In this Petra was right. Apart from commenting that Petra looked pale and in need of a good night's sleep, her mother said nothing to show that she was aware of Petra's low spirits.
Petra herself very nearly did pour out the whole story to her mother. Several times she was on the point of speaking, but on each occasion she drew back. The decision she had to make was one she had to make alone. She knew how her parents would view her involvement with a married man and as the two days of the weekend progressed, the standards and values instilled into her since she had been a child asserted themselves once more and she knew what her decision must be.
Having made her choice Petra knew she must implement it at once, before her strength failed her and she changed her mind. Borrowing a sheet of notepaper from her mother that Sunday afternoon, she wrote to Nicholas and told him she didn't want to see him again. She gave no reason but asked him to respect her decision as final and not to contact her again. She read the letter through once and miserably dry-eyed, sent it to the address at the head of his own letter.
"I think I'll walk along and post this," she said as casually as she could.
Her mother looked at the threatening sky and said, "Do you really want to go now? It won't go till tomorrow, you know."
Petra felt certain that if the letter was still in her possession tomorrow it wouldn't go at all, so she said, "I shan't be long, but I could do with a breath of fresh air and a walk after that enormous lunch."
The sky fulfilled its promise and by the time she reached the post office, the rain was coming down hard, pounding on the pavement, bouncing several inches into the air. Petra was drenched in moments, but she was hardly aware of the fact. With rain running down her face, her own tears passed unnoticed; her mind was already cold, her body reaching the same state seemed unimportant.
"Goodbye, Nicholas," she whispered and slipped her letter into the box. Then she continued to walk in the rain until weariness took her home. Despite the dreadful emptiness that stretched before her, Petra felt more at ease with herself, calmer and more relaxed than she had since Tom had first told her about Nicholas.
Something of it showed in her face, for when she finally reached her parents' house and stood dripping on the hall carpet, her mother simply put her arms round her for a moment and said, "I don't know what decision you've been making, darling, but I'm sure you've made the right one." She hugged Petra fiercely and added, "Go and have a bath before you catch your death of cold, then when we've had tea, Dad and I'll drive you back to the flat. No trains for you tonight."
Petra was supremely grateful for her mother's understanding, and managed to maintain some semblance of normality until they had seen her into the flat, but when at last the front door closed behind them and she was left alone in the silence of her room, Petra crept into bed, the bed where she had found such joy, and cried herself to sleep.
Nicholas Romilly's reaction to Petra's letter was characteristically swift and decisive. He ignored her requests not to come again and to accept this as final and arrived on her doorstep on Tuesday evening.
Petra, knowing Nicholas, had feared he would do just that and had prepared herself to face him, so it was no surprise, when a thundering fist summoned her to her door, to find Nicholas waiting outside. Without a word he strode past her through the flat into the living-room. Petra closed the door behind him and taking a deep breath followed him. He stood with his back to the windows, for all the world as he had stood in the basement flat the first time she had seen him, and as she entered the room he dragged her letter, crumpled from his pocket.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice tight and controlled.
Petra looked across at him and replied calmly, "I imagine it's the letter I wrote you." She felt far from calm, but she was determined not to fight with him, nor to break down and cry.
"What does it mean?" he demanded.
"Exactly what it says," she replied carefully. "You shouldn't have come here."
"Aren't I at least entitled to some explanation?" he said coldly. "I had a feeling perhaps that our last evening together might have given me a right to that."
Petra had guessed that if Nicholas came at all he would demand an explanation, and she had prepared one for him. The idea of giving him the true explanation—that she had discovered he was married—she had quickly dismissed. If his marriage had not proved a barrier from his point of view before, there was no reason to expect it to do so now, and Petra had an awful feeling that if he took it into his head to try and persuade her to carry on the affair, she might well fall prey to the temptation.
So she had an explanation ready and now she began to give it, but under the dark glare of his eyes she faltered and didn't deliver the speech as she had rehearsed it.
"I don't want to see you again because I'm going to marry Tom." She blurted it out and then shrank away from him as she saw the fury mounting in his face.
"And when was this all arranged?" His voice was soft and low and chilling.
"We've—we've been going out together for some time and, well, when he saw us together at Angelo's he discovered how jealous it made him and realised he was in love with me." Petra's words tumbled out under Nicholas' icy stare.
"And that was the object of the exercise? To make him jealous?"
Faced with the angry expression she had hoped would never be directed at her, Petra could only nod dumbly. "And your little bit of play-acting did the trick, did it? Next day he rushed round and popped the question?" Nicholas spoke contemptuously, his face a mask of disgust. "How delighted you must be that your ruse worked. Of course, I'd have thought the latter part of the evening a little over and above the call of duty, unless of course Tom was in the wings somewhere."
"Nicholas!" The cry was ripped from her at his cruelty, but she knew she had achieved her object. After this confrontation there was no way Nicholas Romilly would approach her again.
"Nicholas!" he mimicked. "I might not have minded bringing your Tom to his senses, my dear, had you confided the purpose of the exercise to me. But I dislike being used."
