Summer Storm

by Letitia Healy

  Jane hesitated. She felt that it would be dishonourable to gossip about her employer with his housekeeper. She felt instinctively that anything concerning his former wife was a taboo subject with him, but on the other hand there was this compelling need to know everything that she could about this strange, disturbing man whose presence seemed always to be with her, even when he was physically absent.

  "How long is it since the divorce?" she asked cautiously.

  "Let me see now," Mrs. Armitage paused, "just about a year, but of course, things were not going well with them for a long time before that. I think the main problem was that she was always away making movies and Mr. Wade missed her. Oh, he was head-over-heels in love with her. Anyone could see that."

  Jane felt suddenly as if the sun had gone from the day. Of course, that would explain everything that had happened. Simon, still desperately in love with his former wife—and who wouldn't be, she was so beautiful—was looking for some kind of distraction to take his mind off his loss and she had been handy. Mrs. Armitage, unaware that her audience's mind was elsewhere, was continuing. "Oh, some of the parties we had here! Not that I always approved of some of the goings on, but then they were all in show business and I guess that makes a difference. When she, Mrs. Wade, would come home after making a movie, it was as if the whole countryside came alive. She had something that's hard to describe. People just naturally gravitated to her, like moths around a flame, as they say. And poor Mr. Wade, he'd just stand around at those parties, on the sidelines, and watch her, like he couldn't take his eyes off her. I used to think he was saying to himself, all right she belongs to all of you now, but later on, when you've all gone, she'll belong only to me. It was pitiful, I can tell you."

  Jane felt that she must escape, she couldn't go on listening to this, but she forced herself to say, "But why, if he loved her so much, was there a divorce?"

  "Oh, I've never thought that was his doing. She was the one got the divorce. Of course, you can't go by that, a gentleman always lets the lady divorce him, doesn't he?"

  Jane was going to answer that in her circles that question didn't often arise, and so she was no authority, but she let it pass and thanked Mrs. Armitage for the lunch and for her company and went back to work.

  As she climbed the spiral staircase on her way to the study, she stopped for a moment on the landing of the second floor. The door of Mona Moore's bedroom was open as usual. After what she had just heard, it was as if an invisible hand beckoned her to go in and have another look around, as if by doing so she would perhaps find something, some clue to refute the things that Mrs. Armitage had said. Her mind was in such a turmoil that she didn't ask herself why this was so important to her.

  Almost as if she were being led against her will, she tiptoed across the threshold and stood gazing at the portrait on the wall. The beautiful girl with the enigmatic smile seemed to be mocking her. It was as if she were saying, "So, you find Simon attractive do you? Being close to him turns your bones to water, doesn't it? Yes, I know the feeling, But forget it, my dear. Simon has always belonged to me and he always will belong to me, whether I'm his wife or not!"

  Jane shuddered and turned away. She found herself face to face with another image, her own, reflected in the mirrored doors of the closets. The contrast between herself and the beautiful woman in the portrait was too much, and in order to destroy the image of herself, she walked to the mirrored door and opened it. She stepped back and gasped.

  She had assumed that since Simon and Mona were divorced, the closets would be empty, but they were not. She went around the room then, opening one closet door after another, and behind them found the most complete and dazzling wardrobe that she could have imagined in her wildest dreams. One whole closet was filled with fur coats, minks, sables, chinchilla. In another were evening dresses, another contained suits and another nightgowns and negligees. Jane, as if in a dream, reached into this closet and took out a heavy red silk peignoir. The only trim on it was a jewelled clasp at the neck. It fell simply in heavy folds from the shoulders and had wide, butterfly sleeves. Jane found herself putting it on, incongruously over her tailored pantsuit, but once on, it covered that mundane garment completely, and she looked in wonder at herself in the mirrored door.

