Come Running

by Anne Mather

  “How can you say that?” She paused. “Have you—have you heard—gossip about him before?” She despised herself for asking the question, but she had to know.

  “I don’t have to,” replied Barry steadily. “I know what his wife’s like. It doesn’t surprise me that he finds diversion elsewhere. She’s a bitch!”

  Darrell trembled slightly. Her palms were moist, and a wave of suppressed emotion swept over her, making her feel slightly sick. Her contempt for herself in probing Matthew’s private affairs like this did not lessen her curiosity.

  “If—if that’s so,” she murmured carefully, “I’m surprised he doesn’t divorce her.”

  Barry’s eyes were suddenly intent. “And marry you, I suppose.”

  “No!“ Darrell’s cheeks burned. “But—if they’re incompatible…”

  “He couldn’t,” stated Barry flatly. “Galbraiths would ruin him. They hold the purse strings.”

  Darrell felt chilled. “I don’t think I understand…”

  “It’s simple enough. Lawford is a clever man, a brilliant economist, I’ve heard it said. He has a computer for a brain.” He paused, shaking his head. “But brilliance alone isn’t enough, particularly not in the close-knit community of the City. Lawford was the outsider, and he knew it. That was why he married Celine, because he knew her father would sponsor him. Oh, I agree, without his business acumen Galbraiths wouldn’t be where they are today. But they’re powerful now—powerful enough to withstand the loss that Lawford’s sacking would undoubtedly cause.”

  Darrell moved her head disbelievingly from side to side. She was remembering what Celine had said to her in the kitchen of the Lawfords’ house on that fateful Sunday evening when she had learned that Susan and Frank had been killed—about what had his family ever done for him? It seemed more acceptable, somehow, more real, than his explanation about the accident and Celine losing the baby. And yet, by even considering what Barry had told her, she was betraying Matthew’s faith in her. But what was the truth? How could she be sure? Barry’s motives for telling her this could be said to be just as suspect.

  Her head began to throb dully, and she wanted nothing so much as to be alone to think this out for herself. But that was not to be.

  “Hello, Darrell.”

  The harshly spoken words brought her head up with a start, and she stared in amazement at the two young men standing by their table. One of them she did not recognise, but the other was Jeff Lawford.

  “Why—hello, Jeff,” she got out jerkily. “What a—surprise!”

  “Yes.” Jeff’s eyes were hostile as they flickered over her companion. “I didn’t know you came here.”

  “This is my first time,” explained Darrell, not knowing why but feeling guilty because Jeff had found her here, dining with Barry. “Er—you don’t know Barry Penrose, do you? He’s a friend from Upminster. Barry, this is Jeff Lawford, Susan’s brother.”

  Barry got politely to his feet. “Another brother,” he commented, inclining his head and leaving Jeff to puzzle that one out. They shook hands with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “How do you do, Jeff.”

  Jeff shook hands, silently assessing the other man, and then returned his attention to Darrell. “I’ve phoned twice this week, but you weren’t answering. Now I know why.”

  “I couldn’t have been in, Jeff,” protested Darrell. “I’ve been working different hours, and Barry only arrived in Sedgeley a few hours ago.”

  “Hmm.” Jeff was unconvinced. He made no attempt to introduce the young man who was with him, and he stood looking round awkwardly, clearly impatient for Jeff to finish. “Are you doing anything tomorrow evening? I have two tickets for the Freewheelers concert.”

  The Freewheelers were a folk group currently doing well in the pop music charts. Darrell had heard of them, but they were not really her kind of group. Nevertheless, in the circumstances, she decided it might be politic to agree to go out with Jeff in Barry’s presence. That way he might be distracted from Matthew Lawford. It might also serve the secondary purpose of showing Barry he was wasting his time with her.

  Summoning a smile, she said: “It might be fun. What time does it begin?”

