On the next morning Jan went to a hairdresser and had her hair cut and waved. The transformation in her appearance pleased her. Curling softy round her face, the style suited her and made her look more alert and modern. The severed clippings on the floor were the discard of her former self, the girl Alex had mocked and derided.
The following day she went to an agency and was immediately offered a temporary position as holiday relief in a big city firm. She accepted it, it would be a start, and set about finding accommodation, which was more difficult. Eventually she obtained a room in a hostel, but that was only temporary too, though it would give her time to locate the bed-sitting-room which was what she really wanted. She had achieved her main object, to be out of the house when Alex arrived.
Renata sympathised with her endeavours.
'No life for you here when I'm gone,' she said. 'You're sensible to get out.' She regarded her cousin critically. 'You've improved in looks since we've been away, and I like your hair.'
In addition to her hair-cut, Jan had bought herself a well-fitting linen two-piece, as the weather was still warm, though she was not yet using make-up.
'Since I shan't be in your shadow any longer it's worth while making the best of myself,' she returned.
Renata looked smug. 'I suppose it has been a bit hard on you, being contrasted with me all the time, but I appreciate what a good friend you've always been to me. I shan't forget you when I'm married. You must spend your holidays with me.'
Jan thanked her and was cheered by her cousin's tardy praise, but did not say that holidays with the Leandris family were definitely out. Renata would probably forget all about her invitation when she was caught up in her husband's social life.
Jeremy grumbled about Jan's desertion but accepted the part-time typist she found for him, and was soon unaware of any change. Her aunt did not seem to notice her absence.
Jan was working in the typing pool of a big multiple food buying concern, and since her work gave satisfaction there was every prospect of being permanently employed when the holiday period was over, but it was soul-deadening work and she resolved she must find something better when she had proved her efficiency. Both at the office and in the hostel she was mixing with young people of her own age, but they seemed shallow and frivolous to her, while the young men she encountered appeared to belong to a different species from Alex. He had spoilt her for all ordinary contacts. Since she was unable to wholly disguise her disdain she was labelled snooty and stand-offish, which she did not deserve. She was willing to be friendly, but could find no common interest with her associates.
At first during the process of adapting herself to her new life, she had little time to repine for Alex, nor did she often visit her home, but from occasional phone calls she ascertained that he had not put in an appearance. This seemed ominous, and she began to wonder if he had decided to wash out the Reynolds family, or if his Athenian lady had relented. If the latter were the case, then Renata's hopes were doomed. Not that she seemed to be much concerned. Jan met her in the cloakroom belonging to a small restaurant where she sometimes went for a meal in the evening when she had been working late and would miss the hostel dinner. Renata was looking more beautiful than ever, exuding a soft glow so that Jan felt sure Alex must have arrived.
She seemed a little disconcerted to see Jan.
'I didn't know this was a haunt of yours,' she remarked.
'I don't come here often, funds-don't allow,' Jan told her. 'Are you alone?'
It was a very ordinary restaurant and a place where Alex would scorn to entertain a girl-friend.
'I'm with a friend,' Renata hesitated, then decided to be candid. 'An old acquaintance,' she went on. 'You've met him.'
'Him?' Jan looked her question.
'Denis Wood,' Renata told her. 'And you needn't look so shocked. I'm not engaged yet and at the rate things are going, I never shall be. Alex seems to have forgotten me.'
'You've not been back very long, and you know how tied up with business he always seems to be,' Jan tried to reassure her, while feeling considerably disquieted.
'I'm more important than his stuffy old business,' Renata declared peevishly, while she touched up her make-up. She glanced round to see if anyone was listening, but no one was in their immediate vicinity. It was a large cloakroom with a row of wash basins, the place being a popular rendezvous. Jan was tidying her hair in the mirror next to her.
'That short style suits you,' she observed absently, then dropping her voice: 'I don't know what happened on that trip of yours, but he's never been the same since.'
