The Fountain

by Mary Nichols

  The mayor handed her a control box and she pressed the button he indicated. Water bubbled from the globe above the man’s head, ran down his arms and splashed over the woman and boy and into the pool. A burst of applause broke out from those around her. She stood facing them all, overwhelmed by the feeling of goodwill that emanated round her.

  It was over and another hurdle had been overcome, another day lived towards that time, somewhere in the future, when she would no longer mourn the lost years, no longer regret the mistakes. So many mistakes. But in there, amongst the dross, were some shining days, a lifetime of happiness crammed into a few stolen hours. One day, she would be able to look back and smile and say, ‘When I was young…’ and not be overwhelmed by tears.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Simon came after the children had gone to school the following Monday morning. She was tidying away discarded clothes, toys, books, but it was too nice a day to stay indoors and she intended to take her easel out to the fens. She was humming to herself when she heard the doorbell. She stuffed her duster into her apron pocket and went to answer it.

  In casual trousers and a roll-neck shirt, he stood on the step, smiling at her in that heart-stopping way he had. ‘Hallo, Barbara.’

  ‘Simon, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Is that meant to be a welcome?’

  ‘Sorry, you took me by surprise.’ She held the door open for him to enter. ‘I wasn’t expecting you…’ She stopped suddenly when she realised he was paying no attention to what she was saying: he was simply standing in front of her, his feet apart, his head on one side, raking her with his eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’ She raised a hand to brush a wisp of hair from her face, conscious that she was wearing no make-up and that the apron she wore hid a disreputable sweater and a pair of trousers. ‘I’m a mess, I know. You caught me out.’

  ‘You’re beautiful.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ She had to be light-hearted: it was the only way she could control the beating of her heart and the shaking of her hands. She had not set eyes on him since George’s funeral and that encounter had been a strange one, a sort of goodbye and yet not a goodbye. In the eighteen months since then she had often thought about him, wondered if he ever thought of her, but then she had pushed the thoughts from her as unproductive and got on with her new life, one in which, she told herself sternly, she was fulfilled and content.

  Without the tensions engendered by George’s double-dealing and worrying about what he would get up to next, not to mention his affairs, she had begun to be herself again, to paint again. She had been putting her pictures in the window of the craft shop, giving the owner a commission for selling them. Others were on the walls of the manor with little tickets on them so that the wealthy clients using the hydro could buy them. And the council had commissioned a copy of The Market of Old Melsham to hang in the town hall. She hadn’t become a famous artist, but she was making a little money at it, a small step on the way to realising her original ambition. Now here was Simon looking at her in that all-seeing way of his and melting her with his smile. ‘Come in and I’ll make some coffee.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table to watch her as she moved about putting the percolator on the gas stove, setting out cups and saucers, fetching milk from the fridge. The small domestic movements made his heart contract painfully. Was it still too soon? Would she turn him away, as she had done on that fateful Christmas Day? He took a deep breath, but his voice, when he spoke, was light. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. And you?’ On the surface it was an ordinary kind of exchange, but she could feel the tension, the undercurrents sweeping them along.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Then why are you here? Why now?’

  ‘I decided it was time.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘Yes. Time to find out how the land lies, to see if there’s anything you want or need. I meant what I said at George’s funeral about always being there for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We couldn’t talk then, not properly. It was too soon. I had to wait for the right moment.’

  ‘And you think this is it?’

  ‘I can’t be sure, but I thought it was about right and the switching on of the fountain seemed appropriate, a time to take stock, as it were.’

  ‘For you or for me?’

  ‘Both.’ He reached out and took both her hands in his and held them to his chest. ‘You escaped me once, I can’t let it happen again for want of trying.’

  She looked up into his eyes and then away again because the message in them was confusing her, making her realise that she still wanted him, that all her efforts to put the past behind her, and him along with it, had failed. ‘Simon, I don’t understand. You can’t still want me—’

  ‘Always and for ever. You remember the beginning, when you were a student and I was a lieutenant back from the war?’ She nodded. ‘George got there first and claimed you. I couldn’t risk that happening again with someone else.’

  She smiled. ‘It won’t. There is no one.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But, Simon, that was a long time ago. We can’t go back. It just isn’t possible.’

  ‘No, but we can go forward. All I’m saying is that I still love you and that won’t ever change. I loved you then, I love you now, and I always will. To eternity.’

  Her heart was beating almost in her throat and her knees felt weak. The words were like a distant melody, half remembered, just out of reach, haunting her, tantalising her, filling her whole being. ‘Simon, I—’

  ‘Don’t say anything, just listen to your heart.’ He bent to kiss her. The old fire, the feeling of being an entity with him, the sheer power of what they felt for each other, had always felt for each other, seized her in its grip and it was useless trying to fight it. She put her arms round his neck and let her own love mingle with his, surrounding them like a benevolent cloud. ‘It is the same for you too,’ he murmured. ‘You feel it too.’

  ‘Oh, Simon…’

  ‘Say you do. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, no impediment at all. Say you’ll marry me.’

  ‘Simon, I don’t know. I’m confused. I don’t know that I’m ready for another marriage. I don’t know if I ever will be.’

