The Tender Flame

by Anne Saunders

  Stephanie was back at play-school, quite happy to renew the acquaintance of her little friends after an intial bout of grumbling. David was more deeply immersed in his work than ever. He brought home masses of paperwork, and the light was often on in The Retreat until the small hours of the morning. David obviously got immense job satisfaction from what he was doing, but Jan worried that he might be overdoing it a bit. She shrank from mentioning this, because knowing David he would most likely tell her to mind her own business.

  He was very guarded about what he considered to be his business. Without prying it was evident that the desk was kept locked and the key, which had always lived in the lock, was now missing. He had once accused her of riffling through papers that were no concern of hers. She had assured him that she hadn’t, and was hurt by the significance of the missing key. Did he think the temptation to look might be too great, and that one day she would do more than lovingly caress the beautiful little desk with a soft duster? She never would have, even if she hadn’t already discovered the desk’s secret, that David was not Stephanie’s father. Stephanie’s birth certificate, which was presumably in the desk, wouldn’t tell her anything. As Annabel’s husband, surely David would automatically have been registered as Stephanie’s father? But there might be letters or something else that gave relevant information.

  Even though she was deeply grieved that David thought it necessary to keep the secret from her, she admired him for wanting to protect Stephanie. Perhaps he’d done it at first for love of Annabel. She knew now that when he came to Willowbridge after Annabel’s death, the child had meant nothing to him and was virtually a stranger. But the little stranger, with her mischievous and loving ways, had crept into his heart and now whatever he did was for Stephanie herself. She knew that if anyone tried to take Stephanie from him, he’d fight tooth and nail to keep her. Where had that thought come from? On paper David was officially her father. Nobody could take her from him.

  She finished the dusting and let herself out. As she closed the door of The Retreat, it occurred to her that she hadn’t followed up her intention of going into Didsford and buying a name plaque. Why not go now? She didn’t have to collect Stephanie from play-school until this afternoon. And she could buy what she needed for the evening meal just as easily in Didsford. Easier, in fact, because there was a bigger selection of shops there than in Willowbridge.

  She managed to catch the bus by the skin of her teeth. It was a soft and golden summer day, not the stifling heat of last week that had presaged that bad storm, and a playful little breeze lifted the ends of her hair and her spirits.

  She decided that the plaque must be her first mission. The shop was at the bottom of the high street. She was just a little disappointed that it wasn’t a wrap and carry service. She chose the shape of the plaque she wanted and the type of lettering from the models on display, and had to be happy with the promise of an early delivery.

  The requirements of a meal became her next priority. When the various packages were stored in her capacious shopper, the rest of the time available was her own, and she used it in pleasant window browsing.

  She was looking thoughtfully at a richly patterned purple and black dress when a voice in her ear said: ‘Not your style, chérie. You’re not sultry and slinky.’

  The attractively accented voice was unmistakable. Jan swung round with a smile on her lips to greet the petite French girl, the proprietress of Danielle’s Den whose husky voice had entertained so charmingly, and who had left such a deep impression on her.

  The hellos exchanged, Jan said: ‘What is my style?’

  ‘Something light and floaty and youthfully feminine.’

  ‘Like me,’ Jan said, wrinkling her nose in mild displeasure.

  Danielle remonstrated gently: ‘Not at all. I don’t think you are light and floaty. I should say some down-to-earth thinking goes on in that head of yours. But I’m prepared to reserve judgement until I know you better. Do you have to dash, or can you spare the time for a coffee? There’s a little café round the corner that is rather nice.’

  ‘I’ve got an hour before my bus goes.’

  ‘Magnifique. An hour is ample time to find out how David is getting on.’

  They were settled in the café, with coffee in front of them, when Danielle said without preamble: ‘And now I want you to tell me if David has got over all the terrible things that Annabel did to him.’

