The Tender Night

by Lilian Peake

  ‘Because,’ Sylva replied, ‘my mother has been persuaded by your mother to give away the prizes. You simply must come to the prizegiving, darling. I shall be absolutely bored without you by my side.’ Her gaze fixed on his eyes, which he must have found irresistible, because he capitulated at once. ‘And afterwards you can take me to tea, Craig. There’s no one else here I could bear to spend the rest of the time with. Do come and speak to Mother, darling. She keeps asking me if our affair is on again.’ She turned the powerful beam of her eyes on to him.

  It’s a wonder, Shelley thought sourly, he doesn’t cringe like a prisoner under interrogation.

  ‘See,’ Sylva murmured, ‘she’s looking at us. I’m sure she can hear the wedding bells already!’

  Craig laughed and as he walked away, Shelley called, with a sweet, false smile, ‘Mr. Allard?’ He turned back. ‘If I want you, will I know where to find you?’

  His brows came together at the spite in her tone. ‘I’ll be around.’ Then he disentangled himself from a protesting Sylva and walked, narrow-eyed, back to Shelley. ‘If I were you, Miss Jenner, I shouldn’t “want me” too hard. I’m not the marrying kind!’

  He watched her smile fade and her eyes cloud over. Then, satisfied, he strode away, to be caught once again in the loving embrace of the girl who, rumour had it, he was once intending to marry.

  Emery arranged to call for Shelley to take her to the Wallasey-Brownes’ charity dance.

  As she gazed at her reflection, Shelley was forced to acknowledge that she looked her best. Gone was the drawn-back unflattering hair-style. Janine had used her scissors to the greatest advantage, shaping it and setting it so that it tapered to rest attractively at the nape of the neck.

  The long dress had been costly, but the effect it had on her looks had made it worth every single pound she had paid for it. The white crepe of which the dress was made was scattered here and there with great sunbursts of black flowers making a dramatic contrast to the white background. The back plunged open to the waist, the front as low as it dared. But it was the cut of the dress which lifted it into the near-couture class. And it was the cut which showed to the world the shape beneath the surface and which, according to Janine, Craig Allard had admired when, and only when, it had been clothed in a swimsuit.

  Craig came for Janine before Emery arrived. Shelley stayed in her room, but even the sound of his voice touched off her pulse rate, like the shriek of an alarm clock. Her whole body was stirring as if from a long sleep. Desire—for the praise of one man, for his compliments and admiration; to feel that man’s passion arousing hers so much more skilfully, more profoundly than Michael’s had ever done—was awakening in her a longing which was crying out—quite hopelessly, she told herself—for satisfaction.

  But Craig had warned her—‘I’m not the marrying kind.’ She hoped fervently that he had given Janine a similar warning.

  Janine ran up the stairs and burst in at the door. She looked good, too, in her long floral dress which, in Shelley’s eyes, revealed her youth and vulnerability far more than the casual clothes she usually wore. Shelley hoped that when the time came, as with a man like Craig it must come, he would let her down lightly.

  ‘We’re going, Shelley. Emery’s late. I suppose he hasn’t forgotten?’

  Footsteps climbed the stairs and Shelley panicked. ‘See you there,’ she said to Janine, and pushed her from the room. Craig mustn’t see her now. He would only mock her and demolish at a glance all the self-confidence she had so laboriously built up.

  She turned the key and leant against the door as if to keep out a dangerous intruder. ‘What’s the matter?’ came the taunting question. ‘Afraid of me?’

  ‘I’m not on show,’ she called.

  ‘And why should I want to look at you while I’ve got Janine to feast my eyes on?’

  Even through a solid, ancient door he was deriding her and managing to batter down her self-assurance.

  ‘Oh, go away,’ she called, ‘go away!’

  ‘My dear girl,’ he called back derisively, ‘I’m going. I wouldn’t touch you even if I were hanging over a ravine and you were the only person in sight to cling to!’

  It was not until the front door slammed and the car drove away that Shelley was able to overcome her anger and right the self-respect which Craig Allard, with a few neatly chosen words, had knocked sideways.

