The Tender Night

by Lilian Peake

  Shelley handed back the letter. Doubts and anxieties began to stir at the back of her mind. Change was threatening, the future was no longer as certain as it had seemed only a few minutes before.

  Craig sat in his mother’s chair. He smiled sardonically. ‘You’ll notice the way she puts it.’ He quoted, ‘ “I’m thinking of marrying him.” It probably hasn’t occurred to the poor devil yet that such a fate could await him. Shall I write to the man warning him?’ He pushed the letter back into the envelope. ‘After all, I have a fellow feeling for him. If I do nothing, another man will go to his doom. You see,’ his smile was deeply cynical, ‘I don’t believe in the married state. I’m on my guard all the time. If I weren’t, how could I have reached thirty-five without burdening myself with a wife?’

  Shelley flushed and turned back to her work. He said, picking up a pencil and scribbling on his mother’s blotter, ‘But you obviously believe in marriage. You were on the brink of it yourself once.’

  Shelley frowned down at her work. ‘I learn by experience. I don’t believe in it any more.’

  ‘What about your current boy-friend?’

  ‘Emery Slade? There’s nothing between us.’

  ‘No? How can you speak for him? I saw the look on his face as he pulled you into his arms last night.’

  ‘Mere physical desire,’ she tossed at him with a careless shrug.

  He laughed loudly, ironically. ‘Such cynicism from such an unsophisticated, unsullied young woman! Or,’ narrowly, ‘aren’t you as innocent as you seem? I must be honest, I’ve often wondered.’

  ‘I’m astonished you’ve wasted any time even thinking about me. Anyway,’ with a move as if to end the conversation, ‘I’m a cynic these days. Past events have hardened me.’

  He gave a short unconvinced laugh and went out.

  A few evenings later Craig called for Janine. Shelley was flicking her hair into place in front of the living-room mirror when he came in. He greeted Shelley with a slow, lazy smile and she hastily pushed the comb into a drawer.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ he drawled. ‘Carry on beautifying yourself. Who’s it for, anyway? Surely not in my honour?’ Why did he always manage to put her at a disadvantage?’

  For you?’ she asked with exaggerated incredulity. ‘As if I’d bother! Anyway, even when I’m in the same room as you, you don’t even see me—’ She checked herself too late.

  He came nearer. ‘You’d like me to “see you”?’ He caught her arms and pulled her close. ‘To touch you, even? Just give me the sign, lady, and I’ll oblige, willingly and with the utmost speed. I may not believe in marriage, but by heaven, I believe in all that goes with it. If it were offered to me free, with no conditions, no strings, I’d be the last to shake my head.’

  She chided herself for having given him so much encouragement with such an unguarded remark. She twisted away from him, rubbing her arms where his fingers had gripped her. ‘If I were giving any “signs” as you call them,’ she said furiously, ‘you would be the last person I’d choose to signal to!’

  ‘What’s the matter with you two?’ Janine asked, coming into the room and breaking into the hard silence like someone smashing through a pane of glass. She glanced at Shelley, ‘I can see you’ve put her in a bad mood, Craig. And Emery’s coming. What did you say to her?’

  ‘I say to her?’ with mock innocence. ‘She’s being rude to me. I called her a she-dragon once. I wasn’t far wrong. Every time I talk to the girl she breathes fire and gnashes her teeth.’

  ‘Then the answer’s simple, Craig,’ Janine said cheerfully. ‘Just don’t talk to her. Come on, you’re taking me out, aren’t you? Or are you going to spend the whole evening fighting with my sister?’

  ‘Just give me the chance,’ Craig murmured with narrow, glinting eyes, ‘just give me the chance!’ He turned and followed Janine into the hall.

  Shelley was almost ready for bed when Janine returned from her evening with Craig. Her eyes were glowing, her whole body radiated happiness.

  Shelley’s heart plunged. Surely, she thought, pulling on her wrap, Craig hasn’t proposed? But the proposal Craig had made was of a very different kind from the one Shelley had been thinking of.

