by Sheila Burns
She wished he would go back to Palmer’s Green and have done with it, but what could she do? She went to the books and put them in order. She knew that when Alan went home he would write her quite the most awful letter she had yet had, for he loved finding fault. But tomorrow was another day!
Chapter Three
She went down for lunch and ran into Mrs. Burman in that dark corner just outside the office. She was obviously in one of her worst moods.
‘One moment, Miss Thorpe,’ and she drew Lindy into the inner office behind the reception desk and with MANAGERESS in bold letters painted on the glass top to the door. Mrs. Burman shut the door behind her. ‘That man.’
‘Yes, Mrs. Burman?’
‘He was taking liberties.’
‘I ‒ I was quite unaware of it.’
‘I was horrified to see him going into that room of yours. You know something about him?’
‘Only that he seems to be rich, well born, and is utterly charming.’
Mrs. Burman was shaking slightly with anger. ‘Be careful of him, Miss Thorpe, for he is not what he seems to be. Sir Simon Leeson has been married twice already, and is only thirty himself at the moment.’
‘I don’t think that is anything to do with me.’
‘It could be. He is that sort of man. His first wife died of leukaemia, he split up with his second wife and she was killed in a train accident in the States.’ Mrs. Burman said it with contempt.
‘Poor man! How he must have suffered!’
The manageress glowered at her. ‘You don’t think of the girls who have suffered for him. He is the kind who is easy to fall in love with, dangerous to marry, and spells disaster.’
‘Yes, Mrs. Burman.’ Inwardly Lindy was boiling with rage.
‘I would prefer it if you did not encourage him.’
‘Yes, Mrs. Burman, but I was not aware that I had in any way encouraged him.’
Mrs. Burman opened the soundproof door rather majestically and walked out. When she was like this anything could happen.
I ought to have told her about the plans for this afternoon, Lindy thought. She hung back. Should she cancel the date and go out with Alan instead? What a ghastly idea! Should she cancel the engagement, pleading extra work suddenly pushed on to her? She did not know what to do, and now knew how very much she wanted to be with Simon this afternoon.
She came into the hall and there was Davies who had returned from posting the letters, and said he was looking for the next job. Apparently he had been here for some time, for he knew that Lindy and Mrs. Burman had had their talk in the soundproof room.
‘I bet you’re going out along of him!’ he said.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Only you meet him at the top of the road, and not here. I’ll let him know where and what time.’
It was crazy to involve Davies in this, for he was a most shifty character. He had been in and out of prison and would do it again. Davies was an amiable rogue, the man who would back anyone in wrong-doing, hated Mrs. Burman, cheated her whenever he could, then laughed over it. Perhaps wrongly, Lindy rather felt that he would not cheat her.
‘My cousin Alan,’ she said, ‘have you got him a room? There is nothing here.’
Davies grinned. ‘I got him in at the Barn Owl tearooms. They let a room week-ends. Nice old girls run it, barmy, you know, but nice old girls. He’ll be all right there.’
‘Yes, of course.’
She went across the yard to her own room to change. She got sick of this cheap black dress, which always gave her the idea of being in uniform. She wished that she had something really exciting to put on, something beautiful, but of course she hadn’t. She had never been able to afford much more than a winter coat one year and a winter frock the next. Now it was April. Lindy longed for a radiant new dress, and she had not got it. It had to be the little tangerine cotton frock which she had worn last year, but someone had said that it made her hair redder and her eyes darker. With it was the old dark brown coat, of course, she had no other, and what Mrs. Burman paid her was not likely to change that. She rubbed her loose hair with a silk handkerchief in an attempt to make it shine, but whatever she did, her hair looked elfish and untidy. It was ordinary. Flat and pale red, not even dark auburn. Like little flames, an aunt had once said quite fondly, but little flames gave Lindy little confidence.
It was one of those smiling afternoons, with the promise of spring, of budding trees, daffodils everywhere. But the wind was chilly. If the sunshine lit the fields and Fiddler’s Hill behind the hotel, the wind stung as it came round a corner of the building where the parapet stuck out, and where Simon had run into it last night.
She went up the drive and round into the lane where Simon overtook her in the new Jaguar. He opened the door.
‘Hop in,’ he said.
She did.
‘This will upset Mrs. Burman. I am sure that she would have stopped it if she could, and then there arrived that rather clumsy-looking fellow I saw you talking to. Where did he spring from?’
She told the truth. ‘He is Alan Pearce, a relation of my foster-parents. Every now and then he comes to see me. He means well, but I can’t like him. I’m ashamed, for Alan is kind and good, but somehow one dislikes him.’
‘There are lots of Alans about,’ he said. ‘Let’s forget them for this one afternoon. Let’s sneak one drive out of life and enjoy it, with nothing to worry about.’
The idea had enchantment. Again she felt the quick pulse of vivid excitement, as though she stood on the top of a great height, looked down and turned giddy with joy. She did not know herself in this mood, it had never happened before; now that it came she was a little shocked by it, but exhilarated.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I thought of Oxford.’
‘But that’s miles away!’
