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‘I’ll go and hang these sheets out,’ Lizzie said. ‘Don’t forget to pour me a cup of tea before you take some upstairs to our Henzey and Will.’
When she climbed the stairs carrying the tea tray, Maxine thought she heard her name mentioned. The door to Henzey’s and Will’s bedroom was ajar. She pushed it open gently with her foot.
‘Tea!’ Will Parish exclaimed chirpily, and held the door open for her. ‘Thank the Lord. We thought you’d got lost,’
Maxine placed the tray on the dressing table. ‘Sorry I’ve been so long. Actually, I forgot.’ She uttered a little laugh of self-mockery. ‘Telling Mother about Stephen. Then I had a lecture off her.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So how are you feeling now, Henzey? Tired, I bet.’
‘Tired, but content.’ Henzey ran her fingers through her dark hair and smiled happily. She looked pale but she was entitled to, having just endured childbirth, even though it had not been protracted. Henzey leaned over towards the crib at the side of the bed where the new baby lay. ‘Isn’t he beautiful? Who do you think he’s like, Maxine? D’you think he’s like Will?’
Maxine peered into the crib where the new baby was sleeping. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured indecisively. ‘He’s got your colouring, our Henzey…’
‘But his features are Will’s, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, he looks like himself, Henzey,’ Will protested, half amused at speculation he considered pointless. ‘How can you say who he’s like yet? He hasn’t been born more than a few hours. With a newborn child, I don’t see how you can possibly tell who he’s like. In a week or two you might be able to say. But more often than not, children tend to look like their grandparents.’
‘In that case,’ Henzey declared, ‘he’s bound to be like my father, his hair’s so dark. He was dark, as well, with blue eyes. And tall. Oh, I wish he were here now to see him.’
‘Yes, he’s a bit like our dad, Henzey, now you mention it,’ Maxine conceded, handing a cup and saucer to Henzey.
‘I wish I’d known your father,’ Will said in all sincerity, accepting his cup of tea from Maxine. ‘Thanks, Chick…A real character by all accounts.’
‘A gentleman,’ Henzey uttered nostalgically. ‘Honest and forthright. He used to love to hear Maxine play the piano…Remember, Maxine?’
‘It seems so long ago…’ At the mention of her father Maxine peered out of the window into the back garden, seeking her mother. ‘Mother’s pegging out your sheets, Henzey. I’d better go and help her. It looks freezing out there for April.’
‘Don’t let her stay too long, Maxine. She’s worked hard all day. I don’t know what we’d have done without her.’
‘We’ll just clear up, Henzey. Then we’ll be off. Can I come and see the baby tomorrow? I’d love to hold him. Oh, I’m dying to hold him, Henzey. He’s so beautiful…’
Henzey smiled contentedly. ‘Course you can. Come as soon as you’re ready.’
Maxine’s audition for the City of Birmingham Orchestra fell on 30
April 1936, a Thursday. The large rehearsal room with its high ceiling, its tall, Gothic windows and its sawdusted, woodblock floor, looked and smelled like a school hall. Musical instruments stood or lay haphazardly, unattended, alongside utilitarian metal music stands and the printed scores of Elgar. Leslie Heward, the conductor, asked Maxine some questions about her musical training and she confirmed that she’d spent the last three and a half years at Bantock’s School of Music studying her instrument.
‘Show me what you can do, Miss Kite,’ he said. His demeanour was kindly, maybe to ease her nerves.
‘May I play The Swan from Carnival of the Animals?’
‘Of course. Let me hear it.’ Leslie Heward smiled generously. The Swan was no surprise.
The long hanging notes of a haunting melody, as poignant as a love song, poured from Maxine’s cello like tears. The rich timbre of the instrument, the emotion in her playing, her instinctive grasp of the composition’s spirit, and the visual grace with which she played, all conspired to work positively for her. She was aware of other musicians, including the principal cello, listening intently from the rear of the rehearsal room.
