It was a lazy Bank Holiday Monday morning when John was up early and seated at the long dining table at the digs. The word was a misnomer as his suite of rooms were in the style of a scaled down old fashioned hotel dining room in its quietly elegant style. The morning sunshine shone brightly into the room adding to the flavour of well being. It wasn't the only reason, as he sipped his morning tea, having lazily finished the last of his cooked breakfast. Joe Channing's very unexpected but gratifying and praiseworthy stand in giving Vera Everard her marching orders was one reason for good news. More important was the flying visit by his beloved daughter, Charlie who had zoomed down yesterday before she was due to zoom back to studentland later that day.
Typically, all there was to show of her was a huddled shape under a duvet in the spare room where she was sure to be for the next few hours. It gave him time before she woke, to read the morning copy of the Guardian and to lazily study the papers for the next trial. That was part of what being a student was like, that temporary detachment from the world of having your nose to the grindstone for the next forty years or so. At that age, you never think it would happen to you and he made the most of this pleasantly agreeable gap in his life. She was approaching the end of her time at bar school. While her studies were teaching her the rudiments of what it was to be like; locked horns in a court of law, the world of academia still exerted a strong pull.
A shuffling sound announced the gradual arrival of a slim girl with a mop of frizzy brown hair that sprang out from all sides of a thin face with a prominent nose whose eyes lit up at the sight of her father. His greying, distinguished appearance was turned away from her and was perhaps too strong a definition as to what manhood was all about for her own good.
"I expected you down later, Charlie," John's humourous voice greeted her. He was not one for petty rules as was his public reputation, least of all to his daughter. Unspoken expectations sufficed for her to be aware of what essential expectations that he had of her. As she grew older, it became easier for life to flow effortlessly by that way.
"I'm a carefree student. What else did you expect?" She answered with a spread armed gesture. "Besides I feel comfortable here so that I know that there will be no dawn call, no ring of the gong."
John smiled at the fulsome praise, lapping it up like a cat laps up milk. Being a semi lone parent who had had the major part of bringing up Charlie after he separated from George, he was more than averagely receptive to praise in comparison with conventional fathers.
"Do you want some breakfast? I can easily order you some."
"Not after that super meal you took me out to last night. I do have to watch my weight you know."
John supposed that it was a universal rule of female teenagers especially to have a mild neurosis about putting on weight. Charlie inherited the spare build of her mother George and, logically speaking, should have no worries in that direction. However, he was sure that the current range of female magazines did nothing to arrest this tendency, in fact quite the opposite.
"Coffee?"
"Anything to prop my eyes open," Charlie said eagerly, reaching for the carved silver coffee urn.
"I was wondering if I'd be seeing much of you for the next month or so," John enquired rather too casually.
"I don't know. I've still got some work to do before I break up. I've also got places to see friends to visit. You know how it is," Charlie finished, flashing that carefree smile at him.
"I was only enquiring casually as there is an event coming up which I'm involved with. I was wondering if you would be able to find time for. It's a classical performance."
John edged his way very guardedly into a matter that had caused him some concern for some time. It was his dearest wish to see Charlie to see the performance of "The Creation." A major reason for this was that Charlie could see a side of her mother that she had never known of, something in which he had a real disinterested pride and that was George's superlative talent as a singer. He was content that his own presence in the performance would be as modestly understated as would appear to any casual spectator. Hopefully it would melt the coldness between Charlie and George. For once in his life, he was pursuing a personal matter in which he was as utterly disinterested as any decision as a judge to seek right injustice. It had emerged from the back of his mind when Vera Everard's discordant presence in the chorus was thankfully dispensed with.
"You mean the quintet that you occasionally play with. It's not really my scene but I might be interested. You never know."
Charlie's very casual attitude started to make John nervous as he could never quite gauge if Charlie was not really interested but didn't want to be brutal about it or really was interested but some obscure idea of "cool" made her sound less interested than she really was. He sipped the remaining dregs of his morning cup of tea and, catlike, trod the next step very gingerly.
"It's a bit more than that. I shall be performing in a full orchestra. Violins, cellos, violas, harpsichord, timpanies, woodwind, trumpets, singers, the lot."
"Wow," Charlie exclaimed. "You make it sound like the Last Night of the Proms." Her enthusiasm was fully engaged and John's ringing words captured the majesty of the occasion. It looked good on television when she had occasionally watched it but dad was surely not proposing to hire the Albert Hall, was he? You never knew with him what he might come up with.
"Not quite. The piece is Haydn's "Creation" which, as is fitting for a biblical theme, will be held in a rather large and delightful local church.
"Who's taking part in it. Is there anyone famous?"
"In the realm of classical music, hardly. It is an amateur performance and the musicians are drawn from the brethren, even from the more odious members of the Lord Chancellor's Department. However, I should not be churlish, as Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James have shown more musical talent that I supposed that they ever possessed. Their capacity for spiteful intrigue has, regrettably, not disappeared."
"Who else is appearing at the concert. You know how I feel about classical music, dad, but hey, it's never too late to be interested."
Charlie seemed really interested. There was no attempt to disguise her enthusiasm for the idea. While regrettably she had never taken to playing a musical instrument, the possibility that she might at least sit and watch a performance was starting to become very real. There was one hitch which he thought prudent to leave till last.
"Grandad will be the conductor. He has thrown himself splendidly into the role and it might be that which found him the courage to sack Vera Everard from the chorus line. We had to work hard to prevent her from muscling in on the role of Eve. The theme is about the story of Adam and Eve set to music, you know."
