by Anne Mather
She half expected Celine to be waiting in the car, but it was empty, and her startled expression must have conveyed her thoughts to Matthew.
“She hasn’t come,” he stated flatly, swinging open the door for her to get inside. “Just hang on a minute!”
He went back up the path to the house and came back a few minutes later swinging the denim jacket that matched his trousers. He slung it into the back of the car and then got in beside her. She found herself surreptitiously watching him as he levered himself more comfortably behind the wheel, noticing the gold watch on its leather strap round his wrist, the signet ring on the third finger of his left hand. The sign of a married man, she thought tensely. The smell of the heat of his body came to her in the limited confines of the car, and she thought how far he had already travelled that day. She ought to appreciate this.
The powerful car swung away from the kerb and cruised down the length of Windsor Street before emerging on to the main thoroughfare that joined the ring road. But instead of turning right towards Sedgeley, the car swung into the stream of cars going west towards the moors. Darrell’s head jerked round in astonishment, and he said quietly: “I’m not about to kidnap you, but I could surely use a drink. Will you join me?”
“Do I have any choice?”
His lips thinned. “Yes. There’s a turn-off along here that takes us back on to the ring road. Should I take it?”
Darrell hesitated a moment, and then she shook her head. “I’ll have a drink with you. Thank you.”
She shook back her hair, feeling the moist dampness on her forehead, and he glanced quickly at her. “I forgot. My mother said you were unwell. Would you rather go straight home?”
“No. No.” Darrell shook her head again. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be all right.”
Matthew gave her a brief assessing look, and then shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’re the nurse,” he commented dryly.
He took her to a small inn overlooking Scarsbeck reservoir. On this hot summer’s afternoon, several sailing dinghies were dotted about its cool reaches, and as the inn was practically deserted, Matthew carried their drinks to a low stone wall overlooking the gravelled foreshore. He had got her something long and cool, heavily iced and edged with orange and lemon slices. He was drinking lager.
“Well?” he said, after she had swallowed a mouthful of her drink and gasped at its sharpness. “How is it?”
Darrell blinked. “Very refreshing.”
He smiled. “Actually, I meant—how are things?”
“Oh.” Darrell moved her shoulders helplessly. “Everything is being organised. They—that is—Susan and Frank’s bodies arrived back yesterday afternoon, and were taken to the chapel as you had arranged. Jeff saw to that. And your father has taken over the rest of the arrangements.”
Matthew nodded. “That’s good. I thought he’d pull himself round. He’s better when I’m away, I think.”
“Was that why you went away?”
Matthew’s lips twisted. “Oh, I could say that, couldn’t I? Make out it was an unselfish gesture!” He shook his head, swallowing some of his lager. “Do you think anyone would believe it? Oh, no. I left for purely selfish reasons.”
Darrell didn’t know how to answer this, so she said nothing, and presently he went on: “However, I was supposed to leave for New York this morning, but in spite of much opposition, that I refused to do.”
Darrell wondered if Celine had provided most of the opposition. “Do—do you visit the United States often?” she ventured.
Matthew stared broodingly down at the coloured sails below them. “I go where my work takes me,” he said slowly. Then he looked up. “Do you know anything about applied economics?”
Darrell shook her head. “Not a lot, no. My father is a lecturer in history, and my mother is an interior decorator. Interior designing, she calls it.”
“Where? Here in Sedgeley?” Matthew frowned.
“Heavens, no. She lives in Upminster, but her base is in London.”
“What’s the name of her company? Perhaps I know it.”
“Allan Inter-Designs. My parents are divorced, and my mother uses her maiden name.”
Matthew looked thoughtful. “It doesn’t ring any bells, but Celine might know it. Her friends go in a lot for that sort of thing.”
“Yes.” Darrell felt uncomfortable at the mention of his wife’s name. “And—and economics. That’s your field, is it?”
