by Anne Weale
She had not seen James since the night she had gone to his surgery, but she had met Mrs. Langdon in the general store. And from his mother’s manner towards her, she had realized that James could not have told her what had happened.
When they returned to Flint House, Simon was sitting on the terrace. With him - looking cool and soignée in a sleeveless white dress and strappy sandals - was Fenella Waring.
‘Why, Jenny, what have you been doing to yourself?’
she exclaimed, raising skilfully pencilled eyebrows.
It was the first time Jenny had put her hair up in a pleat and, instead of her usual shirt and slacks, she was wearing a pleated Tricel skirt and a new and rather expensive Italian silk sweater in a pale shade of turquoise.
‘Have a drink. You look hot,’ Simon said, sending Polly to fetch two more glasses.
His remark made Jenny feel that she must be unattractively flushed and shiny-nosed.
‘I like your new hair-style,’ Fenella said sweetly. ‘Oh, you’ve a pin coming adrift.’ She leaned across the arm of her chair and touched the back of Jenny’s head. ‘There.
That’s better. The only trouble with French pleats is that one keeps shedding pins, and one needs so much lacquer to keep the wisps in place.’
Polly came back with the glasses and Simon filled them from a tall jug of fresh orange juice chilled with cubes of ice.
‘More orange, Fenella?’
‘Yes, please.’ She gave him her glass, and a melting glance from her large false-lashed green-flecked hazel eyes.
It had never occurred to Jenny that Simon would be susceptible to Fenella’s patently provocative tactics. But as he listened with smiling attention to her chatter, and lit her cigarettes, and occasionally glanced appreciatively at her beautiful legs, it seemed that he might be.
When Fenella said she must go, he saw her to the gate, and Jenny wondered what he had said to make the other give her light tinkling laugh as they turned the corner of the house.
‘I don’t like Miss Waring. She’s like Aunt Monica’s friends,’ Polly said, with eight-year-old bluntness, when he came back.
‘Don’t be rude,’ Simon said curtly.
Jenny had never heard him use such a sharp tone with the child, and she was not surprised when Polly’s lower lip began to quiver and she jumped up and ran inside the house.
‘You needn’t have bitten her head off,’ she said indignantly. ‘She only said what she thought. Children do.’
‘She’ll have to learn to curb her thoughts, won’t she?’
‘Oh, really, just because—’ Jenny stopped short, biting her lip.
‘Yes?’ Simon prompted.
‘Nothing. I’d better go.’ Jenny swallowed the last of her orange juice and put the glass back on the table.
‘You don’t like Fenella either, do you?’ Simon said sardonically.
‘Not much,’ she answered levelly.
His smile was the one he had given her the day she had stormed into the study denouncing him. Suddenly they were adversaries again: Simon unruffled and derisive, and Jenny hot-cheeked and indignant.
‘I imagine few women do,’ he said smoothly. ‘The femme fatale type never are very popular with their own sex.’
‘Their own sex bores them,’ Jenny said coldly.
Simon’s eyes glinted. ‘So you have claws too. Don’t worry, Jenny. I can take care of myself.’
Stung by the mockery in his tone, she stuck out her chin and said recklessly, Tm sure you can. I should think you and Fenella are very well matched.’
She would have swung on her heel and left him, but he caught her by the shoulder and held her still. For a moment there was such a fierce blaze of anger in his eyes that, involuntarily, she shrank from him. Then his hand fell to his side, and without another word he went indoors.
That evening, after supper, Jenny was sitting on the bench at the back of the potting shed, when she heard someone coming towards her. The footsteps were masculine - but not her grandfather’s familiar tread -
and, for an instant, her heart leapt.
But it was not Simon who appeared a moment later.
‘Hello, Jenny,’ James said quietly.
‘James!’ Her disappointment must have shown in her face.
‘Your grandmother said you were out here. May I sit down for a minute?’ he asked.
She moved along the bench to make room for him. ‘I had to see you,’ he said, in a low voice.