  Nobody had ever before suggested that Annabel had ever done anything terrible to David. David was the one who had behaved abominably towards Annabel. David’s godmother had said that he could have stopped the gossip. Her very words had been, ‘With a name like his, you’d think he’d stone to death the Goliath of Local Opinion that’s damning him.’ Jan had replied that perhaps he hadn’t the right stone. Linda had assured her that he had. But even Linda, who was presumably in knowledge of the facts, had never openly called Annabel.

  ‘Have you lost your tongue, chérie, or is the question too difficult to answer? I know David is a complex man to understand, but surely it is apparent to you whether or not he is happy?’

  ‘I haven’t lost my tongue. My wits went astray for a while, but I’m in control now.’

  ‘I’m afraid my derogatory remark about Annabel took you by surprise.’

  ‘Yes. Nobody has ever breathed a bad word against Annabel. Everybody remembers her for her bravery, her beauty, and her sweet, uncomplaining nature.’

  Now she came to think about it, she didn’t know why Danielle’s scathing opinion of Annabel should come as such a big surprise. Danielle was part of the tragic tangle. She had been engaged to Stephen, she must have been engaged to him at the same time as he was having an affair with Annabel. She might even know that Stephanie was Stephen’s child and not David’s. Her memory of Annabel would be bitter.

  Danielle said: ‘Who is everybody? If you mean the people of Willowbridge, they wouldn’t know. It’s doubtful if they’d set eyes on her before David installed her in the cottage.’

  ‘Didn’t Annabel come from Willowbridge? I thought she had.’

  ‘No. It is traditional for the bride to be married in her home town. The village didn’t become involved until . . . afterwards,’ she finally produced in a flat, dead little voice.

  Jan remembered that the tragedy which struck on Annabel’s wedding day had claimed the life of Danielle’s fiancé.

  ‘Two people have very different memories of Annabel. David is one, I am the other.’ A faint sigh escaped Danielle’s lips. ‘And even our memory of her differs. One of us will always see her as a monster, taking everything, giving nothing. Cruel, destructive, even from the grave. To the other she will always be a naughty child—thoughtless, but not intentionally cruel. A victim, perhaps, of her own incredible beauty.’

  Danielle didn’t say which version was hers. She didn’t have to. Hers would be the bitter one. The less caustic version would be David’s, because his memory of Annabel would be tempered by love.

  Jan queried: ‘I’ll tell you what puzzles me. Why do you think David chose to house Annabel in Willowbridge? David didn’t come from there himself. If he’d been one of their own they wouldn’t have judged him so harshly. Why didn’t David buy a house for Annabel in her own home town, where she would have been among people she knew?’

  ‘I don’t know. Annabel’s parents died a long time ago and she was brought up by an indifferent aunt. That doesn’t really answer your question. Whatever David’s motive might have been, I’m sure it was a kindly one.’

  That’s what Jan surmised. In default of a positive answer, she could supply a pretty good guess. She thought David had chosen Willowbridge so that Annabel could be under the kindly eye of Stephen’s mother. He hadn’t forgotten Louisa Grant. She had suffered a cruel blow when she lost her only son. David was not going to add to her deprivation by not allowing her the joy of seeing her granddaughter grow up.

  * * *

  The day still had one more surprise for Jan tucked
up its sleeve. She got off the bus at Willowbridge, and was walking along in a sort of thinking, dilatory fashion, when she saw two people whom she knew. She thought her mind must be playing tricks. It couldn’t be them. She blinked and did a double-take and broke into an excited run.

  ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’ And the next moment she was in her mother’s arms and her father was in the process of relieving her of her shopping bag and dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘Darlings, I’m so happy to see you both. It’s just too marvellous. You have come to stay? It’s not just a flying visit?’ she asked anxiously.

  Her parents both answered at once. ‘That’s what I call a welcome,’ her father said. Her mother’s face was a beam of delight. ‘We have. David gave us an open invitation and carte-blanche to take it whenever we wanted. And so here we are.’

  Jan checked her watch. ‘I don’t have to collect Stephanie from play-school for an hour yet. There’s time to go home and have a cup of tea.’

