One afternoon, soon after Easter, Petra and Mary were alone in the farm kitchen. As they worked together on a mammoth baking session for the freezer, Petra began to tell Mary about Nicholas.
She had spoken of him to no one since the night he had flung her from him in disgust and the telling of the tale was like the lancing of a boil.
Mary paused at her work and listened as all the bitterness, humiliation and misery came pouring out. She was far enough removed from the situation for Petra to hold nothing back. Mary knew neither of the men involved and could make no judgment, all she did was to listen until Petra had no more to tell.
"Where is he now?" Mary asked at last. "Back with his wife?"
Petra shrugged her shoulders wearily. "I suppose so. I mean, he never left her, did he?"
"And Tom? What about him?"
"He's skiing in Austria."
"Yes, I know, I didn't mean that." Mary looked at her friend with sympathetic eyes. "What I meant was, what is he to you?"
"A friend."
"And no more?"
Petra sighed. "I don't know, Mary. I suppose he could be more; in time. I was very fond of him before all this blew up. I expect I could be again, given time."
Mary leaned over and took her friend's hand. "Don't settle for second best. Petra," she said earnestly. "It's never worth it. Only marry Tom if you really want him, otherwise wait. Someone else will come along who'll make you forget the both of them."
Petra smiled. "I'm a little past the 'tall dark stranger' bit," she said.
"Rubbish," replied Mary with asperity. "No one is. Clive and I met and were married within three months. I'm a firm believer in love at first sight."
"So am I," agreed Petra laughing, but her thoughts were not of a stranger.
Having at last confided in someone, Petra felt better than she had for weeks. Somehow the stress had lessened and she spent the last few days of her time in Cumbria far more at peace with herself and returned to Grayston-on-Sea rested and ready for the summer term.
Tom returned too and lost no time in seeking Petra out. He found her in the staff-room a few days before term opened and insisted on carrying her off to the Admiral for a drink.
Once he had her seated in a corner, a large gin and tonic in front of her, he sat down and beamed at her. He was so different from the slightly apologetic Tom who had taken her out at the end of the spring term, that she could only stare at him in amazement. The Easter weather had been good in the mountains, and Tom, skiing at heights of nine and ten thousand feet, had caught the sun so that his face was darkly tanned. But it wasn't so much his healthy tan that surprised Petra, it was his perpetual grin and shining eyes.
"Come on, out with it," she said when he had sat down beside her. "You look like the cat that's got the cream."
Tom's grin broadened even more. "Cheers!" he said.
"Cheers. Come on, Tom," cried Petra, "or I shall die of curiosity."
"When I was skiing," he began, "I went into ski school and there was this girl, Melanie." His voice lingered on her name and at once Petra knew what was coming.
"Tom?" she said, a question in her voice.
He nodded. "You must congratulate me, Petra. I'm getting married."
"Married!" The word was surprised from her.
"I thought you'd be surprised." Tom beamed and then suddenly realising that he was talking to the girl he had proposed to not three months before, added awkwardly, "You don't mind, Petra, do you? I mean there was never anything between us really, was there?"
Petra managed to smile reassuringly. "Only friendship, Tom. I told you once I was very fond of you and I still am, but I don't love you in the marrying way."
The faint clouding cleared from Tom's expression and he said, "I'm glad. I'd hate to have hurt you again."
Anxious not to begin on that subject, Petra said quickly, "Tell me about Melanie."
Tom needed no second invitation, and by the time they left the pub Petra felt she had known Melanie for years.
"The trouble is," he confided as they walked back to college, "Melanie being so far away. I mean it'll be a long journey for one of us every weekend, so we decided that the sooner we got married the better."
"Have you set a date already?" Petra was surprised.
"Yes." Tom beamed. "At Whitsun."
Petra was even more surprised. She had expected him to name a date in the long summer vacation.
"That's awfully quick, Tom," she said anxiously. "Are you quite certain of yourself?"
