The Tender Night

by Lilian Peake

  When the door closed behind her, Shelley rested against the banister, breathing as deeply as if she had been running for her life.

  Mapleleaf Lodge, in which Shelley and her sister Janine lived, was at the end of the long, winding drive, and overlooking the entrance gates. It took Shelley the length of that drive to calm down. It was not only the cold wind sweeping across the lawns and gardens which had her gripping the collar of her coat. She was still smarting from her encounter with the owner of the house.

  The lodge was constructed of stone with slated roof and a shaded porch. In summer the walls were laden with climbing flowers and the roof of the porch spilled over with them. Although the calendar indicated that spring was near, there was not even the sign of a bud, and the barrenness found an answer in Shelley’s empty heart.

  The gate creaked on its hinges, telling of the need for a touch of oil. The thick wooden door opened on to a miniature hall and the living-room was an almost perfect square, with the faintest echoes of the grandeur of the great house over which it stood guard.

  Before leaving for work that morning, Shelley had cleared the grate and built up the logs for the evening’s fire. The match caught the newspaper and flames rose and curled round the wood, creating a sweet, pungent smell.

  The evening bus from the town trundled away down the road and a few minutes later Janine came in. Her bright smile, her round, pretty face, the curls which clustered over her head, left an onlooker in no doubt as to the cheerfulness of her disposition. Shelley thought with affectionate amusement, Jan looks like everyone else’s sister but mine.

  Comparing the two girls, people had often remarked that they might have come from different moulds, both in looks and personality. Shelley was serious and knowledgeable; Janine the lively, attractive one with nothing to boast about where the contents of her brain were concerned. But give her a head of hair and her magic fingers could work wonders.

  Janine had often eyed her elder sister’s hair with longing, but Shelley consistently refused to let her so much as comb it. Once she had looked attractive—beautiful even, some said—for Michael. After what he had done to her, she had vowed never to look attractive for any man again.

  Janine took the ticket for the buffet dance with a whoop of joy. ‘Tonight? At Shurwood Hall? I know it. Sylva Wallasey-Browne lives there. She comes to the shop sometimes to get her hair done when her own hairdresser in town is indisposed, as she puts it. So it’s at the beautiful Sylva’s house.’ Janine waved the ticket. ‘This is the only way someone like me can get into the residences of those rich “county” types. Who’s paying?’

  When Shelley told her the cost of her outing was being borne by none other than the owner of Mapleleaf House himself, she whistled then frowned. ‘But if he gave it to you—’

  Shelley said she had better tell her little sister the facts of life regarding her own relationship with that horror of a man called Craig Allard. ‘But,’ Janine protested, ‘you only met him today. How can you hate each other already?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jan. We just do. Put us within the same four walls and the air crackles, like the radio when there’s a thunderstorm about!’

  Shelley spent a quiet evening repairing her own and Janine’s clothes. Although they lived rent-free, their style of living was simple. It had to be. Shelley’s salary was not high, and Janine, as a trainee hairdresser, did not bring home a great deal of money.

  It was impossible for Shelley to concentrate for long periods on the television. Her imagination kept detaching itself and floating away to hover, like a spy satellite, over the great country mansion known as Shurwood Hall.

  Into her mind came pictures of dancing—no doubt there was a large drawing-room in the house. All the great residences of the past had them, hadn’t they? That was probably where the dance was being held. And Janine was enjoying herself, of that Shelley could be sure. Her sister’s nature was such that no matter what the circumstances, her spontaneity and joy of living would touch and enliven whoever was with her.

  And who was Janine’s partner? Craig Allard? After all, he had provided the ticket. Or perhaps it was his own ticket he had given away? Was he perhaps not the social creature he appeared to be? Did he, like Shelley, prefer the quiet life, leaving the socialising to others more inclined for it?

  From her short if stormy acquaintance with the man, Shelley was convinced that this was not the case. There was an air about him of self-reliance, of someone accustomed to mixing easily with his fellow men. Not, Shelley thought wryly, to mention women. If any man had the measure of womankind, it was Craig Allard.

