by Rose elver
He was speaking quite calmly now, but it was a taut unnatural calm. He took a drink, shifted about restlessly. Constraint began to creep over them; that
crippling alienation which had cut her off from him in the flat.
He said : 'I thought I might broach it later, before Polly arrived, and get Polly to persuade you to take a break. You appeared so deathly tired and—mute. When you vanished, I told Polly you'd come back here. As far as I knew you had nowhere else to go.'
Amelia raised her gentle eyes, overwhelmed with contrition, yearning to reach out to him and beg him to forgive her, but the look she encountered was bleak and austere. The complete change of mood in such a short time was as bewildering and painful as his anger. She sat up stiffly, biting her lip.
`I booked into a hotel and went to an employment bureau,' she said. 'I was fortunate, it worked out very well. Now I've been lucky enough to find a place in the apartment of a nice couple in the City.'
`And you're settling down happily?'
`Yes,' she asserted mendaciously, and looked pointedly away to where Haskins was hovering near the door.
`Good,' he said abruptly, nodding at Haskins and getting to his feet. 'Shall we have some lunch? You haven't touched your drink, bring it in with you.' He was towering over her in the chair, and she stood up quickly to avoid taking the long, square-tipped fingers extended to assist her.
He moved aside. Before stooping for her glass she forced herself to say coolly, tonelessly, 'Professor, about my leaving like that—I must apologise. I'm truly sorry. I was hasty and inconsiderate.'
`That conscience of yours,' he mocked, 'stirring
again?' Then with terse formality : 'No, Amelia, I should do the apologising. I was the cause of pitching you into a damnable situation, and I've exacerbated it by letting my confounded temper get out of hand. It was unforgivable.'
She made a small deprecating gesture and picked up her glass. There was a brief awkward silence. Miserably aware of him, she was afraid he would be able to sense it. They were so close, almost touching, yet further apart than they had ever been. His eyes went over her in a dispassionate appraisal of her new hair-style, her clothes, that hurt more than criticism.
`London,' he observed cynically, 'seems to have claimed you already.'
Fingers tight around the stem of her glass, she preceded him into the dining room, head held high, wondering how she would get through lunch.
As they made their choice of hors d'oeuvres he broke the crushing silence between them by asking casually : 'It was you I saw that night on the crossing at Holborn? With a man—a friend?'
`Yes, with Max Hall,' she owned with reluctance. `The nephew of the people I work with now.' She went on to tell him about Hannah and Charles, stifling her wretchedness with words, frequently mentioning Max because she had to acknowledge his help. Donovan opened his mouth, as if to comment, then closed it in an inflexible line.
They ordered steak and salad and he chose a wine. From then on they talked like mere acquaintances, blandly polite. He brought her up to date on the progress on his book and inquired about her job with the
visiting American. He ate sparingly, and Amelia thought every mouthful would choke her.
In the end the conversation became quite impersonal, as if their year together, the enforced intimacy of his flat, and the shock of his extraordinary outburst of rage had never been. They were discussing the weather prospects for the remainder of the weekend—it had come to that.
Looking over the cheese board, while she swallowed some fruit and cream with difficulty, he said in a preoccupied way, 'It's so mild and sunny I think I'll stay over until tomorrow. Relax a bit, a round of golf perhaps. Your brother-in-law tells me you're returning tomorrow evening. May I give you a lift back to town?'
`Thank you.' She looked up. Suddenly she remembered and the colour surged into her face. Carefully she adjusted her spectacles. 'It's very kind of you, Professor, but Max Hall will be coming down in the car to fetch me. If I'd known—'
`That's all right,' he interposed brusquely. 'No problem if you've already made arrangements.'
Had he given her a single breath of encouragement she would have gone straight to the telephone and called Max to cancel his trip. In spite of her misery, she could not bear the thought of parting like this. She tried to say something, hoping for a miracle to restore their old amity, but he seemed totally indifferent now, and they finished their disastrous lunch in another oppressive silence.
