Fire Mountain

by Rose elver

  Standing on the traffic island at Temple Bar she could look down Fleet Street with its crowded pavements and its close-packed buildings bearing the names of famous newspapers, and beyond them, soaring in the distance, the magnificent dome of St Paul's on Ludgate Hill; while to her right the statue of Dr Samuel Johnson stood below the sheltering east window of St Clement Dane's, known to children all over the world for its peal of bells which rang out the rhyme of 'Oranges and Lemons'.

  Sometimes she would complete her pilgrimage by going across to the arch which led into the Temple, another stronghold of the legal profession, and walking down through the Temple gardens, the traditional scene of the plucking of the red and white roses which became the emblems of the bloody and bitter struggle

  for the throne between the Houses of Lancaster and York in the Wars of the Roses. The lower gate led out on to the Embankment, where the evening sun hung like a scarlet ball over the Thames and touched with gold the graceful arches of Waterloo Bridge and the rippling tide of the powerful old river.

  Here Amelia could feel in her bones a deep sense of continuity and history, of triumphs and of sorrows which made her own heartache and despondency seem trivial by comparison. Refreshed by the pungent breeze and the cool pink and grey wash of the sunset sky, she would return up one of the narrow streets to the Strand and join the throngs jostling for buses to get home.

  'Home for her was still a hotel room, a case with a few clothes and no personal possessions at all. She knew she must arrange about her few belongings at the Manor House in Whinipleford, but there was nowhere to store them yet. She could not stay at the hotel indefinitely, for she could not afford the high season rates. This came home to her more sharply when the manager asked courteously if she were prolonging her visit, as he already had bookings for the season which included her room.

  Lying on her bed, overwhelmed by loneliness, she pondered the difficulty of finding a bed-sitter within her means. The easy answer would have been to ring Polly Austin: her eager offer had been genuine at the time, but she might well be feeling differently about Amelia now, and Amelia shrank from the thought of approaching her.

  She eventually decided to ask Hannah Hall for ad-

  vice. She and her husband Charles had been more than kind, but never intrusive about Amelia's life outside the office. They were perfect foils for each other, Hannah with her flamboyant chic and shrewd eyes, and Charles very gaunt and precise, with meticulous manners. Neither had tried to force Amelia's confidence, confining their interest to her work, which she carried out serenely and conscientiously as she knew how. She had met the Halls' nephew, who was due to return shortly from a convalescent holiday in the South of France.

  This was another point Amelia knew she must raise with the Halls; thus the question of where to live and the question of future employment came at the same time to oppress her with new doubts. As for Donovan Lyne—he haunted her wakeful thoughts at night. Was he well? Had he missed her enough to inquire at Whimpleford? Would he have made any attempt to find her if he knew? She longed to glimpse the strong-boned angular face again, to watch his restless expressive hands, to turn to him and shed completely her desperate loneliness and her problems.

  On the Friday morning Hannah, who had been opening the mail, called Amelia over and handed her a letter. It was from a well-known Park Lane hotel. The writer, an American, said that he had been recommended to the agency by a fellow American who had used their services the previous year. He would be in England for three months searching for old documents concerning his family among parochial and provincial records, and required a corn-

  competent person in London to transcribe his notes and do some research for him at the Public Record Office.

  Amelia looked up from the letter, hardly daring to show her eagerness until she met Hannah's smile.

  Hannah said : 'This has come at the right time, hasn't it? Max, my nephew, will be back sometime next week. I'm sure you can tackle it, Amelia, you can learn as you go along, as you've done here with us.' She looked at the girl's flushed cheeks and suddenly animated expression, thinking that this was preferable to the pallor and the smudges she had seen under Amelia's eyes whenever she removed her spectacles for a few minutes.

  `Is it a reprieve, Amelia ? ' she laughed briefly.

  `No, of course not ! ' Amelia retorted. 'I've enjoyed being here, meeting people and being kept busy all day. But I was rather concerned about what was going to happen when your nephew returned.'

  `Well, that's settled, then. Let's ring this Mr Harry B. Barnes and arrange an appointment for you.'

