by Connie Monk
‘I will if I can, you know that. They’re very young to be thrown out of the nest.’
‘When I was a child I longed to go to boarding school, but it was beyond Dad’s budget. But you boarded when you were even younger than they are, and you’ve never doubted how lucky you were with the chances your schooling gave you. It’s one of the advantages of their having such a high earner for a father.’
Just for a moment they had broken through the barrier that held them apart.
‘How about we drive down to Deremouth this morning and rent a boat for the day, or at least until we pick them up at four o’clock,’ he suggested with the smile she had never been able to resist. This time his magic had lost its power; she was hurt and angry that he had cared so little that he ignored that she’d told him she must practise two or three hours a day. ‘We could do with some sea air. Get your anorak and we could be on the water before eleven o’clock.’
‘I can’t, Peter. Don’t you listen to anything I tell you? I can’t waste my time on the water, even though it would be lovely on a day like this. I told you, I must work at it. All right, I may not be the standard Derek Masters needs, but I’m not going to make a complete fool of myself.’
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
‘As you like,’ he said, his tone icy.
She watched him, disappointed and hurt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Then as an afterthought, she added, ‘Why don’t you ring Celia? Jacques will be here soon and after that she’ll not be free to take a day out. I’ll tell you what, while you’re talking to her I’ll find some food to throw into the hamper and a bottle of something. How would that be?’
‘Sounds pretty good. I’ll give her a call.’ And from the eager way he picked up the phone and started to dial, she knew his good humour had been restored. She ought to have been pleased; after all, to know he could enjoy a day out gave her the freedom she needed. But as she set about preparing the hamper she felt let down. A quarter of an hour later as she closed the gate after him she glanced towards the house and felt a drop in her spirits. Imagine being on the sea, the purr of the engine as they were taken far from the shore, then cutting it and letting the boat drift, riding the gentle waves … just Peter and her.
They had done that one summer day just before the twins had started school and had been ‘borrowed’ for a few days by her parents. For Peter and her there had been no one in all the world but themselves. Far out to sea, beyond the sight of even anyone with binoculars, naked they had dived overboard. The water had been bitingly cold but they had played like water babies enjoying the freedom for a few short moments. He had been the first to clamber back aboard, then turned to help her. Dripping and shivering, despite the heatwave, they had dried themselves vigorously, grateful for the warmth of the sun. Suddenly they hadn’t been cold any longer. Instead, instinct had made them glance around at the sea, such an empty sea, not even a gull to be interested in them …
Standing outside the front of the house Zina let her thoughts carry her back to that perfect day. There had been no other way for them but to make love. The glorious warmth of the high midday sun had been a backdrop like no other, the gentle rise and fall of the boat was a natural movement they had to obey, the very hardness of the wooden deck added to their fast-rising passion. Normally, lying on a soft bed they instinctively held back as long as possible from coming to a climax, but on that early summer day there had been no holding back for either of them as together they’d followed where nature led.
Caught up in remembering that moment, she found herself standing alone in front of the house, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open, her arms folded in front of her and, without being conscious of what she was doing, firmly holding on to her breasts. Opening her eyes she was aware of what the memory was doing to her.
‘Peter,’ she whispered, ‘oh Peter, what’s happening to us? I ought to have gone with you. It would have been like last time, better than last because we know, surely we know, there is nothing more important than what we are to each other.’
But she hadn’t gone and as she went upstairs to the music room there was no lightness in her step. But Zina was never one to give way to mood swings, as anyone watching her would have known from the way she crossed the floor and took up her fiddle. The haunting memory of yesteryear was pushed from her mind and soon she thought of nothing but the music she was making.
More than two hours later she went downstairs to get herself some lunch and that’s when, as the coffee hissed its way down the funnel of the percolator, Jenny arrived.
‘Mum! Nice treat. You can join me in my miserable bread and cheese. Coffee’s just ready.’
‘I didn’t come before, I knew you would be practising. So I waited all the morning until I decided it was time you had a break.’
‘How did you know?’
‘That you’d be playing? It didn’t take much guessing,’ Jenny answered, taking the cups and saucers from the dresser. ‘Peter saw me in the village as he was on his way to Deremouth to hire a boat. He was just coming out of Osborn’s with a punnet of none-too-ripe looking strawberries. He said you’d opted out of a day on the water as you had things to do. And I knew there was only one thing that would have kept you at home. Is he all right about it? No, don’t tell me. It’s not my business. If he’s accepted like the sensible man I hope he is, then there’s nothing to worry about. If he hasn’t, then it’s just between the two of you and better kept that way. What are your chances, do you think?’
‘I’m probably so far removed from the professional world that I can’t judge. I’m smugly pleased, but then after one lesson that’s how one feels with a scale played in tune. Was Peter all right? Had Celia gone with him?’
‘Yes, she was in the car. Any other woman and I might have looked askance at their going off for the day together.’ Then with a laugh which, despite her words, held no malice, she added, ‘But no man’s going to get tempted off the straight and narrow by Celia Turnbull. You never saw anything so unsuitable for a day on a boat. I bet she wears her husband’s clothes. But she’s delightful – and take off the scarecrow outfit and smarten her up, my guess would be that she’s an attractive woman. Why do folk do it, and so often the ones nature has treated kindly?’
