That Tender Feeling

by Dorothy Vernon

  Without lifting his glance, he said: ‘Pity that old-fashioned custom of buying a corsage for a lady has lost its popularity. The difficulty I would have encountered in knowing where to pin it would have been offset by the fun of trying.’

  He was rubbing the thumb and forefinger of one hand together. It was a gesture that displayed his own inner tension and was without ulterior motive. He could not know what it did to her. A shiver ran through her as though his thumb were not rotating on his own finger, but on a part of her body that her dress did not bare to him. It was a relief when his gaze slid farther down, going no lower than a faintly protruding hipbone before returning to her by now flushed face.

  ‘Very lovely. Very elegant. You look taller. The transformation has measured you more up to my size.’

  That was not strictly true, although her precariously high heels meant that he didn’t have to look as far down to locate her eyes. But of course he wasn’t referring to her height at all. He meant that she now measured up to his level of sophistication.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  For what? she wondered as she picked up her evening wrap and nodded in silent consent.

  * * *

  A tall, heavily branched Scotch pine tree dominated the entrance hall. Another stood in the corner of the room where the dinner dance was being held, its towering branches laden with baubles and blazing with Christmas lights. Crackling logs shot flames up the wide chimney of a fireplace that was huge enough to walk into, and a three-piece orchestra was playing Christmas carols. Silver garlands looped above their heads, and streamers and other party novelties decorated each table. The one the head waiter led them to was at the far end of the room on the edge of the dance floor.

  Ros gulped on laughter as she feasted her eyes on the blazing gaiety of the room. Her happiness overflowed and showed in the exuberance of her smile. As the last notes of a popular carol faded away, Ros put her hands together and clapped louder than anyone else, but whether she was paying homage to the musicians or clapping for the sheer joy of being there with Cliff was difficult to tell.

  There were variations on the menu, but both she and Cliff stuck to the traditional Christmas fare. Couples had taken to the floor between courses, but so far they hadn’t joined them. It wasn’t until twin glasses of brandy sat alongside the coffee cups that Cliff asked her if she would care to dance. She nodded and went into his arms on a blissful sigh of contentment. They’d had little to drink, just a glass of wine with the meal and then a few sips of brandy, but the people around them had imbibed freely; and streamers whirled in the air with cast-off inhibitions.

  Gathering her closer, he did not talk, and both of those things suited Ros. She wanted to imprint the lovely evening on her memory for all time. Oddly, in the midst of her enjoyment, a thread of unease ran through her mind. There was an inexplicable bittersweet quality about everything. Later, she was to ask herself if, by some uncanny instinct, she had perceived some inkling of what was in store for her.

  Normally, her head would have rested against the steel wall of his chest; but her higher heels enabled it to fit in the curve of his neck. The hand on her back rested just above the line where her dress ended. The trespassing tip of his little finger strayed possessively beneath the material, while on the higher level, his stroking thumb shivered over her bare skin. His other hand clasped hers and was crushed between their bodies. The back of his hand rested on her breast, again just slightly to the side of where her dress ended, so that his knuckles burned like a branding iron on her sensitized flesh. She never, never, never wanted the music to end. She wanted to stay forever in his arms, held so cherishingly close.

  They stayed until the delicious end, not leaving until the early hours of December the twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve morning was just two hours old, and feathers of snow touched their faces as, arms linked round waists, they walked to the car.

  ‘I hope it comes down thick and fast and everywhere is covered by snow in the morning,’ Ros declared.

  ‘Not too densely covered, I hope. There are things to be done. Holly to be collected and a tree to be brought in.’

  ‘I got the trimmings when I went shopping for the food,’ Ros volunteered happily.

  They entered Holly Cottage, and their feet pointed of one accord to the kitchen. Ros abandoned her wrap and tipped milk into a saucepan, to be heated on the stove for a hot bedtime drink. Cliff leaned against the counter and watched her. The strange brooding look on his face did not fit in with the atmosphere of the evening. Inevitably, the milk boiled over.