Matthew finished his lager before nodding. “Business finance is a form of applied economics. It includes accounting, statistics, optimizing a firm’s assets to their best advantage. It means arranging short-term credit loans and selling securities to raise long-term funds. Basically, we’re juggling with figures, borrowing from one company to finance another.”
Darrell was fascinated. “It sounds exciting.”
“It can be.” He rose to his feet. “Do you want another?” He indicated the still three-quarters-full glass in her hand.
“Oh, no.” Darrell spread her fingers over the rim. “But you go ahead.”
She watched him walk away across the gravelled forecourt. Although he had gone back for his jacket, he had not put it on, and his shirt was sticking to his back in places. She liked the way he moved, he had long legs, but they were strong and muscular, firm beneath the close-fitting cloth of his trousers.
She looked away impatiently. Oh, God, what was she thinking? Matthew Lawford was a married man. His wife was a young and beautiful woman, far more soignée and elegant than she would ever be. Any attention he might be showing her was simply an effort to alleviate his boredom during this time of family crisis.
She didn’t watch him come back, but she heard his suede-booted feet crunching over the gravel, and a few moments later he came down beside her on the wall carrying a second glass of lager.
“Tell me,” he said, after watching her averted face for several minutes, “what brought you to Sedgeley? You have no relatives here, do you?”
“No.” Darrell sipped her drink. “Actually, I just felt like a change of scene.”
“I know the feeling. But why Sedgeley?”
Darrell shrugged. “One of the girls at the hospital I used to work in in London came from here. She said, you want to try Sedgeley General. So I did.”
“Was that how you got to know Susan?”
“That, and an introduction from Phyllis.”
“Phyllis Collins?” Matthew looked amused.
“Why, yes. Do you know her?” Unaccountably her heart sank.
“Oh, yes, I know—or should I say, I knew Phyllis. Sedgeley girls who leave to go and work in London are not that thick on the ground. Besides, as you probably guessed, Phyl was a friend of Susan’s.”
“I see.” Darrell looked down into her glass.
“Are you never homesick, or didn’t you live at home?”
“I lived at the hospital in London, but I spent my free weekends with my mother. At least, some of them,” she amended.
“What about your father? Did you see much of him?”
“Not a lot, no. He and Delia have their own family and friends.”
“Delia?”
“My father married again. He and his wife had two sons.”
Matthew nodded slowly. “Tough.”
Darrell shifted defensively. She didn’t want his pity. “It isn’t really,” she argued shortly. “I’ve never been used to having brothers and sisters around.”
“Okay, okay,” he said mildly. “I didn’t know I was treading on any toes. I can be a tactless brute, I know that.”
“You’re not treading on any toes,” retorted Darrell crossly. “My parents weren’t happy together. It was a relief for all of us when they split up.”
He allowed her words to go uncommented upon, staring out lazily across the water. She sighed, feeling strangely tearful. Somewhere someone was playing a guitar, and the melancholy sounds it emitted drifted on the still air.
After several minutes had elap
sed, she said awkwardly: “We—won’t your mother be wondering where you are? I mean, it only takes fifteen minutes to run me home.”
Matthew turned to look at her, one thumb hooked in the low belt of his trousers. “You want to go?”
Darrell sighed again, impatiently now. “It’s nothing to do with me. I just thought—oh, it doesn’t matter.”
Matthew finished the lager in his glass in a gulp and looked down into its emptiness. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Darrell finished the liquid in her glass, handing it to him when he reached for it. He walked back into the inn to return the glasses and she stood up, dusting down her skirt. The cotton gingham dress was limp in the heat, moulding the rounded curves of her breasts, and its length left most of her legs bare. Smoothing her damp palms over her hips, she walked back to where Matthew had parked the car and was examining her profile in the wing mirror when he appeared.
He opened her door and she got in selfconsciously, tucking her skirt around her knees. Then he walked round the bonnet and got in beside her. Before starting the engine, he flexed his shoulder muscles and stifled a yawn.