  She sensed Barry’s impatience now, and wondered why life was suddenly so complicated. If she had never had problems with Barry, she might never have come to Sedgeley, and if she had not…

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” said Jeff, looking distinctly more cheerful, and casting a somewhat triumphant look in Barry’s direction. He nodded to the man with him that they were leaving. “See you tomorrow, then, Darrell.”

  Darrell nodded, and Barry resumed his seat. “What was all that about?” he asked shortly.

  Darrell shrugged. “You heard what was said.”

  “Do I take it that more than one of the Lawford brothers is in the running?”

  “Oh, Barry, stop it! Look—I like all the Lawfords, female as well as male. They’re—they’ve been like a family to me ever since I came to Sedgeley. I’m very fond of them. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.” Barry summoned the waiter and ordered more coffee. “Would you like a liqueur?”

  Darrell shook her head, so he ordered a brandy and then lay back in his chair. “Well, whatever the case, you’re wasting your time with Matthew Lawford.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  The words were almost involuntary, and as soon as they were spoken Darrell wished she could retract them. But Barry merely sighed and leaned towards her again, across the table.

  “Darrell, listen to me. You and I—we could make a go of it, I know it. Oh, I remember what you said, you’re not in love with me and all that, but is love that important?”

  “How can you ask that?”

  “Let me finish. I want us to be completely frank with one another. I appreciate that you don’t want to talk about Lawford. That’s understandable. But if you are involved with him—innocently or otherwise—then surely you can see that any ambitions in that direction are doomed to failure!”

  “Barry—”

  “Please! Let me go on. All I want to say is this—I’m not a poor man. You must know as well as anybody that one day I’ll come into the business and have a very comfortable living for the rest of my life. My father wants me to get married. He wants to retire, and he knows that so long as I’m a bachelor he can’t do it. He wants to feel I’m—settled, reliable, a responsible character. If I had a wife—children—he would feel secure in leaving the company in my hands. He knows you. He likes you. He approves of the match, and so I know does your mother. Can’t you see all that we have going for us?”

  “Two people can’t get married just because their parents approve of the match!” she protested.

  “Why not? It used to happen all the time. And there were not the divorces in those days that there are today.”

  “Oh, Barry, don’t bring out that old potato! There were not the divorces in those days because it wasn’t so easy to come by, and one person could always prevent the other from getting a divorce if they wanted one. In any case, people were not informed as they are today. They did as they were told, the women anyway, poor things. Thank goodness those days are over!”

  “There speaks the liberationist!” commented Barry bitterly.

  “Not at all. It’s common sense. Women should have a say in what they do. Oh, Barry, can’t you see? It’s no use. You and I could never make a go of it. We—we just don’t see things the same way.”

  Barry’s lips tightened. “You can be very cruel, Darrell,” he said, lighting a cigarette with fumbling ineptitude, revealing his distress. Then: “So what will you do? Marry Lawford’s brother because he has a look of the forbidden fruit?”

  “That’s a rotten thing to say!”

  “Not as rotten as I could be, believe me. And people do marry for the strangest reasons, you know.”

  The evening had not been a success, and Darrell was glad when Barry sugge
sted driving her home straight after dinner. At her door, he seemed poised to make another appeal, when she heard the telephone ringing inside the flat.

  Immediately, her heart began to race madly, as she considered that it might conceivably be Matthew. She was mad, she thought angrily, particularly after what Barry had told her that evening, but it was useless to try and deny the excitement that even the thought of Matthew had for her.

  Hoping none of this showed in her face, she inserted her key in the lock, and turned awkwardly to her escort.

  “Excuse me, Barry,” she murmured. “The phone… I’m sorry.”

  Barry stared at her for a few tense seconds, and then he shrugged and went back down the stairs and Darrell let herself into the flat. Slamming the door, she rushed across to the telephone and lifted the receiver.

  “He—hello?”

