The Treacherous Heart

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  She opened her mouth to say ‘I can manage, thank you,’ and then shut it again. Why deny him the opportunity? His strong hands closed on her waist, she leaned down and put her arms round his neck, and he lifted her carefully down. For a long moment after her feet had touched the ground he kept hold of her, looking down into her eyes and smiling, and then, almost as if he had said to himself, it is not yet time, he released her gently and they walked towards the car.

  They had a pleasant and leisurely tea in the Copper Kettle and discussed such neutral topics as books, music and food. When Michael had called for the bill, he leaned towards her across the table and said.

  ‘What shall we do tonight?’

  ‘Tonight? I hadn’t thought. I—’

  ‘You what? Now don’t tell me you’ve made arrangements already.’

  ‘Only with Wendy,’ she said guiltily. ‘I didn’t want to spend tonight on my own, and she and her boyfriend usually go to a dance or something like that, so I arranged to go with them.’

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ he said with feigned relief. ‘I thought for a moment you were going to tell me you’d already got a date.’

  ‘I haven’t yet said I’d go anywhere with you, though,’ she said. He raised one eyebrow coolly.

  ‘You haven’t any choice. You don’t seem to realise, my dear Miss Symons, that you’ve put yourself completely in my power. Here you are, miles from anywhere, and no way of getting back except with me, in the car. If you don’t agree to come out with me tonight, I have the power to leave you stranded here – a sort of hijack in reverse.’

  ‘In that case, Mr Conrad, I shall have, most reluctantly, to agree.’

  ‘Reluctantly – of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But don’t forget, if you try to change your mind …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have your bike in Market Winton as a hostage.’

  ‘Not my bike!’

  ‘Double-cross me, baby,’ he drawled, ‘and you’ll never see that bike alive again.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘And who,’ asked Dad in his most old-fashioned voice, ‘is Michael Conrad when he’s at home?’

  Anne paused in the middle of brushing her hair to look at her father in the mirror with an expression of exasperation. Michael had driven her home and had promised to pick her up later in the evening and take her for a drink. Dad had been pleased that she was going out, until he asked her with whom.

  ‘Now Dad, don’t look like that. He’s a client of Mr Whetlore’s, he’s buying property in the High Street, and he’s perfectly respectable.’

  ‘I don’t know him,’ Dad said stubbornly. ‘Where’s he live? What’s he do? I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Well you wouldn’t have. He’s new to town. He’s staying at the Black Bear, and he’s going to start up a business here.’

  ‘What sort o’ business?’

  ‘A garage,’ Anne said, adding reluctantly, ‘and second-hand cars.’

  ‘Ah!’ Dad said with a world of significance. ‘That’s it, then? Well Anne, my lass, I’d ’a thought you’d know better than to mix yourself up with someone in that line of trade.’

  ‘I told you, Dad, he’s one of Mr Whetlore’s clients.’

  ‘Client or no client, used cars is full of crooks. Plenty of money, I’ll bet?’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be short,’ Anne began.

  ‘See what I mean? Where’s he get all that money from?’

  ‘You seem to think that no honest man could possibly have more than ten bob in his pocket,’ Anne said crossly.

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Dad said, one of his unanswerable phrases with which he bogged down arguments. ‘But I’m telling you there’s more crooks in used cars—’

  ‘You make it sound like some kind of packaging,’ Anne said. Dad frowned at her.

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, Miss. I’m telling you for your own good. What do you know about him? Nothing! You don’t even know that his name’s his name.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ Anne said, realising that it was no good losing her temper with her father. ‘I only know what he tells me and what I observe for myself. But he’s all right. He isn’t anything out of the ordinary. And I’m only going out for an evening with him, I’m not going to marry him, you know!’

  ‘There’s many a girl has said that, and found out later, when it’s too late.’

