Not to Be Trusted

by Jessica Ayre

  'Are you going to offer me some of that?' There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

  She poured a cup and handed it to him, still keeping her eyes lowered. He raised her face with a finger, making her meet his eyes. She shivered at his touch and drew away, yet her eyes refused to do her bidding and stayed fixed to his. They looked at each other deeply for a long moment.

  Then he said softly, a little hoarsely, 'They're good, you know. Very good. I'm sorry if I mistrusted you.'

  Lynda could find nothing to say in return.

  'If you feel up to it, we could just go over some small points.'

  She nodded, unable to trust her voice, and followed him obediently towards the table.

  'Now don't get upset. They're small points,' he emphasised it, 'but we want to get it right. They're mostly to do with lighting.'

  They went through the drawings, one by one. Lynda's voice surfaced again and at one point she found herself arguing stubbornly for a particular chintz she had chosen which he thought impractical. By the time they had finished her eyes were shining.

  'Right,' he said, 'only a few more drawings to do on the first two houses, then you can go on to the others. With Rees convinced, there should be little problem in swinging the whole lot.' He sounded jubilant.

  Lynda faltered, 'I'll finish the first two houses, but I don't really want to go on with the others.'

  'What!' He sounded incredulous. 'You can't be serious! I've just been telling you I want you in. How can you possibly go this far and not see the whole thing through?'

  Lynda turned away from his mounting impatience and stared out of the window.

  Paul got up and began to pace, searching for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket. From lowered lids she could see the varying emotions fighting for control of his face. Finally, he stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and turned to her gently.

  'Why, Lynda? It makes no sense. Why?'

  She felt her throat growing tight and she longed to fling herself into his arms. But she kept her eyes lowered and simply said, 'Personal reasons.'

  He exploded, 'Women! I don't believe it. What possible personal reasons could there be for giving this up?' His face suddenly darkened. 'You're not…' he fumbled, 'you're not pregnant?'

  It was her turn to look incredulous. 'Certainly not! What do you think I am?' She pushed her chair back abruptly, gathered the drawings together in a heap and keeping her voice even, said, 'I think you'd better go now.'

  Paul didn't move. He gazed at her steadily and after a moment said, 'I'm sorry—sorry if I insulted your intelligence. Look, can we go and have some lunch together and talk this over? You don't look as if you're about to offer me any,' he added, attempting humour.

  She was about to refuse with a blunt, 'There's nothing to talk about,' when the telephone rang, and Lynda hurried to answer it, grateful for the interruption.

  David's slow clear voice greeted her.

  'Lynda, they told me at the office you were working from home. I'm not disturbing you, am I?'

  'Of course not. Are you in London?'

  'I've just arrived. Can I see you this evening?'

  'Now, if you like,' she said it, realising she wanted to escape from Paul.

  'Wonderful! How do I get to you?'

  Lynda gave him instructions and came away from the telephone smiling. Paul looked at her with an angry scowl on his face. His eyes seemed to have turned jet black, his shoulders were tensed.

  'So that's that, Miss Harrow,' he said scathingly. 'Perhaps I was right about you in the first place, after all.' He turned away swiftly and strode towards the door. 'Just bring all those drawings in next week,' he flung threateningly over his shoulder, and then slammed the door behind him.

  Lynda quelled an impulse to run after him and say she would do anything, anything to please him. But what was the use? She sat down on the sofa to quiet her nerves. How abysmal to be so miserable just when she should be jubilant about Paul's praise of her work.

  A knock at the door roused her from her thoughts. David. She hurried to let him in.

  There he stood, looking larger than she remembered him, something of a stranger in a thick tweed jacket she didn't recognise. His face was fresh, his large chestnut eyes glowed as he returned her smile. They stood at the door for a moment quietly taking each other in. Then David walked in and embraced her hard.

  'It's good, very good to see you, Lynda.' He held her at arm's length for a moment, looking her up and down. 'You're thinner. Been working too hard?' he queried, and as she nodded drew her to him again. She thought she could smell moist earth, freshly mown grass and she snuggled closer to him, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

  When they separated, he looked concerned.