  The vision that looked back at her was so unfamiliar that Jane hardly recognized herself. The wide grey-blue eyes that dominated the finely chiselled face surveyed her coolly, colour from the robe was reflected on the high cheek bones, and her dark gold hair tumbled around her face and over her shoulders. If she were to appear like this in front of Simon, would he look at her as Mrs. Armitage had said he looked at Mona?

  The dream into which she had escaped was quickly shattered. There was a gasp from the doorway and then Simon was in front of her, grasping her shoulders so tightly that she cried out in pain. He shook her as if she were a rag doll and shouted at her, "What the hell are you doing? Get out of that thing. Don't you know what you look like in it? Take it off I say." Finally, he flung her down on the bed, where she lay sobbing. He stood over her looking down at her for a moment. Then, his voice trembling slightly, he said, "Since my wife's room seems to have an irresistible fascination for you, it will in the future be kept locked." He turned on his heel and made for the door, but in the doorway he paused for a moment, his back to her, breathing heavily. Then he turned to her and said, with an effort at composure, "For heaven's sake, Jane, do you know what you're doing to me?" Then he was gone.

  Jane sat up, trying to regain some kind of composure. What was happening to her, was she going mad? Her sane, ordered life had been shattered by this comet of a man in the space of one short week. She, who had been so sure of what she wanted from life, was lying on a strange bed, clad in someone else's robe, sobbing in confusion and desperation because of the inexplicable effect this man had on her. Just being near him made her do things and feel things that a week ago would have been abhorrent to her. Well, no more. She got up quickly, took off the robe and placed it back in the closet, every movement filled with determination. She was still the captain of her own soul. No mere man was going to defeat her. She closed the door of the room as she left, climbed the spiral staircase to the study, and strode purposefully to her desk, where she soon became absorbed in her books, seemingly oblivious to the dark and brooding stranger across the room, who spent the afternoon staring sightlessly at the paper in front of him.

  Jane, in her new spirit of determination, kept her mind on the time during the afternoon and on the stroke of five she rose, and without a glance at Simon, left the study.

  She joined Mrs. Armitage again for dinner. Simon was not in the dining room as she passed through it on her way to the kitchen, so she assumed that he had been served his dinner on a tray in the study. Jane wondered momentarily if this was because of a passion for work or simply a ploy to avoid having to dine with her. He needn't have worried, she thought. She would not inflict herself upon him any more than was necessary from now on.

  Mrs. Armitage's motherly interest in her and her background soon had Jane telling her about her father and what her life with him had been. As for her mother, she simply said that she had died when Jane was very young. Mrs. Armitage was stricken with sympathy for the lonely and unhappy young girl.

  "When you came into breakfast this morning," Mrs. Armitage gushed, "I said to myself, it's downright unnatural for a girl that age to look so sad. I thought maybe it was a broken love affair or something of that nature that was bothering you."

  Jane felt the colour rise in her cheeks and she looked quickly away from the older woman in confusion.

  She answered defensively, "But, Mrs. Armitage, I was very happy with my father. I guess it's just that I miss him so much." And quickly tears rose to her eyes.

  "Now, now child, don't fret. I'm sure you were happy with your father. It's just that a girl your age should have friends her own age and parties and boys dancing attention on her and things like that. Now, after all those years of caring for y
our father, you end up out here in the country working for a man like Mr. Wade." As Jane looked up startled, she hastened to add. "Now, now, don't misunderstand me. I'm very fond of Mr. Wade, it's just that he can be very crotchety at times, when the book's not going well, you know. And then, of course…"

  Her voice trailed off, but as Jane looked at her expectantly, she seemed to make up her mind about something and went on firmly. "Well then, there have been women… since Mrs. Wade left, I mean. And not always the best kind of women, either. Oh, it's not that they aren't respectable, I suppose, but they belong to that literary crowd in Toronto, you know, and although I shouldn't say it, their morals are not what you and I would call high. Why, do you know," and she lowered her voice almost to a whisper, "one night when I was taking a dinner tray up to his study, thinking he was working, I passed Mrs. Wade's bedroom and he had one of those 'ladies' in there and she was trying on one of Mrs. Wade's robes. I was so shocked that I almost dropped the tray. Can you imagine, right in his wife's bedroom?"

