No Friend of Mine 1.0

by Lilian Peake

  The driver leaned across to the passenger’s window. ‘Want a lift home, Elise?’

  ‘No, thanks, Lester,’ she answered, drawing back from the kerb. ‘I’m going into town.’

  ‘So am I, so get in.’ He opened the door. Her hesitation was so slight a stranger would not have noticed. Lester did. ‘What’s the matter, afraid of getting into a car with a strange man?’ He was taunting her again and she prickled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll behave. I’ve forsworn women, remember.’

  She got in and sat stiffly on the seat. The springs in the upholstery had gone and she felt every bump in the road.

  ‘Sorry about the state of the van,’ he said, looking down at the mud on the floor. He grinned. ‘If I’d known I was picking you up - I beg your pardon,’ he said with exaggerated politeness, ‘giving you a lift, I’d have got one of the workmen to clean it up.’

  She let his teasing pass and asked in a flat tone, ‘Has building started yet?’

  ‘No. We’re doing the fundamentals first, laying drains, putting down services - gas, electricity and so on - and making the roads. Once they used to do that last, after the houses were built. Now we do it first.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said dully. ‘Have - have all the trees gone?’

  ‘Not all of them, no.’

  The - the hornbeam?’

  ‘That’s gone.’ He flicked her a look. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t be saved. But when the architect was planning the site he managed to keep a few of the trees for decoration. One or two oaks and beeches.’ He smiled at the windscreen. ‘We reprieved a few to give my friend Elise a pleasant reminder of things past.’

  ‘You’re no friend of mine,’ she muttered. There was no response and she thought he had not heard, but when she stole a look at him he was frowning.

  ‘Thanks, pal,’ he said bitterly. He stopped the van on the outskirts of the town. ‘This is as far as I go. Sorry.’ He leaned across and opened the door for her.

  ‘But,’ she protested, ‘it’s a long walk from here to the shops.’

  ‘It won’t hurt you.’

  She got out of the van and slammed the door. ‘Next time you offer me a lift,’ she said through the window, ‘you can stuff it.’

  She turned away from his malevolent grin.

  Roland was in the hall when Clare arrived that evening. Elise had told him a friend of hers was coming. He had looked surprised.

  ‘Didn’t know you had any friends. Male or female?’

  ‘Female, of course,’ she had snorted.

  ‘Oh. Just wondered. I thought perhaps Phil Pollard might be making some headway at last.’ There the conversation had ended, on an abrasive note.

  Now he looked at his sister’s friend and a flicker passed across his eyes like a breeze ruffling the calm waters of a lake. His sister noted it.

  ‘Clare,’ she said, ‘this is my brother, Roland. Roland, my friend Clare Hill.’ She added maliciously, ‘Mrs. Hill.’

  Roland’s eyes went dull, like the eclipse of the sun. ‘Oh,’ he said, adding formally, ‘how do you do?’

  Clare, unconscious of the messages passing between brother and sister, put her hand in his and smiled up at him. ‘Please call me Clare.’

  ‘If you like,’ he replied, withdrawing into himself. He turned away and went into the dining-room.

  ‘Sorry about my brother’s lack of polish,’ Elise said loudly, ‘but he’s a crusty old bachelor. He doesn’t know how to treat women.’

  The dining-room door banged shut.

  Elise showed Clare into her bedroom. Clare looked round appreciatively. ‘Is this your hidey-hole? Very nice. I like those curtains.’ She walked across and fingered the multicoloured material. ‘Where did you get this stuff?’

  ‘The market,’ Elise answered. ‘Very cheap for the quality.’

  ‘I must go there some time,’ Clare said, and looked at herself in the dressing-table mirror. ‘My hair’s a mess.’ She picked up the comb. ‘May I?’

  Elise nodded. ‘If you don’t mind mixing the breed!’ She watched Clare combing her long jet black hair. ‘Wish mine was that colour.’ She lifted up a few strands of her own. ‘It’s mousey.’

  Clare considered her. ‘You need a new style. Can I try?’

