The Trouble with Trent!

by Jessica Steele

  `Were you in the bath?' asked the voice she would know anywhere.

  `Where are you?' she said crazily, her heart lifting; he must be back in England.

  `Rio,' he answered, and she felt empty again; he was in Brazil. 'I thought you must be out?'

  `I didn't know whether to answer the phone or not,' she quickly explained. 'I—um—didn't know if you'd told anyone that you had someone living with you.'

  `My home is your home, Alethea,' he answered, which told her precisely nothing.

  `Yes, well.' Her heartbeat steadied a little, and she was able to reason that he hadn't telephoned all the way from Brazil for idle chit-chat. 'What can I do for you?' she asked, picking up the pencil next to the phone notepad.

  `Oh, Alethea,' Trent answered, and there was such a welter of wickedness in his voice that she realised she

  had left herself wide open to some remark that might make the satellite connection a little wobbly.

  She coughed over a laugh, and suddenly felt happier than she had all day. 'Are you trying to corrupt me?' `That would be impossible.'

  But you're still going to do your best?'

  `Trust me,' he answered, and sounded so serious she didn't know quite what to make of his remark.

  `You don't ask for much!' she retorted, 'trust' being a sore subject. 'Did you ring for anything special?' she asked.

  `I need a reason to call my own number?' he returned. He sounded indulgent, and she smiled. 'I'll say goodnight, then.'

  `Keep safe,' he answered, and was gone.

  Alethea slept dreamlessly and went to her office the next morning full of enthusiasm. She took time out to ring a furniture remover—and discovered that the firm was booked up weeks in advance.

  `It's not a full load,' she thought to mention, and discovered the removers had a smaller van which, since the pick-up and delivery was wanted as soon as possible, they could arrange for a week on Friday afternoon.

  She did not hesitate to accept and, although with Trent away for three weeks there was no particular hurry, Alethea felt that arranging furniture in her flat would nicely fill up another weekend while Trent was away.

  That was when she caught herself up short. Good Heavens, when had she ever needed to plan filling up her weekends?

  During her lunch hour she purchased paint brushes, a roller and emulsion paint and loaded them into the boot of her car. It was about four that afternoon,

  however, when her enthusiasm for flat-decorating started to wane.

  To start with she'd had every intention of going to the flat straight from work that evening, and even had a change of clothes ready on the back seat of her car. But at five o'clock she decided that there was no desperate hurry to start the painting. There was over a week to go before the furniture would arrive.

  Alethea left her office promptly and drove to Trent's home. She made herself a snack and rang her mother. `Did Maxine tell you she'd agreed to let me borrow some of her furniture?' she asked.

  `It will be cheaper than putting it into storage,' her mother answered sourly, giving Alethea the impression that she was having second thoughts about cramming her house full with Maxine's furniture.

  `How are you?' she asked, hoping her mother might have thawed a little by now.

  `Perfectly well,' Eleanor Pemberton answered coolly.

  Alethea told her about the furniture remover, and arranged to visit her family home the following Saturday to find out what pieces besides that chest she might borrow. She rang off to spend the rest of the evening eyeing a silent phone. Would Trent ring tonight as he had last night?

  Don't be idiotic—why would he? Nevertheless Alethea found she was having a hard time concentrating on the book she was trying to read; the same time as Trent had phoned last night was getting near.

  Grief! Anyone would think she was hoping he would ring! Anyone would think she hadn't gone to the flat because she wanted to be around, should he ring early! What utter twaddle!

  Trent did not telephone that night and Alethea took herself off to bed in a very mixed frame of mind. That annoyed her. Even when the wretched man wasn't around, he still had the power to confuse her.

  Alethea went to her flat from her office the next evening. She hoped Trent did ring, because she wasn't waiting in for his call. She unloaded the paint and decorating materials from her car, and got busy straight away.

  She enjoyed the physical labour of rubbing down walls and woodwork, though it was quite hard going. For hour after hour she laboured, determined not to think about one T. de Havilland Esquire.