‘That was excellent, Miss Kite. You seem to have a natural empathy with your instrument. I’m impressed.’
‘Thank you, Mr Heward.’ She smiled demurely.
‘What else do you know?’
Maxine had swotted up Dohnànyi’s Konzertstück for cello and orchestra, but Mr Heward heard her play only a part, evidently satisfied already with her ability. He pulled out a volume of music from a pile beside him and asked her to sight read. It was a section from Elgar’s First Symphony. She performed that with expertise too and Maxine knew she had been successful when Mr Heward turned and smiled to one of the musicians sitting at the rear of the hall, who nodded his approval.
‘Congratulations, Miss Kite,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You’ll be receiving official notice to play in all the orchestra’s concerts this season. We’ll be doing Sibelius’s Seventh Symphony soon. Are you familiar with Sibelius’s work?’
‘Some, yes, Mr. Heward.’
‘Excellent. And we’re doing Beethoven’s Fifth, the ‘New World’, Shostakovich’s First, and Tchaikovsky’s Fourth…and lots of Elgar, of course.’ He smiled steadily. ‘Doesn’t scare you, does it?’
Maxine smiled back; her usual shy smile. ‘No, sir, it doesn’t scare me at all.’
‘Splendid! That’s what I like to hear. Thank you, Miss Kite. Rehearsals will start for you here next Monday at ten. I shall look forward to your contribution to the orchestra.’
‘Thank you, Mr Heward,’ she beamed, her delight evident in her eyes that were the colour of her cello. ‘Thank you so much.’
Mr Heward shook her hand and left Maxine to put her cello away while he sought the company and comments of the principal cellist.
While she smiled to herself, so relieved and so pleased that she had got the job she wanted so much, another man, much younger than the conductor, walked up to her. He was in his late twenties she estimated, tall, confident and oh, so good-looking.
‘I think you surprised our lord and master,’ he said amiably, adjusting his fashionable Paisley tie.
Maxine regarded him with interest. ‘Do you think so? How did I manage that, I wonder?’
‘I think he was expecting to hear somebody of average ability. He wasn’t quite prepared for somebody with such a pretty face to play quite so well.’
Maxine felt herself colour up at the compliment. But she was at a loss for a suitable reply, apart from a sadly inadequate ‘thank you’.
‘I’m Brent Shackleton, trombonist in this aspiring orchestra you’ve just joined.’ He held his hand out. ‘Nice to meet you. I really enjoyed listening to you.’
Maxine shook his hand. It was cool, dry and smooth but his grip was lingering. She smiled readily. ‘I’m Maxine Kite. I’m still in a bit of a daze to tell you the truth. I can’t believe I just got into the CBO.’
‘I shouldn’t worry, Maxine. I daresay you’ll soon get used to the idea. Smoke?’ He proffered a silver cigarette case.
‘I don’t, thank you.’
He took one and lit it. ‘I’ve been with this outfit nearly five years now. It keeps me in these…Just about…’ He tapped the cigarette case nonchalantly and she was not sure that she admired his indifference. ‘Where do you live, Maxine? Are you local?’
‘Ladywood,’ she replied, anticipating her new lodging arrangements. ‘With my sister and her husband.’
‘Ladywood? That’s almost walking distance from here, isn’t it?’ He exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
‘It’s very convenient.’ Her cello was back in its case. She closed the lid and picked it up. ‘Well, I’d better be on my way. Nice to meet you, Mr Shackleton.’
‘Call me Brent. It is all right if I call you Maxine, isn’t it?’
She smiled and lingered a moment. There was something appealing about him after all; the way he looked at her. His dark eyes were focused only on her, piercing, making her feel decidedly self-conscious. But not the way Stephen did. Definitely not the way Stephen did.
‘I’ll see you at rehearsals next week, I imagine,’ she said affably.
‘Shall you come to the concert on Sunday evening?’
‘The concert? I could…I suppose I should really, shouldn’t I?’