Tom stopped walking and turned to her, his grey eyes serious. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life," he said quietly. He smiled then, a little ruefully. "Oh, I know I said I loved you, Petra, but I'm sure you won't be offended if I say it was, never what I feel for Melanie. That is entirely different."
"I do know, Tom," she said softly.
Tom took her hand. "Of course you do, I'm sorry."
Miss Danvers was waiting for Petra when they returned. "Ah, there you are, Petra," she said. "I've been looking for you. There's something we must discuss. Can you spare me a minute now?"
"Of course, Miss Danvers," and Petra followed the senior lecturer into her tutorial room. Miss Danvers waved her to a chair. "The Principal and I feel that when we offer the short course options to the second years at the end of this term, we might include a six week introduction to archaeology. Professor Romilly set the scene so well with his lecture at the conference last term, I think we might find it was a popular option. How does it strike you?"
Petra was shaken by the unexpectedness of the suggestion. She hadn't considered trying to follow up Nicholas' lecture. She stared, unseeing, out of the window for a moment, her heart beating fast as if she had been actually confronted with the man rather than just his work; then she took command of herself once more and said, "I'm sure it would, Miss Danvers. Do you want me to run it?"
Miss Danvers smiled. "I think that would be just the thing, if you don't mind the extra work."
"No," Petra assured her. "I don't mind. I'm sure I shall enjoy it."
They discussed the framework of the course and Petra promised to have a more detailed scheme of work ready to present to Miss Danvers within a week or two; then they parted and Petra went off to the library before going home.
It really had been a day of surprises, she thought; first Tom's news and now a new course to run, and though tenuous, she still had a link with Nicholas.
The course, as outlined by Miss Danvers, was to be very general, but the selection of archaeological books Petra took from the library to prepare her work contained several of his works. 'It's a pity he's only just beginning work on the Thessos book,' she thought. 'Having heard him speak on the subject, I know it'd be the most interesting of all.'
As soon as the students returned, Petra had little time to herself. As always she worked long and hard and without her being conscious of the passing of time the days slipped away.
It was one day not long before the Whitsun break that she came home to find the door to the basement flat open. Staring at it, Petra's heart began to pound. Why was the door ajar? Was there someone down there? Could it be Nicholas?
Quietly, she eased the door wider and pausing on the top step, listened. There was the sound of movement below, someone was definitely down there.
Petra clutched at the banister rail, the hope that it might be Nicholas welled up inside her, overpowering all claims of reason. She ached to see him, and the ache was as strong as on the day he'd gone. Nothing would have prevented her from going down those stairs and as she did so the blood was singing in her ears. The sounds below were quite distinct now, but when Petra entered the living-room it wasn't Nicholas she found there but a stranger.
The precious hope drained away leaving her empty and lost.
"Hello," said the man. "Did you want someone?"
Petra explained that she had seen the door open and had come down to investigate.
"I live upstairs," she said, "
and I hold a spare key."
"Oh, I see," the man nodded. "Well, we've been instructed to sell the place, so you'll be having new neighbours."
"Are you an agent?" asked Petra.
"Yes. Here's my authorisation and business card."
Petra studied them then said, "I'd better give you the key I have." She took it from her handbag and handed it to him.
"Thanks." He slipped it on to a key ring. "There, it's with ours now. I'll pass it on when I give ours back. We'll be bringing people to view, of course."
"Yes, of course."
As Petra went back up to her own flat, she recognised the usual empty feeling inside her that still recurred every time she allowed herself to think of Nicholas.
'This is ridiculous,' she thought. 'I haven't seen him for several months and he still has this affect on me. Perhaps if I did try and see him I'd find he wasn't at all as I remembered.'
She dismissed this last idea as impractical. There was no way in which she could meet Nicholas casually and she had no intention of manufacturing a meeting. She realised then how much she had been wishing Nicholas would need to return to his mother's flat for something; how much she had been clinging to this hope, so that she might see him again, and now with the arrival of the estate agent that last chance was gone. There was nothing to bring Nicholas anywhere near her.