“God, I’m tired,” he grunted, half to himself, and she glanced uncertainly at him.
“You don’t have to take me all the way home,” she ventured, and then shrank away from the anger in his face.
“If you say that once more –” he muttered threateningly, and without another word started the motor.
They were soon back in Sedgeley, speeding along the wide circular route which led to Bardon Road. Matthew was an expert driver, the wheel slid effortlessly through his fingers, and his braking was all done smoothly with the gears. Darrell thought how pleasant it would be to drive a long distance with him, but knew she was hardly likely to experience such a thing.
He stopped at the entrance to the flats and she gave him a nervous smile. “Thank you. Thank you for the drink. I—I enjoyed it.”
“My pleasure.”
His voice was expressionless, and she had no idea what he was really thinking.
“I—I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she murmured, opening the door.
“At the funeral, yes.” He nodded, his face grim. “I shall be leaving for London straight after.”
“Oh!” She couldn’t control the sudden feeling of desolation which swept over her at this news. “Will you?” She paused. “Then I may not see you to speak to again.”
“Alone? No.” He was abrupt.
“Well—goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye.” He stared straight ahead through the wind-screen, apparently more interested in the antics of a couple of children down the street than in her. He glanced her way as she closed the door, her fingers gripping the open window frame. “Remember me to Phyllis next time you see her,” he said, and drove away.
* * *
Darrell’s cold was a little improved in the morning. But her depression had increased, and she half wished her cold had been worse, bad enough to excuse herself from going to the funeral.
Then she got angry with herself for thinking so selfishly. This was her last opportunity to share anything with Susan, and she should not be thinking of her own problems at a time like this.
Nevertheless, it was difficult to dissociate one from the other. Without the event of the tragedy, Matthew would have gone back to London on the day after the wedding, and she might never have seen him again. As it was, she had seen far too much of him for her own peace of mind. But even that was foolishness. Never at any time had he treated her with anything more than friendly detachment. Except that evening in the flat when he had verbally censured her assessment of him…
Knowing there was no escape from this final confrontation slowed her step and she was only half dressed when the doorbell rang. Immediately, her heart sprang into her throat and she went to the door and called nervously: “Who is it?”
“Me! Jeff!”
“Oh!” Her pulses resumed their normal speed and she partially opened the door, sheltering behind it. “Is anything wrong?”
“No.” Jeff looked very smart in his dark suit, his lean face pale and sombre. “Mum sent me to get you.”
Darrell sighed, glancing down at her housecoat and then, deciding it was suitably modest, stepped away from the door. “Come in, Jeff. I’m afraid I’m not ready, as you can see.”
Jeff entered the flat and closed the door, leaning back against it. “That’s okay, I can wait. I think Mum was worried in case you were any worse. How do you feel?”
Darrell turned away, running a careless hand over her silky curtain of hair. “Oh, I’m all right. Much better, as a matter of fact.” She glanced back at him. “And, as it happens, I ordered a cab about half an hour ago. I didn’t expect anyone to come for me.”
“Not even Matt?” asked Jeff shortly, and then went bright red.
“What do you mean?” Darrell was taken aback.
“Oh, nothing.” Jeff straightened, and looked uncomfortable. “No.” Darrell would not be put off. “You must have meant something.”
Jeff sighed heavily. “Oh, I’m just fed up, I guess,” he muttered. “Take no notice of me.”
But Darrell couldn’t do that. “Jeff, if there’s something on your mind…”
“There’s not.” Jeff raked an impatient hand through his hair. “At least, not specially. Oh, I guess I’m just green with envy, Darrell, that’s all. Matt has everything, hasn’t he? I mean—that car, and a Jag. A super house in London, and a beautiful wife! What bloke wouldn’t be jealous?”
“Oh! Oh, I see.” Darrell felt the tautness go out of her. For a moment she had thought… She ran her tongue over dry lips. “Well, I’ll go and finish getting ready, then.” She walked to the bedroom door. “Cancel the cab for me, would you, Jeff? The number’s on the pad.”