‘Not really. I have a sudden appetite to go back there. I was at Wuggins. I’d like to show it to you.’
‘I’d love to see it.’ A college, she presumed, though whatever it was did not matter, for she was in the mood which is out for fun. He was restless, he had admitted that, hated staying long in one place, or doing the same thing twice. It was a good thing he had not got to earn his living, for he would never have got very far with the eternal changing of jobs.
He talked of his estates, and the house he had found and rebuilt, on the Essex backwater, Fiddler’s Hill, which he adored. It was a haunted house, he had been told, and stood beside the estuary in ruins the first time he had seen it. Built in the time of the Jacobeans, it must have stood there at the time of the Dutch wars and the terror of invasion then. The gardens ran down to the sea coming in in a great wide tide eight miles across to the other side of the estuary, with a huge backwater spreading beyond it.
‘What a view!’ he said. ‘One day there will be some monstrous high tide and then everything will be swept away, and all the people. They tried to frighten me off it with that tale, but I didn’t listen. If it has stood there for these hundreds of years like that, it’ll go on standing. It’ll see me out, and my children, and my children’s children.’
‘It must be quite lovely.’
‘You shall see it one of these days. You’ll like it.’
They drove fast, yet somehow she felt safe with him. They stopped just before they got to Oxford at a small countrified place where they could get tea. He told her that hundreds of undergraduates came here, and laughed about the girls he had brought with him. He was charming. He ordered all the right cakes, he talked of Fiddler’s Hill, of his own life, of the difficulties at Wuggins (she had now found out that it was a college), and his happiness when here.
They went on and into Oxford itself.
They had picked a busy day, and the whole city seemed to be in a state of uproar. Some agitation was on. He left the Jaguar where he could, and then took her arm.
‘We’ll go and see the fun,’ he said.
This was the city of spires, the city she had heard so much about, th
e city of dancing, of gaiety, of fun.
They went to Worcester College to see everything they could, and Simon was excited at being able to show it off. Wherever one walked there was beauty.
He was proud to show off his college, the pleasant streets and the beauties of this city of spires. He suggested they should start on the journey home and half way go to a small pub he knew, where they had good food, and the landlord was a friend. The undergraduates were frequently there. There was no hurry to get home, and she did not know why she thought of Alan, and was disturbed for him. He had come all that way to see her; maybe he was having rather a thin time.
The drive took longer than they had intended, for there was a bad jam as they came out of Oxford, and trying to take a short cut Simon missed the way. The evening was darkening, a pretty evening of soft yellow light and light purple shadows, when they came to the thatched pub standing back from the road. The place had everything that Simon had said. It was heaven.
Chapter Four
This afternoon had changed Lindy. She felt as if she had passed a milestone in her life, and now was really grown-up. She had entered a new epoch of living, inspired by this handsome young man with the attractive voice, the blue eyes and a delightful habit of treating her as though she really mattered to him. He had warmed her so that she came out of her old rather reserved, shy self, into a new self. She was surprised at the tenderness within her, a yearning for him to be nice to her, a tremendous interest in him, in everything that had happened to him. He was so kind. No one had ever spoilt her this way before. He had not made love to her; she had been anxious, half afraid, for she had thought he might think of her as being a rather cheap little receptionist. She felt like somebody who was lost and suddenly found. She had changed only because Simon had altered her by his great kindness. He was, of course, a woman’s man, already married twice, so Mrs. Burman had said, used to beauty and saying the right thing. She went quiet and he noticed it.
‘You’re very silent.’
‘I am so sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.’
‘Of course not, you’re a darling!’ then, after a pause, ‘I didn’t appreciate it so much last night and now today I do. I see you as you really are and you’ve had a rotten life.’
‘No, not really. My foster-parents were very good to me and I loved them in my own way. Mother died when I needed her most, and then my father re-married, which spoilt things. I couldn’t help being stupidly delicate, and not getting the sort of education most girls get today. That was fate.’ In her heart she was thinking, And this is fate, too!
He had stopped the car outside the pub; they could hear the echo of voices from within, laughing voices, it sounded a pleasant place. He got out.
‘They do a marvellous steak here, it used to be good fun though rowdy at times. Undergrads like it that way, and I haven’t been for ages. You like steak?’
‘I adore it. Can I get a wash?’
‘Of course.’
He showed her the place just inside the door, and she went into a small room fitted with two pale pink basins and silver taps in an ornate manner.
She washed her hands, then made up her face, it needed it. She took more care than usual, for the mirror was well lighted, which was lovely for her. She combed out her long waveless hair, and even if it was lank it had a sheen on it, light reddish (like montbretias, she remembered her foster-father had once said). She felt that this had been something of an enchanted journey, for she looked and felt so different.
She went out into the pub itself.
There was quite a crowd of people there, mostly young men of the student type. Behind her was a small dining niche, beautifully clean but again crowded, the glass doors were open on to it. In a way she wished that it had been quieter, for her head was just beginning to ache a little. Maybe it was the excitement of the afternoon that had done this for her; she was not used to extreme happiness and it could be too much. Simon would never know how extremely happy he had made her.
