The Waiting Time

by Margaret Carr

  When she came out of school the following day, she could have sworn she saw the same car parked across the road but she had to run to catch her bus. Patty had insisted on keeping Helen overnight. There was a children’s film on at the local cinema after tea that the little girl wanted to see.

  A note was pushed under her door when Jenny arrived home. It was from Ryder asking her to have dinner with him that evening at eight o’clock. Some devil prompted her to dress in the same outfit that had so enraged Ryder on her evening out with Kane. She was having second thoughts about it when he knocked at the door. It was too late to change.

  His eyes narrowed as he took in the picture before him. Then without a word he was holding out his hand. She pulled on her coat and turned to shut the door. She felt his hand slip under her elbow but she refused to look up. He ushered her into the car and climbed into the driving seat and they were off into the heart of the city. It had been dark for some time when they stopped at last in front of a tall, Edwardian house.

  The recognition was instant. The horror and distaste for the cold, heartless house was still with her despite the passing of years. How could he bring her back here, to the place where all the misery had begun? She squeezed shut her eyes, then, taking a deep breath, masked her expression and climbed out of the car.

  ‘I was under the impression I was being asked out to dinner. Don’t tell me Mrs Mould is still in residence.’

  ‘I think you’ll find there have been a few changes since you were last here.’

  As they approached the entrance, the lights came on in the front of the house and the door was opened wide. A young girl with a long blonde plait and dressed in a smart grey dress welcomed them inside.

  Jenny muffled the gasp of astonishment in her throat as she gazed around the light airy hall. White paint covered the once dark woodgrain and the stained glass panels in the doors glowed warmth across the cream walls. The wood floors were uncovered, the mellow oak lightened and polished to a fine finish.

  They handed over their coats and made their way into the lounge. Here again the change was dramatic. Jenny sat down on one of the two settees that embraced the open fire as Ryder crossed the room to a drinks cabinet.

  ‘Sherry?’ he queried.

  ‘Why not. Are we to eat here?’

  ‘You have some objections?’

  ‘No, not at all. I wasn’t aware that you still owned the house.’

  She blushed as he handed over her glass. It wasn’t any of her business what he did with his property or his money, not any more. The meal was good, the conversation stilted but polite and still neither had broached the subject of their last parting.

  The girl waiting on them was hired in from a firm of caterers who specialised in small, private contracts. They would open up a house and prepare a meal for a visiting owner who didn’t want to keep a full-time staff. After the meal, they went back to the lounge, sitting one on either side of the fire, cups of coffee in their hands.

  ‘When did you have all this done?’ Jenny asked, indicating her surroundings with a wave of her hand.

  ‘I decided to keep the house on after Dad died. I had the work started before we left for America. It will be more comfortable and more convenient for the airport than some inner city hotel. I don’t intend to lose track of you again even if you do decide to instigate a divorce.’

  Jenny’s head jerked up.

  ‘I’ve never mentioned divorce.’

  He put down his cup with a clatter of china.

  ‘I want you back, Jenny, on any terms,’ he said holding her startled stare. ‘I can give you more than that boy at the top of stairs ever could. I know he asked you to marry him, Patty told me, but he’s not for you.’

  Jenny’s mouth made a protesting gasp.

  ‘You can’t talk to me like that, you . . . you, jumped up . . . ’

  He was out of his seat and pulling Jenny from hers.

  ‘I was angry, Jennifer,’ he said holding her away from him. ‘I was so angry when I came back all those months ago and saw you standing there in that dingy flat doorway, a beautiful, mature mother of a five-year-old daughter, whom I knew was mine the minute I saw her. I couldn’t trust myself to look at you let alone speak to you. Do you have any idea what you did to me? You and my father between you. Have you ever given any thought to how different our lives could have been over the past empty years had I known of Helen’s existence, let alone what it would have meant to the child?’

  Jenny was shaking her head.

  ‘Of course I did. I wanted to tell you but your work always came first. If you knew she was yours why have you been pretending that she wasn’t?’

  ‘I waited to hear from you for weeks, months, after I first went to America, sure that you would contact me but when time passed and you didn’t I suppose I was punishing you, making you wait, as I had.’

  Dark eyes stared down into her light ones.

  ‘The waiting is over, Jenny. I’m asking you again, will you come to America with me, as my wife? Will you give us a second chance? The waiting time is over.’

  Jenny nodded.

  ‘I never stopped loving you, you know,’ she whispered.

  ‘Nor I you,’ he murmured as he swept her into his arms.