Zina smiled, imagining her friend. ‘The first time I met her that was how I felt, but honestly, Mum, I don’t even think about it now, any more than it has occurred to me what she could look like if she had a good haircut and some decent clothes. She can’t be hard up.’
‘If she were, you may be sure she’d conform the same as we lesser mortals. Lovely coffee, dear. It always is in this house. That bread smells too good to refuse, so I’ll take up your invitation. Then I’ll get out of your hair, I know you want to make the most of your time. I’ll pick the children up from school, if you like.’
Between mother and daughter there was always an easy relationship and yet it didn’t even enter Zina’s head to talk about Peter’s ‘pig-headed attitude’. When the makeshift snack was done and Zina had stacked the crockery in the dishwasher, her mother stood up to go. She viewed herself in the mirror, an unlikely addition in most kitchens but not in that of the Marchands. Turning her head first one way and then the other, lightly retouching her mouth with lipstick and generally making sure she was ready for her weekly appointment with the hairdresser, or more likely simply out of habit, she said in a voice that was carefully casual, ‘I know you want to get back to your music, so I’m off now. You’ll have had a good many hours today. If I were you, I’d see to it that I’d fall in with any plans of Peter’s for tomorrow. I won’t stop when I bring the children home. This evening is Camera Club.’ Her smile was bright, over-bright perhaps to cover up the sudden mockery of her innermost thoughts: ‘Photography! Since when have you cared about photography?’ With the smile firmly on her face she pecked Zina’s cheek and went out through the back door.
Going back up the stairs Zina recalled her mother’s advice. Yes, she was right, of course. Tod
ay she would have had many hours alone to practise; tomorrow she would give to Peter.
But when tomorrow came, Peter had already made other plans.
‘Any ideas for today?’ she asked him in a bright voice when she came back from driving Fiona and Tommy to school. ‘Shall we go somewhere or potter in the garden? Tim Briggs doesn’t come in today so we would have it to ourselves.’
‘Actually I’m tied up. I’m picking Celia up at ten and driving her to collect Jacques. The decorator worked late the evening before last to get it done, and yesterday evening she was having a final check that there were no stumbling blocks to trip him. Poor devil, I can think of nothing worse. He’s keen to get settled down here.’
‘That’s kind of you.’ She made sure she sounded as if she meant it.
‘Kind to whom? Them or myself? I dare say it’s better for her to be able to concentrate on him on the drive home rather than peer at the road ahead, and for me it’s certainly better to have company than be cast aside for a violin. I didn’t realize when I suggested it that you were going to make yourself available. However, she jumped at the offer. Imagine what it must be like for the poor chap. If she isn’t driving she will be better company for him. I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.’
‘Yes, of course. So have I.’ So why couldn’t she let herself suggest that she went too?
For her it turned into another long day with her music.
And so July pushed June into history and the day came when she drove to Deremouth with her fiddle case on the back seat of the car. It took more willpower than she’d known she possessed to walk firmly up the steps of the town hall where rehearsal was to take place for the evening concert.
In her mind she had imagined that if she were successful she would be replacing someone young, someone much as she had been when her own short career had come to an end. Emily Cornhill was very different from the girl Zina had expected. Perhaps she was younger than she looked, but first impression was of a woman well in her forties and disgruntled with life. Having introduced them, Derek Masters left them to get acquainted. It was immediately clear that Emily looked on whoever took her place as an interloper.
‘You haven’t played professionally, I believe,’ she said as Derek left them. ‘Well, you’ll find it very different from entertaining a few friends at home.’
Zina wanted to reply in the same vein, but she reminded herself how she would feel if she were in this woman’s position. Perhaps Emily had a grown-up family and this ‘afterthought’ had caught her when she imagined she was safely beyond childbearing.
Despite the lack of welcome Zina made herself smile as she answered, ‘I know. Perhaps there are other violinists to be heard before Mr Masters makes a decision.’
‘Oh no. His mind is already made up.’ Then with a change of tone and dropping something of her hostile manner, she said, ‘When he came back from hearing you play at some charity concert he was full of praise for you. Well, it stands to reason he was, that he could have written to you suggesting you should come here today to sit in my seat.’
‘Put like that it sounds as if I’m trying to usurp your place. Perhaps he only wants someone until you feel ready to return?’
‘With a baby? You have children, he told us so. But I suppose with a husband who is the hearthrob of the silver screen you have a nursemaid.’
Zina’s friendly manner was clearly wasted on Emily Cornhill. She surprised herself that instead of feeling annoyed at it, she was sorry for the woman.
‘I have twins, a boy and a girl. But they are off to boarding school in September and I have a mother close by. Anyway, Mr Masters can’t have made his mind up. I’ve not played in a piano quintet since I left college.’
‘Oh, he’s made his mind up all right. Very taken with you, he was. Well, I’d better introduce you to the rest of us – not us for much longer, I am leaving after the recital in Bristol on the seventh of September.’