  She looked at her watch and her imagination shifted and hovered again. There would be food, on long trestle tables, no doubt; savouries, rolls, tantalising the eyes and exciting the appetite. She could almost smell the coffee, almost hear the talking and the laughing. So strong was the impression that she closed her eyes and felt she was there amongst the crowds, invisible, unheard, laughing, talking, glowing with conviviality and happiness.

  Shocked by the treachery of her subconscious mind, Shelley put aside her sewing and with an irritable twist of the fingers, turned off the television. That, too, had been offering her a means of escape, but it was the wrong route into dreamland. That route was a dead end. The path on which her mind had been leading her had, to her dismay, proved far more inviting.

  What was the matter with her? Was she longing again for the bright lights, for involvement, for the pleasures she thought she had so successfully put behind her after the trauma of losing Michael had worn off, leaving her self-respect a ruin and allowing the dust of disillusionment to settle, like a permanent shroud, over her personality?

  She would have a bath and as soon as Janine came home she would make her a milk drink and go to bed. Someone, she was sure, would walk Janine home—Janine would see to that. She belonged to the village tennis club and some of its members must have been at the dance.

  Shelley decided to wash her hair. Afterwards it spread in a dark cloud over her shoulders, softening her features and touching her expression with a winsome, elusive sadness. The lingerie she had bought for her wedding and her honeymoon was six months old. Now she wore the garments every day, putting ruthlessly out of her mind all the meaning and the promise they had once held.

  As the soft transparency of her nightgown drifted past her shoulders to reach just below her knees, and the negligee, pale blue, covered her body and fell in a deep frill to sweep the floor, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. For the first time in six months she looked at herself frankly, and equally frank were her thoughts—about her broken relationship with her fiancé and about herself.

  She thought, Michael never saw me like this. I never let him get beneath my surface. The connotations of the words ‘her surface’ caught at her mind and she made a wry face, remembering how she used to repel Michael’s approaches. Wait, she had said, wait until—until what? she asked herself harshly. Until the ring was on her finger and the marriage certificate in her band?

  Relief swept over her as the key turned in the front door. Janine was home. Her self-examination was at an end. The sense of reprieve which flowed over her turned on a light in her face and she hurried down the stairs to greet her sister. But her sister was not alone.

  Craig Allard was beside her, gazing up the stairs at the girl who, her face drained of colour, her hand over her mouth, stood halfway down the staircase watching them come in.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Janine said ‘Hi!’ and broke the silence. Then she said, pointing at Craig as if she had won him at a fair, ‘Look who I’ve brought home. He was my partner.’

  Slowly, the negligee trailing behind her like the train of a wedding dress, Shelley descended the stairs. Her cheeks, which a few moments before had been white, were now scarlet—with embarrassment, confusion and, strangely, with anger. How dared Craig Allard invite himself into their home? She quite overlooked the fact that it was her sister who had invited him. He was her sworn
enemy and could therefore do no right.

  ‘He’s come for coffee,’ Janine raced on, blind to the undercurrents. ‘He danced with me all the evening, Shelley.’ She gazed with rapture into Craig Allard’s face. ‘He said if you had gone, he would have danced with you.’

  ‘How very kind,’ Shelley murmured. Judging by the flick of his eyebrow, Craig had detected the sarcasm.

  ‘Take Mr. Allard into the sitting-room, Jan,’ Shelley directed. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

  ‘No, no,’ Janine pushed Craig and her sister along the hall. ‘I’ll make it. I promised, didn’t I, Craig?’

  They were alone in the centre of the living-room. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Allard,’ Shelley said.

  Craig frowned, rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. ‘You have me there, Miss Jenner. For what are you apologising?’

  ‘For—for—’ She looked down at herself.

  ‘For your appearance? My dear Miss Jenner,’ now there was sarcasm in his voice, ‘I can’t fault it. I came prepared to brave the she-dragon in her lair, and what do I find? That she’s wriggled out of her reptilian skin and has turned into a human being after all! She’s transformed into a woman. Come to work dressed like that, spend all your days dressed like that. I should be the last to complain!’

