Capital Sins

by Jane Marciano

Sheila shrugged, relating to her own experiences but wisely not mentioning them.

  'One's got to beat them at their own game, be a queen, not a pawn,' Connie went on, bending over her typewriter to angrily erase a mistake on the paper. 'If I act all feminine, they treat me like a piece of putty. The secret's to be like them; hard as nails, and twice as selfish!'

  'You don't really mean that. You're just saying it now because you've been hurt.'

  'Used!'

  'That way can also get one into difficulties. Connie. If you act like a hard nut, they'll treat you like one. You've been unfortunate in your choice ... '

  'But if I act naturally, just be myself, they still treat me with contempt!' Connie grumbled.

  'Oh, lovey,' Sheila sighed, looking at the girl's blonde head regretfully. 'You're too young to be such a cynic.'

  'Tilly says that's the only way to be.' She flung back her long hair over her shoulders impatiently and peered at her note pad. 'She never gets involved with any man unless she thinks he can do her some good. Tilly's got a nose about things like that.'

  She chewed the tip of her pencil and frowned. 'What I'm doing wrong is getting myself too serious and uptight, I should learn to take things as they come, enjoy myself with some light-hearted fun – for now, anyway.'

  Sheila couldn't help smiling at her secretary's intentness. 'But I thought you said your aim was to find yourself a good man and get married.'

  'I thought it over in bed last night and decided I've still got plenty of time for marriage and kids. If I rush, I might make a. mistake, and I don't believe in divorce, whatever the problem, so I'm going to go out with lots of different types, and from one I'll select the right man for me.' She looked at Sheila triumphantly.

  'Don't turn into what Philip Dual's wife called you,' Sheila cautioned. 'There's no need to lose your head and take it out on yourself.'

  'I know what I'm doing.'

  'You're lucky to have so many men who would want to date you, some aren't so fortunate.' Sheila hoped she didn't sound self-pitying, but Connie smiled at her.

  'The right one will come along for you some day, you'll see.'

  'As far as I'm concerned, he has, but he just doesn't reciprocate my interest ... ' she stopped, not wanting to give away too much, but finding it a relief to talk to someone.

  'Then you should make him want you,' Connie said airily, as if it were the easiest thing to accomplish.

  Sheila grimaced. 'It's not so simple when one hasn't much to offer.'

  'Oh, for goodness' sake, Sheila,' Connie cried impatiently, 'stop demeaning yourself and making yourself out to be such a loser! You're not ugly, if that's what you mean and, anyway, you're intelligent and kind, I've told you. I think you're fishing for compliments, you sly puss,' she smiled. 'Besides, lots of men like the qualities you have in their women; intelligent blokes who don't want a girl just to show her off to their friends because she happens to be beautiful because of a quirk of nature!' She stopped for breath. Sheila laughed.

  'It wasn't lots of men I was referring to,' she said mildly.

  Connie looked disdainful. 'Then, whoever he is, he must need his brains tested, and I don't know why you're mooning over such a man,' she said emphatically, showing off her superior knowledge.

  'I think he likes me a little, actually,' Sheila said hesitantly.

  'You're halfway there already, in that case.' She paused and looked at Sheila closely. 'How long you known him?'

  'About ... a few years.'

  'You must know what he wants, then, how his tastes run. Perhaps he just doesn't want to get hooked by any woman, and it's not the case of his not loving you ... '

  Sheila looked wistful suddenly. 'He does want to get married, she contradicted. 'I suppose I'll just have to face facts that I don't fit into that role with him.'

  Connie was touched at the pathos in her friend's voice. 'Don't give up; while he's still single you've got a chance.'

  Sheila shook her head. 'It's purely platonic. He treats me so much like a friend, drat the man, that he's even told me he'd been in love before; even going so far as to describe her to me when he was going out with one, and I remember thinking to myself then, this is it, Shelia, he's going to get himself tied at last, so give up while you're still sane. But, surprisingly, their relationship petered out after a couple of weeks, even though I know the woman was crazy about him at the time.'

  Connie shrugged. 'Probably got cold feet at the last minute,' she suggested. 'One of the scared ones.'

