When I stepped into the august portals of Imperial College on a brisk Friday morning in June, the first person my eyes caught was a tall, grey haired older man, towering head and shoulders above everybody, in animated conversation. He was in full academic dress - gown, cape and tam - with a pair of dark grey trousers and gleaming black dress shoes peeping out from under his gown. I walked up, tapped him on his shoulder and without missing a beat, he turned around swiftly, swept me up in his arms with a great bear hug. "Louisa, so good to see you," he greeted me in a low voice.
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Louisa, James's mother." All eyes were on me as Martin's colleagues greeted me. One in particular, a surgeon and friend from university days, Zee, exclaimed, "Martin, where have you been hiding Louisa? How come we have never met her?"
There was a pause, then Martin shot back, "Because I didn't want you getting excited as you're now. Not good for your heart." We all laughed. I was more in shock. Martin actually knew how to crack a joke.
My gasp came out as a whisper at the sight of Louisa. She was glowing. Her hair was swept back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Her pale blue, silk two-piece suit with tiny pearl buttons running down the front of the unstructured jacket showed off her slim figure to perfection and her royal blue clutch and matching satin heels gave her outfit an edge that I liked. The mother of the graduate, I thought. I knew from the appreciative glances my colleagues were giving her that they were as enchanted as I was with this beautiful woman. The fairest in the room, and for this evening at least, all mine.
A strikingly tall, slim, beautiful woman who introduced herself as Viola took my hand with a smile. "So you're the Louisa who has the key to Martin's heart. We're all delighted to meet you. I'm Viola. "
"That's very kind of you, " I responded, wondering if and what Martin had said to his friends about me.
"No, no. It's you who has been kind. Martin has mellowed out in recent months in ways we cannot believe. The junior staff no longer quakes when he's around."
"Oh, come on Miss Grant," Martin interrupted in mock anger, "They are your charges. I have little to do with them."
He turned to me. "We have worked together for years. Viola has been known to save me from myself more often than I care to remember."
I listened in amazement and observed a side of Martin that I didn't know. He certainly had changed.
From inside the auditorium, I could hear the faint swell of an organ. I took Louisa's hand and said, "Chris and Jenny are here, let's take our seats." As Faculty, professor emeritus really, and father of a graduate, I had been given special seats for my guests.
"Oh my god Louisa, you're radiant," Jenny exclaimed. Chris gave her a hug and winked at me.
Minutes after, Victoria, her flying red hair accentuated by a yellow suit, arrived. I gave her a peck on the check, and introduced her to Louisa as a dear friend. I watched Louisa's face break into a warm smile as she extended her hand, changed her mind, then pulled Victoria in for a hug. I was so glad that they had hit it off from the go. I owed so much of the person I am today to Victoria.
Louisa sat beside me. James spotted us and smiled. When he walked up to accept his degree, there couldn't have been prouder parents than us. When he came up for an impressive number of sectional awards, Louisa gripped my hand as tears filled her eyes. I turned to Victoria who sat on my other side and whispered, "The obstacles are clearing."
She squeezed my hand, "The path is becoming clearer."
Our graduation lunch, more than lunch really because we began eating at about 2 pm, was a simple, elegant affair. Martin had pulled out all the stops to make it memorable. When our party of seven arrived at the restaurant, we were whisked into an exquisitely decorated private room. The table gleamed with fine china, crystal, silverware and crisp white linen.
I had never seen Martin in such a setting. Now that he was out of his academic dress, I could see the fine tailoring of his grey suit, crisp white shirt, red tie and silver cuff links. He cut a fine figure. I had been even more bowled over when we were at Imperial. So many colleagues stopped to congratulate him on his son's graduation. Each time, he pulled me forward with a shy smile, introduced me as his son's mother, and said all the credit belonged to me. He was so comfortable in that distinguished setting. Now I understood how hard and painful it must have been for him to fit into village life.
By the time we had ordered drinks, Martin had loosened his tie and was joking across the table with everybody. I caught my son's eyes and smiled. He mouthed, "Love you." All I could do back was to let out a giggle, although I was still nursing my first glass of wine. I was so happy for James.
Martin turned to me, "The evening is still young, mother of the graduate. Don't tell me the wine is getting the better of you already." Everybody burst out laughing at us playing.
Chris and Martin traded jokes, including the first time he had met Jenny. Jenny interjected, for my benefit since I was the only one who hadn't been to Imperial, "Louisa, don't believe half of what they tell you. Chris pursued me relentlessly, not the other way around."
After we had waded through the delicious meal of chicken baked in mango sauce, vegetable stuffed fish, saffron rice, steamed broccoli and a green salad - and listened to all the stories - I was in high spirits in more ways than one.