‘You should. Come and say hello afterwards. I’ll introduce you to some of the team.’
Stephen Hemming was a quiet, practical, but very determined soul. He was twenty-six, unmarried, living at home with his parents and Pansy, his younger sister. Pansy had introduced him to Maxine Kite when the two girls were attending Bantock’s School of Music together. Stephen fell in love with Maxine on sight. He could not resist her. She seemed so vulnerable and he wanted to protect her, especially since he was predisposed to girls like that. But her apparent vulnerability was not her only attractive feature; she was inordinately lovely with lips that for many sleepless nights he yearned to kiss and creamy curved breasts he longed to caress. And her ears were so delicate, translucent, like finest Dresden china…He was mesmerised that her forearms lacked any of the soft down that every other girl seemed to have. Yet, she was totally unaware of her silky sensuousness. It never ceased to astound him how he managed to keep his hands off her. But she did not allow him such liberties.
Stephen loved art, in its broadest sense, and thus anything artistic and creative. So he saw in Maxine’s musical ability a gift that he wished to see flourish. And she arrived in his life at the right time three years ago when he was languishing over a girl to whom he’d been engaged. Maxine certainly diverted his mind from that trauma.
Stephen designed jewellery in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter and he was good. His talent was being sought by several manufacturers since he understood all the manufacturing processes, the techniques and the skill of the people who made the products; and he took account of all this in his designs. He was seriously considering starting his own design house, specifically aimed at serving the abundance of businesses in the area that produced adornments ranging from cheap buttons to creations on a par with the Crown Jewels. His lack of capital, however, was impeding any such progress.
Yet he had made himself afford a car; a 1935 Austin Ten-Four Lichfield. It was bigger than he needed, but it could accommodate Maxine’s cello across the back seat – and that had been the deciding factor. It had set him back one hundred and fifty-two pounds; money he could have used to set up a business. But since he realised he was not extravagantly handsome, owning a car set him apart from other young men and gave him an advantage; in Maxine’s eyes especially, he hoped. Yet, so far, it had done him no good. So far, all that his gallantry had achieved was delivering her, her cello and the rest of her belongings further away from him, to the home of her sister and brother-in-law.
He drove her into Daisy Road in Ladywood and pulled up outside the end of terrace house that was her new home.
‘You can’t imagine how upset I am that you’re leaving us, Maxine,’ he said, making a final attempt to get her to change her mind. ‘The good times, the laughs we’ve had…’
‘It’s not as if I’ve emigrated to Australia, Stephen,’ she replied pragmatically.
‘But you won’t be there when I get home from work, or when I get up in a morning. I’ll miss you, Maxine. I’ll miss you like hell. Pansy will miss you as well. So will my mother and father.’
‘Pansy understands, Stephen. Knowing what it takes to lug my cello about, she appreciates that living here will be far more convenient. Your mother and father understand, too. It’s not as if I’ve upped and left without discussing it. I wouldn’t. And I shall visit them when I can. They’ve been very kind to me while I’ve been lodging there.’
‘Because they love you – like a daughter,’ Stephen commented, trying desperately to invoke greater feelings of guilt in her. ‘But sometimes I get the impression, Maxine, that it’s me you’re trying to get away from.’
‘Oh, I’m not at all,’ she fibbed, affecting indignation, for she was anxious not to hurt his feelings. ‘How can you think that? But seeing each other less often, we might appreciate each other the more. Anyway, thanks for taking the trouble to bring me here. I really appreciate it.’
‘I’ll help you with your things, shall I?’
‘That’s very nice of you, Stephen.’
‘I’ll expect a kiss for my trouble.’
‘And if you don’t get one?’ she asked, half-serious.
‘Then I’ll leave your things at the side of the road.’
Of course, he did not mean it and she smiled to herself as she alighted from the car. She opened the rear door and attempted to get her cello off the back seat herself, knowing full well that he would gently move her out of the way and do it for her. As he did so, with his predictable chivalry, she leaned towards him, gave him a token peck on the cheek and smiled to let him believe she’d been teasing.