‘Oh, James, it would be much better not to.’ Jenny felt, that in her present state of mind, she could not bear another emotional scene with him.
‘I must. I can’t stand by and watch you make a fool of yourself,’ he said, not looking at her.
‘A fool of myself? What do you mean?’
‘I know now why you turned me down.’
She swallowed. ‘I told you the reason.’
‘Not the real one.’
‘James, please—’
‘I was an idiot not to realize it before. It just never occurred to me,’ he went on. ‘I don’t blame you. These things happen to everyone, and you’ve always led a pretty quiet sort of life. But you must know it isn’t the real thing ... it can’t possibly come to anything.’
‘I - I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said unsteadily.
He looked at her then, his blue eyes compassionate. ‘It’s no use denying it, Jenny. It’s all over the village that you spend most of your time there.’
‘There? Where?’
‘At Gilchrist’s house. People may not know why yet. But I do. I should have seen it weeks ago.’
‘You’re not making sense,’ she said rapidly. ‘I go next door sometimes because of Polly. She’s lonely. She needs someone to play with her.’
‘Perhaps - but that isn’t the real reason. It’s an excuse to see Gilchrist, isn’t it? You think you’re in love with him, don’t you?’
Her face went scarlet. ‘You have no right—’ she began hotly.
‘I have every right,’ James cut in sharply. ‘I love you, and I want you to be happy.’
She would have jumped to her feet, but - like Simon a few hours earlier - he grasped her wrist and held her where she was. Simon had hurt her.
James’s restraint was more gentle, and she could probably have pulled free of his fingers.
‘Listen to me, Jenny,’ he said earnestly. ‘Maybe I’m not the man for you. But I’m damn sure Gilchrist isn’t. It’s crazy ... you must see that.’
‘Why is it so crazy?’ she demanded, realizing, too late, the implicit admission in the question.
‘Because you’re as different as chalk from cheese and you have nothing in common,’ he told her. ‘I’ve met him. I’ve seen what he’s like.’
‘What did you see?’ she asked coldly. ‘He looks perfectly normal to me. Don’t tell me you’re getting so village-minded that you’re automatically suspicious of anyone who hasn’t lived here all their lives?’
‘No, of course not.’ James was beginning to get angry now. ‘But he’s obviously an experienced man of the world -
years older than you - with lord knows how many casual affairs behind him. For all we know, he may have a wife somewhere. How do you know he isn’t divorced or separated? And if he isn’t married at his age, it’s obvious he doesn’t want a wife. If you ask me, he’s just been making use of you because of that child.’
‘Oh, stop it - stop it!’ Jenny cried. ‘It’s not fair to badger me like this because I can’t feel the way you want me too, James. I never wanted to hurt you ... you know that.’
‘It’s you who will be hurt - can’t you see? Be sensible, Jenny. Stop seeing him. Go away for a bit.’
‘Leave me alone. I won’t listen. Just leave me alone,’ she burst out desperately.
‘You must listen,’ James began vehemently.
But she had had as much as she could take. Jerking away from him, she ran through the kitchen garden and out of the back gate into the lane.
It was dusk when she returned to the Rectory and, as soon as she entered the house, her grandfather came out of the study. At the sight of his worried face, she knew that James must have told him everything,
‘Jenny dear—’
‘Not now, Grandpa. Not now, please.’
She ran up the stairs to her room and flung herself on the bed.
She woke up the next morning to find her grandmother standing by the bed.
‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea, dear,’ Mrs. Shannon said gently.
‘Oh, lord, have I overslept? I’m sorry, Granny. What time is it?’
‘Half past nine. It doesn’t matter. I expect you didn’t have a very good night.’
‘No ... no, I didn’t,’ Jenny said heavily. She sat up in bed and pushed back her rumpled hair. Her head ached, and her eyelids felt gritty.
‘I’ll close the window, shall I? I’m afraid the nice weather has broken,’ Mrs. Shannon pulled in the curtain which had blown out of the casement during the night and was wet from the drizzle outside.