  ‘Do you think he’s going to white-slave me? Honestly Dad,’ she began to smile, her sense of humour re-asserting itself, ‘you’ve got this terrible attitude to strangers. Everyone’s a stranger somewhere. If you went to London, you’d be a stranger, but it wouldn’t change the fact that you’re a kind, honest, thoroughly straight man, now would it?’

  ‘You could always wheedle,’ Dad said gloomily, allowing Anne’s arm to creep round his neck. ‘Well, I’ll let you go out this once, against my better nature, but tomorrow I’m finding out about this Michael Conrad, and if he isn’t all he seems to be—’

  ‘You’ll be after him with a shotgun. All right, Dad, I understand. But now I must get ready. I don’t want to keep him waiting.’

  ‘You keep any man waiting as long as you want,’ Dad said as he went out. ‘If he doesn’t think you’re worth waiting for …’

  Anne was ready by the time Michael called for her, and went out with him to find, to her surprise, a different car, a bright yellow one that she recognized, despite her ignorance, as a Capri.

  ‘What happened to the other one?’ she asked when she had settled herself in the front seat.

  ‘This one’s my car,’ Michael said, as if it was an explanation. ‘I prefer comfort and warmth. And in any case, I wouldn’t drive a dark green car at night. Or a dark blue one. Yellow or white – be seen, that’s my motto.’

  Anne laughed. ‘You do sound rich! One car for the daytime and one for the night. I suppose you have a change of car for each suit?’

  ‘You forget, cars are my business,’ he said. ‘I’ve always got a wide choice of cars to drive. But in general, for my own use, I’d choose a yellow one. You see, it’s been proved that certain colours are more repellent to the eye, and the more repellent, the less likely the car is to be hit.’

  ‘How clever of you to know that,’ Anne said. He glanced sideways at her.

  ‘I can never tell if you’re trying to tease me or not.’

  ‘That’s funny – I said that about you only this afternoon.’

  ‘In that case, we should have a very confused relationship.’

  He’s repeating himself, Anne thought with disappointment. It was like a tiny questionmark raising its head momentarily in her brain: if he could repeat himself, didn’t that prove that he had certain set-pieces which he used on certain occasions?

  ‘Where are we going? she asked suddenly, noticing that they were not driving into town.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ he asked, grinning derisively. ‘I thought you knew this area like the back of your hand.’

  ‘Well of course I know where we are,’ she said. ‘I asked you where we were going. I can see we’re heading towards Felsham—’

  ‘We’re going to the “Pure Drop”.’

  ‘Why?’ Anne asked simply.

  ‘Because I’ve passed it twice in the car, and I thought it was such a beautiful name, I’d have to go there, even if it’s only for one quick one. If it’s no good we can always drive on somewhere else.’

  ‘What it is to be motorised!’ Anne marvelled.

  The ‘Pure Drop’ looked like an ordinary, small village pub from the outside, but once inside it was evident that it had recently been taken over. The new owners had converted it and opened up a large room out at the back of the building that had once been a store-room. Anne and Michael eased their way in, for it was quite crowded, and stared around them. There seemed to be an unusual mixture of people, some farm-labourers and local villagers, some well-dres
sed people from farther out, and some young holidaymakers. The latter were making a particularly noisy group round a bar pool table. There was also a darts game going on on the other side of the room, and someone in another group in a secluded corner had a guitar.

  ‘Not exactly a typical Dorset village pub,’ Michael remarked, ‘but it doesn’t look too bad, Shall we stay for one?’

  ‘Oh yes, if you don’t mind it. I quite like the atmosphere,’ Anne said.

  ‘All right, then. What will you have?’

  Michael left Anne to thread his way through to the bar, having pointed out to her a couple of seats at a table over by the pool-table. Anne had never seen the game played before, though she had played snooker, it being a very popular game at the British Legion where she had often gone with Joe. Anne took the seat with the best view of the table and, as Michael was quite a long time getting the drinks, she had ample opportunity to watch the play and pick up the rudiments of the game.

