Now and Always

by Andrea Blake

  Jennifer fingered the gold bracelet on her left wrist. “I still don’t believe it,” she answered. “It doesn’t make sense. In the first place, I don’t own any part of the store. My mother is the other shareholder.”

  “It amounts to the same thing. If Neal were to become her son-in-law...” Suzanne finished the sentence with a gesture.

  “If Neal has treated you so badly, why did you come here?” Jennifer asked levelly. “Anyway, it seems very strange that he should tell you everything was over, and then offer you a job on his staff.”

  “Oh, Neal never allows his private life to interfere with his business affairs,” Suzanne retorted bitterly. “I’m a first-class display designer, remember. I accepted his offer because ... because I wanted to be near him. You know the old saying—half a loaf is better than no bread.”

  “Haven’t you any pride?” Jennifer said distastefully.

  Suzanne gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. “Pride doesn’t come into it, sweetie. You’ll find out. Anyway, if I stick around Neal might change his mind. I may not fit in with his schemes, but I still attract him. We’re two of a kind, Neal and I. He doesn’t have to put on an act with me.”

  “Have you finished now?” Jennifer asked her coldly.

  “You still don’t believe me?” Suzanne’s mouth twisted derisively. “You will, when you’ve thought about it.” She picked up her emerald satin stole and tossed it carelessly over her shoulder. Then she moved to the door. “Goodnight, Jennifer. Sweet dreams,” she said mockingly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SUZANNE was already at the table when Jennifer went down to breakfast the following morning.

  “Oh, Jenny, you look worn out,” her mother said concernedly. “Still, Suzanne tells me you had a wonderful evening. What luck that she and Mr. Dawson were able to get in at the last moment. You must have crept home like mice. I didn’t hear a sound.”

  “I expect Jennifer was too excited to get much sleep,” Suzanne suggested blandly, sipping her coffee.

  “I slept very well,” Jennifer said evenly.

  Strangely, this was true. She had fallen asleep within minutes of climbing into bed. Nevertheless she did not relish the prospect of a hectic Saturday at the store, and would have given a good deal to spend the morning quietly at home.

  “Well, you can tell me all the details tonight. Now make a good breakfast, dear,” Louise said, putting a bowl of creamy porridge in front of her.

  “If you couldn’t sleep last night, you should have borrowed one of my pills,” Suzanne said maliciously, while they were waiting at the bus-stop half an hour later.

  Jennifer ignored the remark, and when the bus came, they rode into the town in silence.

  Neal did not make his customary tour of the shop that morning, and at lunchtime Jennifer went to Whittakers’ restaurant again. Waiting to be served, she wondered what had prevented Neal from making his usual inspection, but felt confident that he would come to Laureldene that evening. He would come, and he would take her out somewhere, and perhaps when they returned to the house she would know how it felt to be kissed.

  ‘I love him and I trust him,’ she thought. ‘Whatever he has done in the past—and I’m sure Suzanne was lying last night—it can’t change the way I feel about him.’

  But Neal did not come to the house that evening, and Jennifer went to bed puzzled and disappointed. She could only think that he had assumed she would be tired and want an early night. No doubt he would come tomorrow ... surely he would come tomorrow...

  On Sunday morning Suzanne announced that she was going to spend the day at her flat and would have lunch in town.

  “The painters have finished the sitting-room and my boxes arrived on Friday, so I can start getting the place organised. I should be able to move in on Tuesday evening, Mrs. Parker,” she said.

  “Very well, dear, but there’s no hurry, you know. We enjoy having you here,” Louise said kindly.

  “I’ve enjoyed being here.” When Louise’s back was turned, Suzanne slanted a derisive glance at Jennifer.

  The Fletchers were coming to tea, and when Jennifer returned from her driving lesson—the last one before she took her test on Thursday afternoon—Louise was icing a chocolate layer cake.

