Summer Storm

by Letitia Healy

  She spent the rest of the weekend shopping for food and getting her wardrobe in order, washing her hair and doing her nails. John had set up an interview for her with his friend, the publisher, for Monday afternoon and Jane wanted to look her best. So much depended on this interview. She realized that her qualifications for any job were slight, but most of all she knew that she had to have work, interesting work, in order to get her mind off her personal problems.

  Jane awoke on Monday morning to the sound of rain. She was not particularly perturbed because one of her favorite outfits was a very smart all-weather coat which she usually wore with a large-brimmed hat. As she surveyed herself in the mirror when she was ready to leave, she had to admit that she at least looked the part of a successful career woman.

  It turned out to be a strange interview. Jane couldn't imagine what John had told Mr. Ross, the publisher, but he seemed thoroughly convinced that Jane was doing his company a great favour by seeking employment there. In all honesty, Jane felt compelled to point out to him the fact that she had no experience in the business and her only asset was a willingness to work hard. But Mr. Ross didn't seem to be listening. "Of course, you will have to learn our procedures, everyone does when they join a company, but I'm sure you'll learn the ropes in no time."

  The first week at E.R. Ross Publications was a blur to Jane. There was a great deal to learn, and when she climbed wearily into bed each night she reminded herself that she had wanted a job that would take her mind off her personal problems, and that was certainly what she had found. She was too exhausted to think about anything.

  By the end of the second week things were beginning to make sense to Jane. She also noticed a change in her co-worker's attitudes. They were still businesslike in their dealings with her, but they were friendlier, warmer somehow. It hadn't occurred to her that office gossip would have passed the word that she had obtained her position through influence, and that no one had expected her to work as hard as she had. She simply thought to herself that perhaps, after all, she would make friends among her co-workers. And friendship was something that she needed badly. The loneliness that had assailed her since her return to Toronto was overpowering.

  On the Friday evening of the second week of her job, Jane took her after-dinner coffee to the small back garden of the house and looked around with pleasure. Her tenant had certainly taken good care of the few small trees, the grass and the flower beds that bordered three sides of the backyard. This garden had been her father's pride and joy, and seeing the flowers that he had planted so carefully during his last illness was almost like having a part of him with her.

  She was roused from her thoughts by the ringing of the telephone in the kitchen. It was John, and the sound of his voice banished all feelings of loneliness.

  "My dear, how are you? I would have called sooner, but I didn't want to distract you while you were settling into your job. How is it going?" His voice sounded almost breathless.

  "Well, they haven't fired me yet," Jane laughed, "and I'm really enjoying it."

  "That's wonderful. But tell me how you really are. Isn't it rather lonesome for you all alone in that house?"

  "Well, yes, it is, a little." Jane had no idea how lost her voice sounded.

  There was a slight pause and then John said, "Well, we'll have to do something about that. How about dinner tomorrow night?"

  "Oh, yes, I'd like that," Jane answered enthusiastically.

  "Good. I'll pick you up about seven."

  Jane walked back to the garden and sat down in one of the garden chairs, wondering idly what kind of dress she should choose for her dinner with John. Suddenly, she thought of the silver-grey caftan that she had worn that breathless night at the house on the ridge. She closed her eyes and felt again the clinging silk next to her naked body, and remembered with every fibre of her being how she had felt when Simon had undone the drawstring at the neck and it had fallen in a cascade of pleats around her ankles and she had stood revealed to him. She felt again his fingers as he loosened her hair and the tenderness of his gentle kiss.

  She lowered her head in her hands with a moan of despair. Why, why could she not forget those terrible, beautiful moments? She knew instinctively that life with John Baxter, no matter how kind, thoughtful and loving he might be, could never match the glory and passion that she had known with Simon. The only question was, could she forget? Could she forget enough to be a good wife to John, could she subdue that terrible longing that she still felt for Simon? She must, she must.

  Jane spent Saturday afternoon shopping along Bloor Street and found exactly the dress she wanted for her dinner with John. It was a classic grey silk shirt dress with an accordion-pleated skirt and she wound her golden hair into a French knot low on her neck. John's eyes lit up when he saw her. "Beautiful as usual, my dear," he said.

  He had made reservations at an elegant Russian restaurant on Queen Street. They were led to a table on a raised balcony at the back of the restaurant by a waiter in traditional costume. A tiered silver tray was placed in the centre of the table containing pate, bread, whipped butter, large, fat green onions, celery and olives. A strolling mandolin player passed from table to table, playing haunting Russian melodies.

  Jane felt as if she had strayed into another world, and her eyes sparkled as she looked around the room. John couldn't take his eyes off her. Suddenly, she turned and caught the expression in his eyes as he watched her. He quickly looked down at the glass in his hands, "Are you happy, my dear?"