‘Wait a minute, Granny,’ Jenny said, as Mrs. Shannon was about to leave the room. ‘I gather you know about James and me now?’
Her grandmother nodded. ‘Yes, dear.’
‘Did he tell you ... everything?’
‘He told us that he had asked you to marry him, and that you said “no”.’
‘Was that all?’
Mrs. Shannon sat down on the end of the bed. ‘No, he mentioned Mr. Gilchrist,’ she said quietly. ‘Jenny dear, your grandfather and I discussed this after you had come upstairs last night, and we feel this is something you must settle for yourself. You need not tell us anything, unless you wish.’
‘There’s nothing to tell ... except that I can’t marry James,’ Jenny said, in a low voice. ‘I’m sorry, Granny. It must have been a shock for you.’
‘Yes, it was rather and poor James was very distressed.’
‘You think I should marry him, don’t you?’
‘I must admit I have always thought you were very well suited to each other, dear. But it’s your future, and it must be your decision. I’m sure you will not do anything reckless.’ Mrs. Shannon patted her hand. ‘Now drink your tea and get dressed. There’s a nice piece of haddock for your breakfast.’
Jenny stayed in the house all day, but the following afternoon she met Mrs. Rose and Polly in the general store.
‘Are you cross with me for being rude about Miss Waring?’ Polly asked her anxiously, while the housekeeper was being served and Jenny was looking at a display of seed packets.
‘No, pet, I’m not cross.’
‘I didn’t see you yesterday. I thought you must be angry,’
Polly explained.
‘Well, it was such a horrid day I didn’t go out at all,’
Jenny explained.
‘You must come and see the lovely doll’s house Mr.
Gilchrist has had made for her, Miss Shannon,’ Mrs. Rose said, joining them. ‘It’s a real beauty, isn’t it, Polly love?’
‘Oh, yes, Jenny, it’s lovely. Uncle Simon brought it home last night.’
‘He designed it for her just like a real house,’ Mrs. Rose explained. ‘And he brought her a big book of wallpaper samples so that she can choose which she likes and stick them in herself. It’s the nobbiest thing you ever saw.’
‘Come and see it now, Jenny. You can help me choose the nicest paper,’ Polly said eagerly.
‘All right. I’d love to see it,’ Jenny agreed.
They waited while she paid a bill at the newsagent’s, and then the three of them walked home together.
‘I’ll just take my shopping in and then I’ll come back,’
Jenny said, when they reached Flint House.
The doll’s house was a magnificent affair with pebbled patio, a garage with two cars inside, and kitchen with a miniature washing machine and other modern equipment in it. Jenny was as fascinated as Polly, and they spent the rest of the afternoon deliberating on the choice of wallpaper, and carefully cutting up a sample of an expensive Regency stripe for the little dining-room.
About five o’clock, they heard a car sweep in through the gate, and Jenny braced herself to face Simon again.
‘Look, Uncle Simon, we’ve papered the dining-room. Do you like it?’ Polly asked excitedly, when he joined them.
‘You have been busy. Hello, Jenny.’ He gave her a brief glance, then turned his attention to the doll’s house. ‘Mm ...
very House and Garden,’ he said, ruffling the child’s hair.
‘Look, here’s a box of curtain materials for you.’
He gave her a shoe-box filled with off-cuts of dress fabrics. Then he went off to change his clothes.
Polly fell on the cuttings with delight and began spreading them out on the carpet, but Jenny sat staring after Simon. There could be no mistaking the coolness of his greeting. He was still very angry with her.
Before he came back, Mrs. Rose wheeled in a tea trolley.
‘You’ll have a cup, won’t you, Miss Shannon?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Jenny said abstractedly. She could not apologize to Simon in front of Polly. She had to see him alone for a few minutes.
Polly was too young - and too absorbed in the doll’s house — to be aware of the constraint between her elders during tea. But, for Jenny, every moment was an ordeal.
Then Mrs. Rose came back and said, ‘It’s nearly time for your bath, Polly love. I’ll help you carry the doll’s house back to your room.’
