As she pulled her front door closed behind them, she took his hand and said impulsively, "Thank you for coming round so quickly, Tom. It is good to see you."
Tom pulled her into his arms once more and kissed her again, this time more searchingly, his tongue flicking and probing, his arms holding her hard against him. And Petra, the tension and anger she had felt earlier draining away, allowed herself to respond, her arms sliding round Tom's neck, one hand clutching his hair.
Neither of them heard the door to the basement flat open and it wasn't until Peregrine Arden spoke that Petra was aware that he was standing in the doorway unable to come out because she and Tom blocked the way.
"Excuse me," was all he said, but his voice jolted Petra like an electric shock. She pulled away from Tom and swung round to face Peregrine, her colour high, her eyes blazing.
Peregrine gave a mocking smile as he passed between them. "Your loving heart embraces everyone, I see," he said.
"Everyone except you," returned Petra, but even as she said it she knew it sounded childish.
Tom stared at Peregrine's retreating back, and as the outer door closed with a click he said, "Who on earth was that?"
"That," answered Petra with heavy sarcasm, "was the famous Peregrine Arden."
Tom was interested. "Oh, so you found him then?"
"The social worker did. Much good will it do Mrs. Arden, he's about as warm and caring as a cobra!"
"You've obviously met before," said Tom with a grin. "Did it come to blows?"
"Not quite, but it could have if I'd stayed in the room with him any longer."
"Well," said Tom firmly, "you can forget about him now. This evening we are going to have fun, so lose that bleak expression, kiss me again and we'll take the town by storm."
Petra forced a smile to her lips, kissed Tom lightly on the cheek and headed towards the outer door.
They did enjoy their evening and she felt decidedly more cheerful when Tom returned her home later on. He kissed her again at the door, but anxious not to blunder on and kill off the new response he felt in her, Tom left her on the step and went home hopeful that at last he was perhaps making progress.
Petra closed the door behind him and sought the warm comfort of her bed. She too had felt the almost imperceptible change in their relationship and wasn't sure how she felt about it, but strangely enough as she nestled down in the warm darkness waiting for sleep, it wasn't Tom's soft grey eyes that troubled her mind, but the thunderous black ones of Peregrine Arden filled with contemptuous laughter.
Term started again and immediately Petra found herself involved in a myriad of college activities. Work immersed her, filling each day and overflowing into the next, so that she had little time for many thoughts which were not college-orientated.
She saw Tom most days in the staff-room, but their out of college contact was minimal. Supervising her teaching practice students took Petra out of college as well and involved her in late tutorials when the students had finished their day in the classroom. But Petra loved her work and thrived on the demands it made on her. She worked her students hard, but never as hard as she worked herself. Tom found it increasingly difficult to gain her attention; she had little spare time and not all of it was she prepared to devote to him.
Each day on her arrival home, Petra would visit Mrs. Arden, but she was always afraid of bumping into the old lady's son and so made a point of opening the door very softly and listening for voices before she ventured down the stairs.
Despite his apparent lack of interest, Peregrine did seem to have made some alterations to his mother's situation. One evening when Petra went down she found to her surprise that the stale smell was missing and a comfortable warmth filled the room in its stead. Surprised, she looked round and found that the room had been tidied, two electric radiators had been installed, and sitting proudly on the table beside Mrs. Arden's chair was a portable colour television.
The old woman looked up as Petra entered the room. "I've got a television," she announced waving at the screen chattering away beside her.
"So you have," cried Petra, delighted. "And radiators. Now you'll feel warm all the time." She paused but as Mrs. Arden said nothing, her eyes once more glued to the television, Petra went on, "Did Peregrine arrange all this for you?"
Mrs. Arden glanced at her again. "Is there any tea?"
Petra smiled. "Of course, I'll make you a cup." She had got used to the old woman's non-sequiturs and abrupt changes of subject, and accepted that Mrs. Arden wasn't going to answer this question.
When she returned from the kitchen she handed the tea to Mrs. Arden and said, "Who cleaned round for you? They've made a good job of it."
The old lady peered at Petra suspiciously. "Who sent you?" she asked. "You're not to open the windows."
Petra promised she wouldn't touch the windows which were still closely curtained anyway and then realising Mrs. Arden was once more involved in her television programme, she slipped away.
Considering her visit later, she decided that if she were honest she didn't find Mrs. Arden a lovable creature, the only emotion she evoked in Petra, even after considerable acquaintance, was pity. But the old woman had not even managed to evoke that in her cold fish of a son. She might be a cantankerous old woman, but she was, after all, his mother and entitled, at least, to his compassion.
Petra still felt an extreme antipathy towards Peregrine, despite the improvements to the basement flat. These perhaps indicated that he hadn't realised the state in which his mother lived, but that in itself was no excuse. He should have known, Petra decided, because he should have visited her occasionally, even if they were only duty visits. It was clear he had had the place cleaned and aired and that he had made sure she should no longer feel the cold, but did he visit her any more often? Cheer her up with his presence? Petra hadn't seen him since the day she returned from her parents' and Mrs. Arden never mentioned him.