'Nothing happened.' Jan concentrated upon arranging her hair. 'But he found it difficult to forgive you for letting him down.'
'Not allowing him to seduce me,' Renata snapped. 'I've got some sense, Jan, and you see my refusal brought him up to scratch in the end.' She looked disconsolately at her left hand. 'But he might have given me a ring.'
'Then he did actually propose?'
'In a roundabout way.' She glanced narrowly at her cousin. 'Did he ever confide in you?'
'Can you see Mr. Leandris pouring his heart out to a stowaway?' Jan enquired lightly, for she must never betray to Renata the existence of. that other woman, which she hoped she would never discover.
'No, he always regarded you as something between a half-wit and an unfledged adolescent,' Renata told her cheerfully. 'No offence, Jan, but you knew that.'
'Yes, I did.' But he had not done so on that night in Istanbul. She put her comb in her handbag. 'It's been nice to see you, Rena, but won't Denis be wondering where you are?'
'Oh, he knows I always spend hours titivating,' Renata dismissed his possible impatience. 'You won't tell anyone I went out with him?' she added anxiously.
Jan knew anyone meant Alex.
'I'm no tell-tale,' she declared, 'but are you wise? If Alex did get to know, he might be nasty. Greeks are very jealous.'
'Then he should come and assert his claims,' Renata decided. 'I wouldn't be surprised if he isn't having a final flutter before getting married, so he's no right to object to Denis.'
Jan feared she was right. There could only be one explanation for Alex's tardiness; he was making a last appeal to the woman he said he loved. Perhaps it would be better for Renata if he did jilt her, for she was sure she was marrying the wrong man.
'Rena,' she began earnestly, 'give him up, he isn't worthy of you. Money isn't everything, and you do love Denis, don't you?'
'Ssh!' Renata glanced round. Several women had entered in a laughing group. Under cover of their chatter, she almost hissed:
'That would suit you, wouldn't it? I'm not blind, Jan, but even if I ditched him, he'd never look at you.' The green eyes were venomous, and Jan wished she would not reiterate the obvious. Much of her lack of self-confidence was due to her cousin's denigration.
Renata went on more normally: 'I've told you before I can't live on a shoe-string, and things have gone too far now. I wouldn't want to break Alex's heart.'
Jan nearly said, 'Who are you trying to kid?' but restrained herself. Renata was adept at self-deception where her vanity was concerned, but Alex's heart was no more involved than Renata's was. She did not want to be questioned about that, and their companions were throwing curious glances at them. It was a blow to discover that Renata suspected her own feelings towards Alex, but they would not be having much contact in future. Renata picked up her handbag with a careless, 'So long, Jan,' and stalked out of the cloakroom.
Following more slowly Jan saw her seated in a corner with Denis gazing adoringly into her face. She pitied them both, Renata for her lack of courage, Denis for his hopeless love. With a little contriving, surely they could manage? Denis was not a pauper, he looked well dressed and well groomed, and Jeremy could be persuaded to give Renata an allowance until he was earning more. But both father and daughter were caught in Alex's glittering net. His affluence and personality blinded them, and they could not bear to dissociate themselves from him, though he
could bring them nothing but unhappiness, as he had to her.
Two days later Alexandros Leandris arrived in London. He was sufficiently important for his advent to be mentioned by the press. Jan inadvertently witnessed it on television. She was in the general sitting room at the hostel when the news was shown, and saw a close-up of his distinguished figure being accosted by an importunate reporter.
'There is a rumour, Mr. Leandris, that your reason for coming to London is a romantic one.'
She recognised his familiar sardonic smile as he replied:
'You fellows would scent romance in an office file. My visit is purely upon business.'
'Can you tell us what business, sir?'
'No, it's confidential.'
The announcer made a reference to shipping tycoons, and that was all, but Jan's heart was fluttering and the palms of her hands were damp. She certainly must keep out of his way, but that would not be difficult, as there was no reason whatever why they should meet.
'Striking looking guy,' one of the girls commented. 'But I suppose he's married, the best lookers always are.'