  Somehow the simple question brought Jane down to earth. It reminded her of the times when she had been happy beyond her wildest dreams, the times when she had been held in Simon's arms, when she was convinced that he loved her as she loved him. The memory was like a knife turning in her heart. She turned her wine glass in her hand and watched the candlelight filtering through the wine, creating a prism effect. "Happy?" she said. "What is that?"

  John reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "Oh, my dear, I don't like to hear you sound so cynical."

  Jane looked up at him and tried to smile. "I'm sorry, John. I'm really not cynical. Just a little confused right now. I was hurt badly and it will take me a while to get over it."

  It was the first time that she had spoken so openly about her reasons for leaving the house on the ridge. But she started to talk about her work and the moment passed.

  As he drove her home, he coaxed her into spending a weekend at the Baxter Farms. "Let's make it next weekend," he said. "Do you realize that the summer is almost over? The trees have already started to change colour. You must see that sight in the Culloden Hills, Jane. I think it's the most beautiful season of all."

  Jane was silent, thinking to herself, the summer is almost over. It seemed impossible that so much had happened to her during one short season.

  Then, suddenly, the question was there in her mind, would she see Simon? Could she bear it if she did?

  A leisurely Sunday morning breakfast in the garden had become one of the most enjoyable routines in Jane's life since moving back into her house. She missed her usual morning paper, which didn't publish on Sunday, but made do with a rather sensational tabloid that she normally didn't read. She was leafing through it casually when she came to the Entertainment section. Suddenly, her face went chalk white and she sat like a statue gazing at the large photograph of Mona Moore on the page in front of her. The headline of the accompanying article read: "Mona Moore Followed to Europe by Ex-husband."

  Jane read on, but the words danced in front of her eyes and she had trouble comprehending their meaning. The article stated that Mona Moore had left the previous week for Spain where the new movie in which she was starring was to be shot. It then went on to say that Simon Wade, her ex-husband and author of many best sellers, had left for Spain two days later and speculated that perhaps wedding bells would be heard again for the couple. The article ended with the statement that it would not be the first time that divorced celebrities had decided to
give marriage another try.

  The paper dropped from Jane's stiff fingers and she gazed unseeingly around her. There was not a sound, even the birds seemed to have stopped their singing. Then she put her head in her hands and deep, gutteral sobs seemed to be torn from her very soul. She had no idea how long this storm of weeping lasted, but finally she drew a few long, shuddering breaths, and sat there gazing at the flowers unseeingly. Gradually her mind started to function again. I guess I was only pretending that it was all over for us. I see, now, that subconsciously I was always waiting for the phone to ring, for him to come to the door and tell me that it had all been a mistake. I guess I just couldn't bring myself to believe that it was finally over. And as she rose to go into the house, she added, but I believe it now.

  Jane moved through the next week like an automaton. She did her work quietly and efficiently, but seldom spoke. At home, she ate little and retired early, but sleep was impossible and she usually ended up reading half the night. By Wednesday, her innate good sense took over and she realized that she couldn't continue on that course any longer. She knew she was being very foolish with her ideas about starting over somewhere else. No matter where she went, she could not run away from her thoughts, her feelings about what had happened. John understood how she felt, he asked nothing from her. She remembered the expression in his eyes as he looked at her in the Russian restaurant, and knew that he spoke the truth when he said that he would be perfectly happy just having her near him. Why not make him happy then? Why not marry him? The more she thought about it, the more at peace she became. She promised herself that she would do her best to make John happy. It wouldn't be difficult. He was a kind, dear man, just like her father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane's emotions were very mixed as she drove to the Culloden Hills the next day. She couldn't help thinking about the first time she had made the trip. It had been spring, a time for new beginnings. Now most of the farmers' crops had been harvested and the leaves of the trees had turned to the rich, bright colours of autumn—from the dark red of the sumach to the dazzling gold of the birch. As she turned off the highway to the sideroad she thought that, after all, the expectations of a new beginning that she had had on that long ago spring day had been fulfilled. If she hadn't come to the Culloden Hills, she wouldn't have met John Baxter.

  As she drove along the concession road and found herself coming closer and closer to the driveway leading to the house on the ridge, she felt herself tensing. She would have to get over that she told herself. Perhaps the way to do that would be to face the issue head on. She slowed the car, and almost before she realized what she was doing, she turned on to the driveway. She would walk out to the edge of the ridge for the last time, and then forever put Simon Wade out of her life and out of her thoughts.

  There were, of course, no cars in the parking area. Jane supposed that the house must be closed up and Mrs. Armitage gone. She left her car and made her way past the windmill and along the path leading to the edge of the ridge. When she reached the clearing she stopped and looked out over the rolling Culloden Hills, now ornamented by the blaze of autumn foliage, and tried desperately to quiet the turmoil within her.