Life at college became so hectic with the approach of the conference weekend that, apart from a short visit each evening, Petra had little time to give thought to Mrs. Arden and her son. The conference programme had been arranged round Nicholas Romilly's lecture, as he was by far the most eminent speaker.
He had been invited to lunch in Hall on the Saturday, to deliver his lecture in the afternoon and to be guest of honour at the Principal's reception in the evening. A guest-room had been made available in the staff quarters so that he could stay the night afterwards if he wished.
He had declined the luncheon, saying he was unable to arrive before two o'clock but, as the lecture was scheduled for two-thirty, this would give him time to speak with David Hellman, the member of staff who had volunteered to man the slide projector, and to meet Miss Danvers and Miss Hinton, of course.
Petra spent the morning in a whirl of anticipation. She attended the morning session in the lecture theatre, an introduction to present day crafts, but very little of what she heard really penetrated her brain. She was going over and over her introductory speech and wondering what she should talk about when she met him beforehand in the staff-room. In the event, circumstances overtook her and her meeting with Nicholas Romilly was not in the least as she had expected.
It was ironic really, she had been sitting drinking her coffee by the staff-room window so that she should see him drive up and be ready to go out to welcome him, and then the Principal called her over to ask about the arrangements which had been made to bring Professor Romilly to the reception, and so Petra failed to see him arrive. It was only when Miss Danvers tapped her on the shoulder and said softly, "Your guest is here, Petra," that she turned and saw him.
For a moment she was transfixed with horror. She felt hot colour flood her cheeks and then drain away leaving her deathly white. Her dark eyes, large and luminous in her pale face, stared unbelieving at the man who stepped forward to meet her, towered over her, and extended a hand.
"Professor Romilly, this is Petra Hinton, on the history staff," Miss Danvers w
as saying apparently unaware of the confusion on Petra's face, or perhaps putting it down to shyness.
Professor Romilly gave a faint smile and said, "How nice to meet you, Miss Hinton. To be properly introduced." He was calm and assured, very much in control of the situation and entirely unembarrassed.
Petra forced herself to smile, but it was a poor effort. She took his outstretched hand and felt her own clasped for a moment in a strong grip. "How do you do, Professor?" Her voice was faint and husky, indeed she had trouble in speaking at all.
"You're Petra's for today," announced Miss Danvers cheerfully. "She's introducing and chairing your lecture this afternoon and will bring you on to the Principal's reception this evening." She turned to Petra. "Don't forget to introduce Professor Romilly to David so he can explain how he wants the slides shown."
"I won't," promised Petra, and Miss Danvers went off to see how the lecture theatre was filling.
Petra looked up at the dark eyes regarding her solemnly from under their straight black brows. A suspicion of laughter lurked behind his gaze and in the awkward pause left by Miss Danvers' departure he said, "Well, Miss Hinton, this is a surprise."
Still rather dazed, Petra said as calmly as she could, "Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Professor?" and then added a little more sharply, "If it is Professor."
"It is," he replied blandly, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. "No, thank you. No coffee, but I should like to have a word with the man operating the projector, if you don't mind."
"Of course." Petra had taken a firm grip on herself and, apparently calm, took him across to where David Hellman was waiting to meet him.
The two men held a brief conversation and Nicholas Romilly took a box of slides from his briefcase. While they were talking, Petra's thoughts were in a turmoil. How could it possibly be Nicholas Romilly who stood beside her? And if it was, and it did appear to be, how could she spend the afternoon with him, as his hostess, after the abuse she had thrown at him at their last meeting?
Her confused thoughts were interrupted by Tom who approached quietly and muttered in her ear, "Is that your famous professor?"
Petra nodded.
"But he's—I mean—isn't he the son, Peregrine Arden?"
Petra nodded again miserably. Her day was ruined. All the happy anticipation which had buoyed her up for the past few days drained away leaving her feeling sick, depressed and empty.
"Has he recognised you?" whispered Tom, his eyes alight with amusement as he remembered Petra's account of her meeting with Peregrine.
"Of course he has," snapped Petra. "For goodness' sake, Tom, if you've nothing helpful to say, go away."
At that moment Professor Romilly turned his attention back to Petra and noting her angry flush and the scowl she directed at Tom he said, "How did you envisage the afternoon, Miss Hinton? Introduction, lecture and slides followed by questions?"
"Yes, Professor." She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes, Professor, that would be just right." And then seeing a hint of gentleness soften his gaze, she coloured again, furious as she realised he was sorry for her. He'd seen Tom's amusement at the ludicrous situation and he was sorry for her. To Petra this was the ultimate humiliation, and she knew her feelings were clearly demonstrated by the blush that painted her cheeks.
Anxious to do something, she looked at her watch. It was two twenty-five. David Hellman, armed with the slides, disappeared to the lecture theatre and Tom followed him, to take his place in the staff seats. Silence slipped round them, the only two people in the staff-room and Petra said awkwardly, "We're all looking forward to your lecture very much. I think you'll find the theatre's full."
"Thank you," he replied gravely. "I'm looking forward to it, too. Time to go?"
