Anne Mather - Legacy Of The Past

The flat was on the first floor, and as she opened the door and entered the small hallway, she called:

‘Diana! Are you home?’

There was no reply, so she closed the door and removed her coat. The living-room opened off the hallway. It was a large room with plain distempered walls which Madeline had ornamented with several plaques. The wall-to-wall carpeting, which had taken a lot of saving for, was sapphire blue, while the three-piece suite was white leather hung with dark blue fringed chair-backs. The heating was all electric, unfortunately, for Madeline preferred an open fire in at least one room. She now turned up the valve which operated the radiators, for although the room was warm compared to the cold air outside it was by no means comfortably so. The room had a homely, lived-in atmosphere. A china cabinet contained her few pieces of really good china and glass and the rest of the space was filled with bookshelves, well filled with novels, a television, and Diana’s pick-up which stood on a table in an alcove with a stack of ‘pop’ records beside it.

Madeline lit a cigarette and turned on the television. She had shopped at lunchtime and the chops she had bought for their dinner would not take much cooking.

Carrying her shopping bag through to the kitchen which opened off the lounge and was very tiny, she unpacked the food and put on the kettle. Then she returned to the lounge. It was nearly six, so Diana ought not to be long.

She walked into the bedroom which she and Diana shared. There was only one bedroom with a small bathroom and closet adjoining it. The flats were really only intended for one person, but as the two-bedroomed flats had been two pounds more a week, Madeline had had to content herself with the single bedroom. She did not mind for herself, but Diana was getting to an age when she objected to not having a room of her own. However, when they arrived in Otterbury after Joe’s death, Madeline had been grateful enough of a place of their own.

She stripped off her jersey dress and went into the bathroom to wash and brush her teeth. As she did so, she found herself wondering what the man in the car had really thought about her. She had found him immensely attractive, but then any woman would. She wondered how old he was. He had only looked to be in his early thirties and as she herself was thirty-three, he was probably about her age.

Brushing her hair, which when loosed from the French knot she usually wore it in fell to her shoulders, she wondered how old he had taken her for. She knew she did not really look her age. Adrian Sinclair was incessantly telling her that she looked more like Diana’s sister than her mother, but Adrian wanted to marry her and that was his way.

Of course, Diana grumbled sometimes too, that Madeline wore clothes which were not in keeping with her position as the headmaster’s secretary, and a respectable widow, but again, Diana was old-fashioned in some ways. She supposed that was due in some measure to Joe’s influence.

Critically, she decided that her eyes were her best feature, greenish-grey with tawny lights and her hair was silky-soft and the colour of rich amber. She was tall; too tall, she always thought, although at least she was nicely rounded and not angular. All in all, she reflected, she was an average, presentable female, but certainly not outstanding in any way.

Now the man, she sighed, he had been outstanding, in every way. She felt sure that dozens of women must have thought so too. After all, in his income bracket, if women were rather dull or drab, their beauty parlour, hair-stylist and plastic surgeon could soon remedy that. From the rather world-weary cynicism she had seen round his eyes and his mouth, he was all too bored with his life and well aware of his own magnetism.

Madeline grimaced at herself in the mirror, amused at her own thoughts. Good heavens, she was behaving like a child, simply because she had happened to meet a man who without question was way out of her sphere!

She slipped her arms into a quilted housecoat and as she buttoned it she pushed all thoughts of the man out of her mind. No matter how she felt, Diana was always her first consideration. Poor Diana, who after all had never really recovered from the shock of losing Joe when she was just seven years old.

As she merged from the bedroom, a key in the lock heralded the arrival of her daughter. Diana breezed in cheerfully enough, a slender, younger edition of Madeline except that her hair was dark brown. Diana was sixteen, and at the commercial college in Otterbury. She was often late home at present as the college was rehearsing for its end of term play and Diana had a starring role. They were performing a play written by another of the students and it was to be staged in the college hall with the proceeds going to local charities.

Diana was not as tall as Madeline and wore her hair fashionably long. Dressed in a dark grey duffel coat and swinging a tartan bag, she was a typical teenager.

‘Hello, Mum,’ she greeted Madeline, flinging her bag on to a chair, ‘Isn’t it cold tonight? I’m freezing!’

Madeline nodded. ‘Yes, it’s not much like spring,’ she agreed. ‘Did you have a good rehearsal?’

‘So-so,’ replied Diana, indifferently. ‘Miss Hawkes always tries to run the affair like a military tattoo, but apart from that it was all right. It seems such an uproar I’m sure it will never come right.’

Madeline chuckled. ‘It will on the night, I’m sure. Never mind, it will soon be over. Term ends in three weeks, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, thank goodness. Gosh, then we’ll have two whole weeks with nothing to do! It will be glorious!’

Madeline smiled and went into the kitchen. As she prepared the vegetables and put the chops under the grill she decided not to say anything to Diana about falling off the scooter. After all, no harm had been done and Diana often said that Madeline ought to use the bus during peak traffic hours. Diana was a little possessive about her mother at times, probably due to the fact that she was her only relative, and Madeline did not want to cause her any more worry.