  “Lunch won’t be long,” she said. “Oh, I rang Neal’s flat to ask if he would come to tea, too. But there was no reply. Perhaps he was helping Suzanne to unpack her boxes. I’ll try again later. Jenny, if I were you, I should have an hour on the bed after lunch. You still look rather tired, pet.”

  Jennifer took her mother’s advice. After she had helped to wash up the lunch things, she went up to her room and lay down. But she could not sleep.

  At three o’clock, she tidied her rumpled bed, changed into her turquoise sweater and skirt and spent some time on her face and hair.

  “Did you ring Neal again?” she asked her mother, when she went downstairs.

  “Yes, but there was still no answer. He’s obviously out for the day.”

  Jennifer was glad when the Fletchers arrived and she was forced to keep her mind on their conversation. She was wheeling the tea trolley along the hall, when she heard a car turn in at the gate. Her hands began to shake, her heart to thud wildly against her ribs. It must be Neal. It must be. Leaving the trolley, she flew to open the door.

  “That’s the Fletchers’ car, isn’t it? I’m sorry: I shouldn’t have come without ringing up first,” Neal said, as he came up the steps.

  “Mummy rang to ask you to come, but she couldn’t get a reply,” Jennifer told him.

  “No, I was out all morning and for lunch.” Neal rubbed his shoes on the doormat and began to unbutton his raincoat. He did not add where he had been.

  “Ah, Neal, I thought it must be you when I heard the car. What a miserable day. Come and get warm,” Louise said smilingly, when they went into the drawing-room.

  He said hello to the Fletchers, and sat down beside her on the sofa. “Yes, it is pretty cold out today, but you’re very snug in here.”

  “Only near the fire,” Louise said ruefully. “It’s cold over there by the windows, and the rest of the house is arctic. How I envy people with central heating. Have you heard when they’re coming to put yours in yet, Maggie?”

  “They’ve promised to start next week,” said Miss Fletcher. “We don’t want the house to be upside down at Christmas.”

  “What type of heating are you having?” Neal asked.

  “We’ve decided on gas. It’s cheaper than an oil-fired system, and there’s no labour involved as there is with the solid fuel types,” Colonel Fletcher told him.

  “I rather like the idea of the ducted air system,” Louise said. “But I suppose it would be very expensive to put it into an existing house.”

  While the others were discussing heating systems, Jennifer poured out the tea and wondered if Neal had not noticed Suzanne’s absence. Or had he made no comment because he knew where she was?

  ‘What does it matter? He’s here,’ she told herself sharply. She found it difficult not to look at him too often, to keep her mind on the business of handing round the hot buttered scones and cakes. She longed to be able to sit in a corner and gaze at him. Everything about him fascinated her—things she had never noticed about a man before. The way he tied his shoelaces in neat double knots ... the shape of his knee-caps ... the way he wore his watch above his wristbone ... the darker skin where his beard grew but which was always beautifully shaved.

  The others were discussing water softeners when he suddenly turned to her and said, “You’re very quiet, Jenny. Still tired from Friday night?”

  She smiled and shook her head, wondering what he would say if she answered, “I was wondering whether you use an electric razor or an ordinary one.”

  Aloud, she said, “What did Mr. Dawson say about your idea for this land? Does he think we would get planning approval?”

  “I have something slightly different in mind now. I’ll tell you about it when he’s worked it out on
paper,” Neal said.

  Then Louise asked Jennifer to give Miss Fletcher another cup of tea, and by the time she had done so Neal was talking to Colonel Fletcher about the Common Market.

  Before the Fletchers left Suzanne returned, and Jennifer knew that however late Neal stayed there was no hope of being alone with him.

  In the days that followed Jennifer found herself living for the times when she might see Neal. Every morning she waited eagerly for him to come round the ground floor. But, maddeningly, there were always customers about to prevent him from having more than a brief word with her. Between noon and one o’clock, every time she heard the lift coming down she thought it might be Neal returning to ask her to lunch with him. Towards the end of each afternoon she expected him to find some pretext to send for her.