Chapter Eight
The day of Tom's wedding dawned bright and clear. He was married in Warwickshire where Melanie lived, and Petra had borrowed her father's car and travelled up the night before. She stayed in the village pub, a charming timbered building, and when she woke in the morning and found the summer sun streaming through the leaded window panes her spirits rose and she got up determined to enjoy herself.
It was a big wedding. Melanie's parents were determined to give their only daughter a magnificent send-off. When she arrived at the church in a lace wedding gown that floated round her in a mist of white, attended by three small bridesmaids in buttercup crinolines, Petra, turning with the rest of the congregation, found tears in her eyes.
Melanie was radiant, and as she walked up the aisle on her father's arm, Petra looked across at Tom. He had stepped forward to meet his bride and the look in his eyes spoke eloquently of his feelings for her. Petra knew then that Tom had been right when he said that he had absolutely no doubts about marrying Melanie.
The reception was held at a local hotel and was a noisy joyful affair. Petra knew several of Tom's friends, and once they realised she was not heartbroken by his marriage to Melanie, all constraints vanished and they made a convivial group. But when the bride and groom had left for their honeymoon, Petra suddenly found she needed to be alone. Smilingly she declined an offer to go on to a party in Birmingham with the excuse that she had to return her father's car, and thankfully escaped.
Cruising steadily down the motorway, she was glad she had arranged to spend the rest of the holiday weekend with her parents. The first half of term had been very tiring, and the second half, with the extra archaeological course, threatened to be even more so.
She spent a comfortable evening with her parents and as the hands of the clock showed ten-thirty she yawned. "I think I'll go up to bed now," she said.
"Will you?" said her father. "I thought I'd watch that Saturday chat show tonight. I think you might enjoy it, Petra. That archaeologist chap who did your lecture for you, is appearing."
Petra slumped back into her chair. "Nicholas Romilly?" Her voice came out uncertainly, but her father didn't seem to notice.
"That's the one," he said cheerfully. "But don't stay up if you're tired. I just thought it might interest you."
"Yes," answered Petra, trying to sound casual. "I think it might. I told you I've got to do the archaeology course soon, so it might be a help."
Nicholas was the third guest to be interviewed and so Petra had to sit through the first half hour of the programme trying not to show her feelings. Her mind was in turmoil, here was the chance she had wanted, a chance to see him again and perhaps discover she was only remembering a dream, not the man himself. Part of her was determined to find that this was indeed the case, but the rest of her, her pounding heart and aching body, played her false and the mere anticipation of seeing him again, even if only on television, made her feel weak.
At last he came on, tall, dark-eyed as she had remembered and as magnetic as ever. His smile, as always, brought his mobile face to life making him seem younger than his thirty-seven years. He looked thinner, his muscles more tightly drawn than she remembered, but otherwise he was just the same and Petra's heart contracted painfully at the sight of him.
After a brief introduction, he was asked about his work.
"Well," began Nicholas, "I've been extremely lucky recently. While I was in Yorkshire on a brief lecture tour earlier this year, I met up with some people who were prepared to sponsor my latest project." He went on to describe his work on Thessos and told again the legend of the lonely princess.
"This sponsorship will enable me to continue my work on the site. And for that I'm immeasurably grateful."
"Well, Nicholas," drawled the interviewer, "I gather you're off to Thessos very soon now."
"Yes, I've just completed writing up my findings so far…"
"In a book you mean?"
"As the basis for my next book, yes. But as I'm going back, I'm hoping there will be a great deal more information to add."
Petra watched him, her eyes devouring his face, her ears straining to memorise the sound of his deep voice. What he actually said flowed over her and as the interviewer mentioned his earlier career she paid little attention to the words.