As soon as they were alone, Jenny drew in her breath and said quickly, ‘Simon, I’m sorry I said what I did the day before yesterday. I - I behaved very badly.’
‘Forget it,’ he answered briefly.
‘No, I owe you an apology. You were quite right to correct Polly. I shouldn’t have interfered.’
He lit a cigarette, and got up from his chair. Moving to the window, he stood staring out across the terrace for some moments. Then he swung round to face her again.
‘Jenny, you’ve been very good to Polly, and I appreciate it,’ he said, frowning. ‘But I think it would be best if you didn’t see quite so much of her in future.’
She stared at him in amazement. For a minute, it did not make sense to her. Then, in a sickening flash of comprehension, she saw what he was really saying to her.
‘You mean you don’t want me here,’ she thought hollowly.
Simon bent to an ash-tray and jabbed out his cigarette.
‘Polly may not be staying with me for good. I don’t want her to become too attached to you, and to be hurt again.’
‘No ... I see. I - I quite understand.’ Jenny knew it could not be true. He would never send the child back to her aunt, and there was nowhere else for her to go. He had said it to spare her feelings. He knows, she thought, appalled.
He knows I’m in love with him. Oh, God, perhaps everyone knows.
‘I must go now. G-good night.’ Her voice shook uncontrollably. Blindly, in an agony of humiliation, she jumped up and rushed to the front door.
She heard Simon call to her to wait, and saw Polly standing in the passage to the bedrooms, but she did not stop. She had to get away.
LATE the following afternoon, Jenny caught a train to London. Her grandfather drove her to the station. ‘Have a good time. Take care of yourself. Give our love to Alison,’
he said, from the platform.
Jenny leaned out of the window and kissed him. ‘Good-bye, Grandpa. I’ll let you know when I’m coming home.’
The train began to move, and she drew back into the corridor, waving to him.
Whereas Jenny and Susan Ellis had been school-friends, her friendship with Alison Grant had been confined to the holidays. Alison had been educated at a boarding school, and would have been rather lonely during the holidays
but for the fact that her parents’ farm was less than half a mile from the Rectory. Now she lived in London where she shared a flat with two other girls.
Jenny had put up at the flat before, but this time one of the other girls was on holiday in France, so Jenny could have a bed instead of sleeping on the sofa.
‘Jenny, what bliss to see you! I was so surprised when you rang last night. It’s not like you to do things on the spur of the moment. You usually plan months ahead.
Come in and take the weight off your pins. I’m only just home myself. It won’t take long to fix a meal. Carola is out tonight, so we can have a lovely long natter,’ said Alison -
all in one breath - when she opened the door of the flat.
She had always been an irrepressible chatterbox, and still was. But in her teens she had been plump, untidy and clumsy. Now she was fashionably slender, and when she bumped into something it was usually a personable young man.
After she had changed her black working dress for a pair of pink cotton pants and a peppermint-striped top, Alison whipped together a meal in the tiny kitchenette.
It was not until they were having coffee, that she said suddenly, ‘Have you had ’flu or something?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘Why do you ask?’
'Because you ate my superb green salad as if you were swallowing caterpillars, you’ve hardly heard a word I’ve been saying, and you look like death warmed up,’ Alison told her frankly. ‘Furthermore, I began to smell a rat when we were on the phone last night. What’s up, duckie? Man trouble?’
Jenny gave her a startled look, and Alison grinned. ‘I recognize the symptoms. Both Pauline and Carola are what you might call chronic sufferers. Me, I take men as they come - or as they go.’ Her expression grew serious. ‘Tell me about it. Nothing is the end of the world, you know.’
Jenny told her everything. ‘So you see what an utter fool I made of myself?’ she ended wretchedly.
‘We all do, sooner or later,’ Alison said wryly. ‘My turn will come, I don’t doubt.’ She poured herself a second cup of coffee. ‘I must say I can’t quite fathom why this Simon of yours should about-face so suddenly. But one thing I do know. No man ever despised a girl for falling for him. Why should they? We don’t when it’s vice versa.’