  ‘Craig’s giving me the money Mrs. Caversham wants for a partnership in the shop,’ she said, flinging down her coat and hugging her sister. ‘I won’t have to wait years or even months. Look,’ she ran across to her bag and pulled out a cheque, ‘there’s the money, all of it. He said pay it into my bank account and then write a cheque for Mrs. Caversham.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Shelley slowly, sinking on to the bed, ‘he’s lending it to you?’

  ‘Lending it? No, giving it. It’s a gift, he said. He said it was no use lending it because he knew I’d never be able to pay it back.’

  Shelley lifted a hand to her forehead. ‘He—he can’t do that. Unless,’ her voice wavered, ‘unless you’re—’ She found it impossible to finish the sentence.

  But her sister had no such scruples. ‘Unless I’m sleeping with him?’ She laughed loudly, then she shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t tell you if I was, would I? I’m over age, Shelley, so stop trying to act the heavy parent. Anyway, you can say what you like,’ she pushed the cheque back into her handbag, ‘I’m keeping this.’ She turned at the door. ‘One day I might pay it back, but I’m certainly not going out of my way to do it.’

  Next morning, Shelley pushed her way through a moving mass of boys going to assembly and climbed the stairs to the top floor of the house. She rapped on Craig’s living-room door, but there was no reply. Another series of raps brought a growling response, not from the door which she was almost denting in her assault on it, but from another room.

  The voice called, ‘Wrong door. Try the one on the left.’

  The handle turned and Shelley found herself in a bedroom. The curtains were drawn against the sunlight. Clothes had been flung in a heap on a chair. Dressing-table, chest of drawers, in fact every available surface, was covered with books, papers and folders.

  In the bed along one wall, Craig lounged, hands behind his head, blanketed up to his waist. The rest of him was uncovered. Shelley saw the latent strength in the upraised arms, the breadth of his shoulders and the ridge of his collarbone standing out rigid and hard below his neck.

  She was transfixed, not so much by the sight of him as her own reactions. The strength of them appalled her, because they revealed to her the extent of his attraction for her. ‘Animal attraction,’ she told herself desperately, ‘nothing more. I mustn’t love the man like this. I must hate him instead for what he can do to me.’

  He smiled at her, a slow, lethargic smile. ‘I had a late night,’ he explained. ‘Not with a woman but with a book. After I left your sister I felt the urge to work.’ He saw her frown. ‘What’s the matter? You’re not trying to tell me you’ve never seen a man in bed before? And you almost a married woman? Come nearer, I won’t eat you.’ She moved slowly towards him and stopped a step or two away. His eyes skimmed over her. ‘Not in that prim and proper secretarial uniform you’re wearing. And those spectacles sitting reprovingly on your nose.’ He watched her agitation with amusement. ‘Well, you’ve invaded the seclusion of my bedroom. There must be a reason.’

  ‘You know very well what the reason is. The money you’ve offered my sister—’

  ‘Not offered, sweetie, given.’ The endearment, spoken so lazily, so carelessly, made her heart jerk.

  ‘Thank you for offering it, but I’m sorry, she’s unable to accept.’

  His expression hardened. ‘She’s already accepted.’

  Their eyes did battle, but Shelley could not bring herself to fight to the finish. She looked away, took a breath and said, ‘All right, we can regard it as a loan.’ Now she looked down at him. ‘Every penny of it will be paid back.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘“We”? I was under the impression the money was given to your sister, not you.’ He rolled on to his side and propped himself on his elbow. ‘Let’s get
this clear. Your sister is over age. She can make her own decisions with or without your approval. I’ve given her the money, she’s said, “Yes, thank you.” There the matter ends.’

  ‘No, it does not! If she doesn’t pay the money back, I will. I insist—’

  His free hand shot out and caught her wrist. ‘Relax, girl. I refuse to argue in bed.’ He jerked her nearer. ‘There are so many other, better things one can do in it!’