  Before Elise could answer, Clare was combing it back from her face and flicking the ends forward to curl round her chin. ‘The next time you wash it, pin it in that position. It suits you much better. And why on earth don’t you use a better colour lipstick? Let me see,’ she put her head on one side, ‘pale pink would suit your complexion, not that awful orangey stuff you put on.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll have to take you in hand, my girl. Now, where are these records?’

  They sorted through Elise’s collection and put aside a few to be played.

  The doorbell rang and Elise jumped. Clare took away the records she was holding. ‘You’re not safe with that. It’s a good job you don’t handle records in the shop. You react too violently. Every time the shop doorbell rang you’d drop the record you were holding!’

  Embarrassed, Elise laughed. She could not tell even Clare why she had jumped. ‘It’s a friend of Roland’s,’ she explained offhandedly. ‘Lester Kings.’

  Clare stared. ‘The Lester Kings - your arch-enemy?’ Elise nodded. ‘You mean you have to be sociable to him, feeling all the time you’d like to murder him?’

  ‘Well, that’s putting it a little strongly, but.. .*

  ‘I quite understand,’ Clare said, laughing. ‘Now, let’s listen to this one first.’

  They had played all but one of the records Clare had chosen. Now she was listening to the last with the concentration which seemed to come naturally to anyone using stereo headphones. She was staring into the distance, lost to the world, when the door opened.

  Lester walked in. With difficulty she focused and stared at him. Then, astonished, she looked at Elise. Her eyes asked, ‘How can you let him walk into your bedroom like this without permission?’

  Elise frowned at Lester. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He grinned and propped himself against the wall. ‘Just a friendly visit.’ He looked at Clare, who was removing the headphones. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’

  Clare smiled. ‘It’s all right.’

  He looked at Elise, eyebrows raised. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

  - ‘Sorry. Clare, this is Lester Kings, a friend of my brother’s.’ She emphasized the words and Lester’s eyes mocked her.

  ‘Lester, this is Clare Hill. She works in the shop,’ she added, with the same malice as before, ‘Mrs. Hill.’

  But the explanation of Clare’s marital status seemed to have no effect on him. He turned on a specially warm smile - Elise thought, ‘He’s never smiled like that at me’ - and took Clare’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Another hi-fi fiend, Mrs. Hill?’ he asked.

  Clare shook her head. ‘Just frustrated at selling so many records that I can’t hear myself. So Elise took pity on me. And please call me Clare.’

  ‘Do thou likewise, Clare. Call me Lester.’

  ‘My word,’ Elise thought sourly, ‘he’s putting on the charm. So much for his claim that he’s forsworn women!’

  Her sulky expression caught his eye and he moved to sit beside Clare on the bed. ‘And how do you like shop assisting?’ His gaze moved approvingly over her.

  Clare responded to the flattery in his eyes with a grin. ‘Fine, just fine.’

  Elise turned away. He’s flirting with her, she thought, disgustedly. For all he knows, she’s a married woman.

  ‘Mr. Pollard’s good to work for. Hasn’t Elise told you?’

  ‘Ah yes, Phil Pollard.’ He leaned back across the bed and supported his head against the wall. ‘Elise’s boyfriend.’

  She swung round. ‘You know very well he’s not my boyfriend!

  Clare looked from one to the other. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘He’s not, Clare, really. It’s just -

  ‘It’s just that
he’s -got his eye on her,’ Lester commented with spite.

  ‘But, Elise,’ Clare said, ‘isn’t he a little old for you?’

  ‘What does that matter in this day and age?’ Lester asked with cynicism. ‘These days a man’s as young as he feels. Isn’t he, Elise?’ She heard the taunting tone and turned to her friend.

  ‘It’s just that - well, he keeps asking me out. But he’s not my “boyfriend”.’ She turned a venomous gaze on to Lester. ‘I haven’t got one and I don’t want one.’

  Lester laughed sardonically. ‘It would do you the world of good, Elise, my friend, to take to yourself a boyfriend.’

  Clare looked at him with interest. ‘Have you got a girlfriend, Lester?’

  His face clouded and cleared as though the cloud had never been. ‘No.’