She made the excuse that she was in the midst of packing and left him in the hall. She was glad neither
Emma nor Edward was around, for fear of breaking down. Fifteen minutes later she heard a car and looked out of her window to see the Professor driving away with his suitcase beside him.
He was not staying after all. She flung herself on the bed and wept.
CHAPTER NINE
AFTER Donovan Lyne's abrupt visit to the Manor House, and her herculean effort to look cool and unperturbed during the rest of her stay, it took Amelia some days to settle down to the London routine again.
When Max had arrived at Whimpleford he had quickly spotted the change in her thin, oval face, and with surprising ease he had managed to lighten the pressures for her by charming Emma out of her malicious mood, and coping buoyantly with Edward's tiresomely bogus geniality. As they said goodbye in the hall, Emma had commented to Amelia in an arch undertone : 'So that's why you deserted Professor Lyne ! You might have said so in the first place, but you never admit to anything, do you, Melly ! Not that I blame you, Max is very attractive and much younger than that rude man ! No wonder he was so put out ! ' Amelia had tightened her lips but had let it pass; Emma could think as she liked, for it would be a long time before she visited the Manor House with its unhappy associations again. Speeding out of Whimpleford, Max had thrown her a swift glance or two.
`The weekend wasn't a success, right?'
`No—I mean, yes, you're right.'
`You missed me, I knew you would ! ' he asserted with an impish grin, and plunged into a spate of light
conversation which required very little response from her and was a blessed relief.
As she sensibly came to terms with the fact that Donovan Lyne had ceased, irrevocably, to have any part in her life, Amelia turned more and more to Max with a kind of resigned gratitude for which she despised herself, knowing that she was not being entirely fair in using him to salve her lacerated spirits.
She found herself drifting along on the tide of his sedulous attentions, going out with him to theatres, parties and noisily crowded discotheques, spending a reckless amount on deliciously feminine party clothes. She even changed her, spectacle frames to please him. Her gentle manners amused and delighted Max after the aggressive worldliness of his other girl-friends and her innate reserve intrigued him. He rather fancied himself as Pygmalion, bringing her slowly to life.
Conquests had always come easily: Amelia presented something of a challenge, but Max was confident that she would surrender to him before long. The thought of marriage had seldom entered into his lighthearted approach to life, but he was more than half in love with her and the pull of sexual attraction grew, on his side, stronger every day. Amelia allowed him to kiss her. It was totally meaningless and she was quite passive. Then one evening, piqued by her unresponsiveness, he stormed her mouth with penetrating force and attempted to caress her. Amelia immediately recoiled and thrust him off so violently that he staggered back.
`Don't ever try that again, Max!' Her voice was obdurate, her eyes sparkling with outrage.
Tor God's sake ! ' he said with baffled impatience. `Overdoing the virtuous bit, aren't you? After all I've done for you I thought
`Well, you were wrong! ' she retorted sharply.
How could she tell him of the sudden surge of revulsion which had shot through her?—or explain the fervent sense of belonging to someone else that still obsessed her? She turned away and added bitingly, `Just don't take me for granted,
that's all.'
`No need to snap my head off ! ' he exclaimed sulkily. 'I can't figure you out. One minute you're leading me on, giving in as docile as a lamb, the next you're spitting like a tigress.'
`Max, if you knew me at all well you'd know that I'm not really very tractable. I've been letting you have your own way in small things because ... well, because it was easier, and pleasant too.'
`Thanks,' he said sourly.
His discomfiture was almost comical, and he had been so good to her that she relented to a certain extent. 'All right,' she conceded, 'it was probably my fault it got out of hand. I'm grateful for the way you've helped me. But if we're to continue being friends you must understand that I'll only go as far as I want.'
`Okay,' throwing her a rueful glance, 'so I rushed you, and I'm all kinds of a clown, but one of these days you will want, and you can bet your sweet life I'll be around.'
She met his eyes- squarely. 'No. I like you, Max —that's as far as it goes. Or ever will.'
