by Anne Weale
‘Men are different,’ Jenny said wearily.
‘Oh, rubbish,’ Alison retorted. ‘About the only advantage of having four older brothers was that I learnt very early in life that men aren’t different from us at all. It’s pure fallacy. They’re different in some ways - but not emotionally. When it comes to being in love, they’re as cat-on-hot-bricks as we are. Take David, for example. He’d had girls galore before he met Nonie. There she was - a simple country girl. And there he was - a dashing Naval type with conquests from here to Hong Kong. But could he see she was dotty about him? He hadn’t a clue, poor lamb.
He was wildly in love for the first time in his life, and it knocked him right off balance.’
‘Did it really?’
Jenny had not met Alison’s eldest brother for several years, but she remembered him as an extremely good-looking man who had made her blush when he smiled at her. She had been in her last term at school then, and he in his late twenties. Looking back, she realized that he had been something like Simon. Not physically: but in his bearing and manner.
‘There couldn’t be some reason why he might have felt obliged to give you a brush-off, could there?’ Alison suggested thoughtfully. ‘For example, a wife in the background?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘No, I’m certain he’s a bachelor.’
‘You don’t think James might have warned him off?’ This was an idea which had not occurred to Jenny. Could James have done such a thing? The night he had found her in the garden and appealed to her grandparents to help him -
could he then have stormed round
to Flint House?
She shook her head again. ‘It’s no use, Alison. Simon simply isn’t interested in me. I don’t know why I ever thought he might be. It was absurd, really. I’m so ordinary, and he ...’
She sighed and pushed back her chair. ‘We’d better wash up.’
‘Jenny, why don’t you come up to London?’ Alison said presently. ‘To live, I mean. Carola is getting married in October. You could manage on the couch until her bed is free. And, if you couldn’t find a job in your own line, you could easily get one in a department store. I always thought you ought to get away from home for a while. Everyone should.’
Jenny did not reply for some moments. Then she said,
‘No, I can’t run away permanently, Alison. This is just a breathing space. I must go back in a day or two.’
‘Why must you? Your grandparents would miss you, I see that. But I’m sure they wouldn’t stand in your way.
They’re not a bit fuddy-duddy.’
‘No, it wouldn’t work, Alison. I couldn’t live in London.
I’d hate it. The stores are so stuffy, and I’d loathe the rush hour and having to go miles in a train to get to the country.
I’m just not a big city person.’
‘Well, I am. I wouldn’t go back to life in the wilds for anything. I don’t know how you stick it, sweetie. Anyway, think it over. If you should change your mind, we can always fit you in here somehow.’
Jenny stayed at the flat for three nights. On the second night, she and Alison went to the theatre together.
On her last night, Alison insisted on throwing a party.
‘It will boost your morale, sweetie,’ she said firmly, when Jenny protested that she was not in a party mood and had nothing suitable to wear. ‘I’ll lend you a dress.’ So Jenny found herself wearing a dashing scarlet dress - which she would never have thought of buying for herself- and dancing with a charming young man from the French Embassy who did not seem to find her at all ‘ordinary’ and uninteresting.
‘Sure you won’t change your mind about staying?’
Alison asked, the next morning, when Jenny was packing her suitcase. ‘You made a big hit with Michel, you know, there’s no one to beat an attractive Frenchman for taking one’s mind of ... other things.’
But although Michel Rostand had helped to repair her shattered amour propre, Jenny knew that staying in London was not the answer to her problem. A score of attentive Frenchman could not make her forget Simon.
She reached home in the middle of the afternoon, but there was no one about as she passed Simon’s house. Her grandparents were delighted - and obviously a good deal relieved — to have her back. For although they had not said anything, she knew they had been perturbed by her sudden decision to go to London.
After tea, Mrs. Shannon said, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, dear.
Fenella Waring rang up yesterday to ask you to a party tomorrow night. I explained you were away and weren’t sure when you would be back, so she left the invitation open.’
‘I’ll telephone her later,’ Jenny said.
She went upstairs to unpack her things, including the scarlet dress which Alison had insisted she should keep.
‘You take it. It looks wonderful with your hair, and I’ve gone off it now I’ve got my new one,’ she had said.
‘That would shake Fenella. Me in sophisticated scarlet,’
Jenny thought, as she hung it in her wardrobe.
But was she ready to face Simon again? He was sure to be there. He was probably the whole point of the party.
In the end, she decided to go. She was bound to see him again some time, and it might be easier at a party than anywhere else.
‘Have you seen anything of Polly while I’ve been away?’
she asked her grandmother, after she had rung up the Waring House. Fenella had been out, so she had spoken to Mrs. Waring.
‘No, she’s been in bed with a nasty cold, poor child.
Very off colour, Mrs. Rose told me this morning.’
Mrs. Shannon gave Jenny a sideways glance. ‘The Warings had dinner there the night before last. I saw Fenella and Mr. Gilchrist walking in the garden together.’
‘Oh, did you?’ Jenny said tonelessly. ‘I’m going to bed early, Granny. I was up late last night, and I want to look fresh for the party tomorrow.’