  Memories came flooding back, and try as she would, they would not be dismissed. She remembered the first night at the house on the ridge, when Simon had taken her out here to see the view. He had placed a shawl around her shoulders before they left the house, and as he did so, had bent down and kissed her on the nape of the neck. And afterwards, standing in this same spot, she had shivered and he had reached out and put his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly against his side. Standing there today, in the same spot, she could still feel the lean strength of his body against hers. And then he had kissed her, kissed her in a way that she had never even dreamt of, and even now she could remember the feeling of languorous joy with which she had responded.

  And then there had been the day after the thunderstorm, when Simon had been sitting at the edge of the ridge reading Rupert Brooke's poetry. When she had crept up behind him he had turned and lifted her into his lap and then his lips were on hers, forcing them apart and she had gone limp in his arms. She could still feel his gentleness as he undid the buttons of her dress. She could feel his lips on her neck, the hollow of her throat and her breast.

  As she stood there trembling at the memory, she recited silently to herself the three stanzas of the poem that he had read to her that day—

  "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."

  "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."

  Jane knew now that she should never have come here, that she was simply probing old wounds, and the pain that resulted was unbearable. She turned around, blinded by tears and started along the path, and then she stopped with a cry. Standing in front of her on the path was Simon. His face, despite the tan, was white and drawn and his brilliantly blue eyes seemed to bore into her very soul.

  "Simon," she gasped, "I thought… I thought you were in Spain."

  His voice trembled slightly when he spoke, "And I thought you were in Hollywood."

  "Hollywood?" Jane asked in bewilderment. "Why would I be in Hollywood?"

  "When you left with David Webber, I assumed that's where you were heading. But anyway, I see you're back. Which of you tired of the other first?" he asked with a sardonic smile. Jane was so distraught and confused that she could hardly take in what he was saying. .

  "Left with David Webber? I didn't leave with David. Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "Well, you both left on the same day, both without a word to anyone. Anyway, Mona told me that she had seen you leave together."

  "But how could she say that? I spoke to her long after David had gone."

  Simon sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I'm beginning to understand," he said, "at least some things. Where have you been then, and what are you doing here now?"

  Jane was fighting desperately for control, and she tried to keep her voice level as she said, "Before I answer any more questions, perhaps I could ask one? You are supposed to be in Spain, at least the papers said you were. What are you doing here?"

  "Oh, that," he shrugged, "that was some publicity man's lie. Anything to get Mona's name in the paper. I seriously considered suing over that, but it wasn't worth it. Now, what about answers to my questions?"

  "I've been living and working in Toronto. I just came to have a last look at the view from the edge of the ridge." Her voice started to tremble as she said that, and fighting for control, she continued, "John Baxter has asked me to marry him. I was on my way to tell him that I would."

  Simon's eyes darkened and the muscles of his lean, hard face tensed. "I see," he said, and then after a moment, "if you were on your way to tell a man that you're going to marry him, why were you crying? Isn't a prospective bride supposed to be happy?"

  This was more than Jane could bear and she stood looking at him silently, the tears running down her cheeks.

  Simon gave a kind of strangled moan and in one long stride he was beside her and she was in his arms. Jane was sobbing now. It was as if all the longing, all the pain and grief that she had felt since leaving the house on the ridge was pouring out of her with her tears. It was as if she had come home.

  Simon held her as if he would never let her go. He stroked her hair and whispered endearments in a broken voice. "Jane… I'll never let you go again… please, don't cry… I promise you I'll make you happy… I almost went out of my mind when you left… Oh, darling
." And as her sobbing started to subside, he recited softly, in a trembling, husky voice:

  "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 stopped crying and drew a long, shuddering breath. He tilted her head back and kissed her, a slow, searching kiss that in the beginning contained only tenderness, but then became more and more passionate. At first, Jane was almost frightened, but then she found that she was responding with an intensity that she had not known she possessed, and with a tiny, breathless moan she pressed herself against the lean hardness of his body, as if she could never get close enough.

  Later they sat in the living room of the house on the ridge, Jane in the loveseat facing the sliding glass door, Simon seated at her feet, holding her hand. It was a strange feeling, Jane thought, one that she had never experienced before, as if neither of them could bear to be out of physical contact with the other. And so he held her hand, and with her other hand she caressed the crisp black curly head that rested against her knees.

  "I've done so many stupid things," Simon was saying, "that I hardly know where to begin to try to explain."

  "I know. I have, too," Jane interrupted. "I should have talked to you before I left, but I was so dreadfully hurt. Mona told me that you had flirted with me just to give yourself inspiration for your book. She said that it had happened before, and she intimated that you had asked her to tell me that, because you couldn't bring yourself to do it."