"Oh, I see," the man nodded. "Well, we've been instructed to sell the place, so you'll be having new neighbours."
"Are you an agent?" asked Petra.
"Yes. Here's my authorisation and business card."
Petra studied them then said, "I'd better give you the key I have." She took it from her handbag and handed it to him.
"Thanks." He slipped it on to a key ring. "There, it's with ours now. I'll pass it on when I give ours back. We'll be bringing people to view, of course."
"Yes, of course."
As Petra went back up to her own flat, she recognised the usual empty feeling inside her that still recurred every time she allowed herself to think of Nicholas.
'This is ridiculous,' she thought. 'I haven't seen him for several months and he still has this affect on me. Perhaps if I did try and see him I'd find he wasn't at all as I remembered.'
She dismissed this last idea as impractical. There was no way in which she could meet Nicholas casually and she had no intention of manufacturing a meeting. She realised then how much she had been wishing Nicholas would need to return to his mother's flat for something; how much she had been clinging to this hope, so that she might see him again, and now with the arrival of the estate agent that last chance was gone. There was nothing to bring Nicholas anywhere near her.
Chapter Eight
The day of Tom's wedding dawned bright and clear. He was married in Warwickshire where Melanie lived, and Petra had borrowed her father's car and travelled up the night before. She stayed in the village pub, a charming timbered building, and when she woke in the morning and found the summer sun streaming through the leaded window panes her spirits rose and she got up determined to enjoy herself.
It was a big wedding. Melanie's parents were determined to give their only daughter a magnificent send-off. When she arrived at the church in a lace wedding gown that floated round her in a mist of white, attended by three small bridesmaids in buttercup crinolines, Petra, turning with the rest of the congregation, found tears in her eyes.
Melanie was radiant, and as she walked up the aisle on her father's arm, Petra looked across at Tom. He had stepped forward to meet his bride and the look in his eyes spoke eloquently of his feelings for her. Petra knew then that Tom had been right when he said that he had absolutely no doubts about marrying Melanie.
The reception was held at a local hotel and was a noisy joyful affair. Petra knew several of Tom's friends, and once they realised she was not heartbroken by his marriage to Melanie, all constraints vanished and they made a convivial group. But when the bride and groom had left for their honeymoon, Petra suddenly found she needed to be alone. Smilingly she declined an offer to go on to a party in Birmingham with the excuse that she had to return her father's car, and thankfully escaped.
Cruising steadily down the motorway, she was glad she had arranged to spend the rest of the holiday weekend with her parents. The first half of term had been very tiring, and the second half, with the extra archaeological course, threatened to be even more so.
She spent a comfortable evening with her parents and as the hands of the clock showed ten-thirty she yawned. "I think I'll go up to bed now," she said.
"Will you?" said her father. "I thought I'd watch that Saturday chat show tonight. I think you might enjoy it, Petra. That archaeologist chap who did your lecture for you, is appearing."
Petra slumped back into her chair. "Nicholas Romilly?" Her voice came out uncertainly, but her father didn't seem to notice.
"That's the one," he said cheerfully. "But don't stay up if you're tired. I just thought it might interest you."
"Yes," answered Petra, trying to sound casual. "I think it might. I told you I've got to do the archaeology course soon, so it might be a help."
Nicholas was the third guest to be interviewed and so Petra had to sit through the first half hour of the programme trying not to show her feelings. Her mind was in turmoil, here was the chance she had wanted, a chance to see him again and perhaps discover she was only remembering a dream, not the man himself. Part of her was determined to find that this was indeed the case, but the rest of her, her pounding heart and aching body, played her false and the mere anticipation of seeing him again, even if only on television, made her feel weak.
At last he came on, tall, dark-eyed as she had remembered and as magnetic as ever. His smile, as always, brought his mobile face to life making him seem younger than his thirty-seven years. He looked thinner, his muscles more tightly drawn than she remembered, but otherwise he was just the same and Petra's heart contracted painfully at the sight of him.
After a brief introduction, he was asked about his work.
