Petra thanked him, grateful for his concern. She was relieved too that she need not resume work at once. She had wanted to, but even the short journey from the hospital had tired her, and she realised the doctor had been right after all.
Next day, after lunch, Tom drove her to her flat. The narrow street where she lived had been cleaned down but there were still plenty of reminders of the violence of the sea. Seaweed still hung forlornly from bushes, gates hung crooked on their hinges and the bollard at the end of the road lay smashed where a parked car had been swept into it.
They drew up outside the house and Petra looked down at the basement window through which the sea had poured unhindered into Mrs. Arden's flat. There was mud and seaweed still lying in the little area below.
She walked up the shallow steps to the front door. These had been hosed down and looking at them Petra realised that the damage would have been far worse on the ground floor if in fact the door had been at road level.
They went inside and as Petra fumbled with the key Tom said, "It really isn't as bad as it looks at first."
Petra thought she had been prepared for the worst, but even so she was very shaken by what she found. It was the smell that hit her first, the foul and unrelenting smell of the mud that the sea had left behind. The windows were open and yet the pungent odour had dispersed little. The dank air hung heavy about them, chilling and penetrating so that Petra found herself shivering.
Slowly and deliberately, she walked from room to room surveying the damage, trying to take in what needed to be done. The rugs on the floors and the fitted carpet she had put in the bedroom were utterly beyond redemption. The furniture was in varying states, depending on how much had stood immersed in salt water. The soft furnishings were saturated. The water had swirled round the hems of her long curtains and been soaked up so that the damp still hung at the windows and the material was stained and spoilt.
"The electricity is still off, I'm afraid," said Tom, "but the gas fire should work if you're cold."
"Not that sort of cold really," said Petra miserably. "Oh, Tom, it's not fair."
He put his arm round her and this time, glad of his warmth and support, Petra didn't draw away.
"Right," said Tom briskly after a moment. "Let's get sorted out. We must make lists of everything damaged for your insurance and decide what you are going to try and save."
They toured the flat again, taking notes this time, opening drawers and cupboards to discover more evil-smelling mud inside and, in some cases, trapped water which cascaded on to the floor.
At last they had done all they could for the first visit and Petra had had enough.
"Come on, let's find a cup of tea somewhere," said Tom taking her arm and propelling her to the door.
"Tom, wait, I just want to look downstairs."
Tom stared at her. "Downstairs? Whatever for?"
"I—I don't know, really, I just do. Morbid curiosity, I suppose." She still had the key and opening the door of the basement flat, they both went down the stairs.
It gave her a shock when she saw it, for it was quite empty, not a stick of furniture remained. The curtains and pieces of carpet had gone and the windows, smeared with filth, looked forlornly across the ruined garden beyond.
The air was dank and musty, and the walls were streaked with mud almost to the ceiling. The place had been cleared but not cleaned. Petra wondered yet again what Nicholas would do with the flat now.
"Seen enough?" asked Tom impatiently as she stood staring, realising how easily Mrs. Arden might have died in the disaster.
She turned and gave him a bleak smile. "Yes," she sighed, "let's go."
Led by Sally Harmer, a large group of students set to work on Petra's flat that weekend, and when she next went to see it she found that all the irreparably damaged things had gone, the walls and paintwork had been scrubbed down and the gas fires burned full blast in both bedroom and living-room to help dry out the place. Furniture they hoped to be able to repair or restore stood forlornly awaiting attention when it had dried out.
Petra joined them in their work and by the end of Sunday the contents of the cupboards had either been discarded or washed and stored in boxes until the cupboards themselves were once more in a fit state to be used.
Petra's parents phoned her often to hear how things were progressing, but although they asked her to come home yet again, she refused. She planned to start work again on Monday.
"I'm feeling fine," she assured her mother, "and I can't rely on other members of staff covering for me any longer."
"Well, your father says you're to go ahead and order your replacement carpet and curtains and things. If the insurance hasn't come through in time, he'll advance you the money and you can pay him back when it does."
Petra was very touched by this offer and thanked them with tears in her eyes. It meant she would be able to return to her home that much sooner.
She had been back at work several days when she found a message in her pigeon-hole. Professor Romilly had rung and would collect her at eight p.m. on Saturday. She read the note several times and found her heart beating with sudden excitement.
"Pull yourself together," she admonished. "You're behaving like a schoolgirl," but even so she was still smiling broadly when she went into the staff-room for a cup of coffee.
Tom saw her and came over. "You're looking more cheerful," he said. "Good news?" His eyes flickered to the piece of paper Petra still clutched in her hand.
Hastily, she stuffed it into her jacket pocket and said, "Oh, just a phone message. Have you had coffee yet?"
Petra spent most of Saturday at her flat; she and her willing students had begun decorating and they spent a convivial day slapping paint on the walls and ceilings. With so many helpers the whole place looked completely different by five o'clock, clean new paint everywhere and the last traces of damp and staleness vanquished by fresh air and continuous warmth.
Petra stood in the middle of the living-room and announced, "I shall be in the 'Admiral' tomorrow at lunch time and look forward to standing you all a drink." This was greeted with cheers and then the students disappeared to their normal Saturday evening pursuits.