  ‘Then,’ she went on brightly, ‘what’s wrong with you two getting together?’

  Elise stared at her and saw the mischief in her grin. How could she let her down like that!

  Lazily Lester rose and put his arm round Elise’s shoulders.

  She tried to twist away, but he held her. ‘She hates me,’ he said. ‘Hardly a day goes by without her telling me so, either by word or deed.’

  ‘But,’ Clare pointed out, ‘it’s always possible for hate to turn into love.’

  Lester removed his arm. ‘Never.’

  ‘Lester,’ Elise said, unable to eliminate the bitterness from her tone, ‘obviously believes in the old saying, “once bitten, twice shy”. You see, Clare, he’s been jilted by the girl he was engaged to.’

  Clare said to Lester, her face serious, ‘But why should that make you cynical about love? Surely it was better for you to have found her out this side of marriage, instead of afterwards?’

  Lester did not respond. His hands were in his pockets and he was leaning against the wardrobe. His face showed no expression at all.

  ‘Love between two people,’ Clare went on softly, her eyes groping like someone looking into the misty distance, ‘two people who have a deep and permanent relationship, is the most wonderful thing in the world.’

  Lester straightened and went out.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Clare, ‘I hope I haven’t upset him.’

  Elise laughed bitterly. ‘Nothing could upset him. He hasn’t got any feelings to hurt.’

  Clare looked at her as though pitying her for her inexperience. ‘Take it from me, Elise, men are human, too. They have feelings, just like us. And Lester’s no exception.’

  Later, Elise took Clare down to the sitting-room while she made a cup of tea for them all. The room was empty and she gave Clare a magazine to read.

  Lester came into the kitchen and sat on a corner of the table. ‘So you’ve got yourself a friend?’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned on him. ‘And there was no need for you to flirt with her. I told you, she’s “Mrs.” Hill.’

  ‘And I happen to know,’ he said, his eyes narrow, ‘that she’s a widow. My grandfather knew her husband before he died. And that means she’s back on the marriage market.’

  .‘What a way to put it,’ Elise said disgustedly. ‘That’s typical of you.’

  Lester stood so suddenly the table scraped harshly against the tiled floor. He said savagely, ‘Can’t you stop criticising me? According to you, everything I do is wrong, wrong, wrong!’

  He strode out of the kitchen, called to Roland that he was leaving and slammed the front door behind him.

  Elise stood rigid, her eyes closed, appalled at what she had done. She could not believe that he was so vulnerable. Had his fiancée’s rejection affected him so deeply? Had he still not recovered from his broken love affair? She wanted to run after him and apologise.

  Then the pendulum swung and she thought,, seeking justification for her unpleasantness to him, ‘He’s hurt me often enough in the past. I’ve hurt him for a change. Now he knows what it’s like.’

  But there was cold comfort in the thought. It came to her like a match being struck in the darkness - the simple truth that when a woman hurts the man she loves, she hurts herself more.

  Roland was in the sitting-room when she carried in the tray of tea. He was reading, sullen and silent. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Elise wondered, feeling sorry for Clare who was trying not to look embarrassed.

  When her father came down, he filled the room with his solid, comforting presence and the tension vanished. He talked to Clare and listened with interest to her replies and the three of them kept the conversation going until Clare went home.

  Afterwards, when Roland was drying the crockery, Elise asked casually if he liked her new friend, Clare.

  He was noncommittal. ‘She’s a bit inconsiderate, isn’t she?’

  ‘How do you mean - ‘

  ‘Won’t her husband be worried about her staying out so late?’

  Elise laughed. She had fooled her brother completely. ‘She hasn’t got a husband. She’s a widow.’

  She dived to catch the cup he was drying before it crashed to pieces on the floor.

  Next morning, Elise apologised to Clare for her brother’s behaviour. ‘He’s a bit boorish in his attitude to women, I’m afraid.’

  Clare shrugged without looking up. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘He’s heavy going in company. Like his occupation.’

  ‘What’s his job?’ Clare asked idly.

  ‘He’s an accountant. He’s a junior partner in a firm on the other side of the town. It’s lucrative, but dull.’