The following afternoon, she had her hair put up in a sophisticated style by one of the best hairdressers in the county town. Also she had a manicure, and chose a pale pearly lacquer to match a new lipstick. Then she bought a pair of sheer ivory tights, some scarlet sandals, and a silver ring set with a huge fake pearl.
‘Well, how do I look?’ she asked her grandparents, when she was ready to go.
‘Very nice, dear. Have a good time,’ said Mrs. Shannon.
But Jenny could see that they did not like her hair, or the scarlet dress, or the dramatic ring.
‘I will,’ she said brightly, with a great deal more confidence than she really felt.
It was a beautiful summer evening, and she had no need of a coat. As she turned out of the Rectory gate, a couple of lads cycled past. They swerved at the sight of her, then whistled.
Jenny repressed a grin. By tomorrow the whole village would know that the Rector’s granddaughter had been seen dressed up to the eyes, with as much paint on her face as the Waring girl.
Simon’s silver car was in the driveway as she passed his house, and a few minutes later she heard the engine start.
Knowing he would be certain to stop and offer her a lift, she drew several deep breaths to steady herself.
‘Oh, hello, Simon,’ she said pleasantly, when he stopped alongside her.
His glance took in every detail of her appearance. ‘I gather you’re going to the party. May I give you a lift?’
‘How sweet of you.’ When he came round to open the nearside door for her, she deliberately gave him the kind of provocative smile at which Fenella was so expert.
‘These shoes are not really designed for walking even short distances,’ she said, as he got behind the wheel again.
Simon looked at the delicate sandals, and Jenny crossed her legs. In sheer tights they looked quite as good as Fenella’s, and she hoped he noticed it.
‘No, I imagine not,’ he said briefly, and started the car.
He was wearing a dinner jacket and, as she gave him a covert glance as they
went along, her heart turned over.
For an instant her resolve weakened, but she looked quickly away and steeled herself to keep to her carefully planned tactics.
The Warings’ dining-room had been cleared for dancing, but the first arrivals were congregated in the garden at the back of the house. Chinese lanterns and fairy-lights had been hung among the trees and shrubs, and a brick barbecue oven had been set up.
Fenella must have been looking out for Simon. The moment he and Jenny walked out through the glass doors of the dining-room, she left some other guests and came swiftly towards them, unable to hide her amazement at the sight of Jenny looking as if she had stepped out of the pages of Vogue.
Fenella herself was wearing a dress of lime chiffon with sprays of pearl and crystal embroidery all over the skirt. It was a lovely dress, but it was really too elaborate and formal for the occasion. Jenny silently blessed Alison’s generosity. For the first time in her life, she experienced the subtle feminine delight of wearing something with so much understated chic that it made Fenella’s frock seem fussy and overdressed.
As she anticipated, the older girl quickly introduced her into a group of guests, and swept Simon off to meet some other people. With sardonic amusement, Jenny observed that all the girls who had come without escorts, were either unattractive or badly dressed. Clearly, Fenella intended to be the belle of her party.
‘You look jolly smart tonight, Jenny,’ John Barton said, when she saw him standing by himself, and went over to talk to him.
‘Thank you, John. Come and dance with me. I don’t know many of the people here.’ She slipped her hand through his arm and drew him towards the dining room.
She hated to see him looking so glum, following Fenella about with his eyes, waiting for her to toss him a smile or a word in passing.
She danced twice with John and then he explained that he was in charge of the barbecue and had better go and see if Fenella wanted him to start cooking yet.
As he left her, a man she didn’t know came over and introduced himself and asked her to dance. He danced much better than John, and flirted with her too. Knowing Simon was also dancing, Jenny smiled and let him draw her close and murmur outrageous flatteries in her ear.
It was dusk, and the Chinese lanterns glowed crimson and yellow and emerald among the leaves, when the dancing stopped for the supper break.
Jenny sat in a deck chair with a man called Clive something leaning on the back of it, and another man called Toby sitting on a rug beside her, and another man whose name she had not caught plying her with frankfurters and kebabs. Her pale hair gleamed in the lantern-light, her eyes sparkled, and she laughed and chattered and sipped a Vodkatini, as if she were quite accustomed to being surrounded by admiring males.
It was simple, she discovered. A slinky dress ... some French scent ... a vivacious manner ... and it was as easy as batting one’s eyelashes. Not that any of the three men had the smallest attraction for her. But that wasn’t the point of the exercise.
‘May I have a dance with you, Jenny?’
She looked up into Simon’s eyes, pretending she had not seen him coming, pretending she had forgotten he was present.
‘Oh ... Simon. Yes, of course.’ She gave her glass to Toby, with a smile for Clive and the other man. ‘Excuse me.’
It was not until they were in the dining-room that she recognized the record on the radiogram. It was the one Simon had given her. Nat King Cole singing Wild Is Love.
Simon slipped his arm round her waist. His left hand closed over hers. She knew he was looking down at her.
She had been prepared to dance with him - but not to this special song. Every nerve in her body responded to his nearness, and she longed for him to hold her closer.
‘Heavenly party, isn’t it?’ she said in a gay, brittle voice.