His gaze narrowed. A few moments of silence, and he shrugged. 'There's a pretty tough streak behind that calm little poker-face, isn't there? Well, we live and learn.' Turning on his heel, he left her abruptly.
With the realisation of how distasteful any advances but Donovan's would be, Amelia wondered if the time would ever come when she could bring herself to surrender wholly to some other man. Perhaps someday—but not to Max. She would have to stop relying on him, and after this it should be easier to break their close personal contact.
She had not reckoned on his resilient spirit. The next morning his head came round the door of the small alcove she occupied behind the outer office. 'Pax?' he inquired hopefully with such an irrepressible twinkle in his eye that she weakened and then capitulated, nodding at him.
`I've got two tickets for the Haymarket theatre on Saturday. An Oscar Wilde revival, you'll find it amusing. Coming?' He slanted a grin at her. 'If I promise to be a good lad?'
She shook off her weight of oppression and smiled her acceptance.
The performance was not due to begin until after eight, and Max took her to dinner at a little Italian restaurant first. Amelia wore sapphire blue crepe georgette, her hair brushed into a cap of shining waves, a light silvery stole over her shoulders with handbag and shoes to match. Max was a model of
,attentive but correct behaviour, and had put on a dark suit and plain tie as if to impress her in his new role of sober escort; but the wit and elegance of Oscar Wilde's play soon had them laughing, and by the time they went out to the dress-circle bar for a drink he had regained his ebullience.
She was waiting in the crush for him to return with the drinks when a voice beside her cried : `Amelia! It can't be ! Good heavens ! ' and found herself confronted by the flushed face and sparkling hazel eyes of Polly Austin. For a second Amelia's mind went blank as her eyes tried to focus on the people behind Polly, looking instinctively for Donovan Lyne, but to her mingled disappointment and relief he was nowhere to be seen.
`Amelia, I scarcely recognised you ... oh, dear! ... I mean, you look wonderful. Fancy meeting you, out of the blue like this! Donovan told us you'd come up to town and found a new job, but he was so cagey about it ' She broke off, clasped Amelia's hand : 'Well! Why haven't you been in touch, my dear? I had so hoped we were going to be friends.'
Amelia's momentary embarrassment melted in a rush of warmth towards this eager, kindly little woman. 'Oh, Polly, it's so good to see you. I ... I did want to contact you, but—' But I couldn't risk meeting Donovan had to remain unspoken. Instead she finished lamely, 'I didn't want to impose on you after such a short acquaintance.'
`Impose, fiddlesticks ! Even if Bill and I hadn't taken such a liking to you, the way you looked after
Don when he was ill practically makes you a member of the family! He told us how splendidly you managed without bothering anyone else, and if you hadn't had to go back to Whimpleford so unexpectedly Bill and I would have had a chance to thank you personally too.' Polly glanced away from Amelia's heightened colour and asked casually, 'Are you here with Don tonight?'
`No,' she replied, her colour receding. Just then Max appeared, shouldering his way through with two glasses held high for safety. 'Oh, Max, there you are. Polly, this is Max Hall—Mrs Austin.'
Max handed her a glass and turned his battery of charm on Polly. 'I leave one beautiful woman and come back to two! Mrs Austin, this is a great pleasure. May I get you a drink?'
Polly looked from Amelia to Max's handsome, rangy form and her face fell. 'Thank you, but my husband is bringing me one.' She tried to cover her dismay by plunging on chattily, brightly, 'Now tell me all about yourself—Max, isn't it? Do call me Polly. Amelia and I haven't met for some time, so I must catch up on all her friends. Bill, come and meet Max Hall.'
Bill Austin joined them, as balding and benign as ever, and the conversation continued almost exclusively between Max, cheerful and impudent, and Polly, doing her best to hide her hostility. Amelia sipped her drink and Bill watched his wife with a faint gleam of amusement.
Polly was so transparent, Amelia sighed inwardly.
To her she was still 'Don's Amelia' and Max Hall was trespassing. The bell rang, the crowd moved. Max took Amelia's arm possessively. 'I hope we meet again, Mrs Austin. You too, sir,' he said with polite deference to the age gap which brought a wry quirk of humour to Bill Austin's mouth as he set down their glasses.