Petra waited until the last of them had called goodbye and then wandered slowly from room to room. Thanks to their efforts and energy she might well be able to move back in next weekend. A glance at her watch told her it was time to go and she closed up the flat and hurried back to college.
In the front hall she met Tom.
"There you are," he cried. "I've been looking for you."
"Sorry," said Petra, "I've been at the flat, painting."
"So I see." Tom laughed. "You've got a smudge on your nose." He raised a finger and wiped the paint away. "After all that work you could do with a drink," he said. "Pick you up about eight?"
"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm afraid I can't tonight." Petra felt awkward. Her dinner with Nicholas was not a secret and yet she didn't want to have to tell Tom about it.
"You're already going out, you mean."
Petra nodded.
"See you on Monday, then," and turning on his heel, Tom stalked away.
Petra stared after him for a moment and then ran lightly upstairs to prepare for her evening with Nicholas.
Petra waited in the staff-room where she could see Nicholas drive up to the front door. This time she didn't miss his arrival and went out to meet him. She paused on the top of the marble steps which led up to the front door, standing in the pool of light cast by the outside lamps. Unconsciously beautiful, her fair hair falling free to her shoulders, she waited for him to come up the steps to greet her, and when he did, mounting the stairs two at a time, she held out her hands in spontaneous greeting.
He grasped them in his and looking down into her face said simply, "Hello, angel."
She laughed at that and Nicholas said, "Well, it's all that fair hair, all you need is a halo and a white dress and you'd be perfect."
"The white dress is underneat
h," she told him, still laughing. "The halo I haven't earned yet." Then feeling they were in far too public a spot with so many students' windows overlooking them, she said, "Let's go. I'm aware of being the cabaret!"
Nicholas took her arm and led her to the car. As they drove to the gate he said, "Right, which way to Angelo's?"
"Angelo's? Is that where we're going?"
"Well, you said it was good, so I booked a table, but I haven't a clue where it is."
Petra directed him and they parked outside. Before they got out of the car, Nicholas leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.
"It's good to see you again," he said softly and then got out of the car and came round to open her door.
Petra found herself shaking at the touch of his lips and the closeness of his face to hers. Her heart was suddenly thudding and she had a suspicion that her legs might not hold up under her. As he walked round the car she took several deep breaths to steady herself before he should touch her again.
Angelo's was busy, but their reserved table was waiting in an alcove just off the dance floor. Nicholas ordered drinks and once the meal had been ordered, Petra sat back while Nicholas looked at her speculatively, his dark eyes taking in the silk dress, white as she had promised, which clung alluringly to her slim figure, and the softness of her hair against her pale cheek, the light dancing in her velvet blue eyes.
"Are you quite better?" he asked. "No lingering effects?"
Petra shook her head. "No, I'm fine, except for the scar, of course." She lifted a lock of her hair away from her forehead where it had concealed the angry red line left by the gash. "They say it'll fade quite a lot, and I can always keep my hair over it if I want to."
Nicholas leant forward to inspect the scar, and unable to look into his eyes at such close quarters with any equanimity, Petra kept her eyes averted and her head turned as if presenting the place for easier inspection. She thought he might be sympathetic, but all he said was, "It's been neatly stitched, it'll probably fade away to nothing in the end."
"How's your—Mrs. Arden?"
"How's your flat coming . . ?"
They spoke together to break the ensuing silence and then both laughed. The tension that had been between them broke and they each answered the question the other had asked, after which the conversation flowed with the ease of talk between old friends.
When they had eaten their main course, they got up to dance. The music was playing softly, not intrusive but persuasively rhythmic, and as they stepped out on to the floor, Petra moved naturally into Nicholas' arms. He held her lightly, delicately, as if he feared to hurt her, his arms gently round her waist and her hands on his shoulders the only contact; but as the music continued he gradually drew her closer until her head rested on his shoulder and her hands locked tight behind his neck. Still the music played and still they danced, their bodies moving in perfect accord. Petra's eyes were closed as she felt the strength of the arms which enfolded her and she thought, I could dance with him for ever.
When the music stopped they stood together for a moment before Nicholas released her and led her back to the table. Tucked away as they were in their alcove, they were aware only of each other. They finished their meal and relaxed over coffee and brandy, ignoring the rowdy group at a large round table in the corner, the other couples dancing, and those who sat nearby, hands clasped, heads close in intimate talk.
The band struck up a faster number and Nicholas suggested they dance again. He was an energetic and original dancer and by the time the music changed to a slower tempo, Petra felt exhausted and was helpless with laughter.
Nicholas caught her to him as before, holding her tightly, his face pressed into her hair. After a while she moved her face away from his shoulder and looking up at him said teasingly, "You're not at all like a professor."
Nicholas smiled down at her. "What is a professor like?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Elderly, staid, learned."
"Whereas I am young, entertaining and thick."
Petra laughed. "Precisely! You're a fraud."