  `Hannah,' Amelia hesitated for a moment, 'there was something else I wanted to ask you, and it's rather pressing with the possibility of this three-month commission.'

  `Ask away. If it's something Charles and I can advise you about, we will.'

  `I can't go on staying at a hotel—they have the season's bookings starting now. I've tried all the small ads. in the papers, and the offers of accommodation on stationers' shops, but I haven't found anything yet.'

  `I wondered how you were managing,' said Hannah reflectively, 'finding accommodation is so difficult in town. How long have you got?'

  `Another week. They might stretch it to two.' `Let me think it over, and I'll ask around.'

  `Thanks. I'll keep on searching too.' Amelia pushed up her spectacles and smoothed back her hair. 'I'd better ring Mr Barnes right away.'

  She bought a new two-piece, a dress in navy-and white tweed jersey with a buttoned jacket, and a head-hugging white hat and matching accessories, and as she caught a bus to Marble Arch and walked down Park Lane she could feel the soft, restless touch of April. She was ushered up to see the American visitor in a suite overlooking Hyde Park. The trees looked almost iridescent as the breeze ruffled the pale young leaves with sunlight. There were distant splashes of colour in formal flower borders, the silvery glint of the Serpentine, and smooth undulating greens.

  Harry B. Barnes, small and spiky like an alert terrier, was surprisingly easy to talk to; as he spoke of his plans for visiting towns and villages his small eyes danced with excitement at the thought of what was obviously for him a holiday treasure hunt. He had soon communicated this enthusiasm for delving into old documents to Amelia, and they came to a satisfactory arrangement. She was to type and collate his notes as he completed each part of his search, and also make some searches for him whenever necessary.

  Her only regret afterwards was that she had had to mention working with Donovan Lyne. He was very

  impressed, but as he was leaving London within a couple of days and was full of his own plans, Amelia concluded that he wouldn't take up the reference, much to her relief..

  Max Hall returned to the office the next morning just as Amelia was setting off for that ornate grey Victorian castle, the Public Record Office in Chancery Lane. His berry-brown tan accentuated his fair hair and blue eyes. He gave her a wide, impudent grin : 'Off to begin digging up literary fossils? Rather you than me ! See you later ! '

  He was not in the office when she returned at about three to type up her notes for her American employer, but Hannah greeted her : 'Oh good, you're back early. Max has a proposition which might interest you.'

  Amelia looked faintly startled and Hannah laughed. 'It's about accommodation—and quite proper, I assure you!'

  `So soon? That's wonderful ! '

  Hannah tilted her head, still looking amused. 'You know, Amelia, there's something about that calm, well-balanced air of yours that shook Max a little. Although he's quite capable of mischief if he sets his mind to it, so be warned ! '

  Amelia nodded with a light laugh. Any prospect of finding somewhere to live sounded hopeful, even if it came from that rangy young man with the predatory twinkle in his blue eyes.

  As they were having a break, drinking tea, he walked in and was formally introduced. 'Amelia Leigh? What a mouthful! How about making it Amy or Melly?'

  `Make it Amelia.'

  `Amelia, lord
save us ! Down, boy ! The lady's on her dignity.'

  `You're absurd!' she smiled unselfconsciously, and his blue eyes widened with a sudden awareness.

  `Hannah says you may know of a place I can live?' she enquired.

  `Yep, there's this mate of mine whose parents have a pad in the City. Used to be the porter's flat in a block of offices—they might let a nice girl like you have a couple of rooms. Mind you, it's pretty damn quiet in the City after the commuters go home.'

  `The city?' she repeated, puzzled.

  `The old City of London, country girl. The original square mile within the sound of Bow Bells, where the banks and insurance companies and other financial wizards have their being now. That's the City—the bit here is the West End, or just "town". We'll make a good cockney of you yet ! '

  `Can you arrange for me to meet those people?' she asked.

  `What's it worth?' He gave her a quick grin. 'Will you have dinner with me?'

  `When?' she asked dubiously.

