The conductor rang the bell, the gears of the bus grated loud in the empty street and slowly the vehicle moved off. Lissa stood alone, staring at the envelope in her hand.
With trembling fingers she slit it open and quickly scanned the few words on the single page. He wasn’t coming. There it was in black and white. He was very sorry but there was no work for him in Carreckwater. Since he’d failed to realise his dreams in Manchester, he thought he might as well try London.
She felt her heart shrivel and her hopes crumble to dust. The pain in her breast was so bad she thought she must be dying.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ the letter said.
In touch? How? With a card each Christmas?
He’d signed it in his usual casual way. She must have imagined that he loved her. She must have dreamt those hours out on the fells when he’d made love to her with a passion that said he didn’t want to let her go, even for a moment. Imagined that he’d promised to love her for ever. Derry Colwith had broken his promise and rejected her, just like everyone else.
A wildness came over Lissa following the receipt of that letter. The subdued, withdrawn Lissa had gone. She wanted to be on the go all the time. She redecorated the boathouse, went dancing every Saturday night, worked far longer than was necessary in the shop, cleaning out corners of the stock room that had never seen the light of day. But she could not eradicate the pain and misery in her own heart.
Christmas came and both she and Jan visited Broombank.
Meg and Tam were delighted to have the family about them again. Lissa played the old harmonium and even Joe joined in with the happy carolling. His wife Connie came, as she always did for Christmas, however much she might avoid farm life for the rest of the year. Sally Ann and Meg put on a huge spread and everyone ate too much and laughed too loud and took turns with the endless washing up. Almost as if life were normal, Lissa thought.
She did her best not to feel envious of the lingering looks, the secret whispers and stolen kisses of the two lovers. Their happiness shone from them like a radiance. Sometimes Sally Ann would whisk her daughter-in-law-to-be off into a comer to talk about weddings and dresses and flowers.
Meg found she had a new audience who had not heard her sheep stories. Given chance she would talk endlessly about her beloved land, and the different qualities of staple in the wool she produced. Grandfather Joe told how he had won the war without leaving his own fireside.
The result was that Lissa felt more than ever an outsider in her own home. She didn’t seem to belong anywhere, or to anyone. Jan might tell her not to worry, that Derry’s crazy ambitions might take him off chasing rainbows but that he still cared, deep down, and would return. Lissa didn’t believe a word of it.
And there were no more letters. A Christmas card, as expected - to keep in touch. It carried no address and said little beyond the fact that he still had several agents to see.
Lissa didn’t know where she would have been during those first miserable weeks without the kindness of Philip Brandon. On his daily calls when he checked the shop and reported on Miss Stevens’ slow return to health, he also found time in his busy schedule to stop and chat, and try to cheer her up. He showed concern over her health and the fact that she looked so pale.
Lissa appreciated his concern. He sent her flowers and a box of chocolates. He often bought her a coffee in The Cobweb, a new coffee bar that had opened by the shore. He was so attentive that on occasions she found herself very nearly flirting with him, deciding he was really quite attractive, for all he was older than she.
But when he asked her for a date, she refused. ‘You must eat.’
‘I don’t ever seem to be hungry.’
‘He isn’t worth it, Lissa.’
‘`No,’ she said. ‘He isn’t.’
‘I would never let you down, I promise.’
‘Ah,’ she said, a sad smile on her lips. ‘Promises.’
When he asked her out to dinner again, she thought, to hell with it, why not? Recklessly she spent far more money than she could afford on a new dress in a daring off-the-shoulder style. She tucked up her hair into a stylish French pleat, wanting to look elegant. She’d been out with Philip Brandon before, and knew the kind of places he liked.
It proved to be a wonderful evening. He was charming and flattering, if not quite so amusing as Derry. He treated her as if she were made of Dresden, which right then was how she felt, so fragile she might break. He soothed her jangled nerves and told her not to blame herself for Derry’s defection. But she did. If she’d been worth loving he would still be here. As would her mother.
‘I don’t intend to trust you either,’ she told Philip, slanting her violet eyes up at him in her most bewitching manner.
‘What have I done?’ His handsome face looked so bleak she couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I only want you to be happy, Lissa.’