She decided to wear the dark green suede suit her mother had bought her last Christmas. Whatever else her mother lacked, she had extremely good taste, and the plain skirt and close-fitting jacket drew attention to the firm lines of Darrell’s figure. She hesitated longest over her hair, and then decided to leave it loose. Susan had liked it that way best.
Outside, another shock awaited her. The grey B.M.W. waited by the kerb, and for a few seconds she thought Matthew had come after all. But Jeff was unlocking the doors and swinging them open, grinning at her startled reaction.
“For your comfort, madam,” he announced, forcing a brightness he was obviously far from feeling. “Seriously, though, you must admit it’s an improvement.”
Darrell drew an unsteady breath and got inside. The car was associated with too many memories she would rather forget. But no one else was aware of that but her.
The joint funeral processions were to leave from Windsor Street, and the Lawfords’ house was full of people as it had been on the day of the wedding, but swelled by a number of neighbours and friends all wanting to offer their condolences. Darrell had little time during the next few hours to worry about her own affairs, and like everyone else she was affected by the poignancy of the occasion. The few times she caught a glimpse of Matthew, he was involved with other members of his family, and as Mrs. Lawford had almost collapsed just before they were due to leave for the church, he had plenty to do. There was no sign of Celine, however, and Darrell wondered how she could stay away at such a time.
After the service at the graveside, there was a reception at the Stag in Sedgeley, and Darrell found herself seated with Jennifer and her husband. Jennifer was managing to maintain a controlled façade now, and smiled at the girl who had been her sister’s friend.
“I expect you’re sick of the sight of us, aren’t you, Darrell?” she exclaimed, with false brightness. “We all seem to have been in each other’s pockets for the past week.”
Darrell crumbled the roll on her plate. “I expect you’ll be glad to get back to normal,” she murmured.
Jennifer nodded. “Will I not!” She glanced at her husband. “Bill goes back to work tomorrow. He was going to wait
until Monday, but the sooner we pick up the threads of our lives the better, don’t you think?”
Darrell smiled her agreement. “Your mother is looking better.”
Jennifer glanced along the table. “Yes, she is, isn’t she? She’s been marvellous—coping with everything when Dad took to his bed.”
“Your father thought the world of Susan, and you know it,” put in Bill quietly, and Jennifer looked down at her plate, schooling her features.
“I think what really broke Mum up was Celine not coming to the funeral,” she went on bluntly. She looked at Darrell. “You noticed that our dear sister-in-law hasn’t put in an appearance, didn’t you, Darrell?”
“Jennifer!“
Bill’s tone was reproving, but his wife ignored him. “Well! I’m sure that’s what it was. We should have guessed something like this would happen when Matt took her back to London.”
“Leave it, Jennifer.”
“No, I won’t. Matt could have made her come back with him.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t that bothered whether she came or not,” retorted Bill sharply. “My God, who wants her at the funeral if she’s only here under duress?”
“I still say it was a dirty trick.”
Darrell shifted uncomfortably. She seemed fated to be the unwilling recipient of the family’s opinions about Matthew’s wife. Even so, without any bias, she had to admit that Celine’s behaviour left a lot to be desired.
Mrs. Lawford came to find her as the reception was breaking up. “You’ll come back to the house, Darrell, won’t you?” she invited gently.
Darrell hesitated. “I—no, I don’t think so, Mrs. Lawford, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“I know that, but –” Darrell moved her shoulders awkwardly. “I think I’d rather go straight home. And please –” she hastened on, “I don’t need a lift.”
Mrs. Lawford smiled. She had aged considerably during the past few days, but at last the lines of strain were beginning to lift. “As you like, my dear. But don’t—don’t stop coming to the house just because Susan is dead, will you? I mean, we’ve come to regard you as—well, as one of the family, I suppose. You’ll always be our link with Susan.”