  ‘You’re talking my language. I’d love a cup of tea,’ her mother said with feeling.

  ‘Where have you parked the car?’ Jan asked.

  ‘Outside the cottage. When we saw that you were out, we thought we’d have a little walk to stretch our legs and spy out the land. We were just sauntering along when we spotted you getting off the bus.’

  On the way back to Larkspur Cottage, Jan walked between her parents, as she used to when she was a child, giving first one arm an excited squeeze, then the other.

  Her mother thought the cottage was a gem in the perfect setting. ‘It’s the sort of sometime-in-the-future place we’ve always wanted. Oh, you are lucky to live here, Jan.’

  Jan’s shining eyes answered, ‘Yes, I am lucky.’

  She buttered some scones while the kettle was boiling and opened a packet of the ginger biscuits her father was partial to. The tea came very much secondary to the conversation, there was so much catching up to do.

  Her mother followed her through to the kitchen and perched on the stool while Jan washed the few tea things up.

  ‘Is it all working out for you, Jan?’

  ‘Yes. I’m over Martin. That’s what you meant, wasn’t it?’

  Her mother didn’t look too sure that it was what she’d meant, but she nodded amiably.

  ‘I never could keep anything from you, Mum, so I knew you must have guessed why I applied for the job in the first place. I thought I was heartbroken when Martin told me about Tara. I wasn’t, of course. Broken hearts don’t mend as easily as mine did. I had to get away because I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Martin and his new love together, as a team, the way we’d always been. But we’d never been a team in that way. Ours was a springtime love, young, fragile . . . a little foolish even. When I came home just recently, remember you and Dad were away when I landed? Well, I went out with Martin. The blossom had fallen from the bough and had drifted away. There was nothing but the sweetness of the memory left.’

  ‘That’s your impression, obviously. Does Martin feel the same way?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jan frowned. ‘I tried to get it across to him that it was all over between us, but I think I might have botched it.’

  ‘I can tell you that you did. The message Martin got was that you were prepared to give him all the time he needed to get over the hurt Tara had inflicted, and that he could come seeking you out again, safe in the knowledge that you would be waiting for him with open arms. Which was rather conceited of him, I thought.’

  It crossed Jan’s mind that her mother had always tolerated Martin, without actually liking him.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ she asked.

  ‘From Martin himself. He’s been my most frequent visitor of late.’ She pulled a face.

  Jan’s face wasn’t exactly wreathed in smiles. ‘I was hoping he would have made it up with Tara by now.’

  ‘If she’s any sense, she’ll think she’s had a lucky escape,’ Muriel Ashton said tartly. Then, ‘What time did you say you had to collect Stephanie, dear?’

  ‘Now!’ Jan replied, pushing aside her mother’s disquieting news and views to look at the clock.

  * * *

  Stephanie took to her parents like a duck to water. In turn, they were thoroughly enchanted by her. Stephanie took over completely. She jumped out of bed each morning as if she couldn’t wait to unwrap this new day which represented a parcel tied up with promise and addressed to her. John Ashton was her devoted companion. It was his belief that a child’s enquiring mind needed feeding, and he had the patience to carry it through. Her mother commandeered the kitchen and baked gingerbread men for her with currant eyes. As an extra bonus, David took time off from work and accompanied them on a sight-seeing tour of the surrounding district.

  Jan had no idea who instigated it, perhaps her father did, but Stephanie dropped into the habit of calling him Gramps. Yet it never occurred to Jan how much like a family they looked until that lovely custom of taking afternoon tea took them into a café with mullioned windows and a strategically positioned dessert trolley temptingly loaded with all manner of cakes and gateaus. The woman at the next table leaned forward and said to Jan: ‘Your daughter is so sweet, but I bet she’s quite a handful. How do you cope?’

  Jan was so surprised that she hadn’t the presence of mind to utter a denial.

  To make matters worse the woman added: ‘I’ve been trying to make up my mind who she takes after, you or your husband and I’ve decided that she’s got a look of you both.’