Martin and I walked with James to the foyer when he got up to leave with Rosie for a party with their friends. While she was in the loo, he handed James an envelope. I knew it was the miniature copy of the deed to his flat, with his name on it. "My love and best wishes for a happy life, James." Martin had secretly bought the flat, given it over to a letting agency, steered James towards the agency and arranged for it to be rented to him below market under the guise of the agency returning a favour for the goodly Mr. Ellingham. James put the envelope in his pocket without opening it, hugged us and left. I would give him the photo album I had made for him from he was a baby. It even had a photo Al had taken secretly of James and Martin at Joan's funeral. I had become a sort of camera buff and Jenny had once suggested that I publish a coffee table book. I thought she had lost her mind.
Still playing, Martin asked, "Mother of the graduate, will you join us for coffee, tea, drinks, whatever at my home?"
"Whatever you say, father of the graduate." I was curious to see Martin's home and wondered if it would be just as surprising as he had been today.
Victoria left to join her husband at another function, so it was just myself, Chris and Jenny who got into Martin's car for the thirty or so minutes ride to Parkside, a small community a little outside of the city. What a difference the distance made. I had never seen this side of London, an oasis of calm and greenery. His street was lined with trees and generously sized Victorian townhouses. His was a semi-detached at the bottom of a cul-de-sac.
Set far in from the street, we entered the house through a garden in late spring bloom, then stepped into a high-ceiling foyer with burnt orange walls, from which hung three long oriental tapestries embroidered with gold, purple and green threads. This was not the white, sterile home of the Martin I thought I knew.
Inside was even more dazzling in a quiet way. The first floor, an open plan design, had ceilings at least 12 feet high. The plastered walls were a calming bluey grey. The living room was huge, with tasteful, comfortable modern furnishing. Nothing brash, just exquisitely handcrafted furniture with a couple of antique pieces, including a grandfather clock. Next to it was a dining area, the centerpiece of which was a round glass-topped dining table. The dining area was separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. I knew Martin was a good cook so I was not surprised that the kitchen was a generous size, decked out in modern stainless steel appliances. Tucked In the back of the first floor was a powder room, and right off the living room, a small study.
"Mart, what a change!" Chris blurted out, echoing what we all were thinking. "I saw this house when you just bought it. It didn't look anything like this."
"It's almost 100 years old. I did a full renovation some years ago and made a few changes in recent years. Having James in London made me rethink how I lived. After years of toil, I finally wanted my home to be more than a changing room. It's now my place of rest and repose." With that he flicked on two switches. One bathed the entire downstairs with soft mood lighting, the other turned on soft relaxation music piped from all over to give a surround sound effect.
Jenny let out a gasp. "This operates as efficiently as an operating theatre."
Martin smiled.
There were three bedrooms upstairs, including a master with an en suite bathroom. It held a king-size bed covered with a creamy damask duvet, lots of pillows, and was flanked by bedside lamps whose bases were etched in oriental-looking tapestry. The en suite held a whirlpool bath, a shower, and the usual. The other two bedrooms were guest-ready, with the one reserved for James when he visited decorated in the navy and green colours he had liked from he was a child.
Jenny looked at Martin and innocently observed, "There's an extra bedroom. Louisa could stay here when she visits and give James his privacy."
"She's welcome anytime she wants," Martin answered.
Chris smiled at me because he could see that I was blushing. Following on with Jenny's obvious ploy, Chris asked, "Now that James has graduated, are you planning to spend more time in London?"
"Maybe, if whomever will have me whenever."
Jenny laughed. "Touché."
I looked at Martin. He took my hand and led us up the stairs to the third level. Luckily, the stairs was broken up by two landings as I was beginning to feel tired. The space was voluminous. At one end, there were book-lined walls and a huge mahogany table. "This is where James and I used to do our study marathons," Martin explained.
A shoji screen enclosed the other end of the room. That space was bare, save for cushions and blankets piled in one corner and an open antique Japanese tansu cabinet. The cabinet held two photographs: one of James and Martin and the other of Martin and Joan. There were a few Asian artifacts, some of which I recognized from his time in the village. Seeing our bemused faces, Martin said, "My meditation space."
In between these two space, there was a sparsely furnished sitting area. He told us that the renovation architect had made allowances for an elevator to run from the first floor up to this level, should the need arise. The first floor could also be easily redesigned to accommodate a bedroom.
Jenny asked about storage. Martin pressed an indentation in the wall, and it slid open to reveal a generous storage area. There wasn't much in there but blankets, extra linen and a few odds and ends. Martin was never one for excess.
As a close friend, Jenny's curiosity knew no bounds. "How do you do it? Your home is spotless.?
"Mrs. White comes in once a week to clean. She's been doing so for over 15 years and the beauty of our arrangement is that I hardly ever see her."
Tour over, we settled down for a nice catch-up. I didn't say much, but still enjoyed the conversation. Chris, Jenny and Martin shared so much history and it had been such a long time that they had met like this, that they chatted away the evening. Martin was a gracious host. I wished the evening would never end.