  Time was going on. By the time she had completed her sandpapering, she could not resist trying out the new shade. That was when she realised that getting an even covering was not as easy as it looked. She decided that she'd had enough for one day. What she needed was a shower, something to eat and bed, in that order.

  She drove to Trent's home well pleased with her evening's work. She was showered, in her dressing gown, and in the kitchen making herself a sandwich when the phone rang.

  She jumped, startled. It wouldn't be him! Her heart set up a busy clamour. He might ring off. She picked the phone up in something of a hurry. 'Hello!' she said breathlessly.

  `Where have you been?' Trent demanded angrily, his tone such that any pleasantness of feeling towards him was sent flying.

  Who on earth did he think he was with his demanding questions? Alethea wished she had never picked up the perishing phone! 'Still in Rio?' she enquired. Nobody spoke to her like that, ever!

  `I rang earlier.'

  `I was out!'

  `I know that! Where were you?'

  `Since you ask so charmingly, I've been round at my flat making a start on the decorating,' she offered, and soon realised that he didn't care very much for her sarcasm when a kind of furious roar hit her ears.

  `Can't wait to leave, can you?' he snarled.

  `Just say when!' she erupted.

  `And what about our little arrangement?' he barked. Little! 'Did I say I was going to break it?'

  `It never crossed your mind!' he tossed in sceptically. Ever the one to give orders, he demanded, 'You'd better give me the phone number of your flat!'

  Oh, no! 'I don't know it,' she said sweetly. As far as she was concerned, their conversation was over. 'Keep safe,' she added prettily, and slammed down the phone.

  Keep safe! She hoped he got foot-rot. Toad! Evil swine! She didn't want her sandwich. She took herself off to bed, hating him with all her might. She might not come home at all tomorrow night—see how he liked that!

  Who the Dickens did he think he was? Just because he was out of the country, he thought she should sit by the phone every night on the off-chance that he might call. Well, he could go and take a running jump! She might have agreed to their unwholesome bargain, but that didn't mean she had to stick it out meekly while she waited for him to get fed up with waiting.

  She packed some sandwiches to take with her to the flat on Thursday, and drove to work. Trent was still on her mind, though, she reasoned, you could hardly have some brute snapping and snarling at you over the phone the way he had and not think about him.

  At her office she concentrated on her work. In her lunch hour she went out and purchased a few kitchen utensils. She returned to find Nick Saunders about to go into her office.

  `Ah, I've been looking for you!' he beamed. `You've found me,' Alethea smiled.

  `I wondered how you felt about dinner with me tomorrow?' Nick enquired.

  She quite liked him, though she didn't regret having to turn him down. 'Sorry, I've plans,' she smiled.

  `Which obviously don't include me,' he replied, and managed to look so dramatically downcast that she just had to laugh.

  `Not unless you're any good with a paintbrush,' she commented, and went to go past him and into her office when he delayed her again.

  `You're decorating?' he questioned.

  Alethea nodded. 'I've just taken a flat and can't live with the walls the colour they are,' she
answered. There was no reason why she shouldn't be friendly with him as far as she could see. It made for a good working atmosphere if one spared a moment to pass a pleasant few words with a colleague.

  But she was momentarily thrown when Nick Saunders' face creased into a wide grin and he said, 'Believe it or not I've just finished doing out my place. I'm absolutely brilliant at it.'

  `I don't believe it,' she said lightly, and again went to go past him

  `Try me,' he suggested. 'Where is your flat?'

  `I. ..' She hesitated. She was determined not to rush back to Trent's home tonight. Would she be so strong tomorrow. Strong? Why did she have to be strong? This

  was ridiculous! 'Perhaps I could do with a bit of expert advice,' she acknowledged.

  `I'm your man.' Nick smiled willingly.

  It was very true, Alethea found when that night she again applied the paint roller to the walls, she did need some expert advice. Were it not for the fact that she had arranged for Nick Saunders to come round tomorrow night, tomorrow morning might well have seen her looking in the yellow pages for a painter and decorator.