"So do I," said Petra miserably.
"I dare say we all do," said Nicholas smoothly. "And when is the happy day?"
"I don't know yet."
Something in the way she spoke made Nicholas jerk his eyes to her face once more. "Surely Tom is eager to claim his bride; the bride who maintained he had no claim to her only a week ago? Or doesn't he know yet?"
"I—I," began Petra, quailing under his gaze.
"He doesn't know yet!" cried Nicholas with an unpleasant bark of laughter. "You haven't accepted him yet, have you?" He grabbed Petra by the shoulders and shook her hard. "You were waiting to see if I could come up with a better offer. Well, sorry to disappoint you, darling, but I can't. Tom Davies is welcome to you. You deserve each other." He thrust her from him in disgust and without a backward glance, strode from the room. The slam of the front door found an answering echo in Petra's heart as it too closed on an empty silence.
For several weeks Petra moved and lived as if in a dream. Every day she went to college, delivered her lectures, held her tutorials, helped her teaching practice students through their final days. Outwardly she was calm, inwardly she was cold. No emotion seemed to touch her; her laughter was a mechanical reaction, lacking spontaneity; her eyes were dry.
On one occasion she was jerked from her lethargy, only to be plunged in deeper as a result. She thought about Mrs. Arden, now safely established in the old people's home and decided she ought to go and see her. Suppressing in her mind that the reason for this was that Mrs. Arden was the only tenuous link she had with Nicholas, Petra telephoned the home and spoke to the warden.
"My dear, I'm so sorry," said the warden in dismay. "Mrs. Arden died last week. A heart attack. Her funeral was yesterday."
Petra was staggered. "Oh, I see. I didn't know."
"Who did you say you are?"
"Just a friend. I used to live in the same house. I did her shopping
sometimes."
"I'm so sorry you weren't told of her death," said the troubled warden. "Her son was told and he made all the arrangements. He can't have realised. He was at the crematorium of course, but they didn't stay. It was a very quiet affair."
"They?" queried Petra.
"He and a woman, his wife perhaps? He didn't introduce us."
"No. Well, thank you for telling me. Goodbye." Petra replaced the receiver. Her last link with Nicholas Romilly was gone. Mrs. Arden was dead and buried, and he hadn't even bothered to let Petra know. Anger sparked for a moment and then the torpor settled back once more.
Petra stopped avoiding Tom. It was not his fault that his words had been true, and she had long since forgiven him the way he had broken the news to her. And Tom, seeing she no longer avoided him, sought her out and tentatively offered his friendship once again.
Because she was lonely and it didn't matter, Petra accepted his company and might eventually have accepted more; but the term drew to a close and the holidays caused a natural break in their relationship. Tom went skiing over the Easter holiday and Petra visited an old college friend, Mary, in Cumbria. Mary was happily married to a Cumbrian farmer and Petra slipped into the farm routine with an ease that amazed her. The wild freedom of the fells crept into her soul and in the bright days of early April she braved the chill of the hillside air and the sudden downpours of the rain and strode out across the hillsides as if in search of something. Mary was so happy with her husband Clive, that at first Petra felt she was intruding, but theirs was a relationship apart, complete when they were alone, elastic enough to include those round them with ease when they were not and Petra envied them.
One afternoon, soon after Easter, Petra and Mary were alone in the farm kitchen. As they worked together on a mammoth baking session for the freezer, Petra began to tell Mary about Nicholas.
She had spoken of him to no one since the night he had flung her from him in disgust and the telling of the tale was like the lancing of a boil.
Mary paused at her work and listened as all the bitterness, humiliation and misery came pouring out. She was far enough removed from the situation for Petra to hold nothing back. Mary knew neither of the men involved and could make no judgment, all she did was to listen until Petra had no more to tell.
"Where is he now?" Mary asked at last. "Back with his wife?"
Petra shrugged her shoulders wearily. "I suppose so. I mean, he never left her, did he?"
"And Tom? What about him?"
"He's skiing in Austria."
"Yes, I know, I didn't mean that." Mary looked at her friend with sympathetic eyes. "What I meant was, what is he to you?"
"A friend."
"And no more?"
Petra sighed. "I don't know, Mary. I suppose he could be more; in time. I was very fond of him before all this blew up. I expect I could be again, given time."
Mary leaned over and took her friend's hand. "Don't settle for second best. Petra," she said earnestly. "It's never worth it. Only marry Tom if you really want him, otherwise wait. Someone else will come along who'll make you forget the both of them."
Petra smiled. "I'm a little past the 'tall dark stranger' bit," she said.
"Rubbish," replied Mary with asperity. "No one is. Clive and I met and were married within three months. I'm a firm believer in love at first sight."
"So am I," agreed Petra laughing, but her thoughts were not of a stranger.
Having at last confided in someone, Petra felt better than she had for weeks. Somehow the stress had lessened and she spent the last few days of her time in Cumbria far more at peace with herself and returned to Grayston-on-Sea rested and ready for the summer term.