  “Darrell?” It was her mother, and Darrell slumped down on to the arm of the chair nearby. “Darrell, I just thought I’d ring and let you know that Barry is coming up to Harrogate today, so don’t be surprised if you have a visitor!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Darrell dropped her book on to the grass and stretched out lazily on the comfortable striped lounger. She lifted the dark glasses that adorned her nose and looked at her wrist watch. It was almost four o’clock and her mother had said she would be home soon after five. She sighed. This evening they were dining with the Garricks.

  It was very pleasant in the garden at Courtney Road. Because these houses had been built in the days before the demand for land was at a premium, the gardens were spacious, and Darrell had spent most of her fine afternoons out here. She had deliberately forced herself to relax and after ten days she felt she was achieving her objective.

  Her mother had raised no objections when Darrell had suggested spending these two weeks with her, although she had been disappointed that her daughter had refused to see anything of Barry Penrose while she was here. Gradually, she had accepted that what Darrell needed most of all was a rest, and she had given in gracefully.

  After that disastrous evening out with Barry, and her subsequent outing with Jeff, Darrell had decided her most sensible course would be to avoid either of them until her feelings could be more easily defined. Barry’s revelations about Matthew had aroused a certain amount of disillusion on reflection, and although it had not made any difference to her feelings for him, it had given her pause for rationality. She believed Barry, because it would have been foolish not to do so, but she also clung to the belief that there was some truth in what Matthew had told her, too.

  Now Darrell swung her feet to the ground and rose, stretching her arms above her head. The action separated the cotton shirt she was wearing from her brief denim shorts, and she rubbed her bare midriff absently as she lowered her arms. She crossed the grass slowly towards the house, feeling the sun hot upon her shoulders, burning the unprotected skin at her nape. She had secured her hair on top of her head for coolness and she ran a hand round the back of her neck as she reached the paved patio area.

  The tiles of the kitchen floor were cool to her bare feet as she took a can of Coke out of the refrigerator, and she thought longingly of the delights of a swimming pool on a day like this. When the doorbell rang she went to answer it with no premonition of what was to come.

  She opened the door carelessly and then stared in amazement at her visitor. Matthew stood on the lower step, supporting himself against the creeper-covered arch of the porch. Compared to two teenagers passing at that moment in their vivid summer clothes, he was almost sombrely dressed, his navy pin-striped business suit, white shirt and plain dark tie contrasting sharply with their casual attire. His face was pale, too, paler than she remembered it, and she thought he didn’t look at all well.

  In those first few seconds she could do nothing but stare at him, and then she managed: “Hello, Matt. Are—are you coming in?”

  “Are you inviting me?”

  His voice was strained and she nodded jerkily, standing aside so that he could mount the remaining steps into the house. He glanced round at the cream car parked at the foot of the short drive, and then took the two steps that brought him inside. Darrell closed the door, supremely conscious of her unsophisticated appearance, of the tendrils of hair tumbling from her topknot, of her shabby shirt and scanty shorts, and bare feet.

  Matthew stood silently in the hall, and she watched him nervously. She didn’t know why he had come, how he had found her here, and his sombre appearance was daunting. She could hardly believe that once he had slept on her bed, held her in his arms, that once she had almost shared the intimacy of his desire.

  “I understand you’ve been here for almost two weeks,” he said at last.

  Darrell nodded. “Y—yes. It’s—it’s my holiday.”

  Matthew nodded, and she glanced round helplessly.

  “Er—won’t you come into the lounge? I mean—can I offer you a drink, or is it too early in the day?”

  Matthew remained where he was, and she halted again, hovering near the wide doors into the lounge.

  “Why didn’t you let me know where you were?” he demanded, in a taut voice, and her eyes widened.

  “Let… you… know…” she faltered. “I—did you want to know?”

  Matthew’s fists clenched. “Don’t bait me, Darrell!”

  “I’m not. I just thought—” She broke off. “How did you find my address?”

  “Through Allan Inter-Designs. Eventually. I have a very efficient secretary.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Darrell digested this. She wondered what his secretary was like. Was she young and blonde? One of those super-efficient females who appeared in magazines, always looking elegant, living fast and furiously, thinking nothing of climbing into bed with any man who attracted their interest?