  Sheila lit a cigarette and said, 'You know, I honestly wouldn't mind if it wasn't me he married, just as long as he was happy.'

  'That's love,' Connie said, a little flippantly. 'Wouldn't you be madly jealous really?'

  Sheila's shoulders sagged, making her appear older, and weary. 'Of course I'd be, but I think I'd always go on loving him all the same. I just wish I could do something, that I wasn't such a coward ... oh, I don't know...'

  She looked so dispirited, Connie was impelled to answer.

  'I wish there was something I could do,' she said abruptly. This was the first time that Sheila had confided in her, allowed another into her confidence, but this was something even a friend couldn't do anything about. She could only listen, as Sheila listened to her. The possibility that it was Samuel Jessop Sheila was talking about flashed across Connie's mind again, but she decided not to voice the thought aloud.

  Sheila raised her drooping head and, although her eyes were smiling, Connie noticed that her lashes were wet.

  'I shouldn't have sounded off like that,' Sheila said, taking a deep breath. 'I'm supposed to be the composed, unflappable type that everybody believes me to be, but it gets a bit much for me sometimes, always keeping everything inside so that I don't alarm anybody by showing that I'm human. I try to impress on everyone that I haven't a care in the world, and probably succeed in carrying it off, but I'm not a machine, I'm still young enough to have feelings ... '

  Connie didn't say anything. She was curious as to the unknown man's identity, but as Sheila hadn't mentioned his name, Connie wouldn't enquire. It wasn't important who he was anyway, she reckoned, and she probably wouldn't know him anyway.

  Sheila lifted her head and reached for her handbag. She took out a tissue and blew her nose.

  'I'm being silly,' she said lightly. 'Look, you'd better go on home now, Connie, it's five thirty already.' She attempted to smile and just made it. 'You going anywhere tonight?' she asked, assuming a more cheerful expression, a. if her confessions had never taken place. Connie followed the pattern willingly.

  'Nope, I'm staying in to wash my hair and maybe do my nails.' She paused. 'Would you like me to stay with you for a while? I mean, if you're on your own tonight. I could come over to your flat and keep you company if you'd like.'

  'It's sweet of you, but no. I've still got some notes to prepare and Mr Jessop wanted them early in the morning for a meeting. I've got a bit behind in my own work with all our chatter.'

  Connie looked guilty.

  'Never mind, I feel like working late tonight, it'll help me take my mind off things.'

  Connie didn't argue and collected her bits and pieces. When she turned to say good night, Sheila's head was already bent in an engrossed manner over a notepad.

  Sheila poured herself yet another cup of coffee from the percolator and went over to the window. At eight o'clock, it was getting dark outside but the traffic was still flowing beneath her. As predicted, it had begun to rain and she watched it splat against the windows then slither gently down the large glass panes like silver tears.

  She went back to her desk and sat down, sipping at the hot coffee. She switched on her table lamp and it cast a bright circle of light on to the table. Sheila hadn't realised how gloomy it had become in the office. It was very solitary there without the usual clatter of typewriters and buzz of voices that could always be heard during office hours. Second to her flat, Sheila thought, her office at night was the loneliest place on earth. Sounds we
re comforting, and yet the soft patter of rain on the windows only seemed to enhance the deathly hush, so thick it seemed to enshroud her. Silence and darkness surrounded her as she went back to scratching with her pen on the paper, and the shadows of the night loomed almost threateningly as she tried to concentrate on her work, determined to ignore her self-imposed isolation.

  After a few more pages had been filled in with spidery blackness, Sheila leant back in her chair and stretched her legs, the beginnings of cramp making her calves ache. She flexed her writing hand, then rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the strain she felt there also. Opening her cigarette case, she shook one out and lit it, looking around reflectively. Her gaze stopped at Samuel Jessop's door. Jessop hadn't been in for a couple of days. having been invited to attend a function in Paris.

  As she thought of him, Sheila smiled, but the smile soon left her face as her mind wandered to the woman who had accompanied him on the visit. She was just another in the long line of vivacious and beautiful women that Jessop was known to date, and Sheila had met this newest one at a cocktail party where Jessop had introduced them.

