by Anne Mather
“There wasn’t. There isn’t.“ She breathed deeply. “Barry, I like you very much, but that’s not enough—not for marriage.”
“People marry for a lot less.”
“Maybe they do. But not me.”
Barry nodded resignedly. “And in the future? You don’t see any change in that state of affairs?”
“How can I?”
“I don’t know. People change.”
“You might change.”
“Me?” He made a helpless gesture. “I suppose if I say I won’t you’ll consider that a fitting confirmation of your argument.”
“Can’t we just be friends, Barry?”
Barry shrugged. “I’ll always be that, Darrell.”
His words, simple though they were, distressed her more than any amount of recrimination could have done. “Oh, Barry, I wish I did love you.”
“That makes two of us.” He spoke with forced humour. “Well—what about tomorrow morning? Could you face going for a drive? We could have a drink at one of those small country pubs like we used to do.”
“All right.”
Darrell saw no harm in this, but was relieved when Dulcie came to join them, thus preventing any further intimate conversation.
Her mother was pleased when Barry came to call for her on Sunday morning. Clearly, she had not given up the hope that her daughter might change her mind so far as Barry was concerned, but Darrell, thinking of Matthew, knew there was no faint chance. It was a daunting thought nevertheless that she might well remain single all her life.
The country roads were busy on this sunny June morning, but Barry had lived in Essex all his life and knew several short cuts that took them away from the honking of horns and the smell of diesel. To Darrell’s relief, he confined his conversation to impersonal topics, talking about his work and a recent trip he had made to Germany. Had that scene with Matthew not been so fresh in her mind, she might well have enjoyed the outing.
They stopped just after twelve at the Swan in Chipsbury, and walked into the crowded bar lounge. Darrell recognised several faces from the old days when she and Barry had been frequent visitors here, and she was soon the centre of a crowd of people, all laughing and talking and asking her about Sedgeley. Barry pushed his way to the bar and came back with their drinks and was himself chided for his rare appearances these days. It was all easy, goodnatured banter, and Darrell was glad they had not had to sit alone and inevitably reminisce about the past.
Barry had accepted an invitation to take part in an impromptu darts tournament, and the men were moving away towards the board, leaving the girls to gossip amongst themselves, when Darrell saw Celine Lawford. She was seated on a low banquette in one corner of the crowded, smoke-fugged room, but it was unmistakably Matthew’s wife. She was languidly fitting a cigarette into a long holder, and although she was alone at the moment, it was obvious from the glasses set on the table in front of her that she was merely waiting for her escort to return.
Darrell did a quick about-face, turning her back on that particular corner of the room. She looked round nervously, but there was no sign as yet of Celine’s husband. There was a throng of men by the bar, he could be hidden amongst them, but as Celine already had a drink in front of her it seemed more likely that he was away for purely functional reasons.
She took deep steadying breaths. Of all the things to happen! It just wasn’t fair. That they should choose this pub, and today of all days!
“Are you all right, Darrell?”
Janet Grant, a friend of Darrell’s from her schooldays, was now regarding her rather anxiously, and Darrell forced herself to smile.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she managed lightly. “Why do you ask?”
Janet frowned. “You’re looking very pale, that’s all.” For the moment they were isolated in the group as the other girls argued over which team would win the darts tournament. She looked curiously over Darrell’s shoulder. “Did you see someone you’d rather not see?”
Darrell decided to be honest. “You—might say that.”
“Do I know him?”
Darrell shook her head. “I shouldn’t think so. And it’s not a him, it’s a her.”
“I see.” Janet’s lips twitched. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
“It’s not really.” Darrell sighed. “It’s just a—girl I know through working in Sedgeley. The girl—the girl I shared a flat with—well, her brother is married to this girl.”
“And you don’t want to see her.”
“I don’t want to see either of them.”
Janet raised her eyebrows. “Which one is she? You’ve got me intrigued.”