  Jane felt that she was going to be ill. She rose shakily to her feet. "Mrs. Armitage, I think I'll go to my room now. I'm a little tired."

  Mrs. Armitage bustled after her to the door of the kitchen. "There now, dear, you get a good hot bath and get to bed. You'll sleep better tonight— you'll see. And you take my advice and get out of this house whenever you can. Go into town and see the shops. People around here are real friendly. You'll soon make friends."

  Despite the hot bath and the near exhaustion that Jane now felt, sleep was just as elusive as it had been the night before. Mrs. Armitage's voice and the things she had said went round and round in her head. So that was the kind of man Simon Wade was. Of course he needed women. She had seen at first hand the kind of passion that was pent up beneath the cool exterior. As she remembered, she felt the hot blood suffuse her whole body. But to bring that kind of woman into his wife's bedroom… let her try on his wife's clothing. A robe, Mrs. Armitage had said. Was it possible that it was the same robe that Simon had found her trying on? That would explain his remarks and that terrible row they had earlier. He had said she looked like a whore in it. Perhaps because the girl he had brought into the house, and it could only have been for one purpose, was indeed that. If so, Jane realized, she had been very lucky to have escaped that scene with only a tongue lashing. If, when he saw her in that robe, he had made the connection in his mind between her and that other woman, it was a wonder that he hadn't treated her as he had undoubtedly treated the "literary" lady. And if he had tried? What could she have done? Jane knew his strength. If she had cried out for Mrs. Armitage, would that good woman even have heard her? Her quarters were at the other end of the house and there was that heavy oak door separating the two wings. Jane shuddered. She would indeed take Mrs. Armitage's advice and get out of the house whenever she was able. She would keep as much distance as possible between herself and Simon Wade at all times. With this resolution firmly in mind, she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Five

  In the beginning it had been established that Saturdays and Sundays would be non-working days for Jane. Simon, while working on a book, kept his own hours, usually working seven days a week and as many hours each day as was possible. With this book he seemed determined to cram as much work into each day as he could. He rarely left the study, and Mrs. Armitage was kept busy carrying trays from the kitchen to the study. At the end of several weeks of this, that worthy lady accompanied her visits to the study with much tut-tutting, shaking of her head and murmurs of "all work and no play…" Simon laughed and answered her protests with an air of mock severity.

  "Now, Mrs. Armitage, you wouldn't want me slacking off, would you?"

  She answered him in a serious tone. "No sir, of course not. I know you're used to this when you're into a book. It's Miss Sullivan I'm worried about. Did you know that she's continuing with her work at night in her room and on Saturdays and Sundays too. And she's not looking well. I'll tell you frankly, I'm worried about her."

  Simon frowned and his voice was serious. "I had no idea. Thank you, Mrs. Armitage, for telling me. I'll see to it."

  It was true that Simon had paid little attention to Jane recently. After the scene in his wife's bedroom, he had used all the strength of his considerable will to keep from noticing her. Any instructions he had for her had been delivered with downcast eyes, or while staring into space a few feet to the left or right of her face. When, as had happened occasionally, he had been unable to maintain this detachment and had glanced across the room at her, he had noticed only her complete absorption in her work and admired her facility for total concentration. Since the light from the window came from behind her desk, he would not have noticed the dark circles under the grey-blue eyes; his only thought would have been to marvel at how the rays of sunlight filtering through the window turned her hair to spun gold, or to admire the creamy delicacy of the skin displayed by the scoop neckline and sleeveless dress that she wore. He would then, with a terrible effort, drag his mind back to the words in front of him.

