True Colours (4 page)

When I began working for Grayson Electronics, Charles was in his late thirties. He was the archetypal romantic novel hero, handsome, tall and well built, his thick hair attractively streaked with silver. His dark eyes were shrewd, summing up people and situations quickly and on my first day as his PA, I couldn’t have been more nervous. When I made my third stupid mistake and was
close to tears he smilingly put me at my ease.

‘It’s your first day, Frances. You’re not going to get everything right straight away,’ he said kindly. He explained that the reason he hadn’t engaged an experienced PA was that she would have had to unlearn her old boss’s ways and habits.

‘I need to train you to my ways,’ he told me. ‘Can’t do with someone who’s always telling me how they did things at her old firm and how much better it was. I don’t think you’ll find me too difficult to work with,’ he continued with a smile. ‘I’m told that I do sometimes have a tendency towards sarcasm. If that happens just tell me to calm down – or chill out, or whatever it is you youngsters say these days. Right?’ He smiled that thousand watt smile of his and won me over completely.

I learned quickly, loving the job and the environment. GE was a good firm to work for with excellent facilities. Charles had the mood swings I’d been warned about, but knowing the circumstances I made allowances. Usually he’d be quiet. Sometimes he’d snap. I soon discovered that when he was like that it was usually triggered by a new complication in his divorce and I learned to get on with my work quietly and wait for him to come round.

A lot of gossip and rumours went round the office. The general consensus seemed to be that his wife was a complete bitch, bent on bleeding him dry. Once she turned up at the office on a day when Charles was away. She was very glamorous in her designer outfit and attractive in a hard way. She quizzed me about my background and education in a way that I resented and I guessed that the real reason for her visit was to look me over. Her husband suddenly appointing a PA half his age had clearly aroused her suspicions. Proof that he was having an affair would presumably provide a useful lever to extract more money from the divorce settlement. But she took one disparaging look at my clothes and hair, my pale face, devoid of make-up and clearly decided that I was not in her husband’s league. It didn’t do a lot for my ego at the time.

Six weeks later Charles arrived at the office one morning with a crate of champagne which he took to the canteen with instructions that everyone was to have a glass with their lunch.

‘My decree came through at last,’ he confided to me as he closed
the office door. ‘Couldn’t let it go without some kind of celebration.’

I smiled. ‘Congratulations.’ Immediately I felt my colour rise. ‘Oh! I mean – I really meant to say I’m sorry….’

He was laughing. ‘I know what you meant and congratulations is very much in order so don’t worry.’

I bit my lip. ‘Well, I shall certainly look forward to my glass of champagne.’

‘Oh, you’re not getting one,’ he said gravely. Seeing my crestfallen face he added with a smile. ‘You’re not getting anything in the canteen today because I’m taking you out to lunch, so your first job this morning will be to ring and book a table for two at Donnizetti’s.’ He looked at my startled face. ‘Oh, don’t you like Italian food?’

‘Yes, I love it, but….’

‘That’s all right then. Shall we say one-thirty?’

That was the first of many so-called ‘working lunches’. Over them Charles gradually learned more about me. He had a way of getting information out of you almost without your knowledge. He discovered that I was adopted and that I didn’t get along too well with my adoptive parents and their Victorian attitude to life; he learned that I longed for a place of my own, for which I was saving. The lunches somehow turned seamlessly into dinners and eventually the pretence that we were working was abandoned. Charles told me that he’d handed over the marital home to Celia, his ex-wife and now he was living in a flat at the top of a large fashionable riverside block.

‘It’s very impersonal,’ he said rather wistfully. ‘I chose it because it was furnished – couldn’t be bothered to go to all the trouble of buying furniture again. But it’s not a home, just a place to crash, basically.’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘It takes a woman to make a real home.’ His fingertips touched mine across the table. ‘I bet you anything that when you get that little pad you’re saving up for you’ll make it a home instantly, even if it’s just a bedsit.’ He suddenly looked at me, his head on one side. ‘Frances, do I pay you enough?’

I blushed. ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Forgive me, but are you going without things to save for your own flat?’

‘No!’ My cheeks grew even hotter. ‘What kind of things?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way but, well, you know – stuff that most women like: clothes, hair dos, make-up.’

