Summer Storm

by Letitia Healy

  "Not me," murmured Simon in a husky voice, "I'll get all the tender, loving care I need at home." Jane was glad that the darkness hid the blush that coloured her face and spread in a warm glow all over her body at his words. The fireman laughed, "Well, you may be right at that, but I'd still like the doctors to look you over."

  "The children," Simon asked, "will they be all right?"

  "Thanks to you they will be," the fireman answered.

  Simon sat up. "Then I'm going home, with the help of my friend," he said as he stood up, leaning heavily on Jane. "Do you think you can navigate that driveway, Jane?"

  "If I take it slowly," Jane answered, suddenly shy as she realized the things that she had said when she thought Simon was unconscious.

  When they arrived at the house they found Mrs. Armitage standing inside the door, mopping her eyes. "My goodness, sir, I'm so glad you're both all right. I was worried half out of my mind."

  Simon put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her.

  "Mrs. Armitage, you should know I'm indestructible. Would you by any chance have some coffee on the stove?"

  "Oh, sir, you know I have."

  "Good. Then you get to bed. Jane and I will help ourselves, if you don't mind us using your kitchen."

  "But, sir," she protested, "can't I make you something to eat?"

  "I'll tell you what," Simon answered, "at about noon you can serve the biggest brunch you've ever made, but right now all we want is a cup of coffee and some sleep."

  Mrs. Armitage went off to bed, still protesting, and Simon and Jane went to the kitchen where Jane poured them both steaming mugs of coffee.

  They sat across from each other at the small kitchen table. Jane felt suddenly very shy and couldn't bring herself to meet Simon's eyes, studying her so intently. Simon's laugh startled her. "We're a great looking pair," he said, "me half naked and covered with grime, and you with a raincoat buttoned up to the neck." Then he laughed harder, "Of course, now I remember, you donated part of your clothing to the rescue operations." ,

  Jane laughed shyly, "Well, hardly donated. I was commanded." They looked into each others eyes, laughing companionably and then, their laughter died and Jane, unable to bear the intensity of Simon's gaze, looked down at her coffee.

  Simon reached out across the table and took her hand. His voice shook with emotion. "Jane… Jane, look at me!" And as she lifted her eyes to his set face, "Was it a dream, was it the oxygen that fireman gave me, or did you really weep over me back there in that farmyard?" As she turned her face away to hide the hot colour that flooded her cheeks, he took her face gently in his hands and as if magnetized, her eyes sought his. "Did you, sweet Jane, cover me with your beautiful hair and beg me to be all right, did you, Jane?"

  As Jane gazed into his brilliant blue eyes, so full of tenderness, all her shyness vanished and she answered simply, "Yes, Simon, I did all those things."

  He stood up and drew her into his arms, tenderly, gently, and for a moment rested his head on her shoulder, holding her as if he would never let her go.

  Then he raised his head and looked into her eyes again, searchingly and then his lips touched hers, quietly at first, then with exploring intensity. Jane felt as if she were drowning in a warm, beautiful pool, her body seemed to melt against his in languorous surrender. Then his passion seemed to ignite something deep inside her and she felt her whole body become an instrument of response, pulsing, straining to come closer and closer to him. Simon, drawing a deep, shuddering breath took his lips from hers and buried his face in her hair, holding her for a moment so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. Then he stepped back, still holding her arms, and looked down at her, smiling.

  "Sweet Jane, go to bed like a good girl, while you still are a good girl."