"And you've found me out. Well, I'd better give up and come quietly." The look that accompanied these words was a strange mixture of amusement and tenderness and finding it directed at her, Petra felt warmth stealing up her neck and spreading across her cheeks and knew that she was blushing. She returned her head to Nicholas' shoulder. Perhaps he hadn't seen the rush of colour to her face. She hoped not.
But her hopes were short-lived for Nicholas said, "You always look enchanting when you blush, angel. Don't hide your face," which only succeeded in making her cheeks warmer and his shoulder more inviting.
They had returned to the table when a shadow fell across them and Petra looked up to find Tom standing over her, glowering.
"Ah, Petra. There you are. Enjoying your evening, I trust." His words were slurred and it was clear he had had too much to drink.
Petra answered coolly, "Yes, thank you, Tom. I hope you are, too."
"Me? Oh, yes, I am. Of course I am. I always enjoy seeing my girl in the arms of another man."
Petra flushed with anger and said in icy tones, "I am not 'your girl', Tom. I never have been and I never will be. I'm sorry if you thought differently."
"I did indeed. I did indeed. And you led me to think it."
"That's utter nonsense, Tom. You're drunk. Please go away and we'll talk again when you're sober."
"We'll talk now," he said belligerently.
"Oh do go away, Tom," cried Petra in anguish.
He leaned down towards her and she shrank away from him, dismayed at the scene he was causing.
Nicholas rose to his feet and putting a hand on Tom's shoulder said, with cold contempt, "I think it's time you rejoined your friends."
Tom jerked away from him. "Well, if it isn't dear Peregrine. How's your mother, Professor? Still dying of starvation and hypothermia in a basement?"
For a moment Petra thought Nicholas was going to knock Tom down, never had she seen such fury on a man's face. His dark eyes burned with it and his face which two minutes earlier had been laughing and handsome, became a mask of chilling contempt.
Even as she watched him, Petra knew if that fury were ever turned on her it would cause a mortal wound.
Without looking at her, Nicholas said softly, "Collect your coat, Petra. We're leaving."
With a final glance at Tom's rebellious expression and Nicholas' withering one, she hastened to the cloakroom and by the time she returned to the hall, Nicholas was waiting for her, having paid the bill, and Tom was nowhere to be seen.
No word passed between them as they went out to the car. The beautiful bubble that had been the evening had exploded with a plop and there was nothing left of it.
As they roared through the town, Nicholas driving fast, Petra could have wept. How could Tom behave like that? How could he? She clenched her fists, biting her lip to keep back the tears of rage and disappointment.
The town flew by and suddenly Petra realised that the last of the houses was receding and they were out on the coast road. By the faint light emanating from the dials on the dashboard, Petra could see Nicholas' hands gripping the wheel, strong hands with long fingers.
Suddenly the car slowed and pulled off the road into a layby. intended as a viewing point for tourists. The engine died away and they sat in silence for a moment. Petra found she had been holding her breath and let it out now in a long sigh.
"Well," said Nicholas at last.
"Well what?" Petra felt defensive.
"Why did he think you were his?"
"I don't know," she said lamely. "I've been out with him, that's all." She turned to face Nicholas and found his eyes intent on her. "I don't belong to him, or anyone else for that matter. No one. Do you understand? No one."
"I see." He released his seat belt with a snap and reaching over to the passenger seat, very deliberately slipped his hand behind Petra's head, drawing her face to his. For a moment his dark eyes scanned her fa
ce—as if he could read my soul, Petra thought as she found herself unable to turn away. Then slowly his mouth came down on hers and she had no room for coherent thought. He kissed Petra as he had once before, with an urgency and longing which awakened an equivalent response in her.
She clung to him despite the awkwardness of the car seats. Her body arched to his and his searching hands caressed her to quivering fever-pitch.
Then as suddenly as before, he broke away and returning to his own side of the car rested his head for a moment against the side window. Petra watched him, his face illuminated in the weird green light from the dashboard. It was as if he struggled within himself, his face tormented as by some inner devil. She said nothing. Her own heart was still pounding, her body pliant and weak with desire. She had never wanted a man as much as she wanted Nicholas. Never loved with body and soul in concert. So she watched his private battle and said nothing, waiting for him to speak.
The agonising silence lasted thirty seconds, one minute, two—and then at last Nicholas spoke.
"Let's finish our evening on a harmonious note," he said lightly. "Will you show me your flat?"
"If you'd like to see it," she replied, trying not to show how disturbed his kisses had made her.
They drove back into town at a far from sedate speed and before long came to a halt in the street outside the flat. Without a word, Nicholas got out and opened her door for her.
'Tom's never done that,' Petra thought inconsequentially as Nicholas helped her out.
There was a light on in the first floor flat, but the house was silent and their feet sounded very loud on the stone steps.
"I feel as if I'm trespassing or something," Petra whispered and then forcing herself to speak normally she said, "Come in. It's not finished yet, but at least it's clean and dry again and doesn't stink of mud."
Nicholas looked round him and then said, "You've made a good job of it, you and your students."
She showed him round and then said, "Would you like some coffee? The kitchen's back in operation."
A Bid for Love & A Chance of Happiness Page 18