Turbulent Covenant

by Jessica Steele

  `I'm so thrilled, darling,' Margery Bradburn was saying softly again. 'You never did get round to telling me his name—what is it?'

  Tiffany's mind registered that her aunt was asking her to tell her the name of the man she had just agreed had asked to marry her. 'I – er – I shall have to go, Aunty, my bath will be running over.' She knew it was cowardly, but she couldn't carry on with this conversation. She would have to put the phone down and sort out how to retract her statement later without causing her aunt too much upset.

  `All right, dear. I know you want to go and make yourself beautiful for your young man Does he fly too?'

  `Y ... Yes.' That was another 'Yes' too many She wished she could put the phone down, wished she could tell her aunt honestly what happened. Dear Aunt Margery, she thought, why am I such a coward when it comes to hurting you? Why can't I just come out and tell you it's all finished? All she had to say was a short, 'It's all off', but she couldn't. Not with her aunt sounding so overjoyed.

  `You didn't tell me his name, dear,' Margery Bradburn reminded her gently.

  His name? Tiffany sought round for a name to give her aunt, unwittingly entering further into deceiving her, her main object being to get off the phone in order to compose some story that wouldn't be too painful for her aunt to hear. She needed a name and quick, and could think of none but Nick Cowley—any name but Nick Cowley would do.

  Ben Maxwell,' she said. Then her aunt was telling her cheerfully to run along and have her bath, and she was

  left holding the receiver, her aunt gone.

  Tiffany stared at the telephone with a look of horror on her face. She hadn't said Ben Maxwell, had she? She hadn't, she couldn't have—had she? What had possessed her? Oh, God ! She couldn't help a weak smile, he'd just love that. Big, strong, he-man type Ben Maxwell, he would just love to know the girl he thought bad-mannered, dramatic and unable to handle her love life had just claimed him as her fiancé.

  Tiffany had a three days rest before her next flight. Three days in which to contact her aunt and confess that she no longer had a boy-friend. Three days in which to confess that she barely knew Ben Maxwell, let alone was engaged to him.

  More than once her hand went to the telephone, and on one occasion she actually dialled her aunt's number, only to faint heartedly replace the receiver. Half a dozen times she tried to write, but just couldn't get the words to look right on paper.

  It was on the last of her rest days that she decided there was nothing for it but she would have to go down to Middledeane and tell her aunt face to face. It was too late now, she wouldn't have time to get there and back, but she would make it her first priority when she returned from her next flight. It was not going to be easy; Tiffany felt her aunt's anguish as her own, and inwardly groaned. Aunt Margery was a dear, but she did have this bee in her bonnet about her and marriage.

  She recalled when she had first become aware of it, she had been eighteen at the time and had been living with her aunt for about two years then. She had returned home after being at a dance with Geoff Cooper, a young man only a little older than herself. She had enjoyed her even-

  ing, and after saying goodnight to him at the door had gone into the sitting room to find her aunt still up. That in itself was unusual enough for her to comment on, for it was her aunt's habit to be in bed by ten-thirty, and it had been nearly midnight then.

  `Not in bed yet, Aunty?'

  `I thought you might be bringing your young man in for coffee,' had been her aunt's reply.

  Tiffany had bubbled into gentle laughter. 'My young man, Aunty !—I've only been out with him once, and I doubt if I shall be going out with him again.' This was because Geoff Cooper was off to university the very next day.

  She had expected her aunt to smile in return, but instead she had shown how very upset she was at her reply. 'Oh, Tiffany, I hope you haven't told him you don't want to see him again.' And before Tiffany could answer, she had gone on to say that all marriages were not like her parents' and that Tiffany should not allow the unpleasant memories of the fiasco her parents' marriage had been to warp her outlook.

  Astonished, because her aunt's fears were unnecessary, Tiffany stared at her, trying to understand her anxiety. Aunt Margery's marriage had been a particularly happy one before her unfortunate widowhood a short time before she had gone to live with her. Tiffany had tried to quiet her aunt's fears by telling her that life with her parents had left her with no prejudicial feelings one way or the other, but her aunt had remained unconvinced.