  She went home to Trent's house feeling tired and dispirited, and wishing that he would phone. But he wouldn't. Not after last night's call. In any event, he might have designs on her but she wouldn't put it past him to be busy 'designing' away in Brazil with some Rio lovely. Damn him! She was glad she had given Nick Saunders the address of the flat. Glad he was coming round tomorrow. They might only be going to do some decorating, but at least he'd be someone to talk to!

  She had never felt lonely before. She did not like the feeling. It upset her sleep pattern. It put her off her food. In fact, it upset her totally. She didn't know quite why she felt lonely, she just knew that there was a sort of aching emptiness inside her. Most odd.

  Nick Saunders arrived at the basement door of her flat promptly at seven-thirty the next evening. He was dressed in paint-spattered trousers and similarly bespattered shirt. Clearly he was ready for work.

  She might not be any good at decorating, but she made a very fine labourer, Alethea decided as, in between holding this, wiping that, she made yet more coffee and plied Nick with sandwiches she had bought at lunchtime.

  Compared to her, Nick, as he'd said, was absolutely brilliant at decorating. Time was getting on when he declared that that was as much as he could do for the

  evening but that the walls and ceiling would need another covering. 'I'll come round tomorrow,' he volunteered, and Alethea started to feel a trifle awkward.

  Wishing she had employed a decorator after all—Nick would be extremely offended if she offered to pay him—she said quickly, 'I—er—won't be here tomorrow. I'm sorting out furniture to bring from my mother's.' She felt in all friendliness that she should explain.

  `Oh, I hadn't realised you were still living at home.' Nick smiled easily. The words to tell him differently just wouldn't come. 'Though it's obvious that without furniture you haven't moved in here yet. Fancy going out for a meal tomorrow evening?' he was quick to ask.

  Oh, grief, she didn't. 'I'll be busy, I expect,' she answered lamely, but found that Nick was not so easily put off. While he accepted that Saturday evening was out, she would see him again on Sunday, when he came round to do some more decorating?

  He walked her to her car and kissed her cheek, and Alethea backed away. Nick Saunders was soon out of her head, however. Had Trent tried to phone?

  The phone stayed dead all that weekend. Not that Alethea was in very much. She went to her family home on Saturday morning, and found her mother in a much better humour than when she had last spoken to her. The children seemed better behaved too, or perhaps they were just settling down a little bit more. Even Polly appeared on her best behaviour.

  `You didn't say anything about curtains, bed linen or towels, but I've packed a box for you,' Maxine stated as they went round ticking off a list she had suggested.

  `I'll let you have everything back,' Alethea promised gratefully. 'As soon as I can get—'

  `Don't make it too soon!' Maxine implored, and they both laughed.

  With the box of curtains and linen in her boot, Alethea went back to Trent's home thinking that, all in all, it had been a very pleasant day. So why was she feeling more than a little out of sorts?

  Trent hadn't phoned. Grief, as if she cared! She didn't expect him to ring, for goodness' sake. Heavens above, he had better things to do than to ring her every five minutes!

  The decorating really began to take shape on Sunday. She fed Nick a sandwich lunch and cooked an early dinner for both of them on the ancient cooker left behind by the previous tenant, and again worried about Nick doing this work for her. She couldn't offer him money, yet to give him an expensive present seemed much too personal.

  She was back in Trent's home by nine-thirty and the phone stayed dead. On Monday, Alethea arranged to have Friday afternoon off work to await the furniture removers. On Tuesday Nick put the finishing touches to her bedroom, and on Thursday he came round to the flat to help her hang the curtains.

  Alethea went back to Trent's house; not once that week had he phoned—and she did not care! Why should she? It was ridiculous!

  She waited for the furniture to arrive on Friday afternoon, wishing she could feel more excited than she did. She should be ecstatic, for goodness' sake! Her first new home of her own. She should be thrilled and delighted.