Once she let her eyes flicker to her parents' faces and found them as caught up in what Nicholas was saying as the students had been at his lecture; then something he said did penetrate her mind, at first filtering through slowly and then stabbing her into painful consciousness like the fierce jab of a needle. The interviewer had asked why he had given up the archaeological chair he had held at the university and returned full time to field work and writing.
Nicholas considered a moment before replying, "It was when my wife, Anne, was killed in 1980." For a moment his face clouded over and then he said, "Until then I was happy being based here in England—I enjoyed the teaching and home was there at the end of the day. We travelled a good deal of course, and I was involved in various projects, but we kept our home as a private retreat that we could come back to." He paused again before saying, "After the crash I couldn't face living in the house alone. I decided to alter my way of life completely, so I resigned and went back to work in the field." He smiled. "When I'm in England I stay with my mother and work from there. She's one of my sternest critics, I might add."
The interview lasted another five minutes, but Petra heard none of it. The words, "When my wife, Anne, was killed," pierced her brain and the blood seemed to rush to her head, thundering, deafening so that Petra felt she must drown in the sound. She felt sick and giddy and the world tilted round her. Her fingers clutched the arms of her chair and her knuckles turned white as she fought to keep herself from crumpling into an undignified heap on the floor.
As her father switched off the television at the end of the programme, Petra's mother said, "I should go up now, darling. You're looking really pale and tired. Don't get up in the morning, have a good lie in and I'll bring you breakfast in bed."
Somehow Petra got to her feet and in a strange calm voice bid her parents good night. Somehow she got upstairs to her own bedroom, warm and snug and waiting for her.
She dragged herself on to her bed and lay staring at the ceiling, her mind whirling at the news she had just heard and the implications of it. Nicholas wasn't married, not any more. His wife, Anne, the Anne Chappie mentioned in Who's Who had been killed in a crash of some sort in 1980. Nicholas was free. Nicholas was free. The woman who had answered the phone must have been his stepmother, Mrs. Romilly indeed, but Mrs. Romilly senior.
Her heart lea
pt within her, but even as it did so her hopes came crashing round her ears. Nicholas might well be free, but similarly he might not. It was months since she had seen him, he could well have found someone else. And Nicholas thought she was married to Tom, or about to be. How could she tell him? Why hadn't she asked him about his wife? If only she had said, "Tom says you're married. Is it true?" But she hadn't and she'd lied to him and she'd sent him away. And it was all her fault.
Tears oozed out from beneath her lids as she remembered his face—the tenderness and wonder as they'd shared their love, the cold fury and contempt when she had told him she was marrying Tom. Would he ever forgive her if she went to him and told him everything? Would he want her back anyway or had he forgotten her in the arms of somebody else? If anything could be done it was she who must do it. It was clear Nicholas had no intention of approaching her again. Quite apart from the fact that he thought her engaged or married to Tom Davies, there was his pride.
"But I have no pride where you're concerned, Nicholas," she whispered to the empty room. "Seeing you tonight made me realise how much I love you still, and hearing what you said has given me another chance. Will you let me come to you?"
Even as she spoke her thoughts aloud, Petra remembered he had never said he loved her, never spoken of love; but she couldn't forget how he had wanted her, nor the passion with which he had taken her and though she knew that wanting and needing were not love, if they were all he could offer her, she would grasp them with both hands, giving him the love of her heart and soul as well as her body, in the hope that one day he would come to love her too.
"But it's I who've got to go to him, for I know he'll never come to me."
The weekend with her parents dragged. Though she had made her decision and was determined to phone Nicholas, she wanted to wait until she was alone in her flat. She had no clue as to what his reaction would be, but she wanted no one with her when she found out; and so she knew there was no question of telephoning from under her mother's eagle eye. She did consider writing him a letter, but decided against that idea. She wanted to hear his response to her call and anyway a letter might go astray and if he chose not to reply she would never be sure whether he had received it or not. No, she must phone, and the call must wait until she could make it from home.
A Bid for Love & A Chance of Happiness Page 21