  Looking at her then, Sheila had wondered how long she would last, although she noticed that Sam had hardly been able to take his eyes off his new girl friend. Hardly surprising really, Sheila thought moodily now, as she recalled the superb face that had turned to her in greeting. Sam liked beautiful women; and what more in a woman could he want? she wondered, puffing on her cigarette, sending grey-blue coils into the air to disappear into the shadows. She had been tiny, that woman, well-proportioned and graceful, with a lively wit and grace which had charmed many at that cocktail party. And that adoration on that fragile face of hers, as she had smiled up at her escort, had only increased in Sheila a sense of her own plainness, and helplessness. It appeared futile, and yet, although Jessop and the woman had flown to Paris together, he had phoned Sheila a while back to inform her that he would be returning tonight instead of a few days later as first intended. When she had enquired politely after his companion, Jessop had told her he was coming back alone, that she would be staying in France with friends for another week. A suspicion had formed in Sheila's mind, one that she quenched rapidly, not wanting it to remain and turn into a fear that, however many women he appeared with in public, in private and in reality, he was homosexual. What then of her yearning desires? What would she do if she ever found out that she could no longer live in hope? No, it was preposterous. The idea unthinkable.

  Even with her mind in a turmoil, her thoughts tormenting her, Sheila resumed her work, smoking heavily, until she had eventually finished.

  Yawning, she packed the documents into a file, fetched her coat and scarf, and wished as she glanced out of the window, that she had thought to bring an umbrella. The rain was now teeming down and, as she hurried out into the street, an icy spray soaked her from head to foot. Shivering, Sheila huddled into her lightweight coat and sloshed through the puddles, hugging the file against her chest. She passed a bar and, for a second, was tempted to go in, join the bright lights and comforting presence of human beings. Why not, she thought, I've nothing better to do. But the sight of a mob of youths around the juke box halted her and, averting her head, she walked quickly by. She tightened the belt around her middle and hunched her shoulders, trying to escape from the pelting downpour.

  A cold drip splashed against her coat collar and slid uncomfortably down the back of her neck, and she pulled up the collar as she walked. her now sodden coat hem dripping dismally against her knees. Her fashionable, open-toed sandals weren't made for walking around in wet weather, and already Sheila could feel that her tights were damply clinging to her legs, and her toes were squelching in her shoes.

  A foggy, yellow light materialised and glimmered a 'For Hire' sign and, before the taxi passed her, impulsively Sheila flung out her arm to hail it. As it slowed to a stop at the kerb it occurred to her that she hadn't need a cab, having almost walked to her flat. as she always did for the exercise since she didn't live far. She could have borne the rain for another few minutes ...

  The taxi driver had wound down' his window and was waiting for her. Did J mean to go to Connie's? she mused as she paddled towards him. Sure, why not? I could help style the kid's hair and we could have a pleasant natter together over a mug of hot chocolate or something.

  'Where to, Lady?'

  She stared at the driver for a second, perplexed, her expression vacant.

  'Er, Emerald Mansions, Hanberry Drive, please.'

  As she sank back into the seat, there was a faint smile on her lips. In her mind she was going over the words she would say to Samuel Jessop when he saw her, and prayed he would be home. I was just passing, she would say nonchalantly...

  '... I was just passing,' Sheila explained as Jessop opened the front door.

  He looked her up and down in surprise. 'What the devil ... you're soaked, girl!'

  'A little,' she murmured, staring at the smoking jacket he was wearing over his pyjamas and wondering whether she was welcomed, or whether he wasn't alone. Oh, lord, she hadn't thought of that, but it turned out he was by himself.

  'You'd better come in and dry off, Sheila,' he suggested, shutting the door behind her. 'What do you mean you were just passing? Where've you been with a file under your arm at this time of night?'

  She followed him through into the salon, dripping water on to his Persian rug.

  'I've just come from the office.' she said in a rush, 'getting these notes ready for you tomorrow. I thought you'd want to look them over and get acquainted with the details.'