Darrell hesitated, and then deciding it might be useful to have an ally, she said: “She’s sitting in the corner, smoking a cigarette in a holder. Blonde—I think she’s wearing a tangerine-coloured dress.”
Janet continued to stare over her shoulder. “Yes, I see her. Pointed face, very slim.”
Darrell bent her head over her drink. “That sounds like her.”
“Well, I don’t want to shock your tiny mind, but the man with her is not her husband.”
“Not?“ Darrell darted a swift look over her shoulder and glimpsed the thick fair hair and square neck of the man who was leaning over Celine, one hand curved round the nape of her neck. She turned back sharply, and stared at Janet. “How—how do you know it’s not her husband?”
Janet shrugged, and sipped her Martini cocktail. “Simple. I know the man. His name is David Farrell, and he and his wife live a couple of houses away from my parents.” She shook her head at Darrell’s shocked expression. “Darling, it happens all the time. Particularly with men like David Farrell!”
“You—know—him?”
“Of course. He and Josie, that’s his wife, came to live in Cedar Drive about five years ago. Since then, his name’s become a common topic of conversation at coffee mornings.”
“I see.” Darrell absorbed this with distaste.
“Your friend’s brother’s wife looks well able to take care of herself,” Janet went on blandly. “Now you’ve drawn my attention to her, I vaguely recall seeing her in here before, but not with David. What’s her husband like?”
What was Matthew like?
Darrell’s palms felt moist, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Oh—he—er—he’s about thirty-three or four, tall, dark brown hair, quite good-looking…”
“You know him quite well, then?” Janet’s tone was wry.
“I’ve seen him a couple of times,” Darrell defended herself swiftly.
Janet studied her revealing expression with acute perception. “You know, Darrell,” she said, “I don’t think it was this woman with David Farrell you were afraid of meeting. It was her husband, wasn’t it?”
Darrell shrugged her shoulders carelessly. “Does it matter? Actually, I’d rather not meet either of them.”
Janet made a moue with her lips. “Okay. Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it.” She glanced towards the group around the dartboard. “Shall we join the others?”
For the remainder of the time they were in the pub, Darrell was conscious of Celine’s presence above all else. From time to time, she couldn’t help catching a glimpse of the couple in the corner, but they seemed totally engrossed in each other. Her feelings towards Matthew were less easily defined, and she wondered how he would feel if he knew his wife was having an affair with someone else. Was this why he had come to her? To repay Celine in kind, or because their way of life permitted such licence? And yet Matthew had said he had never been unfaithful to Celine. How could that be, unless he was unaware of her infidelities?
Then, as they were leaving and Darrell was mentally relaxing from the strain of avoiding being noticed, they practically bumped into Celine and her escort in the foyer. Darrell had been so eager to get away herself she had not noticed that Celine and the man with her were leaving too, and her expression was ludicrous when Celine greeted her with casual indifference.
“Hello, Darrell,” she said, making no attempt to release the arm of the man beside her. “What a small world it is, isn’t it?”
Darrell strove for speech. “Isn’t it?” she managed lamely.
“Staying with your parents for a few days, are you?” Celine was already moving towards the door, and clearly the question was purely perfunctory.
“Yes,” Darrell nodded helplessly.
“I may see you again, then. Goodbye.”
Celine went ahead of her escort through the door, and Darrell stood stock still for a moment, feeling her knees trembling.
Barry came alongside her at that moment, and his hand at her waist propelled her outside. “Are you feeling queasy, love?” he exclaimed anxiously, feeling the quivering beneath his fingers.
Darrell shook her head jerkily. “No. No, honestly, I’m all right.” She shuddered again as a ripple of remembered consternation slid down her spine. “Somebody must have walked over my grave, that’s all.”
The morning out with Barry might not have been a success, but it convinced Darrell of one thing. Coming back to live in London and continuing to visit her old haunts was something she could not do if there was the remotest possibility that she was going to encounter Celine… or Matthew…
* * *
The first person she saw when she got back to Sedgeley was Jeff. He was hanging about outside the bus station when the bus from Leeds got in, and his face brightened considerably when he saw Darrell.