  `What's wrong with after work tonight? Unless you have a date.'

  `No, I haven't, and I'd like to get something settled soon, if I can. So, if you can spare the time

  `I'll check with my social secretary and put off the numerous other beautiful dollies waiting for me to do them a good turn.'

  This time Amelia couldn't resist laughing out loud.

  She turned to Hannah, who threw up her hands. 'He

  means it, Amelia. Disregard the rest of his nonsense.'

  `Sure I mean it,' Max declared. 'I'll give the old chap a ring and find out if they can see us this evening. If they can, fine—if they can't it's still a date tonight, Amelia?'

  `All right, thank you, Max,' she conceded, liking him for all his brashness, and wondering how long it would be before the novelty of countrified Amelia Leigh would wear off and he was back with his London girl-friends. He was the type to 'play the field', as Edward would have said, and irresistibly good-humoured.

  Max took her to the hub of the City, between the Bank of England and the Mansion House, then along a crowded street and through an archway into a quiet courtyard where the sound of the rush hour traffic faded. The flat was semi-basement down a shallow flight of stairs.

  The Clarks welcomed them at the door, and Max introduced her to the elderly couple. 'Max,' the woman scolded, 'why don't you come and see us more often? Brian is always asking after you in his letters. My son,' she explained to Amelia, 'he's posted to Brussels at present. It's his corner we're thinking of letting.'

  They all went into a rather heavily furnished parlour where they sipped sherry and chatted for a while. Amelia was aware she was being subjected to a discreet interrogation but took it in good part, and knew she had been accepted when Mrs.Clark offered to show her the accommodation. It was a fairly large

  room, part furnished as a sitting room and the rest partitioned off as a small bedroom. There was a fitted wash-bowl and the bathroom was just along the narrow corridor outside. Amelia was surprised to find that the inner windows of the flat looked out on an area railing enclosing a tiny garden, with a tree and some grass and tubs of flowering shrubs, a green seclusion hidden among the solid office blocks.

  `We wouldn't normally let,' Mrs Clark confided as she showed Amelia the small neat kitchen they would share, 'but as you're a friend of Charles and Hannah Hall, I think we shall get on well together.'

  `May I bring a few of my own things for my room?' Amelia asked.

  `Of course. It doesn't feel homely until one has a few bits and pieces of one's own, does it?'

  When they discussed terms it was arranged for Amelia to move in at the weekend. Once again she could scarcely believe her good luck; her spirits rose and she was determined to enjoy the rest of the evening. Max had not brought his car because of the many parking problems, so they went down to the Bank underground station and took the tube.

  They had dinner in a restaurant near Holborn. Max was such a boyishly light-hearted companion that Amelia began to relax, accepting his gossipy conversation and tall tales with amused indulgence, quite unaware that he was watching the difference in her, the faint colour in her pale cheeks, the gentle humour, the gradual shedding of some of her reserve.

  It was not until the waiter had brought their coffee and a brandy for Max that he suddenly leaned across

  the table towards her and fixed her with a bold, appraising stare. 'You know, Amelia,' he said reflectively, 'if you changed to a softer hair-style, and wore delicate fly-away frames instead of those goldfish-bowl glasses, you'd be the most stunning girl I know.'

  A shutter came down on her pleasure as she pushed the offending spectacles with the tip of her finger. 'Max, it's been a wonderful evening, don't spoil it by becoming personal.'

  `Why should becoming personal spoil it? I'm a person, you're a person. I'm interested in you as a person. You have a skin like peaches, a sweet little nose, a charming oval face, a good figure—whenever anyone gets a chance to look at it with those staid clothes ! And your eyes,' he reached out and removed the horn rims before she could stop him, 'are beautiful.'

  She hastily put down her coffee cup. 'Please, Max ! ' `Amelia, how old are you?'

  She took the spectacles from him and replaced them, saying coldly : 'It's none of your business, but I'm twenty-five.'

  `Is that all? I'm a couple of years older than you, but you've been looking at me and treating me as though you were a tolerant maiden aunt ! You know your trouble, you take life too seriously.'