  They cleaned up the mess together and decided not to bother with a bedtime drink. Cliff put his hands up to her hair, and two deft flicks brought its brightness tumbling over his fingers. Was that why she’d worn it in that style, not to ‘cool’ the look of her dress but to tempt Cliff to remove the restraining pins, as he had once before?

  He cupped her face in his hands, and he kissed her not urgently on the lips, although his expression was still strange. Then he turned her round and bade her a firm good night.

  She went up to her room, not altogether knowing why she had been sent away, yet knowing that it was right for him not to rush things between them. The pace, at first, had been too hectic, but now it was right for it to slow down and take its own course.

  If only she knew the reason for this funny little pain under her heart. She had the oddest feeling that the price she was going to be asked to pay for her happiness would be too cruel to bear. It was uncanny how she knew that it was soon to be partnered by a sorrow that would drag her down into depths of misery and torment that, in her wildest fears, she had never thought to experience.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, Ros’s eyes opened to a dazzling brightness, and she knew that her wish had been granted. She flew to the window and saw that it had snowed through the night. Not only was the landscape a different color, but it was also a different shape. White trees took on odd dimensions. The sun had come out as though marking its approval, and the blue-white glare of the rolling hills sparkled in the grip of a million dancing sunbeams.

  As she surveyed the frosty, bejeweled scene, a white wonderland, her gloom of the previous day completely disappeared. It was a day to lift one’s face up to in bright optimism. Every moment was too precious to squander on despondent fears that lurked in, and were the product of, some dark and obscure pocket of the imagination and had no substance.

  She pulled on trousers and a thick sweater, knowing that with those tucked under her sheepskin coat, she would be cozy and warm when they went out after breakfast in search of a tree and boughs of evergreen. It was unthinkable not to have holly in Holly Cottage at Christmas. And . . . perhaps . . . mistletoe.

  Similarly muffled to his chin, Cliff had started on the breakfast. Despite his opinion of her cooking, he made no demur when she waded in to help. When the washing up was done, they put on coats and scarfs, and Ros dug out a woolly cap with a pompon that matched her scarf, and out they went.

  They didn’t hang about but marched at a brisk pace. Cliff, who had been on many a similar mission in years past, knew exactly where to look, and it wasn’t long before they were dragging their spoils back and dumping them by the kitchen door.

  Ros was kicking the snow off her boots by the door in preparation for entering when a snowball glanced by her cheek. She immediately retaliated, and for the next half hour they indulged in a boisterous snowball fight. Cliff’s aim might have been the better, but he was the kinder, and so his person was spattered with more white blobs than hers. Her cheeks burned with the cold and the exhilaration, and when they did eventually fall through the kitchen door, they brought ravenous appetites with them. She had made a casserole the day before that only needed heating up. It was more than just good, it was excellent, but Cliff wolfed his plateful down without comment. It’s an annoying trait in people, but when something is right, it’s taken for granted that it should be and passes without attracting attention. It’s only when it�
�s wrong that it gets noticed.

  She made mince pies, and again these were up to her usual standard. This time Cliff did comment. On tasting one, he asked by what fluke she had managed it.

  ‘Could it be that you weren’t watching me?’ she said sweetly.

  He had been busy potting the tree and festooning the living room with holly and the sprig of mistletoe she’d seen him collect. As yet, she had no idea where it lurked, but when she found out, she had every intention of standing under it.

  She brought out the silver garlands and the tree ornaments she had purchased, and their joint efforts soon had the tree dressed in the Christmas spirit. The star that she had saved for the top defeated her. She expected Cliff to take it from her fingers and his long reach to achieve what she couldn’t; instead, he placed a hand on either side of her waist and lifted her up. She strained over his shoulder and fixed the star in place and was then brought back down to her feet. The descent was slow and fraught with tense excitement as she slithered the length of his long frame. There was a febrile pause in the procedure as their eyes drew level. The brooding intensity her eyes read in his clogged her throat. It had been a fun day, sparkling with joy and ecstasy, but throughout she had caught passing glimpses of much the same look that was on his face now. She knew that he wanted to kiss her, wanted to do more than kiss her. It was there, a torment straining his features and clenching his jaw. But he denied himself the opportunity, just as he had been ignoring opportunity all day, and set her unkissed on her feet.