  Over the next three years a pattern had emerged of her aunt first impressing on her the good points of her various escorts, then warming to the theme of what a good husband this one or that one would make. Tiffany had never argued with her, though she tried to get her to see that she wasn't

  interested in marriage purely for the sake of it, but had failed- and only succeeded in further convincing her that she did have a marriage hang-up. So weakly, probably because she was so very fond of her, Tiffany had let the mountain that should have stayed a molehill grow, until now it was out of all proportion. She was reasonably good-looking, having long dark hair, wide brown eyes and a clear creamy skin, and had on occasions been called beautiful by one or two male acquaintances, but in her view she felt she would marry if and when she fell in love, and only then. Pain hit her as she forced thoughts of Nick from crowding into her mind.

  At twenty-one she had joined Coronet Airlines, had done her six weeks training, and had been flying ever since, first on short-haul routes and when more experienced she had been put on long-haul routes. It was hard, tiring work, but she loved every minute of it. She got on well with most people she came into contact with. Passengers and crew seemed to like her—Ben Maxwell was the exception, but she had decided not to think about him either.

  It had been a wrench leaving her aunt and Middledeane, but she had felt it was something she had to do—her regret at leaving Aunt Margery had been tempered with a feeling of adventure, a feeling of standing on her own two feet. The first six months away from Middledeane had been spent sharing a flat with three other stewardesses, but being in some ways a loner, she had looked for a flat of her own and the other girls had no difficulty in finding another fourth when Tiffany had moved.

  Yes, she loved this flat, Tiffany decided as she placed her uniform cap at its correct angle on top of her French pleat before picking up her case and taking a last look round. She would be on duty shortly and it came to her

  automatically to check all electricity was off, plugs taken from their sockets and the gas fire off before she left.

  Pulling the door behind her, Tiffany descended to the flat below where Janet and Bill Thompson lived. Janet would keep an eye on her flat and Tiffany knew she was happy to hold her spare key in case of burst pipes or the like. Janet would always pop up and put her immersion heater on ready for when she came back. It was an old house and anything could happen, from tiles falling off the roof to window frames working loose.

  Only yesterday, she mused, as she waited for Janet to answer her knock, she had been along to the estate agents who handled the property for her landlord, Mr West, to report a broken sash cord.

  Janet as usual was ready for a long chat, but seeing Tiffany in the blue and gold of her uniform knew she wouldn't have time for a gossip.

  `How long will you be away?'

  `It's a three-week trip.' Tiffany tried to infuse some pleasure into the thought of the round the world trip in front of her, but it was hard going. Damn Nick!

  Happily Janet was unaware that Tiffany and Nick had split up and chattered happily away until Tiffany found a polite moment to interrupt her.

  `I must go, Janet.'

  `I'll pop up and switch the immersion on,' Janet offered. `Three weeks tomorrow?'

  It was nice having Janet and Bill below, Tiffany thought as she headed down the next flight of stairs. They got on well and occasionally she was able to repay their kindness in keeping an eye on her flat, by baby-sitt
ing with their three-year-old son Andrew. Tiffany bumped into Miss Tucker, the elderly ground floor tenant, on her way out, and stopped to have a word with her. 'Take care, Miss

  Nicholls,' Miss Tucker said as Tiffany hurried through the front door. Tiffany smiled; Miss Tucker didn't trust aeroplanes, they weren't natural.

  The next three weeks went by in a flash. After Ben Maxwell's admonishment of her—thank goodness he wasn't the captain this trip—Tiffany took great care -no one should know the mental anguish she was going through. She was even able to answer Dusty Miller, a navigator, when he asked, 'Is that Nick chap still taking up all your free time?' with a 'Who's Nick?' without Dusty being aware that the sound of Nick's name made her flinch inside. It was all Dusty needed, however, and he made a point of being near her when she went sightseeing with some of the others.