"That is so amazing," Charlie laughed. "I can imagine him being positively caught up in the role. So who is going to be Eve? Is it Jo Mills? I can so see the two of you together."
John swallowed hard and loosened his collar. This was going to be the tricky bit. He placed his cup of tea as delicately in its matching Crown Derby saucer as he framed his words to speak.
"Jo Mills does perform in the orchestra as a cellist. I am first violinist, the leader of the orchestra as you might expect," John said in measured tones, visibly preening himself at the last few words to outward appearance. "The orchestra is honoured to have your mother as an utterly outstanding soprano singer for the part of Eve."
"My mother play Eve? I thought Eve was a virgin. You must be joking."
"Don't talk of your mother in this way, Charlie."
John's face turned red with anger helped by his own inner nervousness.
"I remember hearing you two saying far worse things to each other when I was a child and you were rowing," Charlie shot back contemptuously. The light had gone out of her eyes as if it were a candle, which had been blown out. "There's a lot that I overheard when I was little."
"Any such words were not meant for your tender ears," John retorted coldly. "At all costs, your mother and I have tried our best not to drag you into the situation…."
"Yeah, right."
"Be that as it may, this all happened years ago. You have to let go and not let this be like a ball and chain around your leg as if you were a prisoner," John exclaimed, his voice trembling a little. "I implore you to see the performance."
"You mean, to see my mother in it. That is what all this has been leading up to. My mother is the crux of the issue."
"Partly," John avoided Charlie's eyes, discomforted to hear Charlie lapse into legalese so effectively.
"So who cooked all this up, you or my mother or both?"
"Just me. I take full and sole responsibility."
John has paced round the room while they were arguing but at this point had stood foursquare on and locked eyes with Charlie in a moment of total candour.
"If only you could hear your mother sing, Charlie, you would see another side of her. It is a treat for the senses much as an art enthusiast would feel confronted with the portrait of the Mona Lisa or the Van Gogh museum"
"Just that?"
"I admit it, I would like to see you and your mother build bridges between you both. It upsets me as a father when I hear the way you talk of your mother. I know now that there was a lot that I didn't know as to how your mother felt, when she had you, how badly she felt about herself which I never knew. All the time I couldn't get past how I saw matters and that I was not exactly blameless. I pride myself as being as good a father as I could be in the situation but I could never pretend to myself that I was a model husband."
John could feel the odd tear in his eyes, which he tried to blink away and hope that Charlie would not notice. There was a long silence while Charlie mulled over what John had said. Something in her wanted to believe her father only because he was saying it but her memories of her mother dragged her back. The image burnt into her mind was that the artificiality of that voice, the rigidity of her manner. She wasn't someone who felt that she could cuddle up close to if she wanted comfort. She had denied and rejected her all her life so why should she go soft on her now, the essence of hardness. It was about time that she got a bit of what she had given out all these years. Besides, it was only for short periods of time that she stayed with her and they started out as strangers and when it was time to go home, it wasn't much better. It might have been convenient for the grown ups but was what she wanted really taken into account?
"So what's brought on this crusade for my mother? Is she still living with Neil? Being at Uni. makes me get out of touch as to what man she's with."
"Neil Haughton is thankfully out of the picture. He has been since they split up."
"Thank God for that," Charlie said with deep feeling. "At least she has an ounce of sense."
John was inexpressibly pleased that, for the first time since he mentioned George's name they found something to agree with. He did not like having rows with Charlie on personal matters.
"So who's she with? Have you been seeing much of her?"
"The answer to your first question is that as far as I know, she hasn't got another man in your life who's a stranger that you'll need to be introduced to," John said carefully. What he said was the exact and literal truth. He wasn't going to begin to explain the complex relationships that had grown up while Charlie was at university. He was aware from his own experience at university that home life had the appearance of looking through the wrong end of a telescope. You didn't talk too much of home life as it mattered far more who you and your fellow students were rather than being the appendages of your parents as they came to collect you when you were younger and at public school. You were setting off for that first glorious expression of life, which was what being a student in the late 1960's, was about.
"To answer your second question, yes, I've been seeing much more of your mother and we are on amicable terms."
Charlie's attention faded. If her father was deluded enough to find congenial the presence of the "ice maiden" as she contemptuously thought of her, that was his lookout. She was far removed from it all and would be shortly returning in that curious sensation, to her status as a single student rather than as someone's daughter. She was getting bored but she supposed she ought to make some sort of reply.
"Well, you have a life of your own. It's not cool of me to tell you what to do. Do as you think best."
"So will you come to the performance?"John pursued eagerly. He could not be more passionately persistent if he were defending an accused in the trial of the century. In a way he was as George was on trial.
"I might do. Classical music isn't my scene and I'd like to see Grandad waving his baton and being very dramatic. I'd like to see you and Jo and I'll think about what you say about my mother. But, like I said at the start, I'm not too sure what I'm doing in a month's time."
"I can let you know of the details of the performance."
"Do that. If I can make time for it, I'll phone and let you know."
She was reverting to the slightly bored nonchalance that her generation affected as a uniform. He knew far less than before as to what she really meant with her conflicting loyalties.
"Do I get the chance of a meal before I go? I am a hard up student." Charlie suddenly said, an appealing look in her eyes. All her focus was on him once again having dismissed everything else to the back of her mind.
"Of course, Charlie," John said, the words he had said on so many occasions since she was little.