  It was an electrically controlled table which released the balls for a new game when a tenpenny piece was put in the slot. As was customary in pubs, those people who wanted a game had put their coins on the edge of the table, and each came up to claim his turn when his coin was nearest the slot.

  Anne watched the last stages of the game that was in progress, and then her view of the table was blocked by some people coming to stand and watch. The cues were laid up, signifying the end of the game, and a new foursome claimed their turn. Anne could only see play intermittently through the bodies that blocked her view, but after a few minutes someone shifted slightly and through the gap she saw that the player lining up his shot was Joe Halderthay.

  Anne’s first, instinctive reaction, born of four years’ habit, was to call his name, to greet him. Then she remembered who she was with, and thought better of it. She stared at him all the same, protected from his casual glance by the fence of bodies between them. This was the man she might have married.

  He was stooped over the table in the correct position for a snooker player, sighting along his arm, the cue running along the slight cleft in his chin. He was wearing his usual clean white shirt with the neck open, his skin showing brown against the whiteness. The sleeves were rolled up, and his powerful forearms glittered with a sheen of blonde hairs bleached almost white against the darker tan of his arms.

  His face was stern with concentration, his level blue eyes narrowed, his lips slightly parted over his white teeth. Anne looked from that remembered face to his blunt, capable hands, and shivered a little. There was immense power in him, in this great golden man, power coiled down in his body poised for the shot. The cue ran forward like a ram-rod; there was a double click of ivory, and then a general murmur of approval from the onlookers as the ball cannoned down the table, curled like a live thing round the back of the black ball, and neatly potted the purple.

  It was a terrific shot. Anne smiled to herself. There was something very attractive about a man doing something well, even when it was as trivial a thing as bar pool.

  ‘Sorry I was so long,’ a voice broke into her thoughts. Anne withdrew her eyes guiltily, and smilingly accepted the drink that Michael was holding out to her. ‘There was such a crowd up at the bar. It must be pay-day or something – I’m sure it can’t be packed like this every night.’

  ‘Market day,’ Anne said, remembering the fact herself only then. She kept her eyes on Michael’s face, for she did not want him to glance across at the table and see Joe there. ‘A lot of these chaps will have come up for the market and they often combine it with their weekly night out.’

  ‘Of course, I forgot,’ Michael said, ‘you’d know all about the farm-workers’ schedule, wouldn’t you? You were being taken out by a farm-labourer.’

  ‘Not a labourer,’ Anne contradicted him automatically. ‘He’s a pigman.’

  She should have said ‘stockman’, as she realised as soon as she said it, but it was too late now. Michael stared at her for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh dear, what an unfortunate expression!’ he chortled. ‘It calls up lovely images, like something out of Animal Farm. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up, sonny? ‘I want to be a pigman, like my father”.’

  ‘All right,’ said Anne crossly, ‘it isn’t that funny. Oh hush up! You might offend someone.’ And she glanced towards the pool table, hoping Joe hadn’t heard. Michael now begin singing, parodying a Beatle’s song: ‘I am the pigman, I am the walrus—’ and she was getting both cross and nervous.

  ‘Shut up,’ she said again. ‘It’s a perfectly respectable trade. Better than being a used-car salesman, anyway.’

  At that, Michael stopped laughing, and stared at her. Anne felt slightly ashamed, but still she glanced towards the pool table, and when she said, ‘Let’s drink up and go, shall we?’ he agreed without a word, helped her into her coat and preceded her to the door to make a path for her through the closely-packed bodies. In silence they walked to the car and got in, and Anne thought to herself that, even if she had offended Michael seriously, at least neither he nor Joe had seen the other, and that was an advantage.

  Michael started the car and drove down the road a little way, and then abruptly turned into a side road and drove until he came to a gate by a haystack, where he pulled the car in and stopped. He turned to face her, and his expression in the bright moonlight was gentle and curious.