  By the time they disembarked at the airport in Calcutta, Tiffany had come to terms with herself. Nick was finished. Over. He wouldn't be getting in touch with her again, but just supposing he did, she had firmly made up her mind to refuse to go out with him. She hadn't stopped loving him, even telling herself his declared love for her was without substance, couldn't stop her from loving him. It wasn't that easy. How long would he have continued to date her if she had given in to his desires? Her cheeks flamed at the thought of what she would have committed herself to—how would she ever have been able to look Aunt Margery in the face afterwards? She'd buy her something really nice while she was in India. How could she have deceived her for one minute by letting her believe she was engaged to someone called Ben Maxwell? The sooner that slip of the tongue was rectified the better.

  It was quite warm when they touched down in London— warm for December, that was. It had been an exhausting three weeks and Tiffany was glad it had been ' so. She left the aircraft and shortly afterwards was saying good-

  bye to the small band of stewardesses collected by the staff notice board. She made her way to the car park and was nearly up to her Mini, her car keys already in her hand, when glancing down the line of parked cars, she froze in absolute horror.

  She couldn't believe what she was seeing and blinked twice in rapid succession. Then all colour drained from her face and she had to put a hand to the nearest car to steady herself. For there, standing smiling and talking, was not only her aunt Margery who by rights should be in Middledeane, but the over-large man she was smiling and talking with was none other than Captain Benedict Maxwell.

  Oh God, no— How had she got here? What ... ? Who ... ? Tiffany's thinking power threatened to cave in as the thought tumbled in that she would be completely and utterly humiliated if her aunt had told Ben Maxwell he was engaged to be married to the stewardess he just couldn't stand.

  Ben Maxwell was just about to hand her aunt into his car when her aunt looked across and saw her. Tiffany's feet, after her initial shock, had taken wings, and by that time she was about only twenty yards away and drawing nearer, her one thought to get her aunt away from Ben Maxwell before she could say anything that would make him heap coals of wrath down on her head and also make Tiffany Nicholls the laughing stock of Coronet Airlines.

  She hated having to hurt her aunt this way, but there was nothing else for it. Fully determined to drag her away if necessary, Tiffany covered the remaining yards at a sprint, and opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again as a firm grip descended on her arms and she felt herself being mercilessly hauled up against Ben Maxwell's hard frame. The pressure of his hands on her arms in-

  creased as he felt her instinctive pull to get away from him and she knew without asking that he wasn't going to let her go until he was good and ready.

  She stifled a groan as the thought of how much Aunt _ Margery had told him shot through her. He was a good eight inches taller than Tiffany, and slowly as if in a trance she let her gaze travel upwards, though terrified of what she would read in his eyes. Her eyes took in his iron-hard chin, travelled up to his unsmiling mouth—no suggestion of humour there, perhaps a hint of sensuality in his bottom lip—her eyes journeyed up past his straight nose, and unwillingly came to rest as she looked into steely, ice cold grey eyes. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. Wanted to move away, but he held her immobile against him. She could feel his cool breath on her cheeks as he returned her look, and would dearly loved to have fainted at that moment, but she had never fainted in her life. For the moment she had forgotten her aunt was standing there with them, and she wondered afterwards how long Ben Maxwell would have gripped her against him, if her aunt's voice hadn't penetrated between them.

  `It isn't every day one sees a girl racing to greet her fiancé, is it, Mr Maxwell?' Tiffany heard her aunt say, and wondered as the words hit her, and with them the knowledge that dragging her aunt away would be useless now, if with the crimson colour of embarrassment staining her cheeks any attempt she made to pretend to faint would be believed.

  She bit her lip in mortification as she resisted the temptation to try it anyway. This was something that would still have to be faced even after she had come round from her pretended faint. This situation wasn't going to go away—there was no way out of it. Here, in front of Ben Maxwell, she was going to have to confess to her aunt

  that he wasn't, never had been, and that pigs would fly before he ever got himself engaged to her. Aunt Margery was going to be hurt and Ben Maxwell would probably make mincemeat of her, but there was nothing else for it.