  'Are you all right, Lynda?'

  She nodded. 'Just tired.'

  Then to stop his inspection of her she offered to show him the flat. Both of them were a little awkward on this unfamiliar territory. She could feel his eyes on her when he thought she wasn't looking. And surreptitiously, she glanced at him, trying to take in this somewhat unfamiliar David.

  Lynda racked her mind for things to say. Finally, at a loss, she asked, 'Can I get you a drink? Some tea or coffee?'

  David shook his head. 'Strange, isn't it, how uncomfortable we suddenly are with each other.' He put his hand out to her and she took it. 'Driving down here, I was full of the things I wanted to tell you. And now—blank, there's nothing.'

  Lynda laughed a little nervously. 'It's just the same for me.'

  'I guess we'll have to learn each other all over again.' There was a slight query in his voice as he looked deeply into her eyes. 'If you want to, that is?'

  She nodded, then jumped up from the sofa. 'Come on, let's go out and eat. I'm starving! I'll just put some clothes on.'

  She was grateful for the momentary respite of her room. She must put Paul out of her mind. That was something she couldn't tell David about. Nor must he notice her preoccupation. She practised a smile in her mirror and, satisfied, went out to join David.

  They walked through the wet streets, Lynda pointing out sights of interest on the way.

  'Quite the Londoner, aren't you,' he muttered as she led him to a local pizzeria.

  'Hardly. I miss the country all the time.'

  He looked at her curiously as they sat down at a small round table. 'Come back with me, then. For a few days.'

  'I'd love to.' She tasted the idea in her mind. 'I'd really love to.' Her eyes clouded. 'But I can't. I've got to finish working on this project.'

  With the mention of work, the words began to pour out of her. She told David about the stately homes, about her first drawings and how they'd been criticised, about her meeting with Stanford Rees, and the new drawings which were almost done and were good. She told him about everything except Paul, who was as absent in her words as he was present in her mind.

  'But it's all been a terrific strain, and actually, I think I'd like to get out of the whole thing once I've completed this preliminary stage,' she finished.

  'It doesn't sound at all like you,' David retorted. 'You're just tired. Why not ask your boss for a week off now?' He took her hand. 'I can take you back with me and show you around all the improvements we've made.'

  When Lynda didn't answer, he began to tell her about the work he had been doing on the farm. As he talked, she was gradually overcome by a nostalgia for home.

  'I will ask Mr Dunlop,' she suddenly resolved, her eyes sparkling.

  David gave her a warm smile. They left the restaurant arm in arm, talking, interrupting each other amicably, laughing as if they'd never been separated. They strolled through the streets for what seemed like miles, sometimes looking about them, sometimes so involved in each other's words that London became invisible. At last Lynda groaned, 'My feet…! Let's go home and rest.'

  By the time they reached the flat, Tricia was already home from work. She greeted them with surprise and eyed David curiously. Lynda made the necessary introductions
, watching Tricia carefully to see how she would respond to David. Somehow, her reaction was important, a kind of hurdle for David to cross.

  'Tricia, this is David, my oldest and dearest friend. David, I've told you about Tricia, my flatmate and guide to London ways.'

  The two looked at each other for a moment. Then David gave Tricia a wide slow smile which lit up his broad face.

  'Lynda forgot to tell me how beautiful you are.'

  Tricia flashed pearly teeth at him engagingly.

  'She's been working so hard, she's forgotten to tell me anything. That's why I was so surprised to see you both come in. I thought Lynda was holed up in her room working away. When that door's shut'— she gestured towards Lynda's room—'I can feel DO NOT DISTURB etched there in capital letters.'

  'Good thing I've arrived, then, to bring you two together,' David's eyes moved appreciatively from one woman to the other. 'Why don't I take you both out tonight? There's a concert I'd love to go to, and then dinner…'

  Tricia looked at Lynda to see whether her presence would be an intrusion. Lynda smiled, 'That sounds wonderful, David. As long as I've got time to soak my feet and change.'

  He glanced at his watch and nodded. 'Plenty of time. Make yourselves ravishing—I've got to make sure I remember my London nights!'