"Well," began Nicholas, "I've been extremely lucky recently. While I was in Yorkshire on a brief lecture tour earlier this year, I met up with some people who were prepared to sponsor my latest project." He went on to describe his work on Thessos and told again the legend of the lonely princess.
"This sponsorship will enable me to continue my work on the site. And for that I'm immeasurably grateful."
"Well, Nicholas," drawled the interviewer, "I gather you're off to Thessos very soon now."
"Yes, I've just completed writing up my findings so far…"
"In a book you mean?"
"As the basis for my next book, yes. But as I'm going back, I'm hoping there will be a great deal more information to add."
Petra watched him, her eyes devouring his face, her ears straining to memorise the sound of his deep voice. What he actually said flowed over her and as the interviewer mentioned his earlier career she paid little attention to the words.
Once she let her eyes flicker to her parents' faces and found them as caught up in what Nicholas was saying as the students had been at his lecture; then something he said did penetrate her mind, at first filtering through slowly and then stabbing her into painful consciousness like the fierce jab of a needle. The interviewer had asked why he had given up the archaeological chair he had held at the university and returned full time to field work and writing.
Nicholas considered a moment before replying, "It was when my wife, Anne, was killed in 1980." For a moment his face clouded over and then he said, "Until then I was happy being based here in England—I enjoyed the teaching and home was there at the end of the day. We travelled a good deal of course, and I was involved in various projects, but we kept our home as a private retreat that we could come back to." He paused again before saying, "After the crash I couldn't face living in the house alone. I decided to alter my way of life completely, so I resigned and went back to work in the field." He smiled. "When I'm in England I stay with my mother and work from there. She's one of my sternest critics, I might add."
The interview lasted another five minutes, but Petra heard none of it. The words, "When my wife, Anne, was killed," pierced her brain and the blood seemed to rush to her head, thundering, deafening so that Petra felt she must drown in the sound. She felt sick and giddy and the world tilted round her. Her fingers clutched the arms of her chair and her knuckles turned white as she fought to keep herself from crumpling into an undignified heap on the floor.
As her father switched off the television at the end of the programme, Petra's mother said, "I should go up now, darling. You're looking really pale and tired. Don't get up in the morning, have a good lie in and I'll bring you breakfast in bed."
Somehow Petra got to her feet and in a strange calm voice bid her parents good night. Somehow she got upstairs to her own bedroom, warm and snug and waiting for her.
She dragged herself on to her bed and lay staring at the ceiling, her mind whirling at the news she had just heard and the implications of it. Nicholas wasn't married, not any more. His wife, Anne, the Anne Chappie mentioned in Who's Who had been killed in a crash of some sort in 1980. Nicholas was free. Nicholas was free. The woman who had answered the phone must have been his stepmother, Mrs. Romilly indeed, but Mrs. Romilly senior.
Her heart leapt within her, but even
as it did so her hopes came crashing round her ears. Nicholas might well be free, but similarly he might not. It was months since she had seen him, he could well have found someone else. And Nicholas thought she was married to Tom, or about to be. How could she tell him? Why hadn't she asked him about his wife? If only she had said, "Tom says you're married. Is it true?" But she hadn't and she'd lied to him and she'd sent him away. And it was all her fault.
Tears oozed out from beneath her lids as she remembered his face—the tenderness and wonder as they'd shared their love, the cold fury and contempt when she had told him she was marrying Tom. Would he ever forgive her if she went to him and told him everything? Would he want her back anyway or had he forgotten her in the arms of somebody else? If anything could be done it was she who must do it. It was clear Nicholas had no intention of approaching her again. Quite apart from the fact that he thought her engaged or married to Tom Davies, there was his pride.
"But I have no pride where you're concerned, Nicholas," she whispered to the empty room. "Seeing you tonight made me realise how much I love you still, and hearing what you said has given me another chance. Will you let me come to you?"
Even as she spoke her thoughts aloud, Petra remembered he had never said he loved her, never spoken of love; but she couldn't forget how he had wanted her, nor the passion with which he had taken her and though she knew that wanting and needing were not love, if they were all he could offer her, she would grasp them with both hands, giving him the love of her heart and soul as well as her body, in the hope that one day he would come to love her too.