  The pressure on her arms lifted and she found that while he still held on to her with one hand, as though thinking the minute she was free she would make a dash for the nearest bolthole, her other arm was free so that she could turn and face her happy smiling aunt. She lifted her head proudly; whatever Ben Maxwell thought of her, she would get her explanations over with as much dignity as she could muster.

  `Aunty ...' she began, but got no further. Unbelievably, Ben Maxwell was replying to her aunt's comment about his fiancée racing into his arms.

  `Well, it is some time since we've seen each other, isn't it, dear? And we have such a lot to talk about.' His grip on her arm tightened as he switched his glance to Tiffany. `Haven't we?

  Tiffany definitely didn't like the way he said that `Haven't we?' and she gave another imperceptible pull to get away from him. It was a wasted effort. Ben Maxwell wasn't ready to let her go, and he was calling the tune.

  `I have one or two loose ends to clear up,' he told her. Tiffany noticed then that his travel holdall was placed by the door of his car, so he had more than likely landed in London not very long ago himself. 'I'll call for you at the usual time—we'll have a bite of dinner somewhere.' The bruising pressure on her arm increased, forcing her to acquiesce.

  `Yes, all r-right,' Tiffany stammered, incapable of coherent thought. She couldn't understand why he hadn't given her away. He wasn't liking this any more than she was, and he certainly didn't like her sufficiently to want

  to cover up for her. Could it be he had finer feelings than she had given him credit for and that he was doing so from a feeling of not wanting to hurt her aunt?

  Tiffany looked at her aunt and saw her eyes were brimming over with tears. Ben Maxwell chose that moment to relax his hold on her arm, and Tiffany wrenched herself away from him and put her arm around Margery Brad-burn's shoulders.

  `Don't be upset, darling,' she said gently, unable to bear seeing her aunt in tears. Her eyes met Ben Maxwell's over her aunt's shoulders. His expression was inscrutable, and Tiffany hurriedly turned her attention back to the motherly woman who was fighting to keep the tears back.

  `I'm so happy for you, Tiffany—I was so sure you'd decided never to marry.'

  Tiffany forced a smile as her aunt dried her tears, and her arms fell away from her shoulders. What a mess she was in —Aunt Margery overflowing with happiness now that she had met her niece's fiancée, and Ben Maxwell looking at her—how? What were those grey eyes telling her? Was she imagining they were saying, 'Don't say anything to your aunt until I've had a chance to talk to you?' />
  She had read him accurately, it seemed, for he placed an arm about her, pulling her nearer to him. For one terrifying moment as his head came nearer, Tiffany thought he was going to kiss her, and she froze, numb at the thought. Then saw it was meant to look like a kiss from where her aunt was standing and for a split second as Ben Maxwell's mouth hovered above her own, she thought she saw a gleam of pure satisfaction in his eyes as he read her fear, then his mouth moved to her ear and she heard the grating whisper, 'Keep quiet until I see you later— and call me Ben.'

  Then with a hand beneath an 'elbow of both Tiffany

  and Margery Bradburn, he was escorting them to Tiffany's Mini, her aunt telling him she was looking forward to seeing him again.

  `We'll have to see what we can arrange, Mrs Bradburn,' he said non-committally as he satisfied himself that she was comfortably seated before closing the door and going round to the driver's side.

  Tiffany looked at him helplessly, pleased her aunt could not see the expression on his face. The kindness thing that could be said for his look was that it was grim, but for the sake of appearances she did as he had bidden her and managed a husky "Bye, B-Ben.' He stepped back without a word, and Tiffany put the car into gear, then sped out of the car park.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MARGERY BRADBURN was full of the man they had just left in the car park, telling Tiffany she had told him she lived away from London and he had asked her how long she was staying. ... but as I told your wonderful fiancé ... ' Oh God, Tiffany silently groaned, ... I came to London on a trip with the W.I., and have to catch the coach back at five o'clock.'

  There were so many questions Tiffany wanted to ask, but she would have to be very tactful. For some reason Ben Maxwell didn't want her to confess to her aunt, and if she was honest with herself, she was rather glad about that. She knew she was being a moral coward, but she just couldn't take that glow of sheer bliss from her aunt's face —not just yet.