'They don't always stay married,' another one pointed out. 'Evidently there's been some gossip or the chap wouldn't have mentioned it.'
The first speaker sighed. 'No chance of him coming within our orbit,' she said mournfully. 'He isn't for the likes of us.'
Nor me, either, Jan thought, and wondered what the girls would say if she told them she had spent three days aboard his yacht. They would think she was making it up, and in that ordinary room it did seem like a fantasy that had never really occurred. She wished she had not seen the picture; she had been trying to put him out of her life, but the sight of his familiar features had awoken her longing for his presence, the touch of his hand, the sound of his voice. Useless to insist he was a reprobate, unworthy of her love, and Renata's future husband; she would give—well, nearly anything to be in his arms again. Renata had scornfully described her as something between a half-wit and an unfledged adolescent. That might have been Alex's first impression of her, but in the end he had become almost a friend. But it was not his friendship she wanted and he had told her he did not want women friends. He had kissed her, and as if he had meant it... at the time. That was a memory she would carry to her grave. Like Sir Andrew Aguecheek, she had been adored once, if only for a moment, though love was hardly the right word for what had motivated Alex. In this mood of sad reminiscence she went to bed and woke to the realisation that Alex was actually in the same town where she worked and lived, but London was vast and he was as remote from her as if he were still in Turkey.
Next day something occurred to divert her thoughts. She was advised by post that an agency to which she had applied had found her a vacant bed-sitting room and she could take up residence at once. The hostel, having a long waiting list, was willing to release her, so she was able to move in at once. It was not much of a place, being situated in a terrace of old houses near Swiss Cottage, but it was central and it was hers without anybody to interfere with her. So alienated was she from her family that she did not bother to advise them of her new address; she would get round to it some time. For the first week she came back to it each evening with a feeling of satisfaction, she had her own pad, a place where she could do exactly as she pleased without criticism or objection, but her elation was succeeded by dejection. She was quite alone.
She found the long hours of regular work tiring, for the summer abroad had sapped her not very great reserves of strength and she lacked the energy to go out to seek new contacts at clubs or recreation centres. She fell into the habit of dreaming her evenings away after she had done her few chores. There were two armchairs on either side of the gas fire with which she had been provided, and she would imagine the one opposite to hers was occupied by a man—a man with the face and form of Alex but an entirely different disposition. Kind where Alex was cruel, loving while Alex was indifferent, a friend and not an enemy. The fantasy was weakness for which she at times despised herself. It would fade when she found other interests, but as yet she had no will to do so. He would never come to her humble room and she was not doing anybody any harm by creating his image there.
To her relief, Renata had not suggested that she should be her bridesmaid, and by avoiding her uncle's house she was spared all discussion of the wedding. Renata would want an impressive affair with all the trimmings, and she would make a most glamorous bride. She would choose for her attendants girls who would be an adornment to the spectacle, which Jan would only mar. If Alex produced any representatives from his family, they would be as decorative as himself, and she was thankful for her cousin's neglect. Any suggestion that she should be included made by her aunt and uncle would be overruled, and her nonappearance at home would show her lack of interest. Alex, she was sure would prefer that she was not present, but that was making herself too important. He would allow Renata to have her way in arranging a ceremony which Jan suspected he would consider a bore, and not even notice that Jan had not been included.
For all that she had a strange feeling of expectancy that she would one day meet him in the streets or on the tube, though she knew it was most unlikely that she should do so, for her environment was not his. He would go everywhere by taxi and the expensive hotels and restaurants would be his haunts.
She tried to assure herself that the last thing she wanted to do was to run into him, and what she felt was dread at the possibility, but the sense of expectancy ... it was not dread... persisted.
She would be glad when it was all over and he and Renata left for Greece and there was no chance of a meeting, however unlikely that chance might be.