Tom returned too and lost no time in seeking Petra out. He found her in the staff-room a few days before term opened and insisted on carrying her off to the Admiral for a drink.
Once he had her seated in a corner, a large gin and tonic in front of her, he sat down and beamed at her. He was so different from the slightly apologetic Tom who had taken her out at the end of the spring term, that she could only stare at him in amazement. The Easter weather had been good in the mountains, and Tom, skiing at heights of nine and ten thousand feet, had caught the sun so that his face was darkly tanned. But it wasn't so much his healthy tan that surprised Petra, it was his perpetual grin and shining eyes.
"Come on, out with it," she said when he had sat down beside her. "You look like the cat that's got the cream."
Tom's grin broadened even more. "Cheers!" he said.
"Cheers. Come on, Tom," cried Petra, "or I shall die of curiosity."
"When I was skiing," he began, "I went into ski school and there was this girl, Melanie." His voice lingered on her name and at once Petra knew what was coming.
"Tom?" she said, a question in her voice.
He nodded. "You must congratulate me, Petra. I'm getting married."
"Married!" The word was surprised from her.
"I thought you'd be surprised." Tom beamed and then suddenly realising that he was talking to the girl he had proposed to not three months before, added awkwardly, "You don't mind, Petra, do you? I mean there was never anything between us really, was there?"
Petra managed to smile reassuringly. "Only friendship, Tom. I told you once I was very fond of you and I still am, but I don't love you in the marrying way."
The faint clouding cleared from Tom's expression and he said, "I'm glad. I'd hate to have hurt you again."
Anxious not to begin on that subject, Petra said quickly, "Tell me about Melanie."
Tom needed no second invitation, and by the time they left the pub Petra felt she had known Melanie for years.
"The trouble is," he confided as they walked back to college, "Melanie being so far away. I mean it'll be a long journey for one of us every weekend, so we decided that the sooner we got married the better."
"Have you set a date already?" Petra was surprised.
"Yes." Tom beamed. "At Whitsun."
Petra was even more surprised. She had expected him to name a date in the long summer vacation.
"That's awfully quick, Tom," she said anxiously. "Are you quite certain of yourself?"
Tom stopped walking and turned to her, his grey eyes serious. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life," he said quietly. He smiled then, a little ruefully. "Oh, I know I said I loved you, Petra, but I'm sure you won't be offended if I say it was, never what I feel for Melanie. That is entirely different."
"I do know, Tom," she said softly.
Tom took her hand. "Of course you do, I'm sorry."
Miss Danvers was waiting for Petra when they returned. "Ah, there you are, Petra," she said. "I've been looking for you. There's something we must discuss. Can you spare me a minute now?"
"Of course, Miss Danvers," and Petra followed the senior lecturer into her tutorial room. Miss Danvers waved her to a chair. "The Principal and I feel that when we offer the short course options to the second years at the end of this term, we might include a six week introduction to archaeology. Professor Romilly set the scene so well with his lecture at the conference last term, I think we might find it was a popular option. How does it strike you?"
Petra was shaken by the unexpectedness of the suggestion. She hadn't considered trying to follow up Nicholas' lecture. She stared, unseeing, out of the window for a moment, her heart beating fast as if she had been actually confronted with the man rather than just his work; then she took command of herself once more and said, "I'm sure it would, Miss Danvers. Do you want me to run it?"
Miss Danvers smiled. "I think that would be just the thing, if you don't mind the extra work."
"No," Petra assured her. "I don't mind. I'm sure I shall enjoy it."
They discussed the framework of the course and Petra promised to have a more detailed scheme of work ready to present to Miss Danvers within a week or two; then they parted and Petra went off to the library before going home.
It really had been a d
ay of surprises, she thought; first Tom's news and now a new course to run, and though tenuous, she still had a link with Nicholas.
The course, as outlined by Miss Danvers, was to be very general, but the selection of archaeological books Petra took from the library to prepare her work contained several of his works. 'It's a pity he's only just beginning work on the Thessos book,' she thought. 'Having heard him speak on the subject, I know it'd be the most interesting of all.'
As soon as the students returned, Petra had little time to herself. As always she worked long and hard and without her being conscious of the passing of time the days slipped away.
It was one day not long before the Whitsun break that she came home to find the door to the basement flat open. Staring at it, Petra's heart began to pound. Why was the door ajar? Was there someone down there? Could it be Nicholas?
Quietly, she eased the door wider and pausing on the top step, listened. There was the sound of movement below, someone was definitely down there.
Petra clutched at the banister rail, the hope that it might be Nicholas welled up inside her, overpowering all claims of reason. She ached to see him, and the ache was as strong as on the day he'd gone. Nothing would have prevented her from going down those stairs and as she did so the blood was singing in her ears. The sounds below were quite distinct now, but when Petra entered the living-room it wasn't Nicholas she found there but a stranger.
The precious hope drained away leaving her empty and lost.
"Hello," said the man. "Did you want someone?"
Petra explained that she had seen the door open and had come down to investigate.
"I live upstairs," she said, "and I hold a spare key."
A Chance of Happiness Page 9
