stella had said was true, it made her now wonder if the Maxwells and the Spencers knew anything about her father. A cold shiver ran through her now. She wondered if they could have heard rumours about his drinking and gambling? Could they have heard about the difficulties he got in when he almost lost Leonardo’s? They had met him on a number of occasions when he dropped her off at the stables and he always had a friendly word with whichever of the staff were on duty and she had always thought that they all liked him. But maybe that was because he was paying for riding lessons for her. Going out with the Spencers’ son might be a whole different matter.

  She settled down with her cocoa and her schoolbooks and tried to push the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. But every so often, try as she did to ignore them, they came flooding back. This sudden new feeling of people judging her intensified the anxiety she already felt about her father and Bella Maria.

  Around ten o’clock she gave up trying to concentrate and closed her books, hoping she would wake up early and have time to look over her notes again in the morning. She went upstairs to her bedroom and was grateful to slip in between the fleecy sheets warmed by the electric blanket that Mrs Lowry had switched on for her earlier. She read a magazine for a while then she turned her bedside lamp off. As always, she kept the landing light on and a small night-light in the corner of her room.

  She lay for a while in the dim light, trying not to think of the situation with Paul Spencer. There was no point, she reasoned, in worrying what the Spencers would think if they started dating. Even though she was sure he liked her, there was a definite shyness to him, and there was no guarantee that he would agree to join them at the cinema.

  She would just have to wait until tomorrow to find out what was going to happen.

  She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. She was sure that tomorrow was going to be an absolutely awful day, with exam questions she didn’t know the answers to followed by complete humiliation when Paul Spencer turned her down.

  Chapter 4

  Diana Freeman stood in front of her open mahogany wardrobe in her satin nightdress, unable to decide what to wear. Then she went barefoot across the floor to look out of the tall sashed window of her Edwardian semi-detached once again. As she stood, she raked her fingers through her damp auburn hair to separate the ringlets, so that it would dry straight.

  She thought how choosing clothes was becoming increasingly difficult. Especially in the last few years when the fashions had changed so dramatically and become much more casual. She couldn’t decide whether – at thirty-eight years old – she should now be moving into a more formal style of dressing, or whether she could still get away with following some of the latest fashions.

  And of course she had to consider the impression it gave to her customers. If she dressed too young it might put off some of the older ladies, and if she dressed too old the younger women would automatically assume the shop was too old-fashioned for them.

  It was the same dilemma when ordering stock for the two businesses she owned – La Femmein Didsbury, near where she lived, and her second shop, Gladrags, in Heaton Moor which she had opened three years ago. The problem was deciding which way she wanted her businesses to go. The tried and tested ladies’ shop was still working for her established customers, but the bigger chain stores and boutiques were now luring away less dedicated customers with their bright and brave shorter skirts, trouser suits, and tights in every colour and design.

  When she first opened La Femmein the early sixties, it had started off as more of an accessories shop with hats and gloves and fancy umbrellas, and basic stock such as dressing-gowns, nighties, petticoats, stockings and suspenders. Gradually, as her business grew, she broadened out into selling blouses and ladies’ cardigans and then suddenly her wholesalers were offering her a whole new range of clothing that she hardly recognised. Formal hats were apparently only being worn for weddings and functions now and were being replaced with jaunty caps and the more practical tights were the preferred legwear for women of all ages and had now overtaken stockings and suspenders. Every time Diana checked with her suppliers, they told her that there was a revolution going on in the clothing industry and, if she wanted to keep ahead in business, she would have to stock what the modern woman wanted.

  She rifled through the hangers in her wardrobe now and decided on a sleeveless geometric-print dress in shades of pinks and blues with a three-quarter-length belted blue jacket. It was suitable, she thought, for getting in and out of the car and if the jacket was too warm in the shop, she could change into one of the cardigans she kept there. She laid the dress and jacket on the bed alongside her little pile of fresh underwear and tights and then went over to the dressing-table to finish drying and straightening her shoulder-length hair.

  As she sat at the mirror she wondered again if she should have her hair cut shorter. Was thirty-eight too old for long hair? She had read numerous articles that said that after a certain age women should have their hair shorter and lighter in colour. She had always felt that longer hair suited her and had serious doubts about having it chopped off and, when she discussed it with her hairdresser Valerie, she had assured her that both the length and the brownish-red colour were still perfect. Apart from a subtle rinse every few weeks to tone in the few grey hairs that had started appearing, she said that Diana would easily get another five years out of her colour or style without worrying about it.

  Later, when she was dressed and sitting at the mirror brushing on brown mascara to accentuate her green eyes, Diana wondered at the effort she expended on both her appearance and her work. Between the two shops she often worked six days of the week and, while she had staff helping in both places, she was the one who filled in if anyone was sick or on holiday. But what else was she supposed to do to fill her time? It wasn’t as th
ough she had a husband or family.

  She was downstairs in the hallway, just lifting her handbag, when the phone rang. It was Jane Maxwell.

  “Hi, Diana – I won’t keep you chatting as I know you’ll be heading to work. Just checking if you managed to order those charcoal slacks for me and the lace tights for Stella?”

  “Hi, Jane – yes, they both arrived late yesterday afternoon in the Didsbury order. I was going to give you a call from the shop this morning when I picked them up. I’m going in there first today and I’ll bring them over to Gladragswith me after lunch.”

  “You’re a star!” Jane said. “I can always rely on you.” She paused. “How did the weekend in London go?”

  “The show was great, and I enjoyed catching up with my friends.”

  “And – any suitable husband material in the big smoke? Did anyone catch your eye?”

  Diana rolled her eyes and gave an inward sigh. “No, and I wasn’t looking for anyone. It was my friend’s husband’s fortieth birthday.”

  “You never know the time and the place when you could meet Mr Right.”

  She wished now she had never confided her interest in meeting someone to Jane Maxwell. But she was in a difficult spot with Jane having become a friend as well as one of her best customers. She had been a loyal customer when Diana had her first shop in Didsbury and had been the person who told her when the shop came up for sale near the Maxwells’ house in Heaton Moor. She had also helped with an opening night and encouraged all her local friends to shop in Gladrags rather than travel into the shops in Stockport or Manchester.

  “I did tell you about that magazine article I read, where it said that older people meet their husbands and wives through friends, golf or joining nightclasses?”

  “Yes, I think you mentioned it a few times recently . . .”