A Just Reward by Alison Sullivan

I thought this really was too good an opportunity to miss.  Mother really deserved something special.  This was pay back time.  After all she had been my best friend.  Put up with my teenage mood swings, dodgy boyfriends, tried to give copious advice,(only when asked for),which invariably was ignored, and even attempted to teach me to drive.

The driving lesson that had begun within a few feet of a solid red, brick wall.  Mother in the passenger seat, door slightly ajar,(ready for a quick exit),right hand tentatively hovering around the handbrake.  How to instil confidence?  Several kangaroo starts later, the lesson ended with us both in helpless fits of laughter at this ridiculous situation.

It dawned on me several years later that if it had not been for my Mother I would not even have had that job.  A chance meeting with a sufficiently influential member of the management team, a very informal interview and wow, the job was mine.

All her working life Mother had taught music.  During my Primary School years I also had found myself in her class.  As a confused eight year old I would raise my hand and say "Please Mum, eh Mrs Orr" or vice versa.  At this moment she was teaching in a very tough, run down, deprived Secondary School.

As I stared at the reservation in the name in front of me, a plan was forming in my head.  It was going to prove tricky, and relied on specific timing.  At 'Morning Prayers'(the daily meeting of all the department heads in the hotel), everyone had been reminded of guest confidentiality and that this particular guest was not to be harassed or bothered by staff asking for autographs.  He was here to rest, out of the watchful eye of the public gaze whilst preparing for his next concert.

All was made ready.  The resident pianist had been asked to make himself available at 3pm in the Arran Lounge.  The piano, a deep chestnut colour, shone and had been tuned.  Chef had a list of unusual dietary requirements.  Even the service lift normally used to transport linen, food deliveries and staff between floors had been carpeted in a luxurious pile and given a fresh coat of paint in readiness.

I just had time to make a quick phone call.

As the antique clock in the foyer chimed quarter to the hour I shuffled papers around my desk.  Where was she?

Surreptiously glancing towards the lift, I looked along the lavishly furnished entrance hall, adorned with large gilt framed paintings of past winners.  The enormous chandelier glinted like the sun on the waves and tinkled like wind chimes as a door opened and the soft, salty sea breeze filtered in.

Three smartly dressed people stood, clearly in awe. Typical. Not one to be selfish, my Mother had brought two of her senior pupils too.  The girls scrubbed up well.

The trio sat on large sofas complete with many cushions of different sizes, shapes and materials.  A waitress all in black except for a very dainty, crisp white linen apron approached the girls.  "Afternoon Tea", Ladies" she enquired.  Mother acknowledged her.

"Mrs Oar, whit are we daeing here, its awfy poash"? enquired one of the girls.  The other added, "I've never bin this far from ma hoose."

As my Mother was about to reply, the waitress appeared pushing a well laden tea trolley.  Dainty sandwiches, (crusts cut off), warm scones and pancakes.  Small individual pots of strawberry jam and butter.  Strawberry tarts and meringues rose from the plate like icebergs, overseeing this feast was an enormous teapot which was so highly polished the girl's faces could be seen in it.

Almost unnoticed a ping announced the lift's arrival.  A large imposing man stepped out.  An incredulous expression came over the girl's faces-first of instant recognition and then of disbelief.  Offering his hand he approached the group and said "Joyce Orr, pleased to meet you, Luciano Pavarotti.  I believe you sang with Scottish opera?  Would you sing with me?"

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