I hid my scarlet face in my coffee cup. ‘I – I’ve never really gone in for all that.’

‘You should, you know.’ His fingers curled round mine. ‘You’re a very pretty girl. You could make so much more of yourself.’

I looked at him. ‘You mean I’m plain. I know that. I’ve always known.’

‘
Plain
!’ He laughed. ‘You’re far from plain, Frances, believe me. You have beautiful eyes. They’re the colour of the sea and so expressive. You have a lovely complexion and your hair….’ He reached out to tuck a stray strand behind one ear. ‘It’s a delightful corn colour. Some lighter highlights would do wonders for you. Why don’t you try it?’

Suddenly I felt angry. ‘I’m
me
,’ I said brushing his hand aside. ‘This is the way I am and anyone who doesn’t like me the way I am can do the other thing.’

He looked surprised. ‘
Frances
! I’ve never seen you get feisty before. You should do it more often. Your eyes are sparkling and you have the most delightful colour in your cheeks.’

Being criticised was bad enough but I hated the fact that he was laughing at me. I gathered up my coat and bag and stood up. ‘It’s late. I have to go now.’

‘Of course.’ As he drove me home Charles broke the awkward silence between us. ‘I’ve offended you. I’m so sorry, Frances. It was unintentional.’ He looked at me. ‘Am I forgiven?’

I nodded miserably without returning his look. ‘Of course.’

But later in my room I thought about what he had said and made up my mind not to go out with him any more. It was unprofessional. Clearly he was sorry for me, after what he’d said tonight that much was all too clear. He realized that I had no social life and was trying to make my life a little more interesting – plus the fact that since his divorce he probably felt a bit adrift. Remembering his words I peered at myself in the mirror and asked myself if he could be right. I’d always been shy and, if I were truthful, I tried to merge into the background as much as possible. But would more fashionable clothes and a new haircut help my
confidence? Should I buy some make-up and experiment? But those things cost money, I reminded myself. And I needed to save as much as I could if I was ever going to get that flat.

Oddly enough my parents made no objections to Charles taking me for the occasional dinner. It was only when the outings stopped that any concern was shown.

‘You and Mr Grayson haven’t fallen out, have you?’ Mum asked me one evening when we were washing up after the evening meal. I looked at her.

‘Of course not. He’s my boss.’

‘But you seemed to be getting on so well – er – outside of office hours.’

‘We’re still getting on well,’ I told her. ‘I think he was lonely after his divorce. Perhaps he’s met someone else now.’ Though I knew this wasn’t true. Charles had asked me out repeatedly but every time I’d found some excuse not to go.

Mum looked disappointed. ‘Oh. I was beginning to think that you and he….’

‘I told you,’ I snapped. ‘He’s my boss. He’s also twice my age.’

‘Your father is twelve years older than me,’ she said. ‘And you could do a lot worse. He’s well off and you’d be well looked after.’

‘Well, it’s not going to happen.’ I put the last of the plates away and closed the cupboard door.

‘There’s no need to snap at me like that.’ She shot me a look over her shoulder. ‘I hope you’re not being too free with him,’ she said. ‘Just you make sure you let him know that you’re not that kind of girl or you’ll end up in the same mess you got yourself into before,’ she said sharply. ‘This time you’ve got a lot more to lose.’

She was never going to let me forget my teenage lapse – as if I ever would anyway. I didn’t reply, just left the kitchen and went upstairs to look at my latest bank statement. The sooner I got out of here, the better.

The following week it was my twentieth birthday. Charles had arrived at the office early and was waiting for me when I arrived. On my desk was a massive bouquet of flowers and a card. As I opened it something fell out. I bent to pick it up and saw that it was a voucher for the local beauty salon; a very generous voucher. I looked up at him.

‘Humour me,’ he said with a smile. ‘I just want you to achieve your full potential. I can see the radiance shining away there under the surface. Let the experts bring it out for you – just for me – please?’

I looked again at the card with its tempting offer of a top to toe make-over. ‘I’d be there all day,’ I protested.

‘That’s the idea. You’ve got the day off, you deserve it. And at the end of it I’m taking you up to town for dinner and the theatre.’