Modern London is not without its hazards, and returning one night to Camden Town, where she changed from the tube to a bus, she was dismayed to discover some sort of riot seemed to be in progress. A clash between rival demonstrators had resulted in a milling mob, and she stood for a while at the entrance to the station wondering if it would be wiser to go back underground. But she had been working late and wanted to get home, and there was no reason why anyone should molest her. So she sought to push her way towards where her bus should be waiting, but there was no bus. Deciding she would walk, she turned about and found her way barred by an evil-looking lout
'Got any dough on you, chick?'
She backed away as he snatched at her handbag, clutching it to her breast. She had not much money on her, but it contained her keys and other useful articles. The man grabbed at her wrist.
'C'mon, give it over.'
'Get out of my way! I'll call the police.'
'Police 'ave got other things to do. I don't want to get rough. No one ain't going to 'elp you in this scrum.'
But there he was wrong. A brown fist caught him between the eyes, and as he fell, Jan's waist was encircled by a strong arm and she was whisked away into a waiting taxi. Some stones were thrown at them as it moved away, the driver pursuing an erratic course through the crowd which gave way reluctantly before them. He turned into a comparatively quiet side street and drove fast for a while until the mob was outdistanced.
Jan had been badly shaken by the menacing crowd and the attempted robbery, but she was overwhelmed by Alex's swift and unexpected rescue. She clung to him as he held her on the back seat of the taxi, while the tears poured down her cheeks. He cradled her as if she were a hurt child, enquiring anxiously:
'Did that brute harm you?' And as she murmured something inarticulate: 'Jan, Jan, little one, don't cry like that!'
'I ... I can't ... help it,' she sobbed. 'Oh, Alex, Alex, I've wanted you so!'
All her defences were down, her brave efforts to conceal her feelings blown away like chaff before the wind. Miraculously Alex had come to her, how and whence she had no idea, but he was here, she was in his arms, and far from being mocking or deriding her, he was being ... kind. Vaguely in her confused state, she identified him with the fantasy image that she had created to assuage her loneliness. None of this could be really happening, it was
a dream.
Somewhere in the region of Regents Park, the driver slowed down and pushed back the dividing panel.
'All clear now, sir. Where to next?'
'Where do you live, Jan?'
Mechanically she gave her address. She must be having a delusion. Alex was taking her back to her room, he would sit in the armchair as she had so often pictured him and then he would ... vanish. She clung to him, desperately fearful of losing him.
'Don't leave me, don't ever leave me!'
'Certainly I shan't, not after this touching demonstration, so there's no need to strangle me.'
This was the Alex she knew, so he must be real. With an effort she managed to regain her self-control and drawing away from him, fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief. Anticipating her need, he produced his own much larger one and wiped her eyes himself.
'Better now?'
'Yes, but—Oh, Alex, what must you think of me!'
'That I'll tell you in due course.'
'I... I was upset...'
'Never mind that now. It was lucky I was passing. I saw you come out of the station and lost you in the crowd, then I sighted you again with that scum.'
'But what on earth were you doing in Camden Town?'
'Looking for you. Renata told me where you were staying, but they said you had left The directions they gave me were a bit vague. You shouldn't be living on your own.'
His tone was elder-brotherly, admonishing. Her uncle must have expressed belated concern about her and had asked him to locate her; guiltily she recalled that she had not communicated with her family for some time.
The taxi halted in front of the building where she lodged. Alex sprang out and turned to hand her out. Reluctantly she left the shelter of the cab. For a brief spell it seemed as if a miracle had occurred and he had been seeking her, but she had arrived at a more prosaic explanation. Jeremy had sent him and nothing was changed.
She rummaged in her bag for her latch key while Alex paid the taxi-driver. He was a burly, phlegmatic character, who had run a considerable risk while he waited for his fare to do his rescue act. That Alex appreciated that was expressed in the bundle of notes he passed to him. Jan had mounted the short flight of steps leading to the front door which was ajar when he joined her. His mission must include ascertaining in what sort of place she was living, but she was reluctant to introduce him to her room. It was bound to appear poor and mean to his critical eyes.
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