If she couldn’t trust Derry, who could she trust? But then she had loved Derry, and that was why it hurt so much. She had loved Meg and presumably her mother. She didn’t love Philip Brandon so how could he ever let her down?
Chapter Thirteen
The winter months passed and the first green shoots of spring appeared. The lilac-veined white blossoms of wood sorrel crowded the woodlands, wild daffodils lined the fringes of the blue-grey lakes. Wheatears and chiffchaffs were, as usual, the first birds to arrive for the summer months, followed by the willow warblers. Lissa sat at her window in the boathouse and wondered if Derry would fly home too. She ached for him so much the pain of her longing made her feel quite ill at times. But he didn’t come. Nor was there any news of him beyond one scribbled note.
‘Not the greatest letter writer in the world, is he? The young fool. It’s his pride. Won’t write till he’s something wonderful to tell us. He wants to prove himself.’
‘He doesn’t have to prove anything to me.’ Except that he loves me. Lissa firmed her lips, outlining them with a bright, red lipstick, remembering the time not so long ago when she’d watched Jan get ready to go out while she played Cinderella and stayed in all the time. Now the reverse was true. Jan complained she’d changed and was never home. Lissa preferred it that way. Staying in was bad for her. It gave her too much time to think.
Nor did she care how much make-up she wore. It helped somehow, to see a different face in the mirror than the one Derry had loved. She felt reckless enough to try anything, even going so far as to paint each of her nails a different colour. It was quite the rage, as were her pale blue nylon stockings, snapped seductively in place with a mere scrap of lace.
‘Oh, Lissa. How hard you’ve grown.’
Lissa blinked away the prick of tears that stung the backs of her eyes. ‘Not hard, self-protective. Necessary if one is to survive in this world. Or so I’ve discovered. I’ve certainly no intention of writing to Derry when he’s the one who failed to keep his promises. Let him pursue his dream. I come very low on his list of priorities.’
If I don’t stop talking about him, I’ll cry, and ruin all my careful composure. Snapping shut her mascara case she flung it into her bag.
Then she calmly smoothed the blue satin of her short evening dress with its hip hugging skirt, picked up the beaded black bag and smiled serenely at Jan in the mirror. ‘Will I do?’
How could anyone deny that Lissa Turner was beautiful? ‘I think you’re playing with fire. Please stop seeing Philip Brandon. He isn’t right for you, really he isn’t. Too old for one thing.’
Lissa stared at her friend with cold, unseeing eyes. She didn’t care to be told what to do any more now than when she was as a rebellious adolescent. She certainly felt old enough to make up her own mind.
She’d partnered him for the New Year Ball at the Yacht Club, causing quite a stir amongst his friends. But why worry? He was good-looking, enjoyed her company and made her feel more confident about herself. He never seemed short of money, and if he wished to spend it on her, take her to the very best restaurants and order the finest wines, why shoul
dn’t she accept? He said it gave him enormous pleasure to see her happy. With Philip Brandon she could have fun without worrying about love and heartache and all of that dangerous nonsense.
And he made no demands upon her. Once, in his car, he had kissed her, and with too much champagne singing in her head she’d very nearly encouraged him to go further. Derry had taught her that loving could be delicious, so would it matter if she did? She’d already proved how wicked she was.
‘Unlike your foolish brother, I’m not a child with my head in the clouds, playing childish games in childish clothes. I gave up such nonsense years ago. I’m a woman and I enjoy the attention of an attractive male, particularly one who is reliable and courteous, gracious and charming and with impeccable manners. Philip is all of those things and I like him. Is that so wrong?’
Jan banged the kettle on the stove. ‘You’re a cruel, unforgiving woman with a heart of stone. Derry has lost everything and now he’s about to lose you.’
Lissa started as if Jan had struck her. ‘That was his choice, not mine.’
‘He’s doing this for you.’
Lissa’s violet eyes blazed with sudden fire and she swung about to face her friend, more furious than Jan had ever seen her. ‘Don’t give me that! He’s doing this for himself. Your brother isn’t to be trusted, Jan. He let me believe he loved me. I certainly fell for his line of chat and gave him everything a girl can give. So there, now you know. He’s no good, and I don’t ever want to see him ag...’ Her voice choked on a strangled cry.