  `I take it as I've found it,' she returned.

  `No fripperies, no fun? What gives with you?' He sat back. 'Some man, I'll bet ! '

  `No,' she protested, too swiftly and untruthfully.

  `Hannah said you've been working for the past year

  for this professor. Was he a dull. desiccated stick who

  trimmed all the joy out of you?'

  `He was neither dull nor desiccated,' she said indignantly. 'Really, Max, you're impossible ! Please stop this silly conversation.'

  He looked sulky for a moment, then sighed theatrically. 'Okay, Miss Amelia Leigh. Maybe I should mind my own business, but it's going to be tough. Like some more coffee?'

  When she refused he paid the bill, helped her into her coat and gave her shoulders a brief tap. 'If you'll let me see you home I promise not to trespass again,' he grinned. Not tonight, anyway.'

  Still feeling a little ruffled at his outspokenness, she thanked him for the dinner in a polite little voice, and they came out into the soft violet twilight of the lengthening day. Max took her arm and shepherded her down the street to cross at the traffic lights to the underground station.

  They stood for a few seconds on the curb waiting for the lights to change. As the orange flickered to red a car pulled up sharply beside them and in one stupefied moment Amelia saw the angular profile which could stop her heart. Donovan Lyne turned his head, looking directly at her, and it was like a physical collision. The incredulity in his expression and gradual tightening of his lips sent the blood pulsing through her, and she stood by the bumper of the low grey coupe as if her feet were rooted to the crossing.

  Max Hall pulled at her arm. 'Hey, Amelia! The lights are changing. Come on.' He hustled her over the crossing just in time. She craned her neck for one more desperate glimpse of Don, but the car ac-

  celerated and was hidden by the traffic. He must have

  recognised her, just as she had recognised him at

  once, even in the half-light. She suddenly remembered

  that the Fenn Foundation was somewhere near here, in a square off Holborn; in the jumble of her thoughts she told herself she must avoid this area at all costs in future.

  The crowded entrance to the station was a kind of bolt-hole into which she could disappear, in case Donovan Lyne turned his car and came back. It was she who was in a hurry now. Max faced her under the fluorescent lighting of the escalator and said anxiously : 'Are you ill, Amelia? you're looking very pale ... don't pass out on me, will yo
u, sweetie?'

  `Sorry, Max,' she said limply. 'I'm rather tired, just take me home.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE Saturday Amelia went back to Whimpleford to retrieve her personal possessions, it poured with rain. The City was wet, grey and half empty in the early morning as she walked to Moorgate and took a train to Paddington station.

  Shortly after leaving Donovan Lyne's flat, she had written to Emma explaining that she had decided to stay in London permanently, and giving her the name of her bank to write to until she had a settled address. Emma's exasperated reply demanded to know where she had been all this time; and what had become of that supercilious anthropologist? And if she didn't come down soon to collect the things she had left behind, one of the local charities would be glad enough to have them for a jumble sale. Ruefully Amelia reflected that her sister seemed less concerned for her welfare than piqued about not being kept informed.

  Once she had moved in with the Clarks she sent Emma another note telling her she would be returning to the Manor House for a couple of days to clear up her old room. Max Hall offered to drive her in his car, but she refused on the grounds that he would be at a loose end while she was busy packing, and she didn't want any distractions.

  `Excuses, excuses,' he teased with a grin. 'Have you a lover hidden away in this rural retreat?'

  `Dozens of them,' she laughed lightly. 'They'll be lining the road to welcome me back.'

  As she changed from the local platform to the main line Amelia had to admit to herself that she did

  not want to be seen in the village with Max Hall in tow; the kindly but inveterate gossips would talk too much. But he had been so determined that she had had to agree to his coming to fetch her back on Sunday afternoon. Dear Max ! If it had not been for his amusing and persistent attentions in the last couple of weeks she might have given way to the despondency which had tormented her since she saw Donovan Lyne again. As it was, the chance of another unexpected encounter had kept her alert and edgy for days; part of her longed to meet Donovan, part of her dreaded the possibility.