A Bid for Love & A Chance of Happiness

by J. B. Sherrard

  Chapter Two

  Petra returned to Grayston-on-Sea early in the New Year, feeling rested and refreshed despite several late nights over the Christmas season. Her mother, delighted to have her home for a while, had spoiled her dreadfully, insisting that Petra sleep, uninterrupted, until she woke each day, a luxury she hadn't enjoyed for many months. She was able to relax in the comfortable familiarity of her childhood home and as the tension slipped away, her tiredness was drawn with it, leaving her renewed and looking forward to another exacting term at the college.

  It was to prepare for this that she had come back early, for still being in her first year at the college she had no previous lecture notes to fall back on. Her work must be meticulously prepared so that she would never face the students unsure of dates or details. The broad scheme of the term was structured for her, but she had to flesh it out herself and be ready to lead her students on to research and interpretations of their own.

  Besides the lecturing side of her work she also had teaching practice students to supervise for the first time, a prospect which she found a little alarming. It was a daunting responsibility to teach other people to teach.

  On top of all this was the fast approaching conference weekend. Miss Danvers had told Petra that as she, Petra, had invited Nicholas Romilly to come and speak, she should be the one to introduce him before his lecture and, should he so wish it, accompany him to the reception in the evening.

  Petra had been delighted at first, but as the weekend approached she found herself becoming more and more nervous. Suppose she made some elementary mistake, or said something stupid or ill-informed.

  "Why should you?" her father had demanded when she had confided her fear to him. "Keep your introduction simple and leave the hard work to him. Provided you've done your homework, you'll be all right."

  "Well, I have read several of his books," said Petra, "but his new one about his latest excavation hasn't come out yet. I don't think it's even finished. That's what'll make this lecture so special. No one will have heard it before."

  She arrived back at her flat in a taxi, for on her arrival at the station it was pouring with rain and she didn't relish the prospect of coming in to her unheated flat drenched to the skin. Even her dash from taxi to door left her damp and it was with relief that she picked up her mail, let herself into the flat and lit the gas fire.

  Quickly shedding her wet coat, she dropped down on to the hearthrug and held her cold hands to the warmth of the fire.

  When she was warmer, she leafed through her post. There were not many letters but one, with only her name scrawled across it, delivered by hand, intrigued her.

  Inside was a note from the health visitor with whom she had discussed Mrs. Arden's situation. It was brief and to the point and made Petra smile with grim satisfaction.

  Dear Miss Hinton,

  We have located Mrs. Arden's son and he has agreed to a meeting to discuss his mother's case.

  Yours sincerely, Marion Carey.

  "So I should think," said Petra aloud. "It's time you took care of your responsibilities, Peregrine Arden." Then she laughed, pleased with the outcome of her machinations, and decided that when she had unpacked, she would pop down and see Mrs. Arden, make her a cup of tea and discover if the son had been to see her yet.

  Half-an-hour later she let herself into the basement flat. As she closed the door behind her she called out cheerfully, "It's only me, Mrs. Arden. I've come to make you a cup of tea."

  Mrs. Arden didn't reply to her call, but then she seldom did and on entering the living-room, Petra wasn't surprised to see the old lady in her usual chair glaring at her. What she was not prepared for was the fact that Mrs. Arden was not alone.

  Standing by the window, his hand on the curtain as if in the act of drawing it back, was a tall man, who at the sound of Petra's arrival turned his head and stared at her over his shoulder.

  Petra paused in the doorway and then addressing herself to Mrs. Arden she said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Arden, I didn't realise you had a visitor." She spoke sweetly enough, but her eyes glittered dangerously as she looked back at the man by the window. It must be Peregrine Arden.

  "Oh, it's you at last," said Mrs. Arden petulantly, as if Petra had come late for an appointment. "Peregrine is here."