`Indeed we must!' Polly cast a silent appeal to her husband. 'Bill, the party for Jean ! Amelia, we'd love you to come !' A pause. 'And you, Max.'
`Of course,' Bill spoke equably. He caught the precipitate withdrawal in Amelia's eyes and asserted himself with surprising firmness. 'A friend of ours, married to an American, is over here for a few weeks and Polly has organised a dinner party at the Oberon Room, next Friday before Jean leaves for Los Angeles. She's a delightful person. You should meet her, Amelia.' He added astutely; 'Her husband is a writer, and as they have a wide circle of friends she probably knows of other Americans who need the kind of literary research I believe you're doing now.'
It was a shrewd move. Max's business instincts were immediately alerted to the advantage of the Hall agency, and he accepted with alacrity while Amelia stood by wordless. Polly was beaming at her and there was nothing Amelia could do without hurting her feelings. The likelihood that Donovan would also be there hung on her, half joy, half dread, as arrangements were made while they went into the auditorium.
Once they were in their own seats, Amelia closed
her eyes. 'Oh, Max,' she murmured, 'I wish—I wish we hadn't accepted.'
`Why not?' he returned, blithely unaware of the reason for her painful reluctance. 'It may be boring, but we can put up with it for one evening. More contacts, more clients, right? Lucky you knew them.'
All week Amelia worked obsessively on research for Harry B. Barnes, and by Friday morning she had virtually completed all the investigations he had given her. Work had so far held at bay the strained expectancy of seeing Don again, although she knew he would keep a polite distance after what had happened. She sank her head on her hands and mused dolefully on what Polly's reaction was going to be once she became aware of the complete estrangement between them. Dear Polly, so incurably romantic, so impulsive, so ... so mistaken in her affectionate concern for Donovan Lyne's interests ...
Hannah Hall came in, and Amelia lifted her head and schooled her expression, and it was Hannah who said : 'Tired, Amelia? You've been working so hard you deserve some time off. It's the Austins' party today, isn't it? Why not take a break? Relax, have a hair-do and a manicure. Nothing like a bit of personal pampering to set oneself up. Off you go!'
So Amelia spent a few hours luxuriating in the lush, scented atmosphere of a salon; then, in another defiant gesture of extravagance, went into a small, exclusive gown-shop on her way home and bought a dinner dress in jade-green silk chiffon with a high, finely-tucked bodice and frosty lace at the throat and
wrists. She hun
g it up where she could see it and sat for a long time in the familiar comfort of her grandmother's old rocking chair, slowly reasoning herself into equanimity. The evening had to be faced; it was likely, though not certain, that Donovan would be there. And if Polly Austin insisted on keeping up a friendship it was inevitable that Amelia would meet him from time to time. She must learn to behave naturally, drawing on all her resources of pride and common sense to see her through.
After a refreshing shower Amelia rubbed some of her favourite cologne into her skin, slipped into soft silk lingerie and carefully made up her face. The new dress slid over her shoulders, rounded her breasts and floated in gentle folds down to her ankles. When she crossed to the mirror to put the finishing touches to her hair she gasped a little at the transformation. A cool, soignée stranger stared back at her.
Max's voice could be heard from the parlour. Amelia swept up her 'stole and evening bag and joined them, feeling vaguely self-conscious at Max's uninhibited wolf-whistle and the compliments of the Clarks. Max looked handsomely trendy himself in a white silk polo-necked shirt with his black dinner jacket. He gave her an exaggerated bow of homage as he ushered her out to the car. 'You've done me proud, sweetie! Take my word, Miss Amelia Leigh will go like a bomb with the stuffed shirts tonight! I looked up this guy Austin; why didn't you tell me he was an egghead with the Fenn Foundation? Connected with that professor you worked for? You've
got to keep up with the contacts, Amelia; never know what it'll lead to.'
She said uneasily : 'Max, they're friends. Don't—don't embarrass them.'