  'I could've picked them up at the office on the way in the morning, but I appreciate the thought. It was very conscientious of you to think of it. but you really shouldn't work overtime so often, you're looking tired.'

  She was looking a little haggard, too, but he was kind enough not to mention it.

  She handed over the file. 'I'd better be on my way now,' she said brightly.

  'You're here now and might just as well stay for a while.'

  She sneezed and shivered suddenly.

  'You've gone and caught a chill.' he went on in a stern voice. 'No umbrella? Look, don't stand there with your teeth chattering.' He became solicitous. 'Get that wet coat off and come and sit over here. 'I'll get you a drink. What'll you have?'

  She smiled' at him apologetically. 'I wouldn't mind a cup of tea. Sam.'

  'Later. Right now, I rather think a stiff brandy would be more suitable.'

  She watched him as he strode over to a large and well-stocked bar.

  'You know, this is the first time I've been to your home... '

  'Yes? I hadn't realised I was supposed to invite my friends formally but, in any case, it was an oversight on my part. I'd never realised you'd wanted to come. What do you think of my bachelor pad?'

  'Hardly what I would have termed as a pad. It's very grand.'

  'Penthouses usually are,' he replied blandly as he brought her drink over.

  She stared about her. The room was enormous. The ceiling was so lofty, she almost had to crane her neck to see the chandelier high above.

  The walls were covered in a light brown and cream hessian, and spotlighted were some good landscapes. The furniture was antique for the most part, although there were one or two ultra- modem pieces; he had mixed modern and antique but the effect was entirely natural and well-balanced. Rich, oatmeal-coloured curtains draped picture windows and the carpet was a honey-beige where four steps descended to a sunken pit in the room, squared by a continuous low settee in white leather with four glass coffee tables at each corner. A large, white fur rug was the focal point at the centre of this hollow in the floor. The touches of amber and warm orange, from scattered cushions, and rust-coloured shades on the lamps gave the room a cosy homeliness that might otherwise have been lacking, and Sheila could feel herself relaxing. She had been apprehensive at first, having intruded uninvited, but the welcoming room, Sam's mellow manner, and the extremely good brandy,
still a generous measure in the balloon-shaped glass, were all helping to achieve comfort. And then she sneezed again.

  'My old Napoleon doesn't seem to be helping much,' Jessop said, 'but no wonder, when your dress is wringing wet, too!'

  'A mite damp, perhaps, but it'll dry,' she said faintly.

  'On you? No, you're too useful to the organisation... and to me to lose you to 'flu for even a week. Off with it, girl!'

  She blinked at him.

  'Come on, I'll give you a robe to wear,' he went on firmly. 'If you just sling your dress over one of the hot rails in the bathroom, it'll be dry in no time, and you're not to take chances!'

  Meekly, Sheila trailed after him as he led the way, and from the airing cupboard he helped himself to a fluffy, snowy-white bathrobe.

  'It'll be a bit large on you, but it doesn't matter. No one's going to see you.'

  'Thank you,' she managed to say, before he had pulled the door shut behind him.

  Clutching the robe to her, Sheila gazed around at her surroundings; never before had she seen such a huge bathroom. Copper and fawn tiles were sheer walls around her, and it was the first time she had actually seen a marble, sunken bath close to.

  'What are you doing in there?' she heard him call. 'I've topped up your drink for you.'

  'I'll be right out,' she replied, and hurriedly stripped off her clothes. She slung the damp garments over hot rails and tried to dry her hair as well as she could with a towel before slipping on the robe. She didn't look to see what she looked like in '1 mirror, knowing she must resemble a drowned rat. With bare feet, she padded back into the salon.

  As she entered, he looked at her hair.

  'Do you want a hair dryer?' he asked kindly.

  She made a face at him. 'I don't think it matters, Sam. As you said, there's only you to see what I look like when my hair starts to frizz.'

  As he handed her her glass, he noticed her unshod feet. 'I'll get you a pair of slippers... ' But she lifted her hand in protest.

  'Really, it's not necessary. Besides, it's lovely and warm in here and the carpet's very thick.'