  "So I see," said Petra coolly, and with deliberate disdain looked him over from head to foot as if viewing a strange and fare creature. He was tall, well over six foot, and his shoulders were broad in proportion. His hair, thick and almost black it was so dark, was cut short and swept back from his forehead accentuating the squareness of his face and the jutting determination of his jaw. Dark eyes, again almost black, stared out from beneath straight black brows and returned Petra's gaze levelly for a moment before he spoke, his tone clipped and haughty.

  "Well. Have you seen enough?"

  Petra felt all the anger she had known against him before surge back at the sight of him, standing disdainful and arrogant, superbly dressed in a well-tailored dark suit, immaculate white shirt and silk tie amidst the sordid squalor he countenanced as fit conditions for his mother. The contempt in Petra's voice as she replied matched that in her eyes.

  "Quite enough, thank you. I was merely fascinated to see what sort of reptile you could be to allow your mother to exist in conditions such as these—" she gestured to the filthy room with a sweep of her arm—"when you are obviously a man of some means."

  "I beg your pardon," said Peregrine with obvious restraint, "but you know nothing of the situation."

  "Rubbish!" said Petra hotly. "That suit you're wearing alone would pay for a home help for a year to keep this place clean!"

  Peregrine raised no more than an eyebrow at Petra's rudeness but said, "Possibly, but I hardly think that is your concern."

  "No, it isn't," agreed Petra angrily, "it's yours, or should be, but since you seem to have absolved yourself from all responsibility of your mother's welfare it has become mine, and that of anyone else with a modicum of humanity in him."

  Anger brought colour to Petra's cheeks and she found she was breathing heavily as if she had just run a race.

  "Your concern—does you credit," agreed Peregrine and though he spoke softly, Petra could see the fury burning in his eyes and recognised the tight control he was exercising on his temper. "But it does not give you the right to pass judgment on things—or people—about which you are ill-informed. There are circumstances…"

  "The only right I'm interested in," interrupted Petra hotly, "is the right of your mother to grow old with dignity, and the right she has to expect care from her son in her old age."

  She looked across at the forlorn old woman still seated in her chair apparently unaware of the furious argument surrounding her and then added, "If I ever have a son I'll pray he doesn't lose all compassion as he grows up and become as arrogant, selfish and self-centred as you obviously are, Peregrine Arden."

  She turned on her heel and stumped back up the stairs, but not before she heard Peregrine's deep voice say, "And let us also hope he develops better manners than his interfering and ill-spoken mother."

  Still fuming, Petra slammed her front door behind her and flung herself into her armchair. She relived the encounter and in her rage she found herself speaking aloud, venting her anger on him yet again with yet more instances of his negligence, the cold, the lack of proper food, the difficulty his mother had in moving about, let alone washing and dressing herself decently.

  Gradually Petra grew calmer, but was still unsettled enough to find herself in need of company; the thought of an evening alone made her feel restless and on impulse she reached for the phone and dialled Tom's number.

  "I'll be round in a quarter of an hour," said Tom cheerfully when she asked him if he wanted to go out for a drink somewhere, and good as his word in less than fifteen minutes he stood smiling on her doorstep.

  Seeing him standing there, so reassuring and kind, Petra felt a sudden rush of affection for him and gave him a hug. Not content
with the hug, Tom lifted her chin and his lips found hers. For a moment she returned his kiss, then she broke away and said lightly, "Happy New Year, Tom," and stepped out into the hall.

  As she pulled her front door closed behind them, she took his hand and said impulsively, "Thank you for coming round so quickly, Tom. It is good to see you."

  Tom pulled her into his arms once more and kissed her again, this time more searchingly, his tongue flicking and probing, his arms holding her hard against him. And Petra, the tension and anger she had felt earlier draining away, allowed herself to respond, her arms sliding round Tom's neck, one hand clutching his hair.

  Neither of them heard the door to the basement flat open and it wasn't until Peregrine Arden spoke that Petra was aware that he was standing in the doorway unable to come out because she and Tom blocked the way.

  "Excuse me," was all he said, but his voice jolted Petra like an electric shock. She pulled away from Tom and swung round to face Peregrine, her colour high, her eyes blazing.