“Hey, how’s that for timing?” he demanded, taking her suitcase from her unresisting fingers.
Darrell couldn’t prevent a smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. There was something so wholesome and uncomplicated about Jeff. “What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.
“Waiting for you.”
Darrell raised her dark eyebrows. “How can you be? You didn’t know what time I was coming back.”
Jeff winked. “Thought transference.”
“Jeff!”
“No, honestly, I was waiting to see if you turned up off this bus.” He grinned. “But I admit, I didn’t come all the way to Leeds on the offchance of meeting you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I would have done if you’d asked me to.” Darrell gave him an old-fashioned look, and he went on: “Seriously, though, I brought Matt through to Yedon and thought of you coming back today and here I am.”
Darrell took a deep breath. “You brought—Matt—to Yedon?” she echoed. and then, gathering herself, “I mean—what was he doing in Sedgeley?”
Jeff hadn’t seemed to notice her consternation, and replied: “We were honoured, weren’t we? He decided to come back for the weekend.” His smile robbed his words of any malice.
“I see.” Darrell absorbed this news with difficulty. So Matthew had been away while Celine was meeting her boy-friend. He obviously knew nothing about it, and her heart ached for him.
“Yeah,” Jeff was saying, directing her round the corner into a side where his Mini was parked, “he came up by air this time. I think he was sick of driving all this way. He has done it four times in the last week, when all’s said and done.”
“Yes.” Darrell wondered why he had come. She would have expected him to stay away from Sedgeley until he could be sure that he would not bump into her. Unless somehow Jeff had told him that she was going away.
And then she remembered. Matthew had overheard that telephone conversation with Jeff. He had known she was going away…
Jeff came into the flat with her, ostensibly to ensure that she had had no unwelcome callers while she was away. It was reassuringly deserted, and she opened the windows to get rid of the faintly musty smell warm weather always created in closed rooms.
“Do you fancy coming out for a Chinese supper?” he invited after she had put her suitcase in the bedroom, and shed her shoes.
Darrell hesitated. Food was the last thing she needed right now, but Jeff had been so kind she couldn’t disappoint him again. With enforced enthusiasm she put on her shoes again, and said there was nothing she could like better.
Actually, in the restaurant, over a bottle of red wine, she did relax considerably. Jeff was an entertaining companion, and he was sufficiently like Matthew to arouse sympathetic responses inside her. From time to time she found herself pretending it was Matthew, and that was when she decided it was time she went home.
Jeff kissed her goodnight at her door. The lingering kiss he had planned didn’t quite come off because Darrell managed to get her key in the door and opening it backed away from him, but he didn’t seem too disappointed.
“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, leaning against the jamb, and she sought about desperately for some way to let him down lightly.
“I—er—not tomorrow, Jeff,” she said. “I shall be working again tomorrow, and I’ll be exhausted tomorrow night. Leave it a few days. Let me get back into the swing of things again.”
To her relief, he accepted this, and went away whistling cheerfully. Darrell closed the door and surveyed the flat miserably. Then she went into her bedroom and allowed the tears which had threatened all weekend to fall.
CHAPTER SIX
The following week passed with reasonable swiftness. Darrell worked energetically at the hospital, deliberately tiring herself out so that by the time she got back to the flat in the evenings, she was ready to tumble into bed. She realised the exhaustion she felt was not just a physical thing, but at least she was not plagued by sleeplessness. Her fellow nurses put her behaviour down to the shock of Susan’s death, and Darrell did not disabuse them. After all, if Susan had still been alive, she might not have felt so isolated in her despair.