Derek Masters watched from the sidelines as they became acquainted. Gradually Zina’s nervousness subsided. It was clear that the only one to show her anything but a warm welcome was Emily whose hostile attitude extended to all of them. At precisely eleven o’clock Derek moved to take his seat at the piano and, carrying their instruments and leaving grim-faced Emily, Zina and the other three followed. Zina’s heart was pounding, silently she pleaded that she would acquit herself well – and then the music started and she forgot everything else. Her mouth softened into a hint of a smile of its own accord as she followed the music, beating time silently, and feeling herself transported by the glory of being part of the sound. She forgot Peter, she forgot the twins and her mother; there was nothing but this. She didn’t even question to herself whether her playing was up to the standard of the others, for her anything outside the perfect timing and the purity of sound had no meaning.
By half past twelve it was over and she was putting her fiddle back in its case.
‘I knew you wouldn’t fail,’ she heard Derek’s voice close behind her.
‘I’ll do?’
‘You’ll more than do,’ he answered. ‘Let’s sit down over here while we discuss what’s involved. You will have time at home, we only give a recital every week or so, then of course there is rehearsal time. We like to think of ourselves as a West Country quintet and although we occasionally do play further afield, you’ll find that most of our recitals are within travelling distance of your home. Then, not very frequently, there are recording sessions. Our first recital after Emily leaves will be the seventeenth of September. From what I saw this morning you need no more rehearsal time than anyone else, but as it will be your first performance with us let’s say we meet in our rehearsal room on the fifteenth at eleven o’clock. We rehearse at my apartment just outside Bristol. I’ll give you a card with my address. Now, it’s time to discuss remuneration.’
By one o’clock she was driving home, her two lives overlapping as she covered the miles. If only Peter could be happy for her, perhaps even get involved when he had a chance. But at the thought a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Just imagine him becoming enthusiastic and knowledgeable about chamber music!
To her surprise he was in the garden, looking for weeds to pull up when she arrived.
‘Glad you’re home,’ he greeted her, opening the car door and holding out his hand to help her out. ‘Was it rough, love? I’ve been worrying about you all the morning.’
She had a flash of conscience as she realized that once the music started she had given no thought at all to home or family.
‘I was nervous when I got there, but not once we started playing. It was like stepping right outside myself, playing and hearing not just the sound of my own violin but the whole perfect … perfect harmony …’ Lost for words she looked at him helplessly, trying to will him to understand even though she sensed his withdrawal. ‘It must be like that for you too, when you play a part with other people you must become the character. Is that so different?’
There was no answering warmth in his expression as he shrugged his shoulders and answered, ‘It doesn’t take me over as your morning seems to have done to you. I wonder you could have given up so easily when the twins were coming.’
‘I didn’t give up easily, but I had to prioritize and you and our marriage came above everything. It always will.’
Instead of answering he raised one eyebrow in that unique way she had seen in the characters he played on the screen. Was his reaction genuine or was he overplaying his role? Half an hour ago she had been riding on a cloud of happiness, but he had the power to pull her down to earth with a painful crash.
‘So am I to assume you intend to be part of this band of travelling musicians? What is it you want that I can’t give you, Zina? What more can I do?’
‘Just remember that you married a violinist, not a housekeeper.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I was happy for you to give recitals in our early days, it brought us in money that we needed and I wa
s proud that you could do it.’
‘Proud of what? That I could supplement the housekeeping bill or that I could make music?’ She held his gaze waiting for a truthful answer.
‘You know I don’t go for your kind of music, I’d be a hypocrite if I pretended I did. I was proud that people paid good money to come and listen to you.’ With a smile that took away all her anger, he added, ‘More money than they paid to see my rep company at work. But Zee,’ he said, shortening her name as no one else ever did, ‘we don’t need money. We’re doing fine. And what if one of the children gets sent home from school for some reason, or if there are events at St Mary’s for parents to attend?’
All this time they had been standing by the car, the driver’s door still open. Now she turned to slam it shut.
‘Do you think I haven’t considered the children? Of course I have. But they are very wise for their years and they understand that you have to be away a lot – far more than I shall be. And I don’t think they are stupid enough to imagine that playing in a quintet is less important than standing around all day on a film set, or repeating a few lines time and time again like you have to.’
Seeing his sudden change of expression and his look of a sulky child who can’t get his own way, she couldn’t suppress her chuckle.
‘Oh come on, you old grouch, look on the bright side,’ she urged. ‘I wasn’t as bad as you kept telling me I would be and – and – Peter, I wish I could make you understand, it was pure magic.’
Of course, she shouldn’t have said it; she realized that as soon as she’d spoken, but it was too late to bring back her words.
‘I’m sorry you have to look elsewhere to find magic,’ he said, his voice cold and expressionless.
It was too much for Zina. She started to laugh, putting her arms around his neck and raising her head so that her lips teased his.
‘There’s magic and there’s magic,’ she whispered. ‘Our variety is quite different.’
And she was held tightly against him, so tightly she felt she could scarcely breathe.