  Still holding her, he leant back and looked into her eyes. ‘Do you mind telling me why?’

  She reached up and stroked the tiny scar on his face with the back of her finger. ‘You know, I used to dream about what I’d say if you came back and still wanted me.’ She laughed, almost tipsily. ‘It was a slightly erotic dream, Simon, but now you’re here, it’s different. I’m different. For the first time in my life, I feel absolutely free. I don’t have to consult anyone about what I do, where I go. It is a wonderful feeling of independence, of liberation. Today, for instance, I plan to drive out into the country and paint.’

  ‘I understand, and after what you’ve been through, I can sympathise, but we’ve wasted so much time, years and years, pretending to be something we’re not, trying to please all those around us we thought had a prior claim. Years we could have been together, bringing up our children…’

  ‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Simon, about Jay-Jay…’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You know, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you find out? When?’

  ‘You remember that picture you gave Penny, the one of the children on the beach?’

  ‘How could I forget?’ That night was a memory she treasured. It had seen her through the dark days when love and affection, even respect, eluded her; it had always been there, though somehow, in the unhappiness of her marriage and the trauma of George’s death, it had got lost, swirled about, became indistinguishable from her need to be loved and cherished. By someone. Anyone. Even George, when he decided to turn over a new leaf. But he hadn’t, had he?

  ‘I saw the likeness then. It was there in his expression, the colour of
his hair and his eyes. It was as if you wanted me to know, that you were telling me…’

  ‘Perhaps I was. I don’t know. I was very mixed up. I still am. Jay-Jay loved George. He mourned him and he trusts me, I couldn’t destroy all that.’

  ‘He’s our son, Barbara. I would never do anything to hurt him. Or you. It isn’t an issue. We’ll do whatever you decide. But marry me, make me the happiest man in the world, let me take care of you. Please.’

  ‘Simon, I just don’t know.’

  ‘But I don’t need to stay away anymore, do I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’ll wear you down.’ He grinned and kissed her again. ‘Can I come and watch you paint? I’ll be good, I promise.’

  She gave a light laugh which lifted his spirits to soaring point. ‘Not too good, I hope. I didn’t say I wanted to be celibate.’

  He picked her up and swung her round and round, before setting her down and kissing her cheeks, her lips, her throat. Then he held her away from him and looked into her eyes, smiling in a way which reminded her of Jay-Jay at his most mischievous. ‘I love you, Barbara. Love you. And that means I’ll do anything you want. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. I love you too, I think I always have.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘And you’re right, we’ve wasted too much time.’ She took his hand and drew him towards the stairs.

  It was stupendous, glorious. He was careful, tender, funny and loving, moving slowly, watching her, feasting his eyes on her body, waiting for her. She soared with ecstatic delight, was lifted to heights she never dreamt of, and afterwards, she lay in his arms, glowing and exhausted and profoundly moved.

  ‘Darling, you’re crying,’ he said.

  ‘I’m happy, that’s why.’

  ‘Good. We’ll do it again. Often.’ He sat up and reached for his clothes. ‘Come on, it’s a lovely day. Where are your easel and paints?’

  ‘Already in the car.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  He was smiling as he followed her out to the car. He’d do it her way because he loved her and she deserved his patience and respect, and if all he got to be was a lover, that was OK too, so long as she didn’t send him away again. It was better than not having her at all. One day, he didn’t know how far into the future it might be, she would marry him. He had waited seventeen years, he could wait a little longer.

  It was Jay-Jay who made her mind up for her. Simon had been down to spend Sunday with them all and they had had a lovely time, going to Wells and taking a rowing boat out to the sands to gather cockles, and coming home to boil them up and shell them, eating them in vinegar with brown bread and butter. He had been coming down most weekends to take them out somewhere, always including the children in his plans, talking to them, telling them jokes, playing games with them, until they accepted him. Even Alison had warmed towards him and the boys idolised him.

  ‘Mum,’ Jay-Jay asked, when she was tucking him into bed. The other two had gone to their room to finish their homework, always left until the last minute, especially when there were more exciting things to do. ‘Are you happy now?’

  ‘Yes, dear, very happy. We’ve had a lovely day, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but I meant are you happy every day?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I have you and Alison and Nick and good friends, what more can I want?’

  ‘Will you marry again?’

  ‘I’m happy as I am.’

  ‘I just wanted you to know that if you did want to, I wouldn’t mind.’ He was embarrassed but he’d made up his mind to say something and ploughed on. ‘If it made you happy, I mean.’

  She hugged him. ‘Oh, Jay-Jay, you know exactly the right thing to say, don’t you?’ Just like his father. Just like Simon.

  ‘It isn’t only me. Alison and Nick say so too. I asked them.’ He snuggled down in bed, his eyes flickering with tiredness. ‘I like Uncle Simon, you know.’

  ‘So do I, darling, so do I.’

  She kissed him goodnight and went down to the sitting room and told Simon what he’d said.

  He got up from the settee where he had been reading a magazine and took her in his arms. ‘Then that’s settled it. You’ll marry me now, won’t you, seeing our son approves?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He was grinning from ear to ear, as he whirled her round. ‘At last! At last.’