  Muriel and John Ashton had all on to suppress their giggles. It was left to David to jump into the breach. His reply was even more disconcerting than the woman’s mistaken remarks. ‘You should sympathise with me. They’re both quite a handful. And I cope with extreme difficulty.’

  ‘David, how can you say such an outrageous thing!’ Jan gasped, her hand automatically lifting to her cheek, as if it might stem the flood of colour.

  ‘My dear,’ the woman said, misunderstanding totally. ‘Don’t be put out. I know from experience that husbands are the limit. You should hear the things mine says.’

  All Jan could hear was her parents amused laughter; all she could see was the devilment sparkling in David’s eyes.

  Despite everything, it was a wonderful day.

  Back at the cottage, Muriel Ashton said: ‘Why don’t you round if off by having a night out, Jan? I’ve told you before that you don’t make the most of having a resident babysitter.’

  ‘But it’s your holiday, Mum. I’m content to sit with Stephanie while you and Father go out.’

  ‘It’s been a constant round of going out for me. I’m not used to it. At home, apart from my Whist-drive on a Wednesday and my Sequence Dance night, I rarely stir. While I’ve enjoyed the whirl, it will be nice to get off the roundabout for a few hours and put my feet up. You talk to her David.’

  ‘Your mother’s right, Jan. It will be a marvellous opportunity for you to have a night out.’

  ‘But I don’t want a night out,’ she said, feeling a little annoyed that everyone was trying to manipulate her. ‘In any case,’ she said playing her trump card, ‘I’ve no one to go out with.’

  ‘I’ve thought about that one,’ David said smoothly. ‘Would you care to come out with me? We could have a meal somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve got to prepare a meal for my mother and father,’ she said stubbornly.

  Muriel Ashton chipped in, addressing David first: ‘I see she’s still as argumentative as ever.’ David’s reply was a resigned lift of his eyebrows. Then she said to Jan: ‘I am quite capable, you know. I’ve been married to your father for . . .’ Jan found that she was holding her breath. When David had asked her age she had added four years to the twenty she could rightly claim. If her mother said she had been married to her father for twenty-three years, something wasn’t going to add up. ‘. . . a considerable time.’ Jan let her breath out slowly. ‘And I haven’t let him starve yet. Believe it or not, I have even had experience of puttin
g a little girl to bed. So you can go out with David with a contended mind and leave Stephanie and your father to me.’

  The one was not synonymous with the other. David’s eyes met and held hers. There was a bright metallic twinkle in his that scratched her senses in some kind of electric warning. If she went out with David, contentment was the last thing she would know.

  ‘Where would you like to go, Jan?’ the man himself asked, taking the matter as settled. ‘The choice is yours.’

  ‘Danielle’s Den,’ she said decisively.

  ‘Suits me. And this time I promise not to drag you on to the dance floor by brute force. You shall only dance if you want to.’ As if realising that this teasing, flirtatious banter was being enjoyed by a third party, and Muriel Ashton was certainly looking on with a most intrigued expression on her face, he said: ‘I promise it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.’

  ‘How disappointing!’ was the prompt retort. ‘Men, these days, underestimate the cave-man tactics.’

  Fearful of what her mother might say next, and feeling that she knew what it was like to be ganged up against by someone in league with the devil, Jan made a hasty exit on the pretext of having to get ready.

  * * *

  This time Jan knew what to expect of Danielle’s Den, but she still felt a prickle of excitement as she descended the stairs into the cellar-like atmosphere. The feeling of electric awareness could have had something to do with the tall man by her side whose hand securely clasped her elbow.

  As they were shown to a table, Danielle, this time a slender sprite in midnight blue, waved to them from the piano, and changed songs practically in mid note. What mischief, Jan wondered, made her break into a song about a couple hovering on the brink of admitting their love? Her appealing, husky voice sang of the exquisite pain of love, the enchantment and misgivings of love.

  It wasn’t until David said: ‘Does it have to be like that?’ that Jan realised he’d been listening to the words as avidly as she had.