  On Tuesday evening he came to the house to taxi Suzanne and her cases over to the flat. On Wednesday evening Jennifer waited in vain for the doorbell or telephone to ring. By closing time on Thursday, she could no longer stifle her disquiet. It was not until her mother reminded her that she remembered she was taking her driving test at three o’clock.

  “How did you get on? Was it frightful?” Louise asked, when she returned.

  “I passed,” Jennifer said flatly.

  “Oh, well done, darling. How clever of you. Hardly anyone gets through the first time. What a feather in your cap.”

  After tea, Jennifer said, “Mummy, I keep forgetting to return a book Neal lent me. I think I’ll take it back to him this evening, and tell him about my test. He doesn’t even know I’ve been taking driving lessons.”

  “I expect you’re longing to have a drive on your own now. Are you hoping to persuade him to lend you the Lancia? I don’t think he’d be very keen, pet.”

  “I wouldn’t ask him,” Jennifer said, shocked.

  In the bus, she began to have second thoughts about what she was doing. When she got off outside Parkers, she was so nervous that she almost crossed the square to wait for a bus to take her home again. Then she knew that she had to see Neal tonight, that she could not stand another hour of uncertainty. She walked quickly round the corner and along the street towards his flat.

  She knew he was at home because she had seen the light in his sitting-room from the street. But it was not until she had pressed the bell a second time that he came to the door.

  “Jenny!” he exclaimed, in surprise.

  “Hello, Neal. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I just called to return this.” She handed him the book.

  He smiled at her then. “Come in,” he said, standing back to make room for her to enter the narrow lobby.

  “Are you sure you aren’t busy?”

  “I’m very glad to see you.” He gestured for her to go into the sitting-room.

  “I’ve a surprise for you,” Jennifer said, looking at him over her shoulder as she walked into the room.

  “A surprise?” He raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”

  Before she could answer, a familiar voice said, “Hello, Jennifer.”

  Turning, she saw Suzanne lounging gracefully on the sofa. Jennifer drew in her breath. “Oh ... hello.” Somehow she forced herself to smile.

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What is this surprise?” said Neal, behind her.

  She looked at him, the smile still fixed on her lips. “Nothing much really. I’ve been taking driving lessons and this afternoon I passed the test ... that’s all.”

  “Jenny, that’s wonderful,” Neal said warmly. “As a matter of fact I knew you were taking lessons because I happened to see you having one a couple of weeks ago. But it’s quite an achievement to get through the test first time. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” she said hollowly.

  “Here, let me take your coat.”

  She swallowed. “No, thanks, I can’t stay. I—I’m on my way to see ... a friend. I’m spending the evening with her.”

  “Let me give you a lift,” Neal offered. “The car is in the street, and Suzanne was just leaving, weren’t you, Suzanne?”

  “No, please—it’s no distance. I’d rather walk,” Jennifer told him hastily. “I must hurry. She’ll be waiting. Goodbye. Goodbye, Suzanne.” Without looking at either of them, she turned and moved blindly towards the hall.

  Five minutes later she was back at the bus-stop and the first numbness of shock was wearing off. She began to shiver. After seven o’clock in the evening, there was a reduced service on the Beech Avenue route. Peering at her watch, Jennifer realised she must have missed the eight o’clock bus by a couple of minutes. Feeling she could not bear to hang about in the square until the next bus came at eight-twenty, she started to walk.

  But as she reached the corner of Bridge Street, the driver of a passing car suddenly put on his brakes, then reversed to the kerb alongside her. As he wound down the nearside front window, she saw it was Tony Anderson.

  “Miss Alvery! May I give you a lift? I’m going past your house.”

  Jennifer hesitated only for a second. “Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Have you been working late at the shop?” he asked as he set the car in motion again. “Oh, no, it’s Thursday, isn’t it? I’d forgotten.”

  “How do you know where I live?” she asked.