  ‘Was he there?’ he asked without any preamble. She stared back at him, unwilling to answer, but seeing that he knew anyway she nodded reluctantly. ‘I meant no offence, you know,’ he went on. ‘Nothing against him, it was only the word, the name.’

  Anne was so surprised at his words that she did not speak for a moment. She had expected him to be offended, angry, even resentful, and he had instead disarmed her with a kind and understanding apology.

  ‘You must have been very fond of him,’ Michael said, scrutinising her face. ‘I won’t ask why you split up, but I can understand why you don’t want to bump into him.’

  ‘No, it isn’t anything like that,’ Anne said hastily. ‘We split up because I wouldn’t marry him, and—’

  ‘Yes?’ She didn’t go on. ‘Well, why so anxious to avoid him, then?’

  ‘Because – oh, I don’t know. I suppose I thought it would upset him to see me out with someone else,’ Anne said, and she thought it sounded foolish, even to her.

  ‘I think I’m beginning to get the picture,’ Michael said, the beginnings of a smile lurking round his lips. ‘He’s a nice chap, slow and steady and very fond of you. You like him but wouldn’t dream of marrying him. He never realised you were too good for him and was shocked when you turned him down. And now, are you sure you’ve no lingering pangs? No little seeds of regret that you didn’t say yes instead of no?’

  Anne felt herself blushing, and was glad that in the moonlight he would not be able to tell. ‘I’m sorry we can’t be friends any more,’ she said. ‘I think he went to extremes there.’

  ‘I can understand it. If you really love someone, you don’t want second best. I admire him for that anyway – shows courage. But you haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘I have,’ Anne said, trying to look at him steadily.

  ‘All right,’ Michael said after a moment. ‘I think I understand.’ There was a brief silence during which Anne felt that it was probably her turn to apologise now.

  ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you in the pub,’ she said at last. ‘Calling you a used-car salesman. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Funny how you think that’s a rude thing to call someone,’ he smiled.

  ‘Oh, I suppose one always associates used cars with crookery. My Dad—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Warned me against you,’ she admitted. ‘Just on the strength of your job. Why did you go in for it, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, I just drifted in, as I suppose most people do. I always loved cars – any engines, really – right from a child. I loved engines the way other people love animals. I wa
s never happy unless I was taking something to pieces or, later, unless I was under a car.

  ‘I passed my test as soon as I was seventeen, but I could drive long before that. I bought my first old banger for fifteen pounds and did it up. I used to earn money in the evenings and at weekends doing jobs on people’s cars in the neighbourhood, and by the time I was eighteen, it seemed only reasonable to get somewhere where I could do it full time.’

  ‘And you went on from there?’

  ‘I went on from there, building up my business, buying old cars, doing them up and selling them again, and doing services and repairs and so on to other cars. Got some more cash together and got a bigger place in another part of town. Did well. And so it went on. I love cars, and I love travelling. So I combine the two, and move around the country starting up new businesses. I’m like a farmer in that respect,’ he said.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Anne asked, puzzled.

  ‘Making businesses grow where none grew before,’ he laughed. He reached out and took her hand, quite naturally, and Anne startled at the touch.

  ‘So you’re really quite respectable,’ she said, smilingly.

  ‘Did you doubt it?’

  ‘And rich?’

  ‘Mercenary girl! Yes, I suppose by some standards moderately rich.’ His other hand was resting on the back of her seat, and now it moved round behind her and rested on her shoulder. ‘So you see—’ his face was serious now, his eyes intent, looking into hers in a way that made her feel at once dizzy and excited and afraid.

  ‘I see,’ she whispered. He bent his head towards her, and the shadows flowed across it, leaving it in darkness. His arms drew her in towards him, she felt the warmth of him, smelled the spicy scent of him. Her hands went up to his shoulders, though whether to push him away or pull him close she didn’t know. His lips touched hers, hesitantly, electrically, and then he was kissing her with passion, his arms around her, and she was responding, her fingers digging into his shoulders to hold him close.