  The lodge was small and voices carried. Janine, in the kitchen, overheard. ‘They’re her wedding clothes,’ she called. She appeared at the door, coffee pot in her hand. ‘Shelley was going to be married, didn’t you know? Michael phoned the day before the wedding and said he couldn’t go through with it.’

  Having delivered her time-bomb on the doorstep, she went away.

  ‘Now,’ Craig breathed, ‘I get the picture. Jilted bride swears vengeance on all men because the man she loved deserted her.’

  Shelley sank into an armchair, while Craig dropped into the chair on the other side of the hearth. ‘My opinion of men, Mr. Allard,’ Shelley said, ‘of their integrity and faithfulness, is my concern and no one else’s.’

  Craig inclined his head mockingly. ‘Too true, Miss Jenner. It certainly won’t keep me awake at nights wondering what you think of me.’

  Shelley tightened her lips, noticed the fire was in need of more coal and knelt on the hearthrug. But Craig was out of his chair and, with his hands on her shoulders, eased her away. ‘Allow me, Miss Jenner,’ he said, with mock courtesy.

  With an irritable movement she freed herself from all contact with him. That he did not like the way she shrank from him was plain from the narrowing of his eyes, but he made no comment, bending down to lift a log on to the dying embers and sending sparks spurting up the chimney.

  Coffee cups rattled their way along the hall and Janine, eyes bright, mouth stretched in a carefree smile, stood in the doorway and took a deep breath. ‘Mm, coffee! After an evening of breathing in expensive perfumes and cigarette smoke, this smell beats the lot. I’ll pour, Shelley.’

  As she handed Craig his cup, Janine said, ‘Now you know what my sister would have looked like on her wedding night.’

  ‘Janine!’ Shelley reproved sharply.

  Half-closed eyes contemplated the filmy blue. ‘Yes, Janine, in the outfit she’s wearing, it’s not at all difficult to visualise your sister on her wedding night.’

  Shelley flushed, the scarlet flames turning her cheeks to an even deeper shade of red. She pulled the frills around her neck a little closer and challenged angrily, ‘Do you think I dressed like this for your benefit, Mr. Allard? If so, I must correct that impression. I didn’t invite you in. In fact, if I’d known you were coming, I would have locked myself in my bedroom and not come out until the front door had been bolted against you.’

  The anger in his eyes was veiled but unmistakable. His fingers drummed lightly on the arm of the chair. Janine laughed, feeling the tension.

  ‘Shelley hates men, Craig,’ she said, ‘and all because of Michael Townley. She was crazy about him. When he ran away from marrying her, she broke her heart. She didn’t stop crying for days. She says she’s never going to fall in love again.’

  Faintly Shelley said, ‘Jan, please stop.’

  But Janine went on unperturbed. ‘She swears she’s never going to get married, but even if she doesn’t she needn’t worry. She’s bright, not like me. I’m so dim all I can do is wash women’s hair.’

  ‘It’s not true, Jan,’ Shelley corrected, putting down her empty cup. ‘One day you’ll make a wonderful hairdresser. If we can find the capital—save up our earnings—in a few years you’ll be able to open a shop of your own.’

  ‘You’re a hairdresser, Janine?’ Craig asked, tipping the remainder of his coffee down his throat.

  ‘I’m training to be one. I’ve three months to go before I take my final exam.’ She turned excitedly to Shelley. ‘Mrs. Caversham said today that when I’m qualified she’ll offer me a partnership, provided I can put enough cash into the business.’ Janine curled up on the rug in front of the fire. ‘Do you think we’ll be able to, Shelley?’

  Shelley looked doubtful. ‘Money’s a bit tight, Jan. My salary isn’t—’ She glanced uncomfortably at Craig.

  ‘Isn’t what, Miss Jenner?’ he asked tersely.

  Confused, Shelley tried to cover her mistake. ‘I’m—I’m happy in my job, Mr. Allard. I came to work for your mother with my eyes open. I knew how much she would be paying me.’

  ‘Don’t you mean “how little”?’ He looked around. ‘I believe you get this place rent-free?’