  But when Emery saw her he gave a loud and expressive whistle. ‘You might have told me,’ he said, ‘I’d have brought my sketch book and pencil and committed all this dazzling beauty to paper.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to make fun of me,’ said Shelley.

  ‘Make fun of you? Girlie, in that dress you’re devastating.’ He kissed her. ‘What do you say, we stay home and make love?’

  She laughed at the sheer audacity of the suggestion.

  The door of Shurwood Hall was opened by one of the Wallasey-Brownes’ domestic staff. Shelley’s coat was taken from her and a ticket given in exchange. With Emery beside her, she stood in the doorway of the great room which had been added to the house by the present owners. The room had been designed to blend tastefully with the grandeur of the nineteenth-century mansion. The lighting was modern, however, and the paintings around the walls the works of modern artists.

  The master of ceremonies, dressed in scarlet and black, bent his head and listened for their names. Then, in a powerful, commanding voice, he informed the chattering, laughing guests that Miss Shelley Jenner and Mr. Emery Slade had arrived. Emery moved on and Shelley’s eyes were drawn by a waving hand to the excited face of her sister. Beside her was Craig, his eyes riveted on the girl who now stood alone in the doorway.

  Shelley’s gaze held his, but the blackness of the sky at night would have told her more than the eyes that were now staring into hers from the other side of the room.

  Emery, realising that his partner was not beside him, turned back to find her. He stretched out a hand and Shelley put hers into it. ‘Your sister’s getting agitated,’ said Emery. ‘We’d better join her.’

  ‘Shelley,’ said Janine, ‘that dress—wow! Craig, isn’t she great? I did her hair. We kept it as a surprise. And the dress, it cost a fortune!’ She shook her partner’s arm. ‘Say something, Craig.’

  ‘I’m deprived of speech,’ Craig responded with a flicker of a smile, and his sarcasm, in place of the praise Shelley had been longing to hear, was like grit thrown into her eyes.

  ‘You can save your breath,’ Shelley told him levelly. ‘I know exactly what you think of me.’

  ‘Is that so? You can read my thoughts?’

  Janine laughed. ‘I told her what you said about her. It did her good. She went out and bought that dress and let me cut and style her hair.’

  Craig’s eyes went on their travels over the face and figure of Janine’s sister, coming to rest for a long moment on her hair and then her eyes as if conducting a safari into the jungles of her mind.

  ‘Drink, Shelley?’ was all he said.

  ‘Let me,’ offered Emery. ‘You provided the tickets, I’ll buy the drinks.’

  Craig shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Go with him, Jan. He’ll need help.’

  Janine made a face but trotted obediently after Emery. Craig turned to Shelley and looked her over reflectively. ‘You know, if I were really hanging over that ravine, dressed as you are, I might—just might—let you rescue me. With such a beautiful woman willing and eager to rescue a man from death, what man would want to die?’

  Now she had his praise, it grated on her ears. ‘What makes you think,’ she hissed, ‘that I would want to come to your aid?’

  He laughed. ‘Maybe you’re right. Even if I were to stop breathing, I can’t imagine you giving me the kiss of life!’ Emery and Janine returned with the drinks and Janine chattered to Craig and to Emery, having given her silent sister up as hopeless. The music began and Craig put down his empty glass.

  _ ‘Come on, young Jan,’ he said. ‘Translate all that energy you’re p
utting into talking into dancing instead.’

  Emery said, ‘Let me take the most beautiful girl in the room in my arms.’

  Shelley gave Craig a quick, triumphant glance. ‘Your compliment’s a bit extravagant, Emery,’ she gave him a dazzling smile, ‘but I love you for it.’

  ‘You do?’ His arm grasped her waist and pulled her close. ‘I’m making headway at last. I’ll think up a few more as the evening goes on, and by the end of it you’ll love me so much I might even succeed in making a dent in your armour!’

  ‘No need to wonder,’ said Craig dryly, ‘where that might get you.’

  Shelley coloured and said defiantly, ‘No harm in wondering. And don’t bother to curb your imagination!’ She watched Craig’s eyes narrow, but held his gaze boldly.

  ‘You see,’ Emery joked, ‘she’s even giving me some encouragement. Sweetheart,’ his lips touched her ear, ‘dance with me and we’ll talk it over.’