I stared at him. ‘To London?’

‘That’s the city.’ He took a step towards me and took both my hands. ‘Come on, Frances, you can’t refuse, can you?’

‘I’ve never had a present like this,’ I whispered.

‘So, is that a yes?’

‘Mum! Can Paul and David stay for a swim?’

Startled, I spun round. ‘What? A swim?’ I looked out of the window. ‘Well, if you like but it’s raining.’

‘That’s OK,’ he grinned. ‘I love being in the pool when it’s raining. It makes the water feel really warm.’ He paused halfway through the door. ‘Why don’t you come too?’

I shook my head. ‘Not today, darling. I don’t share your enthusiasm for cold showers.’

He pulled a face. ‘Come on, Mum. Don’t be a wuss.’

I laughed. ‘That about sums me up. No, you go and enjoy yourselves but don’t stay in too long and get cold.’

‘We won’t.’ He rushed off excitedly and I sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The swimming pool was relatively new. We’d only had it installed that spring. Harry adored it. Children were so easy to please at his age. In a few years he’d be into motorbikes and driving lessons. He’d be off to university and a new life – parties and girlfriends and God knows what else. I’d have lost him, I told myself miserably. If only I could have had these last few years of his childhood.

Our wedding was a quiet affair. Mum was disappointed. She’d been hoping for the full works – a church ceremony with me in a massive meringue and veil, a reception at a smart hotel and photographs in the local county magazine – all so that she could boast to her friends of course. Instead we had a brief register office ceremony and a meal at a restaurant for Charles’s close friends and family. I knew that Mum and Dad felt a little out of their depth, especially with Charles’s parents who’d flown over from France, where they’d lived since their retirement. Mum wore a serviceable navy two-piece, justifying the extravagance by assuring Dad that would come in useful for other such occasions. Dad wore his funeral suit. They told me afterwards that they were selling up and going down to Dorset to live nearer to Aunt Mavis. I tried not to show my relief.

Sometimes I think back to my twentieth birthday and I see what I was too flattered to see at the time: it was the day that Charles began to take control of me. I often wonder what he would have done if I’d resented his offer of a make-over and refused it, if I’d come out of the beauty salon looking worse than when I went in, if my taste in clothes had been brash and common. Somehow I must have passed the test of potential trophy wife material.

It took me some time to see the truth, which was that basically we were both running away from something: Charles from enforced bachelorhood, which, to his surprise he had discovered that he hated and me from the crippling burden of my parents’ relentless condemnation. Each of us thought we saw something in the other that would fill a gap. Charles needed a home maker,
someone young enough to give him the son he’d always wanted, whilst I craved the love, warmth and approval I’d never known. Instead I got a husband who only saw me as a means to an end, a beautiful empty home and the cherished child I was now about to lose.

The train was crowded and by the time I’d queued for the bus I was soaked. Who’d have thought that such a lovely summer day could turn out so wet? And of course I didn’t have an umbrella with me. Actually I don’t own an umbrella. Every time I buy one I leave it somewhere. I’ve lost count of all the umbrellas I’ve lost so in the end I gave up buying them and now I just leave it to chance.

It was a relief to get back to my tiny flat in Hackney Road, change out of my damp clothes and put my feet up with a cuppa to think about the day. I really enjoyed it. It was great seeing Sophie and Fran again. Of course all our lives have taken very different directions since we were all at school together, but I could tell that underneath they were still the same – like me. After the first few minutes the years seemed to roll back and we all reverted to our schoolgirl selves.

Going back over our natter I winced at the thought of some of the things I’d said. I really must learn to ‘engage brain’ as they say. Why on earth had I said I was a fashion designer? They hadn’t believed me of course. They must have thought that nothing had changed and that I was still fantasizing – which is true to a certain extent. It’s part of my nature. I’ve always done it, maybe I always will, though not to the crazy, outrageous extent that I did when I was a kid. Now it’s more what I’d prefer to call exaggeration. Anyway, hearing all about their exotic lifestyles I had to think of something interesting to tell them about me, didn’t I? Not that it was a total fib. I’ve been designing clothes for a while now. I just haven’t managed to get
anyone interested enough to buy any of my designs. But give it time, eh?