  Peregrine gave a mocking smile as he passed between them. "Your loving heart embraces everyone, I see," he said.

  "Everyone except you," returned Petra, but even as she said it she knew it sounded childish.

  Tom stared at Peregrine's retreating back, and as the outer door closed with a click he said, "Who on earth was that?"

  "That," answered Petra with heavy sarcasm, "was the famous Peregrine Arden."

  Tom was interested. "Oh, so you found him then?"

  "The social worker did. Much good will it do Mrs. Arden, he's about as warm and caring as a cobra!"

  "You've obviously met before," said Tom with a grin. "Did it come to blows?"

  "Not quite, but it could have if I'd stayed in the room with him any longer."

  "Well," said Tom firmly, "you can forget about him now. This evening we are going to have fun, so lose that bleak expression, kiss me again and we'll take the town by storm."

  Petra forced a smile to her lips, kissed Tom lightly on the cheek and headed towards the outer door.

  They did enjoy their evening and she felt decidedly more cheerful when Tom returned her home later on. He kissed her again at the door, but anxious not to blunder on and kill off the new response he felt in her, Tom left her on the step and went home hopeful that at last he was perhaps making progress.

  Petra closed the door behind him and sought the warm comfort of her bed. She too had felt the almost imperceptible change in their relationship and wasn't sure how she felt about it, but strangely enough as she nestled down in the warm darkness waiting for sleep, it wasn't Tom's soft grey eyes that troubled her mind, but the thunderous black ones of Peregrine Arden filled with contemptuous laughter.

  Term started again and immediately Petra found herself involved in a myriad of college activities. Work immersed her, filling each day and overflowing into the next, so that she had little time for many thoughts which were not college-orientated.

  She saw Tom most days in the staff-room, but their out of college contact was minimal. Supervising her teaching practice students took Petra out of college as well and involved her in late tutorials when the students had finished their day in the classroom. But Petra loved her work and thrived on the demands it made on her. She worked her students hard, but never as hard as she worked herself. Tom found it increasingly difficult to gain her attention; she had little spare time and not all of it was she prepared to devote to him.

  Each day on her arrival home, Petra would visit Mrs. Arden, but she was always afraid of bumping into the old lady's son and so made a point of opening the door very softly and listening for voices before she ventured down the stairs.

  Despite his apparent lack of interest, Peregrine did seem to have made some alterations to his mother's situation. One evening when Petra went down she found to her surprise that the stale smell was missing and a comfortable warmth filled the room in its stead. Surprised, she looked round and found that the room had been tidied, two electric radiators had been installed, and sitting proudly on the table beside Mrs. Arden's chair was a portable colour television.

  The old woman looked up as Petra entered the room. "I've got a television," she announced waving at the screen chattering away beside her.

  "So you have," cried Petra, delighted. "And radiators. Now you'll feel warm all the time." She paused but as Mrs. Arden said nothing, her eyes once more glued to the television, Petra went on, "Did Peregrine arrange all this for you?"

  Mrs. Arden glanced at her again. "Is there any tea?"

  Petra smiled. "Of course, I'll make you a cup." She had got used to the old woman's non-sequiturs and abrupt changes of subject, and accepted that Mrs. Arden wasn't going to answer this question.

  When she returned from the kitchen she handed the tea to Mrs. Arden and said, "Who cleaned round for you? They've made a good job of it."

  The old lady peered at Petra suspiciously. "Who sent you?" she asked. "You're not to open the windows."

  Petra promised she wouldn't touch the windows which were still closely curtained anyway and then realising Mrs. Arden was once more involved in her television programme, she slipped away.

  Considering her visit later, she decided that if she were honest she didn't find Mrs. Arden a lovable creature, the only emotion she evoked in Petra, even after considerable acquaintance, was pity. But the old woman had not even managed to evoke that in her cold fish of a son. She might be a cantankerous old woman, but she was, after all, his mother and entitled, at least, to his compassion.