Jeff rang twice, and each time she lifted the phone she felt the faint breathlessness she had come to associate with thoughts of Matthew. But she managed to avoid communicating her disappointment to Jeff, and allowed him to persuade her to visit the family at the weekend. She had come to the conclusion that she would hurt them far more by staying away than by crediting them with a knowledge they did not possess. And besides, she was genuinely fond of Mrs. Lawford.
Saturday night at the Lawfords’ house was almost like old times. Patrick was there with his wife Evelyn and her brood, and the three brothers and Penny who still lived at home. Halfway through the evening the men cleared off down to the club, leaving the women to prepare supper for when they got home.
“How was your mother, dear?” Mrs. Lawford asked Darrell, when they had a minute alone. “I expect she was glad to see you.”
Darrell smiled. “I think she’s trying to marry me off to a young man I knew before I came north.”
“Oh! Oh, is she?” Mrs. Lawford’s eyes clouded. “We’ll miss you, Darrell.”
“I didn’t say I was agreeable,” protested Darrell, half laughingly. “I just said that that was what she would like to do.”
Mrs. Lawford’s eyes widened. “Then you don’t want to marry this young man?”
“Heavens, no!”
“I see.” Mrs. Lawford’s evident relief was warming. “I know our Jeff would be disappointed if you up and left Sedgeley.”
Darrell looked down at her hands. This was not something she wanted to foster either.
“I’m afraid—that is—I like Jeff, Mrs. Lawford, but—well, I’ll never marry him.”
Mrs. Lawford sighed. “Thank you for for being honest, my dear. But I’m sure he wouldn’t agree with you.”
“I know.” Darrell shifted restlessly. “I—perhaps I shouldn’t keep coming here. If—if he thinks that—well, that I’m coming her just because of him…”
“Give it a little time,” suggested Mrs. Lawford quietly. “I know Jeff. He’s young yet. Younger than Penny, I sometimes think, even though he is four years older. He’ll realise sooner or later, you’ll see.”
Darrell was not so sure. She was not even sure that Mrs. Lawford had entirely given up hope of her becoming fond of her fourth son. And while the temptation to use Jeff as
a substitute for Matthew was strong, it simply would not be fair—not on either of them.
On Sunday morning Darrell was awakened by a bell. For a moment she thought it was the bell on her alarm, but although she depressed the switch, the ringing went on. Frowning, she sat up in bed and blinked her eyes. The clock said half past eight, but as she wasn’t due on duty until eleven-thirty that morning, she had not set the alarm. It was the doorbell, and sudden apprehension sent her out of bed, pulling on a jade green housecoat as she made for the door.
Matthew stood outside, leaning against the wall by her door, and it was obvious from the crumpled state of his clothes and the red rimming of his eyes that he had not been to bed. There was a stubble of beard on his jawline, and intense weariness in the hunching of his shoulders.
Darrell stared at him speechlessly, instantly aware of the defeated expression in his eyes. “Can I come in?” he asked flatly, and she stood aside to allow him to do so.
“Do you want some tea?” she asked jerkily, when the door was closed and Matthew was standing politely by the couch, waiting for her to ask him to sit down.
“Tea?” He nodded. “Yes, thank you. That would be very welcome.”
Darrell hesitated a moment, and then indicated the couch. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you,” he said again, and complied.
He had made no apology for calling at this time of a Sunday morning, and Darrell could not bring herself to demand an explanation. Instead, she went to put the kettle on, running combing fingers through tangled red-gold hair. What a sight she must look, she thought, peering at her reflection in the chrome plating of the kettle—untidy hair, make-up-less face, eyes still heavy from sleep. And what on earth had he come here for?
She stayed in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, preparing a tray with deliberate slowness, putting off the moment when she would have to go back into the living room and confront him again. But when she did carry the tray through to him, she found to her dismay that he had fallen asleep. He looked particularly vulnerable lying there, his dark head against the grey upholstery, the denim shirt he was wearing under a dark blue corded jacket open to reveal the hollows of this throat. He looked thinner than she remembered, his cheekbones visible in his lean intelligent face.