  “She’s forty-five, married, with a daughter of your age,” he said wearily, as though reading her mind. “Do you really care?”

  His voice had hoarsened with emotion and Darrell felt her knees go weak. Her pulses raced at the look in his eyes, and every nerve in her being cried out for her to go to him and accept the consequences. The combination was too strong for her to resist, however crazy it might be. With a little gulp she covered the space between them, reaching up with her hands and stroking his face, drawing his mouth down to meet hers.

  His response was instantaneous and complete. His hands slid over the line of thigh and hip to her waist, and he lifted her bodily against him. She felt she was drowning in physical sensation, and his urgency communicated his own desperate need of her. They were hungry for one another, and feeling Matthew’s clammy skin she was concerned until she realised that her skin was damp, too.

  “I’ve missed you,” he muttered, against her ear. “Oh, God! How am I ever going to let you go?”

  He lowered her weight to the floor, and buried his face in the nape of her neck. She could feel him trembling, and her arms tightened around him. She felt strangely protective at that moment. But at last he lifted his head and looked down at her, holding her loosely in his arms.

  “I gather we’re alone in the house,” he stated soberly.

  “Yes. My mother won’t be home until after five,” she replied distinctly.

  His faint smile was rueful. “Oh, Darrell, don’t tell me that!” His fingers slid her shirt off her shoulders, and he bent his mouth to the creamy flesh he had exposed. Then he straightened and looked at her again. “I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t stay with you here. Drive with me! We could go to the coast. I know somewhere we could have dinner. Providing you can put up with these clothes.”

  Darrell looked up at him with troubled eyes. “Are you sure? What about Celine?”

  “What about Celine?”

  “Won’t she—I mean, won’t she wonder where you are?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t really much care, one way or the other.”

  Remembering what Barry had said made Darrell hesitate. “I—my mother and I are expecte
d to dine with some friends this evening.”

  Matthew’s arms fell to his sides, and Darrell felt bereft at their going. “I see. I’m sorry. I should have realised you would have other plans.”

  Darrell felt dreadful. The idea of dining with the Garricks when she could have been with Matthew didn’t bear thinking about. And he looked so pale—so ill, almost.

  “Are—are you sure you want to take me out?” she asked uncertainly. “I—someone might see us.”

  “So?” He was terse.

  “Don’t you care?”

  “Not particularly.” He loosened his tie and the top button of his shirt, running a hand over his hair. He looked tired, and strained, and vulnerable. Her resistance crumbled.

  “All right,” she agreed breathlessly. “I’ll come with you. Give me time to change.”

  “You look fine the way you are,” he protested, but she shook her head.

  “At least let me put on a skirt,” she insisted, and ran up the stairs as she spoke. “Go into the lounge. Sit down. Pour yourself a lager if you’d like one. There’s a refrigerated compartment in the cocktail cabinet.”

  Matthew looked up at her. “What about your mother—and these friends you’re supposed to be dining with?”

  “I—I’ll leave a note,” replied Darrell, and disappeared into her bedroom before hesitation brought its own uncertainties.

  It didn’t take long to shower and change into a smocked suntop and a long cream cotton skirt. She brushed her hair and secured it with an olive green velvet Alice band, and applied the lightest of eye-shadows to her lids. A white silk shawl completed the ensemble, and she went downstairs again feeling infinitely less unsure of herself.

  Matthew was standing by the window in the lounge. He had taken up her offer of a lager, and the empty can hung from his fingers. He turned when he heard the wedge heels of her sandals crossing the parquet flooring of the hall and surveyed her with slow delibertion. Then he replaced the empty can on the cabinet, and said: “Let’s go.”

  Darrell was conscious of Mrs. Templeton, their next door neighbour, watching them over the rhododendrons as they walked to the gate. Although she had left a note for her mother, she knew that without a doubt Mrs. Templeton would find some way of conveying the news that Darrell had left with a man she had never seen before to Mrs. Anderson.