  Jane suddenly felt all the exhaustion of the night wash over her. She tried to match the lightness of his tone as she said simply, "Good night, Simon," but as she left the room and climbed the stairs to her room she wondered if her legs would support her. Simon followed her to the foot of the spiral staircase and stood watching her as she disappeared from view. Even after he heard her room door close he remained motionless, looking up into the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  When Jane awoke the following day she did so gradually, struggling with an unaccustomed drowsiness. Something had changed. In the core of her being there was a feeling of happiness, lightness and joy that was quite unfamiliar to her. Then she opened her eyes and knew that something was different. It was the light. The watery sunshine that poured into the room was not usually present when she rose at 7:30 a.m. She glanced quickly at her bedside clock and then sat up in bed with an exclamation. The clock said two o'clock. How ever had she managed to sleep so late? And then it all came flooding back into her mind. The incredible events of the previous night. For a moment longer she sat there, arms around her drawn-up knees, recalling all that had happened. So much in just one night; the emotional confusion of that strange dinner and what had happened afterwards, the frightening storm, the terror of the fire and finally, the poignant tenderness of those moments in the kitchen with Simon. She had been so exhausted at that time that she wondered if the last event had been a dream. But no dream, she decided, could have produced this wonderful feeling of happiness, and as she remembered the tender pressure of his lips on hers, she knew that that had been reality, perhaps the most important reality of her life.

  She hummed as she showered, and as the day was cool, reached into her closet for a pantsuit, her usual attire for a working day. Then she remembered that it was Sunday. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that it seemed unbelievable that only one day had passed since she had set out for the town of Oban. She searched through her closet for something becoming. Today she wanted to look her best. Her final choice was an ivory-coloured silk shirtdress, an extravagant purchase that she had made just before coming to Culloden. She added a coral-coloured scarf and decided to wear her hair loose.

  The house seemed quiet as Jane reached the first floor, but as she approached the dining room, she heard voices coming from the patio. Glancing through the screened door she caught sight of Simon. Her heart seemed to stop. She waited a moment, fighting to regain her composure and told herself that she was reacting like a silly schoolgirl. He was wearing a white turtleneck shirt, which accentuated his dark tan and the piercing blue of his eyes. Another man was with him, but his back was towards Jane and at first she didn't recognize him. As she pushed back the door and stepped onto the patio, he turned and Jane saw that it was John Baxter. Both men stood when they saw her, and their smiling greeting, their obvious pleasure in having her with them, made Jane feel suddenly shy.

  "I'm sorry to have slept so late," Jane said, a little breathlessly. "You should have sent Mrs. Armitage to waken me."

  "We discussed doing just that," Simon answered, smiling, "but we finally decided that you deserved a little beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course."

  "I should say not," John Baxter said. He came towards her and took both her hands in his. "My dear Jane, who ever would suppose to look at you that you went through the terrible ordeal last night that Simon has been telling me about." He led her to a chair and held it while she seated herself. Simon seemed suddenly tongue-tied and a little grim as he watched them together. Jane laughed, "I don't know what he's been telling you, but I didn't do anything. Simon was the hero," and she smiled shyly at him.

  "Well, from what the neighbours and the volunteer firemen tell me," John answered, "if it hadn't been for you two, there would have been a terrible tragedy. I can assure you the whole community is grateful to you, and of course Pete MacDonald says that he will never forget what you both did."

  "How is he… and the children?" Jane asked.

  "They're all fine. They're staying with Mary's sister on the next concession road."

  Mrs. Armitage had appeared at the patio door and Simon called to her. "Bring Miss Sleepy-head the biggest breakfast you can cook,
please, Mrs. Armitage."

  John Baxter was a perceptive man and he caught the affectionate tone that Simon had used and glancing at him, caught also the tender, almost conspiratorial glance that passed between him and Jane.

  "I shouldn't have intruded on you today," he said as he started to rise, "but I was most anxious to see for myself that you were both all right."

  Simon was silent, but Jane reached out and touched his arm. "Please, don't go, John. Of course you're not intruding."

  A shadow of a frown passed across Simon's face, but John was not watching him. He was looking instead at the eager, lovely face of Jane, and he sat down again.

  Neither man could have guessed that Jane's insistence on his staying was prompted, not only by a genuine fondness for John Baxter, but also by a strange reluctance to be alone with Simon. She had no idea what she should say to him when they were alone; she only knew that the very thought of it made her heart race.