‘Oh, love, I didn’t know.’ Then Jan was holding her in her arms and Lissa was biting hard on her lower lip to stop the tears which would surely come if she lost control for only a second, From outside came the sound of a car’s horn.
Jan clicked her tongue with impatience and pulled aside the curtain to peer out into the darkness while Lissa searched frantically in her bag for a powder puff. ‘Why does he never come to the door in a civilised fashion?’
‘Perhaps he senses your disapproval.’ Lissa slipped into high stiletto heels, collected the cashmere stole Philip had bought her and moved to the door. ‘Don’t wait up, I might be late. He’s taking me to the theatre at Keswick and dinner afterwards.’ If she didn’t get out of the room fast, she would burst into tears. ‘In any case, Jan, I really don’t think it’s any of your business. Do you?’
‘Well, look who the wind’s blown in,’ Renee said.
He stood on her doorstep trying not to look shamefaced. Renee blew on her bubble gum and cracked it. ‘You’d best come in.’
‘Thanks.’ She hadn’t changed, he thought.
Over a cup of very welcome tea and several ginger biscuits that went some way towards abating his hunger, Derry briefly told his tale, trying to make a joke of how he’d dreamed of seeing his name on a record label and having it played on Radio Luxembourg, and failing miserably.
‘Poor love,’ she said, as if she were years older and wiser than him. ‘All that effort with nowt to show for it.’ She watched him pick up two more biscuits. ‘Have you eaten lately?’
‘Not today.’
‘This week?’
He smiled. ‘Not that I noticed.’
Less than fifteen minutes later Derry was sitting down to a plate loaded with lamb chops, baked beans and chips.
‘By heck, Renee, you’re a treasure,’ he said, tucking in with gusto. He couldn’t remember when a meal tasted so good.
‘Generous to a fault, that’s me,’ she said. ‘Eat up. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.’
Later, as he sat replete on the opposite side of the brown tiled fireplace, Derry thanked her. ‘You’re all right, Renee. I’ll forgive you for nabbing my dad. Though he’s too good for you.’
‘Thanks a bunch. I’d’ve waited forever for you to get round to it.’ She grinned happily at him, content with her lot. ‘You thought you’d got young Lissa in the pudding club, did you? Then ran away, to avoid trouble?’
Derry’s cheeks flamed bright scarlet and he was on his feet in a second. ‘No, course I didn’t.’ He stopped, appalled. ‘She isn’t, is she?’
‘Ooh, not far wrong, was I? Well, well. She wouldn’t be the first it’s happened to.’ Renee smiled, orange lips clashing horribly with the shocking pink of her sweater. ‘Happen I’m only teasing.’
‘What?’ Colour rushed back into his ashen cheeks. ‘You rotten... You mean she isn’t?’
‘Not unless she’s carrying it in her handbag. Thin as a rail she is these days. Mebbe Philip Brandon likes her that way though.’
‘Philip Brandon?’
‘Aye. Your ex-boss, no less.’ Renee took an age to light up a cigarette. ‘Escorts her everywhere, or so I’m told. Not that I see much of her these days. Quite the gad-about-town. Wouldn’t recognise her, you wouldn’t. Come out of her shell good and proper. Ain’t that right, my pretty Peter?’ she finished, directing her last words to the budgie, busy bashing its mirror, as usual.
Derry stood in the tiny, overheated parlour and looked so stricken that a wave of maternal sympathy washed over Renee. ‘Oh, poor cherub,’ she gushed, wrapping her arms about him to pull his head down to her rounded breasts. ‘She’s cheated on you, the rotten madam.’ Renee thought how good he felt against her breast. But then he’d always had a good body, had Derry. She wriggled closer. ‘And you were a wonderful lover, she must be mad.’
He tried to pull away from her clinging embrace but the scent of her was so familiar, of strawberries and lipstick and summer days, and he felt so wretched that when she put her lips against his, he didn’t protest. She reminded him of a time long past when he hadn’t a care in the world. She placed his hand on the soft cushion of her breast and it felt so comforting he forgot for a moment that it was Lissa he wanted, not Renee.