  As his hands left her waist, her eyes dropped to the floor, and she saw two gift-wrapped packages, both bearing her name, under the tree. She put the mystery of why Cliff was acting as he was behind her and concentrated on the dismaying fact that she still hadn’t gotten a present for him. Her eyes raced to the clock. There was still time. If she got a move on, she would get into Gillybeck before the shops shut. Shops were limited, and so choice would be, too. She hoped that one of the two shops that specialized in gifts and souvenirs would have something suitable.

  She would have to take her car, because it was too far to walk, even though driving conditions might be precarious because of ice and the possibility of snowdrifts.

  ‘I’ve just remembered something I want from the village,’ she explained to Cliff as she went to retrieve her boots from the corner of the kitchen where she’d stepped out of them.

  ‘Whatever it is, can’t it wait?’

  ‘No, it can’t.’

  ‘If it’s that urgent, I’ll fetch it for you.’

  ‘Honestly, all this fuss,’ she mocked. ‘I’m a careful driver. Anyway, you couldn’t go for me. As well as getting something I’ve forgotten, I want to make a phone call. There’s someone I’d like to wish a happy Christmas to.’

  ‘Oh! Sorry if I’m being obtuse.’

  His stiff tone told her that he thought she wanted to slip out by herself to phone Jarvis. Perhaps he thought that was the whole object of her going and that the other, wanting to get something before the shops closed, was a trumped-up excuse. Actually, it was Miles she had a notion to ring. But she didn’t want company, certainly not his company while she chose his present, so it was better to let him think what he did. Besides which, she was wallowing in a thought that was almost too delicious to believe, and if she did believe it, then it seemed to her advantage to keep the pot boiling on that one for a while longer.

  ‘You’re jealous!’ she accused with taunting sweetness.

  ‘What an absurd thing to say,’ he scoffed. The dash of anger in his eyes coupled with the searing dryness of his tone told her that she was not far off the mark.

  He left the kitchen in a huff, and she was already sorry for drawing him out. With regret, she had to watch him go. She would have gone after him if time hadn’t been at a premium. As it was, she pulled on her boots and shrugged her arms into her coat.

  It had started to snow again. She hadn’t been driving long before she realized that it had been a mistake to venture out on any errand, no matter how pressing, on such a day. At first, the fall of snow was moderate, but it increased from a pretty spectacle into a venomous attack. She gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward, her eyes aching from the effort of trying to penetrate a swirling cloud of whiteness. The wind whipped the flakes onto the windshield faster than the wipers could whisk them off.

  It crossed her mind to wonder why she didn’t turn back, why she was so dedicated to going on. The thought of phoning Miles had triggered something off in her brain. The last time she’d phoned him, on her arrival, he had told her that Cliff had been working with her father and that he was home on sick leave and intended to look her up. Miles had attempted to tell her something about Cliff, but the static on the line had been so bad that every time he had tried, his voice had been drowned out. It now seemed imperative for her to know what Miles had said. It just might be something that would help her to understand Cliff’s strange manner. The foreboding that had been with her the previous night was back again. She wasn’t going to find any peace until she knew what it was all about. If Miles could tell her anything, anything at all . . .

  The car began to slide out of her control. Her first immediate impulse was to step on the brakes, but she managed to temper that reaction. She remembered in time that that was the last thing she must do if she wanted to keep out of trouble. She bit hard on her lip, willing herself not to panic, and somehow found the strength of mind to do all the right things to get the car out of the spin. Despite the terror that was sweeping through her, she managed to keep the upper hand on both herself and the car and reached Gillybeck without further mishap.