Simon did not answer, and she forced herself to tilt her head and smile at him. ‘Aren’t you enjoying yourself, Simon?’
‘I want to talk to you - alone.’ As they passed the door to the hall, he suddenly stopped dancing and propelled her through it.
There were lights on in the Warings’ lounge, but no one in there. Simon shut the door and stood with his back to it.
His expression was unreadable.
Someone had left a full cocktail glass on the coffee table.
Jenny picked it up and ate the cherry in it.
‘May I have a cigarette?’ she asked nonchalantly.
‘You don’t smoke, and you’ve had quite enough to drink tonight.’
Three paces brought him beside her. He took the glass from her hand and tipped the contents into a flower vase.
‘Is gin good for flowers, do you think?’ she said, turning away to a looking glass.
Yes, he could be forgiven for thinking she had had too many Vodkatinis. Her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks flushed. He would never believe that she had had only one drink since she arrived, and had tipped three more discreetly into a bird bath.
‘I thought you wanted to dance with me, Simon?’ she said, as he came to stand behind her.
‘Why are you putting on this act? What are you playing at, Jenny?’ he said curtly.
‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply enjoying myself. That’s what parties are for, isn’t it?’ She smoothed back a loosened tendril of hair, and smiled at him through the mirror. ‘Being a clergyman’s granddaughter doesn’t debar me from having a good time, you know.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Is all this for my benefit?’
Jenny’s smile faded. ‘What an extraordinary idea! I didn’t even know you were going to be here.’
‘Didn’t you?’ He took her by the shoulders and turned her round. ‘I’m willing to bet you were pretty sure I would be.’
She stood very still beneath his hands. He was less than a foot away from her.
‘My dear Simon, are you under the impression that your advent in the village has set all the girls agog? We did dress up for parties before you arrived, you know. This may be the country, but it’s not the back of beyond. May I go back to the others now?’
‘No, you may not, you little idiot.’ He spoke through set teeth, and his dark eyes were suddenly fierce. ‘Where’s your bag? I’m taking you home right away.’
‘Indeed you are not. The party won’t finish for hours,’
she said indignantly. ‘And I’m going home with Toby or Clive. Let me go, Simon.’
‘And if I won’t?’ he asked silkily, his fingers tightening.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said icily. ‘I want to go back into the garden.’
‘If you can’t cope with me, how are you going to manage Toby or Clive when they’re three parts tight and bent on making a pass at you?’
A tremor went through her, and she made a futile attempt to shrug off his lean brown hands. ‘I’d trust them a great deal further than I would you,’ she said, in a goaded voice.
The moment the words were out, she knew she had gone too far. But, before she could stammer a retraction, he jerked her against him and kissed her.
It was an embrace which left her pale and breathless and shocked. Shocked - not by the way he had kissed her - but by her own uncontrollable response. She had not even attempted to resist him. If he had not known how she felt before, he must surely know now. The moment he let go of her, she was appalled. Trembling with mortification, she stepped back and gave him a stinging slap.
There was a moment of ghastly silence. Then, with the imprint of her hand still reddening his cheek, Simon said, ‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice was low and controlled, but the contempt in his eyes made her cringe.
Before she could say anything, he turned and strode out of the room. She heard him leave the house, and a few moments later, drive away.
John Barton took her home and when they passed Flint House the garage was open and there was no car inside. It was after one o’clock when she heard a car slow down in the road and knew it must be Simon returning from wherever he had been sinc
e eleven. With the scarlet dress lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the silver ring glinting in the moonlight, Jenny buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
A week dragged by, and she longed for school to start again so that she would have less time to think what a mess she had made of her life. There was a notice on the door of James’s surgery giving the address and telephone number of the nearest veterinary surgeon during his absence. He had taken his mother for a quiet holiday on the south coast. A locum was replacing Doctor Mason while he and his family were in Wales. Other people were away, too; and many of the women and older village children were bean-picking or lifting potatoes.
In the second week after Fenella’s party Jenny met Mrs.
Rose outside the ironmonger’s. She would have said ‘Good morning’ and hurried past, but the older woman stopped for a chat.
‘You haven’t been round to see us lately, Miss Shannon.’
‘No. I - I’ve been rather busy,’ Jenny said lamely. ‘How’s Polly?’
‘She doesn’t seem to have picked up after her cold,’ the housekeeper said, shaking her head. ‘I’m quite anxious about her. She’s lost her appetite, and she seems to be fretting about something. I wish you could spare the time to pop in and see her, Miss Shannon. You might be able to cheer her up. She’s missed you this past fortnight.’
Jenny did not know what to say. She could not possibly go to Simon’s house now, nor did she feel she could invite Polly round to the Rectory. Yet the abrupt cessation of her friendship with the child weighed heavily on her conscience.
‘We see plenty of that Miss Waring these days,’ the housekeeper went on, pursing her mouth. ‘If she’s not on the doorstep, she’s on the telephone. I don’t take to her myself, and neither does Polly. It’s plain what she’s after.’
Some drops of rain gave Jenny a pretext to escape, but Mrs. Rose said she had finished her shopping and would walk home with her.