  True, she couldn't properly move in yet because of Trent, but soon ... By her calculations she could expect him home any time after a week today. He'd said he'd

  be away three weeks, which in actual fact would mean a week on Sunday. But, he might come home a day or two sooner, mightn't he?

  The furniture arrived and Alethea went back to Trent's early. She had plenty to do in her flat, but she felt unsettled. She wanted to be back in the home she shared with him—only he wasn't there.

  On Saturday she decided she'd had enough of this aching restlessness. She had Nick Saunders' telephone number, so she picked up the phone and rang him.

  `The least I owe you is a jolly good dinner. Would you be my guest tonight?' she asked.

  `What time?' he asked, before she had barely finished.

  Alethea arranged a time and suggested she would meet him at the restaurant. But when Nick insisted he would come and pick her up, she began to wish she had never phoned him

  She took some clothes round to her flat and showered and changed there, deciding, since she had no intention of allowing Nick to drive her back to Trent's place, she would stay the night in her own flat.

  Nick was a very nice man, the food most enjoyable and the evening pleasant. It seemed churlish, since he was so familiar with her flat, to refuse his suggestion, `Shall I come in for coffee?' after the meal. But Alethea was relieved that, having tried to amorously kiss her, Nick did not pursue it when she turned her face away.

  So why was it not Nick's face she saw in her mind's eye when she awakened at her flat on Sunday morning? With Trent in her head the moment she came to, Alethea finally had to give in. This was why she was feeling so lost, so restless, so lonely. She loved the wretched, abominable swine! She didn't want to love him, but she

  could no longer run away from the truth which had been dogging her.

  She was in love with Trent, had been for some while. And he? He couldn't even be bothered to pick up the phone and give her a call!

  Alethea left her flat and returned early to Trent's home, but still the phone stayed dead. Well, she didn't care, she told herself. Love him or no, there was still no way she was going to climb into his bed!

  She drove to work on Monday feeling thoroughly dispirited and had a panic session: 'Well, I'm glad—no, I'm not.' Perhaps, she wondered, since he hadn't bothered to phone her lately, it meant Trent no longer desired her.

  Maybe when he came home at the weekend he would tell her to leave. Perhaps he had found someone he desired more in South America? Oh, go, go, go! She wished with all she had that Trent would go from h
er heart, and from her head, and so allow her to think of something other than him all the time.

  There was a brief respite when Nick Saunders came by her office and, catching her alone, referred to something she had mentioned in passing: the next room she intended to brighten up. 'How about I stop by your place tonight and size up your kitchen?' he suggested.

  `Do you mind if I say no?' she asked, still liking him very well, but nowhere near coming to terms with her love for Trent yet, and feeling in the need for some space. `I'd rather thought of having a rest from decorating this week,' she added quickly, lest he took offence.

  `Say when,' he answered, and went on his way. Alethea went back to trying to forget about Trent while she tried to concentrate on her work.

  She went home to Trent's house deciding she would have an early night. She supposed she must have slept at some time the previous night, but it hadn't seemed like it.

  The phone stayed quiet and she hated him. He was the reason why she was off her food, of course. He was the reason why she couldn't sleep. She tried to damn him—but she loved him.

  Loved every tall, broad-shouldered inch of him He, the lustful rat, all he wanted was her in his bed. Lustful? Could he be called lustful? He hadn't been exactly chasing her around the house brimming with lust, had he? In fact, his kisses had for the most part been more pleasing than panting.

  Desiring, then? He desired her in his bed, that was for sure. He'd as good as said so. Well, she wasn't giving in. She glanced at the digital clock; seven minutes past one. Was she never going to go to sleep?

  She tried to get comfortable. Up until then her bed had been superb, it suddenly seemed to have rocks in it. She closed her eyes, but was wide awake. She opened them again: eight minutes past one.

  Her thoughts went around and around in circles, but she was still no nearer going to sleep. Despite her thoughts not so long ago that she wasn't getting into Trent's bed, she started to get the oddest notion that perhaps she might sleep, feel closer to Trent, if she went and slept in it.