  The moment she got out of the car, the immediate danger over, she wondered what she’d gotten into a state about. It wasn’t like her. She’d driven in snow before; in one instance she’d been caught in a blizzard that had been far worse than this and had not been flustered. At the same time, she was not foolhardy and knew that she’d better not waste time in doing what she had to do in case conditions worsened.

  She couldn’t find anything even remotely suitable to give Cliff as a present, but that was now no longer the main issue. Phoning Miles was.

  She stepped into the telephone box, searched her purse for the necessary coins and dialed his number with the feeling of one who is going to the scaffold.

  The monotonous brr-brrr, brr-brrr of the dial tone seemed to go on endlessly. She thought he must be out and was on the point of replacing the receiver when he answered. Miraculously, in those appalling conditions, his voice came strongly down a line that was clear of interference.

  ‘Miles, it’s me, Ros.’

  ‘Ros! How marvelous. Happy Christmas.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Miles. I hope it’s the best ever.’ And I hope you take this stone from my heart. ‘When I phoned last time, do you remember telling me about the man who was working with my father, the one who’d come home on sick leave who said he’d look me up if he got the chance?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You tried to tell me something about him, but the line was so bad I couldn’t make out what. Do you remember what it was?’

  ‘Too well, I do. It’s not something easily forgotten.’

  The gravity of his tone struck fresh fear into Ros’s heart.

  ‘Wh-what was it?’

  ‘While he was out there, he contracted an incurable illness.’

  ‘Incurable?’

  ‘Poor devil, he’s come home to die. Your father said for me to be sure to tell you that there’s no call for you to worry.’

  ‘You’ve just told me he’s going to die. And you say that!’

  The note of hysteria in her voice received a concerned ‘Are you all right, Ros?’

  ‘Yes—yes, I’m all right.’

  ‘Your father meant it in the sense that it’s nothing you could catch. You know your trouble, don’t you?’

  ‘No, you tell me.’

  ‘You’ve got too much feeling. You can’t take everyone’s grief on
your shoulders. They aren’t broad enough. So it’s sad for the poor guy. But these things happen. Feel sympathy for him, by all means—it’s tough luck to be cut down in the prime of life—but don’t make it into a personal burden.’

  ‘Does he . . . know?’

  ‘Yes. I’m wishing you didn’t. I had misgivings about passing on that part of the message, but I respected your father’s wish that you should know. I think he thought it would give you more understanding, make you think kindlier toward him. I don’t suppose a man who’s under the sentence of death feels like a bundle of fun.’

  ‘No . . . I don’t suppose so.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d take it this bad.’

  ‘How do you know how I’m taking it?’

  ‘By your voice, what else? It’s got a brittle quality that I don’t like.’

  ‘I’ll be all right. You’ve just winded me, that’s all. It’s so dreadful . . . so . . .’ She beat the panel where the coins were inserted with her free hand in a useless gesture of hitting back. Poor Cliff. How must he have felt when he found out? How must he be feeling now? ‘I must go, Miles. It’s snowing pretty heavily, and I’ve got to get back to the cottage. Good-bye. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

  Even in the crippling numbness of her despair, her brain was shrieking at her that she had to get back to Cliff. She couldn’t bear it if she was snowed up there, away from him. She hadn’t asked Miles if he knew how long Cliff had. She almost dialed his number again, then decided that she didn’t want to know. She would spare herself that. The realization that their time together was limited was the worst blow that life had inflicted upon her. Losing her mother had been bad, but she had been cushioned by her youth. She had been too young to understand the finality of death.

  ‘I don’t suppose a man who’s under the sentence of death feels like a bundle of fun,’ Miles had said. But Cliff had been a bundle of fun. His braveness astounded her. The fun they’d had snowballing one another that morning highlighted what attitude he’d decided to take. However much or little time that was left to him, he was going to enjoy it, and somehow she must follow that lead.