He drew her to him. ‘A drink?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘No drink? But you need something to buck you up, for you must be tired, because we’ve come fast and then did quite a lot in Oxford.’
‘I don’t drink, I don’t like the taste of it.’
‘I’ll get you something that you do like, with a nice taste, and bucking up qualities as well,’ and he ordered it. Half of Lindy wished that he hadn’t done it, and when it came she would have liked to leave it but that might have seemed to be rude. It did make her feel better and the headache stopped. When she had something to eat she’d be all right.
She was sitting there talking to Simon about nothing, when quite unexpectedly a row began around the bar. There were seven men and a couple of women, and two of the men started a fight. In a single moment it seemed that everyone became swept up in the battle. Simon put an arm round Lindy, but they were so shoved about that this did not help. Immense fear struck her, panic, and she remembered hearing Simon say, ‘We’d better get out of this,’ after which she heard no more.
She seemed to be falling through space, lost in a whirl, she had no idea what it was.
What had really happened was that in the general affray something had been thrown across the room, hit her head, and knocked her out. She came to, to find that she was lying in the back room of the pub, which was the private room of the manager. Someone had carried her in there and had laid her on a sofa, and there was a surprising lot of blood about. She had never thought that she could bleed so much. A young man, who she presumed was a doctor, was kneeling beside her.
‘You’re quite all right,’ he said, in the reassuring way in which doctors talk, ‘you may have a nasty headache, but I’ll give you something for it. You’ll be able to go home, and get to bed as soon as ever you can. You’ll feel better by the morning.’
She felt lost. Just at first she was considerably dazed, then, as she recovered more, she thought of Mrs. Burman and what she would say, for there was going to be a row about this. Whatever had happened (and for the moment Lindy could not quite place it), it would be her own fault, she was sure. Simon comforted her. The doctor wanted her to have a sandwich and some milk with brandy in it, and then Simon could take her home.
‘I ‒ I must look quite awful,’ she said.
‘You look terribly sweet,’ he told her gently, and there was something encouraging about his tone. With him she felt safe. She drank the milk and brandy, and had to admit that she felt better for it. As she finished it, she turned to the doctor, who was doing up his bag.
‘You’ll be as right as rain. It’s a superficial wound although it made all that mess. You’ll have a pretty nasty bruise for a few days, but don’t worry. That’ll clear up all right.’
‘What hit me?’
It had been a pewter mug which had been thrown right across the room, and had never been intended for her. It was a good thing that it had not hit her dead on! Simon now blamed himself for bringing her here; maybe it had changed, grown rougher.
When she walked out into the night and to the car she was quite surprised to find that she could do it. Her legs felt weak and rather wobbly, but they gained strength as she went, though slowly and haltingly. In the end Simon put his arms round her and lifted her as though she were a baby.
‘You poor little kid!’ he said fondly.
He bent down and kissed her hair. He kissed it caressingly, with tenderness, not passion, and turning to him she touched his cheek. It was in that moment that she knew she had given herself to him for ever. It did not matter now whatever happened in life for she would have had this moment.
‘It’s all right,’ he told her, ‘don’t worry, for I’ll stand by you and see after you. Don’t worry.’
He drove her back with the April night all primrose and amethyst. She did not talk very much, and every little while his hand came across and took hers to comfort her. Her one agony ‒ and in the end she confessed to it ‒ was that she would have to tell
Mrs. Burman, and there were moments in life when the lady could be too awful.
‘Why do you stay there?’ he asked her.
She told him the cold truth. She was ill-educated for a good job because she had been a delicate girl and could not stay long enough at school to qualify. No ‘A’ levels, nothing to help her, so that she just had to take any job she could get, and although this one was not well paid, it did keep her.
‘You should ask for more money.’
As though she dared! It would be horrifying if she was sacked, and she knew Mrs. Burman well enough to realise that it could be possible. When he heard what the crafty lady paid, Simon seethed with rage. The handsome face grew quite dark.
‘I’ve a foul temper,’ he admitted, and perhaps she did not need him to tell her so. ‘I’d like to go and tell her what I think of her.’
‘If you do, you’ll lose me the job, and it should last for another two months. I should be utterly done, for I have nowhere else to go.’
‘You could come to me?’
‘Don’t be so silly!’ she almost snapped and then was ashamed to have said it that way, for he had been so good to her this evening. He did not answer back. He drove steadily on staring ahead of him, then at last he spoke.
‘Sorry! Some girls would have jumped at the idea.’
She did not reply. There was quite a long pause, and then he went on talking. ‘There’s something about you, Lindy, which is different from the other girls whom I’ve met. You are young and fresh, and very beautiful. I can’t imagine you ever deceiving anybody, and most girls do deceive. But you wouldn’t because you are too sweet.’
She could not speak.
She cried a little, it was weakness, she supposed, and he drove on. It seemed to her that they had started on this trip as strangers, but now they were no longer that but had come very near. She felt changed about him, closer to him, and somehow she knew that if he went out of her life at this very moment he was a man whom she could never forget. He was THE man.