  Shelley tried to pull her wrist from his fingers. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, and watched as her eyes moved down his body outlined so clearly beneath the covers. ‘I’m decent below the waist, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’m wearing pyjama trousers. Since my mother’s away, I’m a kind of father figure to the precious inmates of this flaming school she’s burdened herself with, so I can’t dress—or undress—quite as I please.’

  ‘All the same, I will pay the money back—’

  He twisted round on to his back and tugged her down so that she was lying on top of him. She struggled frantically but without hope of escape, and he laughed at her efforts. ‘Come on, girl,’ he whispered, ‘let yourself go.’ He removed her glasses and put them on his bedside table. ‘You’re a woman, you’re warm, responsive...’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she cried, her voice muffled by the soft hair on the rock-hard chest against which her cheek was resting—there was nowhere else to put it. ‘I’m just an intelligent automaton. You hate clever females, you told me so.’

  She stayed still because she had no alternative. She had no more breath with which to carry on her struggles. His arm was an iron band across her.

  ‘Intelligent automaton,’ he mused, lifting her chin so that he was looking into her eyes. ‘No, it’s a contradiction in terms. An automaton functions automatically without thinking, whereas intelligence requires thought. The two just don’t go together.’

  In spite of herself, Shelley relaxed, delighting in the rough feel of him against the smoothness of her skin, the power of the muscles that held her captive. He relaxed, too, his hold around her slackening and becoming caressing. For a few ecstatic moments she yielded to his touch, her whole body turning traitor. Her hands lifted and rested against him, feeling the softness of the flesh on his shoulders, the hardness of the bones beneath. With a shock it came to her that she had only to turn her face up to his, let him see the capitulation and longing in her eyes...

  Catching him off guard, she twisted and writhed, finding the floor with her feet and slipping like an eel from his grasp. As she broke free he made a grab at her, but she eluded him, snatching her glasses from the bedside table, ramming them on and racing for the door. Momentarily she turned back. His smile was broad and mocking.

  ‘You’d better make sure no one’s around to watch you leaving my bedroom. You know what they’ll think, don’t you? And if you’d stayed on top of me only a few moments longer, they would have been right! Your hair’s in a mess, your blouse has slipped from its moorings,’ hastily Shelley tucked it into the waistband of her skirt, hiding her bare midriff, ‘and if that wasn’t enough to give the game away,’ he turned on to his side and gazed at her calculatingly, ‘your eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them and your whole face is alive.’ With a grin, ‘See what a little manpower does to you?’

  She jerked the door open, but his voice stopped her retreat. ‘Miss Jenner?’ The words held an intimidating touch of authority. She waited. ‘That money for your sister. It’s a gift. Understand?’

  Shelley tightened her lips, nodded and slammed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Muriel Allard stayed away. Shelley found herself caught up in a whirlpool of work, unanswered queries, letters from educational administrators; commercial firms advertising their goods; letters from parents of pupils past, present and, it was hoped, future.

  She was at her desk one morning when Craig walked in. Her elbow was resting on the hard wood of the surface, her hand was over her eyes. The fatigue she had felt the night before as she had sat in his mother’s chair until gone ten o’clock had not left her.

  Craig walked across to stand beside her. ‘What’s wrong?’ She lifted weary eyes and shrugged. ‘Headache,’ she lied, reaching for her spectacles which she had removed, but his hand stopped her. ‘Look at me. White face, dark circles under the eyes ... Either you’ve been living it up with your boy-friend, or you’re finding the strain of carrying the administration of this establishment too much for you. Which is it?’

  Shelley was silent.

  ‘Shelley,’ he spoke quietly, ‘I want the truth.’

  She answered grudgingly. ‘I haven’t seen Emery for days. Janine’s taken to treating him as her pet poodle and he goes wherever she beckons. That is,’ her tired eyes lifted challengingly to his, ‘when you’re not occupying her time.’

  ‘Jealous that your boy-friend’s been snatched from you again by another woman?’