I work in a rather exclusive little boutique in Kensington called Fantaisie, and I have to admit that once or twice I’ve pinched the odd design for the dresses I make. I’ve always altered them a little, just to be on the safe side and anyway I only did it as a favour for customers who couldn’t afford the real thing. Over the past few years I’ve worked up quite a nice little clientele with my dressmaking: evening gowns and bridesmaid dresses, outfits for the bride’s mum and white dresses for little girls taking their first communion. About a year ago I was asked to make my first wedding dress. That was a big thrill, except that the bride didn’t have a clue what she wanted. I talked to her, made a few sketches and got some fabric samples for her to see. We tried this and that and eventually I came up with something she was pleased with. At the wedding – to which I was invited – a lot of people asked who made the dress. I got several more orders through it. That was what gave me the idea of designing myself and so far it’s proving quite popular, in a small way. Someone suggested taking some of my designs to one of the big fashion houses, but so far I’ve chickened out on that.

At the moment I’m working on a wedding dress which has to be ready for early August so I’d better get my skates on. I have to do my sewing work at weekends and in the evenings after work, which takes a lot of self discipline. Being at today’s reunion meant I’d lost a whole day so I told myself that when I’d made myself something to eat I’d better get down to it.

This dress has a lot of beadwork on the bodice so while I’m sitting here sewing away I’m remembering the events of the day. When we were at school I was always aware that Sophie and Fran had very different situations at home to me. Sophie had parents who spoiled her with toys and clothes and everything a child could possibly want. Fran’s parents weren’t as well off but her mum was always there after school to pick her up and take her to the park or shopping. I envied them both but not in a bad way. I never felt spiteful towards them. They were good friends to me. They never made nasty remarks or bullied me, like some girls did, about my accent, my shabby clothes and unruly ginger hair. I loved them both for that.

I can’t remember my dad. He was killed in some kind of fight in Belfast where we used to live when I was a baby. Mum did her best bringing up my four brothers and me, after she lost Dad. She wanted to move away from Ireland to get us away from the troubles but one of my older brothers was already working and the other two, who are twins, were in the middle of exams at school. As soon as they left school and started working Mum sent them to live with my gran and brought my brother, Liam and I to England. I was five by then and Liam was fifteen. She had a friend in Leicester who found us a flat in the same high-rise block where she lived.

Poor Mum worked so hard, going out to clean offices early in the morning while Liam and I were still asleep and then again to another job in a factory after we’d gone to school.

When Liam was twenty he married a girl he met at St Joseph’s where he was a server. His wife, Shauna moved in with us after the wedding. Right from the start she never tried to hide the fact that she didn’t like me. A year later, Mum – who’d never been very strong – got ill and died, worn out with worry and work. After the funeral Shauna suggested to Liam that he should have me taken into care but he refused point blank. After that she resented me even more.

When Shauna had baby Declan we were allotted a council house. It was nice for me because it was closer to school, but the minute I got home I had to look after the baby and make Liam’s tea while Shauna went off to her evening job in the local pub. Declan was a miserable baby. He never stopped leaking – from both ends – and no matter what you did with him he cried non-stop. He was enough to put anyone off having kids for life. It was almost impossible for me to concentrate on my homework and I never seemed to have time to catch up. Saturday mornings I had to do the housework while Shauna went shopping and then Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings I had a paper round. The result was that I failed most of my GCSEs. The only ones I passed were art and needlework, my favourite subjects. Shauna said it was because I was thick and good for nothing. Liam just smiled sheepishly and said nothing. He never stood up for me. I know he sympathized but I think he was half afraid of Shauna’s vile temper.

Of course I never let on to Sophie and Fran how bad things were
at home. I was too ashamed. I painted an idyllic picture of life with Liam and Shauna, who I described as a glamorous model, and my angelic baby nephew. I made up stories all the time, some of them so outrageous that I knew perfectly well they wouldn’t believe – like how I was really a princess who’d been changed with another baby at birth. Then there was the time I said I’d met Sean Connery – who was related to me of course – and he told me he’d get me into the next Bond film and make me a millionaire. Sophie and Fran knew it was all fantasy but it made them laugh and they always wanted to hear what came next because I made it sound so exciting. I never told them about the drudgery I endured or the crafty slaps Shauna handed out or the names she called me when Liam wasn’t around, so I suppose that when I failed most of my GCSEs they must have shared Shauna’s view that I was thick, not that either of them was mean enough to say so.