The front door banged open and the scent changed to wood shavings, rain and the acrid taste of varnish.
‘Oh, bugger me,’ Renee calmly said, pulling away from his arms. ‘Now the cat’s among the pigeons, ain’t it, Peter my pretty boy?’ Derry found himself staring into the furious eyes of his father. It was some moments of scarlet-faced embarrassment before he managed to speak.
‘Christ! This isn’t how it looks.’ He wished he’d died of starvation in those awful lodgings. Fallen in the Thames or under a London bus.
Renee was the only one still in possession of her voice. ‘Just giving the poor little love a step-motherly cuddle.’ And going over to Jimmy she gave him a smacking a kiss. ‘Had a bit of a disappointment, our Derry. Come home to lick his wounds. Are you ready for your tea, love?’ Jimmy neither moved nor answered. ‘A stiffener, mebbe? I think we’ve got some sherry somewhere. Celebrate the return of the prodigal, eh?’
She went to the new sideboard and poured out three glasses, placing them on a small, tile-topped coffee table. Two stood untouched while she took her own back to her chair by the fire and beamed at her husband and stepson.
‘Well now, isn’t this cosy?’
Jimmy glared at his son. ‘Out.’
‘What?’
‘Out. This is my home, my wife, and I’ll not have that sort of behaviour here.’
‘But I never ...’
Jimmy pulled open the front door, every taut line of his wiry body declaring he would stand no argument. He emphasised his words by ominously pushing up his sleeves. ‘Don’t make me any madder than I already am, Derry. I’m not a man given to violence but I have my limits. You’ve never shown any respect for Renee. Now you’ve gone too far. Out.’
‘OK, I was going anyway. I only came back to see how you all were.’ Derry swaggered to the door.
‘Go and see her,’ Renee called as he marched off down the front path.
Derry didn’t reply, didn’t look back. But he winced when he heard the door slam and wished he could turn back the clock and make it all come out different. Now he was at odds with his father, on top of everything else. Dear God, what was happening to him?
It was one of those beautiful clear nights
that often come in early spring. The sky was studded with stars while a pale moon floated in the black waters of the lake. Lissa stared at it through the windows of Philip’s car and wished she could float into a magic world where everything was beautiful and there were no more bitter disappointments.
‘You’re not cold?’ he asked, ever considerate, and she turned to him with a smile.
‘No, I’m fine. Thank you for a wonderful evening. Would you like a cup of coffee?’
He glanced across at the boathouse, in complete darkness. ‘What about Jan?’
‘She’ll be in bed by this time.’
He smiled. ‘Fine.’
He stood and watched her as she moved about the small kitchen, enjoying the sway of her slender hips, the rise and fall of her breasts. How patient he’d been. He was really quite proud of himself. But not for much longer. He could feel he was winning.
‘It was a good meal, wasn’t it? I love trout. And the play was superb. Time we enjoyed some culture. Next time we’ll try a concert in Lancaster.’
He was growing ever more proprietorial, making decisions for her. Lissa never protested, it saved her the trouble of making them for herself. What did it matter where they went? She smiled her agreement. ‘That would be lovely.’ Philip knew so much and she so little. She appreciated his efforts to educate and entertain her. And he made her feel safe.
Miss Stevens had decided to sell the shop and take early retirement so she mightn’t have a job for much longer. The prospect of starting again, seeking new friends, a new job, perhaps a new home, chilled her.
Nor did she wish to return home to Broombank. Jan was happily planning her wedding and Lissa couldn’t bear the prospect of watching her glowing happiness. It would be too much. It would make her feel even more of an outsider and unwanted.
‘You don’t know what these evenings have meant to me,’ Philip was saying. ‘You’ve made me the happiest man on earth.’
Lissa glanced at him in surprise. ‘Have I?’
He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, smoothing his hands lingeringly down her spine and over her hips, the sensuality of the gesture catching her unawares. ‘You must guess how I feel about you, Lissa. You’ve filled my rather dull life with joy. You can’t imagine how much I needed someone like you, only I never thought I’d be so lucky. Since Felicity died…’ He stopped and seemed to take a minute to collect himself. Lissa’s heart filled with sympathy. She knew about pain.
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