  Tricia poured David a drink, passed him an evening paper and with a murmur of, 'Be patient,' followed Lynda to her room.

  'Why have you been hiding him?' she whispered as Lynda's door closed behind them. 'I didn't know they still made them as nice as that.'

  Lynda smiled gaily, 'I'm glad you approve. David's the older brother I never had. We grew up together.'

  Tricia looked at her sceptically, 'Are you sure he's just a brother?'

  Lynda shrugged her shoulders.

  'Well, I think we should make ourselves 'ravishing' for him. Come and raid my wardrobe. I'm going to dress you for a change.'

  Tricia's enthusiasm was contagious, and both girls having washed, Lynda allowed herself to be led to Tricia's room.

  With the eye of a professional, Tricia took two dresses out of her wardrobe, one a wine-coloured silk with a border of exotic plants flowering out of its hemline; the other a midnight blue sheath with slender shoulder straps made to be worn with a flowing print overblouse, Japanese in flavour.

  Lynda's eyes glowed. 'They're beautiful! But I can't wear these. They're… they're too extravagant.'

  Tricia winked. 'Yes, you can. I'm plotting to whisk you and David off to a late party afterwards, show him a little of London life.'

  Lynda tried on the dresses, feeling a little like a princess in a fairy-tale as she saw her midnight blue reflection in the mirror. Fairy Godmother Tricia eyed her critically.

  'Yes, that one's perfect. Let me do your hair and face as well.' She set to work with obvious enjoyment, and when she'd finished muttered, 'I've obviously missed my calling. Take a look.'

  Lynda looked at her transformed self in the long glass. Tricia had outlined her eyes in a luminescent blue, making them into soft mysterious pools, glossed her lips and pulled back her hair on one side with a delicate blue flower grip. 'We can see that wonderful bone structure of yours now,' she had said as she brushed back Lynda's hair. 'Make the best of it.'

  'Is that me?' Lynda breathed. 'You have missed your calling!'

  Tricia smiled as she pulled black satin trousers over her slender hips and topped these with a sheer black and white Indian blouse with wide ruffled sleeves. 'We set each other off well,' she said as she looked at their two forms in the mirror. She brushed her silky blonde hair to a smooth sheen, applied a dab of bright red lipstick and then took out two wraps and passed one to Lynda. 'Ready?'

  Lynda nodded and as they emerged from the door said, 'Thanks, Tricia. You're very kind.'

  'Don't thank me too soon,' Tricia gave her a meaningful look.

  Before Lynda had a chance to grasp what she meant, she heard David gasp.

  'Unbelievable!' His eyes shone and he held a large hand to his heart. 'I don't know if I'm strong enough for this—the two most beautiful girls I've ever laid hands on.' His eyes twinkled as he offered them each an arm.

  Both girls laughed, and as the three of them went down the stairs, Lynda realised that she had never heard David engaged in this kind of gallantry before. They were obviously parts of him she had never explored. The thought brought a warmth to her face and she gave his arm an involuntary squeeze as he helped her into the taxi.

  They were lucky. There were a few tickets still available for the concert David wanted to hear. It was at the Festival Hall, which Lynda had never previously visited, and every time she caught a glimpse of their threesome in one of the long lobby mirrors, she failed to recognise either herself or David. She had always thought of the two of them as gambolling children or dreamy teenagers, but now…

  She sank farther into the red plush seat and glanced at David out of the corner of her eye. He was intent on the music, enveloped in the first sweeping strains of the violins, his eyes glowing. She let her thoughts wander as the richness of sound poured over them.

  The concert over, they walked out into the clear, bright night air.

  'Do you know what I really fancy doing with you two sophisticated ladies?' David drew them into a huddle and paused mysteriously. 'Eating oysters.'

  'I know just the place,' Tricia offered. They hailed a taxi and went off to Tricia's favourite oyster bar: waiters in tails speaking in muted tones, chandeliers and green leather. Letting the cool sea and lemon flavour slide down their throats, they bubbled over with laughter.

  'I could eat another two dozen,' David muttered playfully, 'but you know what these are supposed to do to my virility…' He passed a finger lightly down each of their arms.