After school I sort of lost touch with the girls. Sophie went off to a sixth form college and then to art school and Fran just seemed to disappear. I got a job in a supermarket, stacking shelves. I saved as much as I could out of my meagre wages. It wasn’t much because Shauna took rent off me as well as expecting me to carry on with the chores the same as before. As soon as I could I found a little bedsit of my own. It wasn’t much but it was bliss to be able to come home and actually have some free time. There was a hell of a row when I announced that I was moving out. Shauna called me an ungrateful little – well, you can guess, but I know for a fact that it was only the rent she took off me and the free skivvying and baby sitting that she was going to miss.

I was eighteen when I decided to move down here to London. Once again it was to get right away from Shauna. My new-found freedom didn’t last long. She was soon knocking on my door several evenings a week to beg me to babysit. There was always an excuse – she had to go out unexpectedly and couldn’t find anyone to watch Dec, she’d booked a sitter but they’d let her down at the last minute. I knew she was lying of course. I’d heard that she was going clubbing when Liam was working nights and she was getting quite a reputation. I had a strong suspicion that she was cheating on him, but I had no proof so I didn’t dare say anything. I could have refused to make things easy for her but by that time Declan was six
and it was clear that she was neglecting him. At least if I went round to babysit I could give him a bath and read him a bedtime story, poor little scrap. I knew the marriage was in trouble and I could see things getting nasty. I hated the thought of getting involved in it all so finally I decided that the only way out of it was to move right away.

By this time I’d been promoted to the checkouts at the supermarket and I applied for a transfer to a new branch that was about to open in Hackney. To my delight I got the transfer and found the little flat where I still live. It’s really a bedsit with an
en-suite
shower room and cupboard-like kitchen but it’s cheap for London and it’s part of what was once a lovely old house in Hackney Road. The bus for Liverpool Street station stops right outside so it suits me down to the ground.

I’d been here about a year when I saw the job advertised. It was for a sales girl at a boutique called Fantaisie in Chelsea. The name intrigued me. If ever a place was made with me in mind this had to be it! I applied and was offered an interview, I took a trip up to the King’s Road to suss the place out and my heart sank a bit when I saw how posh and up-market it was, but having been offered an interview I wasn’t going to pass it up. On the day I took a lot of trouble with my make-up, did my best to tame my horrible hair and searched my skimpy wardrobe for something suitable to wear but when I got there it was obvious that I couldn’t hold a candle to the other applicants. I was totally gob-smacked when I was offered the job. I think what swung it for me was the GCSEs in art and needlework and the fact that I was willing and able to do customers’ alterations.

So that’s all about me. Not very exciting like Sophie and Fran, is it? I haven’t found a rich, handsome husband and I haven’t achieved any dreams – yet. But I’m happy with my job and my little sideline. I lost touch with my brothers back in Ireland when Gran died but now and again Liam comes down to London to see me. He and Shauna split up a few years ago. In the end she did a bunk with some guy she was working with. I think secretly Liam was relieved. He’s with a lovely girl now and seems very happy. Sometimes he brings Declan with him. Dec’s nearly twenty now and at Leicester University. He’s grown up to be a very nice young man considering
what a lousy start he had. He’s not bad looking except that he’s got my crazy red hair, poor kid, but he turned out to be quite clever and he’s studying architecture. I often think how proud Mum would have been, God bless her.

By the time it was ten o’clock my eyes were beginning to smart so I put the sewing away and made myself a cup of cocoa. While I was drinking it I got the card out of my bag and looked again at the numbers and addresses on it. It would be fun to keep in touch with Soph and Fran. Did they really mean it when they said they’d like to meet up again? These things are easy to say in the heat of the moment, but after a few days back in their busy and eventful lives they might regret saying it and secretly hope they wouldn’t hear from me again. I tucked the card back inside my bag. Oh well, time would tell, wouldn’t it? And whatever happens it was lovely to see them both again.