  While she ate, the two men discussed what could be done to help the MacDonald's rebuild their house. John told them that he had already offered the services of his lawyers to see what could be claimed under the MacDonald's insurance policy and said that he had launched a collection in the district to provide them with enough funds to meet immediate expenses. Simon rose abruptly when he said this. "I'll give you a cheque," he said as he strode towards the house. John called after him, "My dear chap, there's no rush," but Simon disappeared inside the house without answering.

  When he had gone, John turned to Jane. "Jane, I know it sounds like a silly question when I look at you, but are you really all right? You have no idea how concerned I've been."

  "Of course I am," Jane laughed.

  "And are you happy, really happy here?" Jane was touched by his tone of anxiety, and again she placed her hand on his arm. "I've never been happier," she answered simply.

  Simon returned in time to see the gesture, and his face was set as he approached the table. Jane's words seemed to disturb John and he rose quickly. "Well, I must be off. Thank you, Simon," and as he glanced at the cheque, "this is most generous of you. I hope to see you both soon. Do an old man a favour Simon and bring this lovely creature over for a drink sometime. Good bye, Jane."

  Simon's answer was brusque. "Well, as you know, John, I'm in the midst of a book and I don't go out much when I'm working, but this lovely creature can, I am sure, find her way to your place whenever she pleases." The last words were said with irony and Jane felt a stab of dismay. Somehow she had felt that after the events of the night before, Simon had mellowed somewhat.

  She realized that this had been too much to hope for when he returned after seeing John out. He sat down heavily and said sarcastically, "Good old squire, John. He should be living in the feudal days. He seems to have some strange idea that he is responsible for all the peasants around here, and that includes everyone in the district."

  Jane was shocked. "Simon, how can you say such a thing? He's only trying to be helpful. The MacDonalds must be in a state of shock, and I'm sure they'll welcome any help he can give them."

  Simon said grudgingly, "Maybe you're right," and then in an almost savage voice, "but I can't stand the way he fawns on you."

  Jane couldn't help it. She laughed gaily. "Why Simon, you're jealous."

  He was furious now as he pushed back his chair. "I'm going for a walk."

  When Mrs. Armitage came to clear the table she found Jane gazing into her coffee with a puzzled frown. "More coffee, Miss Jane?"

  "No, thank you, Mrs. Armitage," Jane answered absently. "I guess I'll never understand men."

  Mrs. Armitage laughed. "Nor I, miss. But then I don't suppose they understand us either."

  Jane sat on at the table after Mrs. Armitage had cleared it, wondering what to do with what was left of the day. She felt terribly let down after all her bright expectations. It was bad enough that Simon had gone off and left her, but he had driven John away too by his surliness. Should she go after Simon? Twenty-four hours ago the idea would have been unthinkable, but then she remembered again what she had felt in the kitchen the night before, the passionate intensity of his body against hers, the lingering, languorous kiss that had awoken in her feelings she had no idea she possessed. She got up restlessly and walked around the house and started along the path that led to the edge of the ridge. The faint, tentative sunlight of early afternoon had strengthened as the last lingering clouds of the storm were swept away by a brisk breeze. The sky behind them was a deep, deep blue, looking as if it had been washed clean by the storm.