  Petra still felt an extreme antipathy towards Peregrine, despite the improvements to the basement flat. These perhaps indicated that he hadn't realised the state in which his mother lived, but that in itself was no excuse. He should have known, Petra decided, because he should have visited her occasionally, even if they were only duty visits. It was clear he had had the place cleaned and aired and that he had made sure she should no longer feel the cold, but did he visit her any more often? Cheer her up with his presence? Petra hadn't seen him since the day she returned from her parents' and Mrs. Arden never mentioned him.

  Life at college became so hectic with the approach of the conference weekend that, apart from a short visit each evening, Petra had little time to give thought to Mrs. Arden and her son. The conference programme had been arranged round Nicholas Romilly's lecture, as he was by far the most eminent speaker.

  He had been invited to lunch in Hall on the Saturday, to deliver his lecture in the afternoon and to be guest of honour at the Principal's reception in the evening. A guest-room had been made available in the staff quarters so that he could stay the night afterwards if he wished.

  He had declined the luncheon, saying he was unable to arrive before two o'clock but, as the lecture was scheduled for two-thirty, this would give him time to speak with David Hellman, the member of staff who had volunteered to man the slide projector, and to meet Miss Danvers and Miss Hinton, of course.

  Petra spent the morning in a whirl of anticipation. She attended the morning session in the lecture theatre, an introduction to present day crafts, but very little of what she heard really penetrated her brain. She was going over and over her introductory speech and wondering what she should talk about when she met him beforehand in the staff-room. In the event, circumstances overtook her and her meeting with Nicholas Romilly was not in the least as she had expected.

  It was ironic really, she had been sitting drinking her coffee by the staff-room window so that she should see him drive up and be ready to go out to welcome him, and then the Principal called her over to ask about the arrangements which had been made to bring Professor Romilly to the reception, and so Petra failed to see him arrive. It was only when Miss Danvers tapped her on the shoulder and said softly, "Your guest is here, Petra," that she turned and saw him.

  For a moment she was transfixed with horror. She felt hot colour flood her cheeks and then drain away leaving her deathly white. Her dark eyes, large and luminous in her pale face, stared unbeli
eving at the man who stepped forward to meet her, towered over her, and extended a hand.

  "Professor Romilly, this is Petra Hinton, on the history staff," Miss Danvers was saying apparently unaware of the confusion on Petra's face, or perhaps putting it down to shyness.

  Professor Romilly gave a faint smile and said, "How nice to meet you, Miss Hinton. To be properly introduced." He was calm and assured, very much in control of the situation and entirely unembarrassed.

  Petra forced herself to smile, but it was a poor effort. She took his outstretched hand and felt her own clasped for a moment in a strong grip. "How do you do, Professor?" Her voice was faint and husky, indeed she had trouble in speaking at all.

  "You're Petra's for today," announced Miss Danvers cheerfully. "She's introducing and chairing your lecture this afternoon and will bring you on to the Principal's reception this evening." She turned to Petra. "Don't forget to introduce Professor Romilly to David so he can explain how he wants the slides shown."

  "I won't," promised Petra, and Miss Danvers went off to see how the lecture theatre was filling.

  Petra looked up at the dark eyes regarding her solemnly from under their straight black brows. A suspicion of laughter lurked behind his gaze and in the awkward pause left by Miss Danvers' departure he said, "Well, Miss Hinton, this is a surprise."

  Still rather dazed, Petra said as calmly as she could, "Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Professor?" and then added a little more sharply, "If it is Professor."

  "It is," he replied blandly, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. "No, thank you. No coffee, but I should like to have a word with the man operating the projector, if you don't mind."

  "Of course." Petra had taken a firm grip on herself and, apparently calm, took him across to where David Hellman was waiting to meet him.

  The two men held a brief conversation and Nicholas Romilly took a box of slides from his briefcase. While they were talking, Petra's thoughts were in a turmoil. How could it possibly be Nicholas Romilly who stood beside her? And if it was, and it did appear to be, how could she spend the afternoon with him, as his hostess, after the abuse she had thrown at him at their last meeting?