  ‘I’m not complaining, Mr. Allard,’ she said desperately, ‘please believe me.’ Now what had she done—jeopardised her job by a mere slip of the tongue? ‘Please promise you won’t say anything to your mother...’ His face was impassive. ‘I love my work, Mr. Allard—’

  He moved impatiently. ‘What do you think I’m scheming to do? Have you dismissed because you dared to mention—no, you dared to think—that your salary is low? What sort of a brute do you think I am?’

  Janine said joyfully, ‘It’s because she hates men so much, Craig. She can’t help being nasty to them.’ She turned quickly to Shelley. ‘If we can’t find the money perhaps Emery could help us out. We could promise to pay it back. She told Craig, ‘Emery’s Shelley’s boy-friend.’

  Craig rose lazily and stood with his back to the fire, looking down on the two sisters. ‘I think,’ he said, with an irritating smile, ‘it’s time we had a recap. You’ve got me confused, Janine. First you tell me your sister’s heart has been broken and that she consequently hates men. Second, she’s never going to get married, and yet,’ he gazed at Shelley with mocking astonishment, ‘third, she has a boyfriend. One of us is surely crazy?’

  Shelley broke in defensively, ‘She’s wrong, Mr. Allard. Emery Slade is a friend, no more, no less. There’s nothing between us, not in the sense Janine’s implying. As far as I’m concerned, there couldn’t possibly be.’ She pressed a hand to her ribs. ‘Inside I’m—I’m dead.’

  ‘Then isn’t it time,’ he murmured derisively, ‘you buried yourself—away from all mankind?’

  He held out a hand to Janine, hauling her up. ‘Thanks for your company this evening,’ he said. ‘Don’t ever let yourself grow bitter and unlovable like your sister. I should hate to see those two bright eyes turned into muddy, chilling pools.’ He held Janine’s shoulders, brushed his lips over hers and said, ‘See me out?’

  With a low, mocking bow he said, ‘Goodnight, Miss Jenner. Thank you for giving your sister the ticket I gave you. By being so self-sacrificing you’ve saved me from passing a dull evening in dull company.’ As he went out, pulling Janine behind him, Shelley found to her horror that her lip was trembling. She wanted to run after him, pound him on the back and say, ‘A man loved me once, enough to want to marry me, so I can’t be as bad as you seem to think I am.’

  Janine returned, her face radiant. ‘He’s asked me out again tomorrow evening. You don’t mind, do you, Shelley? I know you don’t like him, but—’

  ‘Of course I don’t min
d, Jan,’ Shelley assured her with a strained smile. ‘Anyway, even if I did you’re old enough now to go your own way.’

  ‘He’s nice,’ Janine sighed. ‘He was a fabulous partner. He’s a dream. He’s so much more—more mature than the boys at the tennis club.’ She sat in the armchair Craig had vacated. ‘Sylva Wallasey-Browne was there, of course. She kept hanging round him trying to make him ask her to dance. He did, a couple of times.’ Janine closed her eyes. ‘I did hear someone say he used to be friendly—more than friendly—with her, but a year or so ago everything between them seemed to come to a stop.’

  Shelley said irritably, ‘Take my advice, Jan. Don’t fall for that man.’

  But Janine smiled seraphically. ‘He’s a dream,’ she repeated. ‘I could fall for him hard. In fact,’ she sighed and stretched, ‘I think I’m already halfway there.’

  Mapleleaf House School catered for boys from five to thirteen years of age. There were about two hundred pupils at the school, half of them boarders, the rest coming daily from nearby towns and villages, sons of farmers, industrialists and wealthy townsfolk.

  The house itself stood, surrounded by its own estate, on the edge of the Cleveland Hills, with heather-covered moorland reaching almost to its doorstep. In front of it was a curving drive linking with the main road, and connecting the house and its inhabitants with the industrial towns of north-eastern England. To the east were the rocky bays and inlets of the coast.

  Mapleleaf House was unusually tall for a country mansion. In appearance it was satisfyingly symmetrical. The entrance door was exactly central, two tall chimneys rose like elongated rabbits’ ears from the roof and between them, on the fourth floor, were three gabled attic windows which marked the suite of rooms occupied by Craig Allard.