  Craig drew Janine amongst the dancers and Shelley followed Emery. Emery asked, ‘What’s going on between your sister and the headmistress’s son?’

  ‘They’re friends,’ Shelley answered shortly.

  ‘You’re kidding! The word “friend” no doubt being a polite expression for—’ Shelley tripped. ‘Hey,’ Emery exclaimed, ‘my poor feet!’

  ‘Sorry, Emery, I’m out of practice.’

  ‘Out of step, you mean.’ His cheek found her hair. Craig and Janine passed and Shelley caught Craig’s taunting smile. She jerked her head free and Emery protested but did not repeat the action.

  Janine was gazing up into Craig’s face as though she adored him. Now and then he smiled down at her, but there was no admiration his glance, just an indulgent fondness. Shelley felt she could tear him apart. He had Janine eating out of his hand. One day, Shelley knew, that hand would be snatched away and Janine’s heart would be splintered beyond repair as her own had been.

  The music ended and Emery said, ‘I’m ready for another drink. Come with me,’ he tugged her hand, ‘and I’ll treat us both.’

  So they made for the bar and stood there drinking. An acquaintance of Emery’s drifted over and introductions were made. They talked and laughed, but Shelley took no part in the chatter. Her eyes wandered and hovered over the moving, interchanging groups. There was Mrs. Allard looking gay and lively in a long pale blue dress. Shelley lifted her hand to return her employer’s greeting.

  A slim, gracious woman whom Shelley recognised as Mrs. Wallasey-Browne passed from one laughing, animated circle of people to another, attaching and detaching herself, elegant, practised hostess to her fingertips. She was followed closely and doggedly a footstep or two behind by a benevolently smiling, grey-haired man with a military bearing. He was, Shelley assumed, Mr. Wallasey-Browne.

  There was a pause in the music and the dancers rested. Surrounded by men and leaning languidly against the wall was Sylva Wallasey-Browne. One of her group was Craig Allard. His elbow was propped against the wall and a hand supported his head. His legs were draped one over the other and his free hand rested negligently on his hip. He was gazing down at Sylva as if the sight of her beauty, so near, so tantalising, was all he could ever ask of life.

  He must have felt the tug of Shelley’s regard, because his eyes flicked up and, as they encountered the sullenness of her expression, narrowed estimatingly. For all of ten seconds their gaze held, then Craig straightened himself, murmured a few words to the girl beside him and strolled, hands in pockets, across the room.

  Shelley, seeing him approach, looked wildly round for somewhere to run, but the dancing had begun again and no obvious sanctuary could be found. Her glass was taken from her and a hand caught hers. Without a word Craig led her to the dance floor and swung her into his arms.

  If her heart would stop pounding, if her body, pressed to his, would become compliant instead of moving with the stiffness of a penguin, if the touch of him did not make her responses leap and burn like a forest fire, she might, she told herself, be able to rise to his high standard of dancing.

  ‘So,’ he said softly, ‘the beautiful princess has left the fastness of her castle and come out at last into the light of day.’

  She glanced up at him, remembering the smile on his face as he had looked at Sylva and compared it with his mocking expression now. She asked, her voice brittle, ‘How many drinks did it help you utter that compliment?’

  The mockery was wiped clean away and the eyes holding hers iced over. ‘No wonder your bridegroom turned and ran! He probably got so fed up with trying to find any responsive womanliness in you he went into the arms of another in sheer self-defence.’

  ‘I knew,’ she muttered furiously, ‘you were ruthless and callous and a womaniser, but I didn’t know until now that you were spiteful as well!’

  He disengaged himself from her and walked away, leaving her alone and forsaken in the midst of the dancers. He made straight for Sylva who, a few moments later, was secure in the arms which only seconds earlier had been round Shelley.

  Shelley pushed her way through the crowd to the door, her lip painful between her teeth, her eyes brilliant with tears. The cloakroom was empty and a sanctuary, a place where she could fight for control and somehow regain it.

  She wanted to stay in hiding until the dance was over, to run out of the house and walk in the evening sun across the moors, to go home and lock herself and her misery in her room.