‘Is that it? My kiss?’ he queried, his disappointment obvious. ‘Each day that passes they’re rationed the more…So, shall I see you on Saturday night?’
‘Best not this Saturday, Stephen. I’ll have so much to do. But Sunday, if you like. If you feel like going to the CBO concert with me.’
‘Okay, I’ll take you.’
‘Say seven o’ clock. The concert starts at half past. That’ll give us plenty of time. But come in and have a cup of tea now you’ve come this far, Stephen.’
Chapter 2 (#ueb32d124-c031-5f73-b1b4-3a552c7c2770)
That Sunday, Stephen arrived promptly at seven and parked his Austin behind Will’s maroon motor car, a Swallow SSI. He walked up the path and knocked at the door.
Will Parish invited him in. ‘I imagine she’ll be ready in a minute or two, Stephen. Come and wait in the sitting room.’
‘Hello, Stephen,’ Henzey greeted affably, fastening a napkin on the baby who was lying on the settee next to where she was sitting. ‘Sorry if it pongs a bit in here. I’ve just had to change him.’
Stephen spotted a soiled napkin on the floor near Henzey’s feet and tried not to breathe in too deeply lest it offend him. ‘One of the joys of having children,’ he commented.
‘One of the drawbacks. Oh, he’s as good as gold…aren’t you, my little cherub?’ she cooed, slipping the baby’s waterproof pants over his napkin. She lifted him, holding him against her bosom. ‘There…that’s better, isn’t it? Now you feel all nice and comfy again.’
‘Have you decided on a name for him yet?’ Stephen asked conversationally.
Henzey looked at Will for permission to reveal it. He nodded his assent with a smile.
‘Aldo,’ Henzey said.
‘Aldo?’ Stephen queried, uncertain as to how he should react.
‘Well…Aldo Benjamin, really. But we shall call him Aldo.’
Maxine appeared at the sitting room door. She wore a simple dark green dress with a flared skirt, belted at the waist, and carried a black leather handbag that matched her shoes.
‘So, now you know the baby’s name, Stephen.’
‘Yes. It’s, er…’
‘Awful?’ Maxine suggested wryly. ‘Is that the word you’re looking for?’
‘It’s lovely,’ Henzey said, clutching Aldo to her. ‘Isn’t it my little pet? It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful little boy.’
‘It’s a frightful name,’ Maxine countered with a gleam in her eye, and Will chuckled again at the minor controversy this choice of name was causing. She carefully took the child and cradled him in her own arms lovingly while Henzey took the soiled napkin to the scullery. ‘Whatever possessed them, eh?’ she said in baby talk. ‘Fancy calling a lovely little boy like you Aldo, you poor thing. Fancy calling you Aldo when they could have called you something decent, like Robert, or Peter…or David…or even Stephen.’
‘Oh, Even Stephen’s a good one,’ Will mocked good-naturedly. ‘Why don’t we call him Even Stephen?’
‘Because we’ve already got one Even Stephen,’ Maxine answered flippantly.
Stephen felt flattered, hopeful even, that by implication he was one of the family…almost.
Once in the car and on their way, Stephen said: ‘Are they serious about calling the poor child Aldo?’
‘I know. Isn’t it just too awful?’
‘How are you settling in, Maxine? D’you think you’ll be happy? You know you’re more than welcome back at —’
‘It’s nice,’ she interrupted. ‘They haven’t even noticed I’m there yet with the baby to occupy them, and that suits me…Anyway, I’m really looking forward to the concert, aren’t you? It seems ages since I’ve been to a CBO concert.’
‘You went to a couple last year. I took you.’
‘But, like I say, it seems ages ago. I should have gone to more.’
‘Seems like you will in future, doesn’t it?’ He turned to look at her as he changed up a gear. ‘I wonder what they’re playing tonight?’