  Something inside Shelley snapped. It must have been his mocking tone that did the damage. ‘Damn my boy-friend!’ she stormed. ‘Damn you, damn all men...’ With startling suddenness she started crying.

  Craig made no move to comfort her, he just stood there watching while she struggled with her tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, blowing her nose, ‘it’s the tiredness.’

  He went across to his mother’s desk, sighed himself into the chair and said, ‘From now until my mother’s return, just look on me as the man who shoulders the burdens. Come along, Miss Jenner. I’m in the hot seat now.’ He indicated the piles of paper, neatly arranged but menacing in their quantity. ‘Explain all this. I can see it’s your handiwork by the incredible order and method. Any other woman carrying the weight of this place on her shoulders would be surrounded by chaos. But the intrepid Miss Shelley Jenner, with her passion for system and tidiness—an obsession which extends into her personal life—produces order from confusion at the touch of a button.’ He watched as she pushed her handkerchief into her pocket and straightened her features in an expressionless composure.

  He smiled mockingly. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are just an automaton with no feminine passions. I’ll have to put your theory to the test some time.’

  She walked stiffly across the room and pulled a chair beside him.

  That evening, sitting in an armchair while Janine raced around upstairs dressing to go out, Shelley felt a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Craig had taken over. She wished she could tell him how much his action of assuming authority had meant to her.

  It was a joy to work for him. He was quick, precise, fluent in his dictation of letters, quite different from his mother’s hesitating, meandering style, and without her time-wasting chatter. Yet it was a pain, too, to be so near to him, so in tune with his intellect, so intimate with his thoughts—those he allowed her to hear—and yet making contact with him in no other way.

  He kept his distance. Their relationship was strictly impersonal, his manner businesslike and terse. There was nothing about him now of the mocking, lazy tormentor, a side which, even if it goaded her as it was intended to do, did not erect a barrier between them. On the contrary, it had, if anything, the effect of tearing it down.

  Her eyes were closed, her mind dreaming when the knock had the door vibrating. There was a squeal from upstairs. ‘Tell him I’m not ready,’ Janine shouted.

  Craig stepped in as Shelley opened the door. Janine, staring down the stairs said, ‘It’s you! What have you come for? You’re not taking me out tonight.’

  Craig smiled up the stairs. ‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ he said, ‘if you learnt a little tact from your elders.’

  ‘If you mean me,’ Shelley snapped, ‘I’m not her mother, only her sister, I can’t control how she behaves—’

  His hand patting her shoulder had her jerking petulantly away. ‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Don’t take everything so personally.’ To Janine, ‘I’ve come to see your sister, not you. And you can stop looking so worried. There’s no more between Sh
elley and myself than between me and a deep freeze. At least, when the lid’s open, a deep freeze allows the warmth to come flooding in!’

  Janine laughed. ‘She’s not as cold as you think she is, Craig. Sometimes, when she was engaged, I’d go into the living-room when I thought it was empty and there was Shelley on the couch with Michael—’

  ‘Jan!’ Shelley shouted, desperate to put a stop to her sister’s flow of words. Janine looked suitably contrite. ‘Where are you going—the tennis club?’

  Janine nodded. ‘Emery’s partnering me. Why?’

  ‘Don’t get back too late, will you?’

  ‘Good God, woman,’ Craig rasped, ‘if the girl wanted to stay out all night you couldn’t stop her.’

  Shelley swung round. ‘Will you mind your—’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  Janine laughed and came downstairs pulling on her jacket. ‘I’ll get myself out of here and leave you two to fight it out. Enjoy yourselves!’ With a grin she waved and slammed the front door.

  Craig gave Shelley his full attention. He looked her over with a kind of mocking relish and Shelley wished she had known he was coming. The cast-off dress of Janine’s she was wearing was hardly one in which to entertain her employer’s son. The dress had shrunk in the wash, noticeably so. It buttoned all the way down the front and there was a button or two missing at vital places. Craig’s examining eyes overlooked nothing, certainly not the missing buttons, and Shelley tried self-consciously to draw together the edges which gaped open.