  Emery would be wondering where she was, so she left the peace of the cloakroom and returned to the dancing. In the entrance hall there were a few couples, talking, kissing, huddled into corners. There was no sign of Emery. His friends had dispersed. Sylva was still in possession of Craig. Their dancing was almost professional, their steps perfectly matched. They chatted, laughed, showed every sign of a return to the intimacy they were alleged to have shared a few years before.

  It was then that Shelley saw Emery. Janine was dancing with him, and gazing into his face with something that seemed to Shelley to be near desperation. Now and then Janine would glance at Craig and his partner, then return to talk even more animatedly to Emery. If she was hoping to make Craig jealous, then she was failing lamentably. He was totally absorbed in the girl with whom he was dancing.

  ‘Shelley, my dear,’ Muriel Allard called. Shelley turned and Muriel patted the empty seat beside her. ‘You’re all alone. Come and talk to us. Nan,’ to Mrs. Wallasey-Browne, ‘meet my wonderful secretary, Shelley Jenner.’ Mrs. Wallasey-Browne inclined her head. ‘She’s an angel,’ Muriel went on, ‘she positively runs the establishment when I’m not there—which,’ she admitted unabashed, ‘I must confess is pretty often, isn’t it, my dear?’

  Shelley nodded faintly.

  ‘Have you eaten, Miss Jenner?’ Angus Wallasey-Browne enquired. He occupied the seat on the other side of Shelley. ‘I—I’m not particularly hungry,’ Shelley told him. ‘Nonsense. I’ll get you some food.’ Moments later a plate overflowing with savouries and sandwiches was thrust into her hand, while into the other was pushed a glass. ‘Eat, drink and be merry, Miss Jenner,’ he said, laughing heartily at his own joke. ‘They’ll fortify you for the remainder of the night’s dancing.’

  Shelley looked about her. Considering that the man who was alleged to be her partner seemed perfectly happy in the clutches of her sister, and the man in whose arms she longed to be was oblivious to the rest of man—and woman—land in the embrace of his ex-girl-friend, there was small chance of her dancing again that evening, unless some unattached, bored male invited her to do so.

  Shelley ate the food Mr. Wallasey-Browne had so thoughtfully provided. When the rhythm of the music changed to an old-fashioned waltz, Mrs. Allard said,

  ‘Angus, do invite my charming secretary to dance. I can’t think what’s wrong with all the young men tonight. Look what they’re missing!’

  Angus Wallasey-Browne needed no second invitation. As Shelley circled the floor with him—many of the younger people had opted out—she was conscious of Craig’s mocking s
mile as she passed him by. Sylva, who was clinging to his arm, waved to her father and joked with him about ‘cradle-snatching’.

  The group of dances finished and a more modem rhythm took over. Shelley returned to her seat and Angus mopped his brow. ‘It’s a long time,’ he commented, ‘since I’ve partnered a sprightly young wench. It takes it out of me!’

  Craig was pulled towards the floor by Sylva, but Janine smoothly cut in and claimed him. From the discussion which followed, it seemed to Shelley that he had been asked to choose. His hand fingered Janine’s chin and after consideration, he kissed Janine on the lips but took Sylva on to the dance floor.

  Janine flounced away and grabbed Emery again. Emery went gladly and Shelley reflected that he seemed to have forgotten her existence. Three dances later, Craig was lounging against the wall again, a drink in his hand, when his mother called him over.

  ‘Craig dear, whatever are you thinking of? Here’s my delightful secretary sitting with us old ones, when she ought to be romping with people of her own age. Dance with her, Craig. She looks so lost sitting here.’

  Craig considered her, taking his time, his eyes hard. Shelley’s face was flushed with embarrassment, her eyes bright with hope. Her hands gripped each other moistly and her whole body waited for his invitation.

  He swallowed his drink and asked her if she would like her glass refilled. She shook her head and smiled shyly, expectantly. He walked away.

  His mother tutted. ‘Well, I don’t know. He’s a bad young man and when we get home I’ll tell him so. Where’s the partner you came with, dear?’

  Shelley indicated Emery who was still dancing with Janine. She could not speak for the tears which were gathering behind her eyes. Craig had taken Sylva’s hand and now they were together again.