Petra nodded and led the way through the college to the lecture theatre, packed with expectant students. They paused for a moment outside the door and the professor said softly, "Wish me luck."
Petra glanced up in surprise, but as there was no mockery in his dark eyes she smiled faintly and said, "Good luck, Professor."
They entered to a tumultuous round of applause and when it finally faded and Nicholas Romilly had taken his place at the lectern, Petra took a deep breath and stepped forward to introduce him.
She had taken immense care in her choice of clothes and before all her confidence had been crushed by the discovery that Nicholas Romilly and Peregrine Arden were somehow one and the same person, she had been pleased with how she looked. Her morale had been high as she regarded herself in the mirror at home. The cut of her skirt pleased her, flaring from the hip to fall in gentle fullness round her legs, her silk blouse, soft and creamy, had been bought specially for this occasion and made her feel chic and sophisticated. She had set out to make a good impression on the professor she had to entertain, and now that she realised all that was wasted effort, she was determined no one in the audience should feel her humiliation.
With a resolute lift of her chin, her confidence boosted a little by the faint rustle of her silk blouse and the swing of her skirt, she launched into her prepared introduction. There was complete silence as she spoke and when she half-turned to say "and so ladies and gentlemen, I am proud and honoured to give you Professor Nicholas Romilly," she was rewarded by a brief smile in acknowledgement of the build-up she had given him.
Nicholas Romilly's lecture was superb. He held his audience from the first moment, explaining clearly but without over-simplification how he worked and to what end.
He made use of slides throughout the lecture, to illustrate a point or an idea, and because of this he spoke in a darkened hall with only the reading light on the lectern to illuminate his mobile and expressive face. His voice, deep and musical, carried clearly through the hall, without apparent effort, and the light and shade of his tone kept his listeners attentive and interested. Everyone in the lecture theatre was captivated and when he came on to more detailed discussion of his most recent dig on one of the outlying Greek islands, Thessos, his own enthusiasm was reflected in the hall.
First he told them the legend attached to the island. There was a beautiful young princess, so the story goes, who was to marry a prince from a neighbouring city-state. But before the wedding took place he was carried off in a raid by some pirates. She sent sailors out to find him and to bring him back, but he was never found.
"Refusing to accept that he was lost to her and so marry another man her father had chosen, she ran away and sailed to the island of Thessos where she lived alone, waiting for him. While she waited for his return she had a palace built for him and a temple to Poseidon, the god of the sea. Her lover never did come back, but she lived there in readiness until she died."
Nicholas Romilly paused and a smile lit his face. "Those are the legendary origins of the settlement on Thessos. Now I propose to discuss the more tangible evidence that we found."
Tom had asked Petra if Professor Romilly could speak. Now he had his answer.
When at last he drew his talk to a close, he was greeted by thunderous applause. Students and staff alike rose to their feet. Petra too applauded, all antagonism towards the man temporarily displaced in her enthusiasm for what he had said. She had read several of his books, and had been impressed with their lucidity, but they lacked the direct impact of the man's personality. His own burning enthusiasm for his subject infected his audience and whether or not they had been interested in archaeology before, that interest was kindled now. And Petra was too generous not to pay him tribute.
Questions poured in from all over the floor of the theatre and with great patience he answered them clearly, trying to leave the questioner satisfied before moving on to the next question.
At last, Miss Danvers caught Petra's eye and was invited to propose a vote of thanks, after which Petra waited while the theatre emptied and Nicholas Romilly collected up the notes he had before him, but to which he had seldom referred, and the slides David Hellman had projected during the course of the lecture.
At la
st he turned to Petra and said, "Well, that seemed to go all right. What happens next?"
"Back to the staff-room, I think, but you may find quite a crowd waiting for you on the way."
He smiled, and his dark face was lit for a moment with pure mischief. "It's nice to receive such a welcome."
Chapter Three
It took some time for them to regain the sanctuary of the staff-room. A large group of students, mostly those from Petra's own third year history group, were indeed waiting outside the lecture theatre and Nicholas Romilly was not the man to pass by and refuse to answer questions; but at last they closed the door and were left only to face the staff. Most of them however, after congratulating the professor on his lecture, drifted away, leaving Petra alone with her guest.
"What happens next?" he asked again as he accepted a cup of coffee and sat down in a chair by the fire.
"Well, nothing for an hour or so, then there's the Principal's reception. If you'd care to go to your room and rest until then, I'll come and collect you for that."
"Rest?" The professor raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Do I look that tired?"
"No, of course not," said Petra hastily, some of her former antagonism returning; it was infuriating the way this man had the knack of twisting even the simplest words. "I just thought you might want to change or something," she added lamely. If not she would have to entertain him alone for nearly an hour and a half, and the thought appalled her.
As if she had spoken this thought he said, "Well, you needn't worry about entertaining me, I'll be good and go to my room."
It was said so innocently that Petra looked up sharply, trying to detect the mockery which must lie behind his words, but apart from a tell-tale twitch at one corner of his mouth, Nicholas Romilly remained serious-faced.
A Chance of Happiness Page 3