  Lynda felt a flush rising to her face, but Tricia countered archly, 'Uh-uh, not yet. I'm going to take the two of you off to my treat—a party full of bright young things.' She looked at Lynda with mock seriousness. 'We'll have to keep David closely in tow to make sure he's not stolen away from us.'

  'Not much chance of that,' he said firmly, and turned to Lynda. 'If you're too tired, I don't mind just taking you home where we can chat quietly.'

  Lynda shook her head. 'I'm fine, and you mustn't miss anything.'

  They climbed into another taxi and Tricia gave the driver instructions. When they emerged she led them through a narrow lane into an enclosed garden courtyard in the middle of which stood a large brick barn-like structure from which they could hear strongly rhythmical music.

  'It's a painter's studio,' she explained. 'The party seems to be well under way.' They walked into a vast single room dimly lit and crowded with people. At the far end of the room Lynda could see musicians, a bass player, guitarist, drummer and pianist, swaying as they played a mellow blues. In front of them couples danced, entwined or separate as their bodies moved to the pulsing sound.

  Tricia took them up a circular wrought iron staircase to a plant-filled loft where the girls dropped their wraps. As they walked back down the stairs, Lynda had a clearer picture of people wearing every variety of striking and outlandish clothes, of crimped and Afroed and silky hair, of bare shoulders and silvery textured legs.

  'It's what we serious folk call Bohemia,' Tricia said in a loud stage whisper when they were back in the main room. She pointed out some television stars, well-known actors, and then spotted their host.

  'Come, I'll introduce you.'

  He was a small dark man with bright intelligent eyes who embraced Tricia warmly. Presented to Lynda, he did the same and whispered in her ear, 'Tricia's beautiful friends are always welcome.' He then shook David's hand and took them all off to fetch drinks.

  Lynda looked round to see whether she could catch a glimpse of any of his own work. He noticed her intent. 'Never keep any of my own stuff on the walls. I prefer to look at others' work. There are some good things here,' he said casually, and pointed to an oil by a painter she had always admired.

  She went to loo
k at it more closely, leaving the others behind her. Suddenly she felt an arm around her shoulder, a hand stroking the thin material of her blouse. Her pulse quickened and her mouth grew dry. Without looking up she knew immediately who it was: Paul. She veered round to escape from his arm and confronted his steely blue eyes. There was a derisive twist to his lips.

  'A little jumpy tonight, and rude as always, Miss Harrow.'

  Her eyes blazed, but no words came to her and she turned to walk away. He put an arm out to stop her and caught her by the shoulder. 'Not so fast, Lynda,' his voice was huskily grim. 'You can't always be running out on me.' He manoeuvred her firmly towards the band and then turned her to face him. 'We should at least dance with each other once before you decide to walk out on me.'

  He drew her to him, crushing her breasts against the soft velvet of his jacket and burying his face in her hair. She could smell the whisky on his breath mixed with the rough odour of Gitanes. 'He's drunk,' she thought, but despite herself her body moulded itself to his. She could feel his hand taut on the base of her spine pressing her to him, shaping her to his firmness. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to sway against him. He relaxed his hold a little, giving her room to move more freely to the pulsing rhythm that enveloped them both. Then she felt his hands cupping her face. She opened her eyes to meet his gazing at her.

  'Not so bad, is it?' he whispered, drawing her close again. She melted against him only to be wakened by a drawling female voice.

  'Paul, there you are! I've been looking all over for you. It was wonderful tonight. The audience loved us!'

  Lynda turned to draw away, wishing she could vanish rather than meet the owner of the voice. But Paul kept one arm firmly around her.

  'Lynda, have you met Vanessa—Vanessa Tarn?'

  Lynda muttered a greeting, taking in Vanessa's lavishness; and then stumbling out, 'I've got to get back to my friends,' she moved away, only to hear Vanessa stage whisper, 'Not quite your type, is she, darling? A little plain,' as she moved into the circle of Paul's arms.

  Lynda walked blindly in the direction she vaguely remembered having left David and Tricia. She wanted nothing more than to leave immediately, to leave it all—Paul, work, London.