  Jane rounded the turn in the path that cut off the view of the house and there ahead of her at the very edge of the ridge sat Simon, reading. He had brought a folding patio chair from the house and sat with his back to her, evidently oblivious to everything except the book in his lap. Jane crept up very quietly behind him and looked over his shoulder. She was amazed to see that the book that absorbed him so completely was a book of poetry, and as she looked closer, she recognized the poem that he was reading. It was by Rupert Brooke, one of her own favorites. So absorbed was she in this discovery that she was completely unprepared for what happened next. Moving with that lithe swiftness so characteristic of him, Simon turned around in his chair, grasped her by the waist and swinging her almost off her feet, sat her down on his lap. As she tried to gasp out a protest his mouth came down on hers, his lips forcing hers apart and Jane went limp in his arms. His free hand gently undid the buttons of her dress and caressed her bare breast. Then he was kissing her neck, the hollow of her throat and her breast. Jane was beyond thinking or reason. Only a small moan escaped her lips. Desire was something new to her. She only knew that she never wanted this to end. Simon buried his face in her hair and whispered, brokenly, "Oh Jane, Jane, I want you so." The stumbling words penetrated Jane's consciousness, and with a terrible effort of will she began to think again. She said to herself dazedly, want… want… not love . . . not even need, just want. She knew that her strength could not match his, that if he wanted her he could take her and there was nothing she could do to stop him, she wasn't even sure she wanted to try. She drew a deep, shuddering breath and said in a tiny voice, "No, Simon, no… please, no… not like this." She felt his body stiffen against hers, she could feel him desperately trying to control his emotions. Soon he was breathing normally again and with gentle fingers, buttoned her dress. She could not bring herself to look at him until, as he had done before in the living room the previous evening, he placed one finger under her chin and turned her face to his. She looked up into his eyes, those glittering blue eyes, now strangely hooded, almost sleepy looking. He bent over and very gently kissed her on the forehead. Then, as if nothing had happened he reached for his book which had fallen beside his chair. "Rupert Brooke, do you know his poetry?" he asked abruptly.

  "He's my favorite poet," Jane answered in a small voice.

  "This is my favorite," he said, " 'The Call'," and he began to read to her.

  After the first two verses Jane, who had memorized it many years before, began to recite it along with him.

  " 'The eternal silences were broken;

  Hell became Heaven as I passed.

  What shall I give you as a token,

  A sign that we have met, at last?' "

  " 'I'll break and forge the stars anew,

  Shatter the heavens with a song;

  Immortal in my love for you,

  Because I love you, very strong.' "

  Jane suddenly realized that she had recited the last two lines of that verse alone. Simon's voice had faltered and then fallen silent as she uttered them. Now he was continuing.

  " 'Your mouth shall mock the old and wise,

  Your laugh shall fill the world with flame,

  I'll write upon the shrinking skies

  The scarlet splendour of your name.' "

  He continued to read the last three stanzas of the poem, but Jane had fallen silent and had stopped listening. She was left pondering the reason why Simon ha
d been unable to utter those two lines.

  They spent another quiet hour at the edge of the ridge going through the book of poetry, Jane exclaiming with delight when she found that some of her favorites were also Simon's, and Simon expressing amazement at her ability to recite so many of them from memory.

  He said, tenderly, "You must have spent a great deal of time reading and memorizing poetry when you were young."

  "Yes," Jane answered simply, "there wasn't much else to do," and was surprised when he reached out and caressed her hair.

  They had been sitting in silence for some time now, watching the ever-changing face of nature set out before them in a panorama as the ridge fell away beneath them. The sky remained that deep, clear shade of blue, dotted along the horizon with fat, white, fluffy clouds. Portions of the winding driveway could be glimpsed, and to the right of it a copse of small evergreens had been planted as part of the reforestation program, so vital to the maintenance of a balance in nature. To the left of the driveway, far below, was a small pond, rippled now by the breeze that sighed through the long grass on either side of the small clearing where they sat. Beyond Simon's property, the concession road where an occasional car passed from time to time, looking like a child's toy from their lofty vantage point. And beyond that, the hills, of various sizes, seeming to melt into each other, some grass covered, others rich with the green of centuries-old forests. Here and there one could glimpse a roof of a house and occasionally hear the far-off bark of a dog.

  Simon suddenly roused himself from his thoughts and turned to Jane. "I know what we're going to do. Poor Mrs. Armitage got very little sleep last night and you, my girl, don't get away from this house enough, so I'm going to take you out to dinner. There's a very good inn in the town of Culloden where you can get a decent meal. What do you say to that?"

  Jane smiled. "I think that's a very good idea. Should I change?"