  Clare nodded without much interest. Elise was puzzled by her offhand manner and went into the office to type answers to the morning’s letters.

  Clare was washing up the coffee cups when the shop door was thrust open and Roland walked in. Elise, who was standing behind the counter, turned pale. She thought there was something wrong with her father.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, putting a hand to her throat.

  ‘Nothing,’ her brother answered irritably. Elise relaxed. He peered into the office at the back. ‘Is old man Pollard in?’

  ‘No. What do you want to see him for?’

  ‘I don’t. Where’s Clare?’

  ‘Clare? In the kitchen, washing up. Why?’

  ‘I want to see her.’

  ‘But, Roland…’

  ‘Look, Elise, I’ve got myself half an hour off work. I shouldn’t really have come.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got fifteen minutes left and it’ll take me over ten to get back.’ He repeated, ‘Where’s Clare? For goodness’ sake, have some tact, Elise. I can’t explain yet.’

  She pointed. ‘Through the office, first door on the left.’

  He followed her directions. Five minutes later, he hurded out of the kitchen, through the office, across the shop and out of the door. Just before he shut it, he remembered to wave.

  Elise’s mouth came open. She couldn’t help it. She had never been so staggered in her life. Clare came back, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright.

  ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,’ Elise said, curiosity bursting out of her like stuffing from a torn cushion.

  ‘Of course I want to. He’s - he’s asked me to go out with him tonight. I said “yes”.’

  ‘He’s - what?’ Clare’s cheeks turned pinker. ‘But Roland never notices women. I didn’t think he knew they existed.’

  Clare laughed, and it was a happy sound. ‘We all know what sisters think of their brothers. But brothers are attracted by other people’s sisters, not their own, so it doesn’t matter, does it?’ She looked anxiously at Elise. ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Mind? Good heavens, no. I - I - ‘ She shook her head, giving up.

  Clare laughed again. ‘You’re speechless. All right, let’s leave it at that.’

  Elise went back to the office and began to type. She worked mechanically, her mind still numb with shock. Her brother taking a girl out! Roland interested in a woman!

  She said the words to herself again and again, but they bounced off like hail on conc
rete.

  Clare, even more cheerful than usual, put her head round the office door. ‘Customer, Elise. A man. Asking specially for you.’

  ‘Me? Why me?’ She took out her comb and ran it quickly through her hair. If he was asking for her he must be someone important. She snapped her bag shut and went through into the shop.

  ‘Hallo,’ said Lester.

  It was her second shock of the day, and she felt in need of a chair. Instead she made herself look professional. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked in her most mincing, shop-assistant tones.

  He was leaning on his elbow on the counter and his hands were clasped loosely in front of him. He wore a sardonic grin as he looked her up and down and she noticed he was dressed in working clothes, complete with muddy boots. The only thing that was missing was his safety helmet. She supposed he had left that in the van.

  He seemed in cheerful mood. ‘The super-efficient counter-hand,’ he murmured, and she knew he was aiming to provoke.

  He did not change his position. ‘Yes, you can help me. And - er - shouldn’t you address me as “sir”?’

  He saw her lips drawn inwards and her eyes spark like dry tinder burning. He smiled again. ‘I’ve come to buy some hi-fi equipment.’

  She controlled her surprise and schooled herself into allowing not a flicker of it to escape. ‘It’s upstairs. Will you follow me?’

  She turned her back on his grin and heard him call out, ‘See you later, Clare.’

  His booted footsteps thudded behind her up the narrow staircase to the first floor.

  ‘What are you particularly interested in?’ she asked, keeping her voice toneless and her expression one of simulated interest.

  ‘Come off your high horse, Elise, and speak to me like a human being instead of a damned efficient robot.’ His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not.

  ·What are you interested in?’ Her tone had not altered.

  He said curtly, ‘I want a stereo record player, a turntable.’

  ‘You mean a transcription unit?’

  He raised his eyebrows at her use of the correct terminology. ‘Yes.’ He was as businesslike as she was now, and as distant as an ordinary customer. ‘What have you to offer? I want something good.’