  “I asked Mrs. Rayford-Greene at the Press Ball on Friday. She told me quite a lot about you.”

  “Oh, did she? What?” Jennifer asked.

  ‘Talk! Don’t think. Keep talking,’ she told herself silently.

  “That you were Guy Alvery’s daughter,” he said. “I don’t know why that didn’t occur to me before. It’s not a common name, and I knew he had a daughter.”

  “You knew? How did you know?”

  “He and Juan Fangio were my heroes as a kid,” Tony told her. “I had dreams of being a world champion myself. But I guess I haven’t got what it takes to get to the top.”

  “Did you try?” Jennifer asked.

  “Oh, sure—I’m still at it. But if you haven’t been spotted after two or three seasons of club events, you can take it you’re no potential Moss. Anyway I’m not the dedicated type, and you have to be dedicated to get into the Grand Prix class. How about you? Are you interested in racing?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Not particularly. I might have been if my father had lived, but I don’t really think it’s a woman’s sport.”

  “There are some darned good women drivers—Pat Moss, Annie Soisbault,” he said.

  “I know, but it has never appealed to me—and even if it had, my stepfather would not have allowed me to take it up.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Tony said dryly. “I met him once—in court. He took great pleasure in making me shell out the maximum fine for speeding. Was he as heavy-handed at home as he was on the Bench?”

  “Sometimes,” Jennifer said briefly.

  As they turned into Beech Avenue, Tony said, “I suppose it’s no use asking you if you’d care to come out to the Country Club for an hour?”

  Jennifer thought of the questions her mother would ask if she returned to the house so soon after leaving it. Louise would be sure to detect something was the matter. She might not probe, but she would be troubled and watchful.

  ‘I can’t face her yet. I couldn’t stand it if she guessed,’ Jennifer thought miserably.

  Aloud, she said, “I’d like to come.”

  “You would?” He shot a startled glance at her. “You mean it?”

  “I mean it.”

  Jennifer had been to a wedding reception at the White Lodge Country Club several years earlier. The place, originally a private house, had changed hands since then, and the new management had built a swimming pool and squash courts and trebled the subscription. Many people, including Wilfred Parker, had prophesied that this would lead rapidly to bankruptcy. But instead, membership of the Club had become one of the town’s most impressive status symbols. All the smartest twenty-first birthday parties were held in the Barbecue Barn, and recently the management
had introduced curry luncheons on Sunday. Among a certain section of Midchester society, not to lunch at the Club on Sunday was as unthinkable as not running a car, or not having a mink stole and holidays abroad and a foreign girl to mind the children.

  When Tony and Jennifer arrived, the car park at the side of the club was full of Jaguars and Triumphs. They went into the building by a side entrance and Tony waited in the main hall while Jennifer left her coat in the cloakroom and quickly retouched her lipstick. She was wearing her turquoise sweater and skirt with Neal’s bracelet on her wrist. Biting her lip, she fumbled with the catch and thrust the bracelet into her bag. Then she remembered the photograph which was still inside the zip-pocket. She took it out, stared at it for a moment, her mouth twisting with pain, then deliberately tore it into small pieces and dropped them in the waste basket.

  “We’ll go into the sun lounge. It’s usually quieter in there,” Tony said, when she joined him.

  He steered her through a large room with a bar to what had once been an Edwardian conservatory and was now furnished, patio-style, with cane loungers and tables and bamboo jardinières.

  A steward in a white monkey jacket came to take Tony’s order for two Cuba Libres, and returned a few moments later with the drinks in tall glasses and several little dishes of prawn crackers, stuffed olives and nuts. Tony gave him a ten-shilling note and waved away the change.

  “What made you change your mind about coming out with me?” he asked Jennifer.

  “It was an impulse,” she said, with a shrug. “Do you come here often?”

  “Most nights. It’s about the only bright spot in Midchester. I get up to town as often as I can. Listen, since you’re in an impulsive mood tonight, how about coming to my sister’s birthday party tomorrow?”