They had their dinner in the lounge. One end had been converted into a dining recess by the addition of a velvet curtain, shielding the table from view. Diana set the table while Madeline dished up the meal and they sat together afterwards, idly watching the television while Madeline had a cigarette with her coffee.

‘Shall I wash up?’ asked Diana, stretching lazily. ‘Is Uncle Adrian coming round tonight?’

‘I think Adrian’s coming and I should be grateful if you would do the washing up. I want to change into something more suitable.’

Diana smiled and rose to her feet and Madeline looked at her queryingly.

‘Are … are you going out tonight?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Why, yes. Jeff asked me to go to the Seventies Club.’

‘Oh!’ Madeline nodded.

‘Do you mind?’

Madeline ran a tongue over her lips. ‘No. No. Why should I?’

‘No reason, but I’ve noticed you don’t really enthuse about my going out with him.’

Madeline half-smiled. ‘I’m sorry, darling. Of course you must go.’

Diana shrugged. ‘Well, it’s something to do,’ she said lightly.

‘Yes. Besides, Adrian will probably be round later. He said he had some marking to do, but I guess he’ll find time,’ Madeline smiled wryly.

‘He always finds time for you,’ murmured Diana slyly.

Madeline compressed her lips. ‘Yes, that may be so. But that means nothing, Diana, absolutely nothing.’

Diana shrugged regretfully and began carrying the dishes through to the kitchen. Madeline stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and walked through to the bedroom. She was becoming a little tired of Diana’s insinuations about herself and Adrian. Truthfully they were insinuations based on fact, but Madeline had no wish to make insinuations reality.

As she dressed in dark blue stretch slacks and an Italian silk over-blouse, she found herself wishing, not for the first time, that Joe was still alive. Diana was growing up now and becoming quite a responsibility in many ways. Also, she had worshipped Joe and he had adored her. He had been a bachelor for so many years before he married Madeline and he had found Diana utterly irresistible. Madeline wondered now whether her marrying Joe had precipitated his condition. He had certainly had more responsibilities and had worked hard in the years following their wedding. But his illness had been incurable, and the doctors had told her numerous times that she had made his last years happy ones.

She decided to leave her hair loose and emerged from the bedroom looking youthfully attractive. Diana was touching up her make-up with a deft hand. She wore only dark eyeshadow and lipstick, her olive skin not requiring any further cosmetic.

She looked critically over her shoulder at her mother.

‘Does Uncle Adrian approve of slacks?’ she asked pointedly.

Madeline looked amused. ‘I can hardly see how it matters,’ she answered lightly. ‘I’m wearing them, not Uncle Adrian.’

‘I know, but honestly, Mum, you’ll probably marry him one day and then you really will have to dress more in keeping with your position.’

‘My dear Diana, I have no intention of marrying Uncle Adrian. I’ve told him, and incidentally you, so a hundred times. Heavens, I’m thirty-three, not fifty-three, and although I’m sure it seems a great age to you, I don’t intend taking to my rocking chair yet.’

Diana frowned. ‘Uncle Adrian is no older than Daddy, would have been had he—’ She halted.

‘Oh, darling, I know. But that was different.’

‘How?’

Madeline glanced at her watch. ‘Isn’t it time you were going?’

Her daughter shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Okay, suit yourself.’ She pulled on the duffel coat. ‘I’ll go, then.’

‘All right, darling. Look after yourself.’

Diana kissed her mother’s cheek and whirled out of the flat. Madeline walked into the kitchen. Evidences of Diana’s hasty washing-up session were to be found on the floor which was almost swimming with water. The dish-mop was soaking and causing a wet stain to trickle over the window ledge and down the tiles to the sink.

Madeline squeezed out the dish-mop and taking the large mop she soaked up the water from the floor, wiping clean the parquet flooring. Then she put away the dishes which Diana had left on the bench, and returned to the lounge.

She had just settled herself in front of the television when the door bell pealed.

Lazily, she rose to her feet and padded to the door. Opening it, she found Adrian Sinclair waiting to be admitted.

Adrian was a tall lean man in his early fifties. Twenty years older than Madeline and a bachelor, he found his secretary utterly charming and desirable and all his hitherto undisturbed feelings were being violently churned by her apparent lack of romantic interest in him. Frankly, Madeline wondered what it was about her that appealed to older men. She found Adrian intellectually stimulating but emotionally cold, and marriages were not built on intellect alone. He made no headway in any other direction with her.

‘Come in, Adrian,’ she said, smiling now. ‘Is it still as cold?’

‘Colder,’ remarked Adrian, coming in and loosening his overcoat. ‘Hmm. This is a cosy room, Madeline. I always feel at home here.’

‘Good. I’m pleased.’ Madeline closed the door and relieved him of his coat before following him across the room. ‘Do you want a drink before I sit down?’

‘Thank you. I’ll have a small whisky.’

Adrian seated himself on the couch in front of the television where Madeline had been seated before his arrival and after pouring the drink, Madeline joined him.