  The weather had turned very hot. If there was a breeze at all it found its way into the tower study, but for several days even there the air was still and lifeless. When Jane returned from lunch, Simon looked across at her as she seated herself at her desk. It was true, she did look worn out, but even this lack of vitality seemed to add to her beauty. The golden hair had curled in tiny tendrils around her forehead, and her pallor made the skin, stretched tight across the high cheekbones, almost translucent.

  Simon's voice had an edge to it as he spoke without taking his eyes from the work before him. "Mrs. Armitage tells me that you have been working after hours and on weekends. I won't have this. I am responsible for your health, to a certain extent, while you work here, and I will not have you endangering it. No more overtime, do you understand?"

  Jane's nerves, stretched to the breaking point because of lack of sleep, the heat and the endless work, to say nothing of the strain of sitting across the room, day after day from this heartless man, as she described -him to herself, almost broke. She said to herself, even when he is saying something kind, he manages to sound cruel. With an effort she controlled herself and answered, calmly enough. "Very well, whatever you say."

  Simon spoke again, this time his voice was more controlled. "There's nothing keeping you here over the weekend, why not go and visit friends in the city?"

  Jane thought to herself, Ah, that's what it's all about, he probably wants to bring one of his women here and he wants me out of the way. Her voice was flat and matter-of-fact, "I have no friends in Toronto." Simon was visibly struggling now to remain calm and rational. "Very well then. Why not a trip to the town of Oban on Saturday? There are some nice shops there and you'll find the natives friendly. Try to make some friends there. And of course you know that you can use the pool whenever you want."

  Jane softened a little. Perhaps he was just thinking of her. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'll do that."

  The heat continued and each tiny little valley of the Culloden Hills became its repository. And, as one cloudless day proceeded another, releasing hour by hour ever-increasing humidity Simon was lured finally from the tower study. He appeared at the pool on a breathless, sultry Saturday, just before lunch.

  Jane, following instructions, had already been in for a swim and was now stretched out on a lounge chair, looking up in surprise as the lean, brown figure appeared on the diving board and proceeded to execute a perfect dive. Her first thought was, he's far more muscular than I thought. He looks so spare, almost thin most of the time, but in his bathing trunks he looks like a well developed athlete.

  After completing several laps of the pool, he came towards Jane, vigorously towelling himself, and flopped down in the lounge next to her.

  "Well, I'm glad to see you're following orders."

  Jane answered with a smile. "Yes, sir. It would be foolish to ignore such pleasant orders."

  "And what about the
rest of the orders?" he enquired.

  Jane answered like a well-mannered schoolgirl. "I intend to go into Oban this afternoon, look at the shops and try to make friends."

  "Good," he laughed and gestured towards Mrs. Armitage who had appeared at the patio door. "Mrs. Armitage, do you suppose we could have two icy martinis and a small lunch served poolside?"

  Her smiling nod indicated her complete approval and she disappeared into her kitchen to comply with his request.

  Simon turned towards Jane. Her one-piece black, bathing suit, as modest as a bathing suit could be, nevertheless failed to conceal the enticing curves of her tall, slim, compact body.

  In an effort to explain his obvious scrutiny, he said, "Better be careful of the sun. With skin as fair as yours, you could get a bad burn."

  "Don't be misled," Jane laughed, "I tan very easily. As a matter of fact, I've never had a sunburn in my life. Of course, I haven't spent very much time sitting next to a swimming pool either."

  "Do you know," Simon said, "except for the fact that your father died recently, I know absolutely nothing about what your life has been like?"

  Jane shrugged. "I'm afraid you wouldn't find it very interesting."

  "Try me," Simon answered.

  Jane looked at him speculatively. She was surprised to find that he seemed genuinely sincere.

  Mrs. Armitage interrupted with their martinis and a promise that their lunch would be forthcoming presently.

  Jane took a sip of the cold, dry drink and found herself saying calmly, "My mother left us when I was six years old. She ran away with another man. I had always thought that she was dead, but my father told me the truth just before he died."