"But it's I who've got to go to him, for I know he'll never come to me."
The weekend with her parents dragged. Though she had made her decision and was determined to phone Nicholas, she wanted to wait until she was alone in her flat. She had no clue as to what his reaction would be, but she wanted no one with her when she found out; and so she knew there was no question of telephoning from under her mother's eagle eye. She did consider writing him a letter, but decided against that idea. She wanted to hear his response to her call and anyway a letter might go astray and if he chose not to reply she would never be sure whether he had received it or not. No, she must phone, and the call must wait until she could make it from home.
She arrived back in Grayston-on-Sea late on Bank Holiday Monday evening. As the taxi took her from the station and drove along the promenade, she looked out over the sea. The full moon made a silver pathway across its restless waters, tossing diamonds of spray as it splashed gently on the beach. How different from the ugly grey violence of the winter sea, pounding upon the sea wall, swirling through the streets and carrying all before it.
Thoughts of the storm brought immediate thoughts of Nicholas, and Petra felt the now familiar heartache. It was too late to phone this evening, but at least she only had to wait another twenty-four hours before she could call.
Tuesday crawled by. Tom was back from his two day honeymoon, and talking of the real honeymoon he and Melanie planned as soon as college was closed for the summer vacation. Petra saw students, gave her opening archaeology lecture to her second years, ate nothing and waited for the moment when she could go home and dial Nicholas' number.
When she did reach her flat she made herself drink a cup of tea before phoning and then taking several deep breaths lifted the receiver. Her hands shook as she dialled and her whole body felt weak and feeble as she waited, listening to the ringing tone. At last it stopped and a woman answered.
"Is that Mrs. Romilly?" asked Petra huskily.
"Yes. Can I help you?"
"I wondered if I could possibly speak with your son?" she said, trying to sound calm.
"I'm awfully sorry," replied Mrs. Romilly, "but I'm afraid he's not here."
"Not there? Oh, well, do you think you could tell me when you expect him back?"
"I'm afraid I don't. He left for Greece this morning and he'll be away for several months, probably till early October."
"October!" echoed Petra. She had missed him. He had left that morning and she had missed him.
"Can I help?" Mrs. Romilly was asking.
"No, no thank you very much." Petra's voice trailed away.
"Who is it speaking, please?"
"Just a friend. Petra. Thank you very much."
Gently, Petra replaced the receiver. If she had phoned last night, when she first got in, she would have caught him. She might not have been able to see him, but at least she could have spoken to him and heard his voice. Now, maddeningly, it was too late. Perhaps it always had been.
Chapter Nine
The summer was wet and tedious, but as before Petra flung herself into her work, knowing she had to keep her mind occupied and herself at exhaustion point so that the time would pass until October when Nicholas would return to England. She still derived pleasure and satisfaction from her job and she was especially pleased with the work done on the archaeology course by the second years. The flame of interest kindled by Nicholas at the conference had grown stronger and it was with pleasure that Petra heard that three of her students were planning to join a dig during the summer vacation.
"You should come with us," one of them, Diana Hill, said, laughing. "Keep us in order."
Petra laughed too. "I doubt if I could," she said. "But you'll have far more fun on your own. Though you do realise, don't you, that if you should find anything you'll be brushed aside and the experts will take over."
They all laughed then. "Of course," said one, Sarah Drayton. "But we remembered what he said and we want to be part of it."
"What who said?" asked Petra puzzled.
"Professor Romilly, of course. He said at the lecture that we'd be welcome if we could find our own way there."
"You're going to Thessos?" Petra was incredulous.
"Of course, didn't we say?"
"No," said Petra lamely, "you just said Greece."
"Well, it's Thessos. If we can get as far as Athens there's an island boat that goes out to Thessos, among other places. We'll take that. Sure you don't want to come?"
This last was said with a grin and Petra managed to return it as she replied, "Quite sure. I already have plans."
It was quite untrue, she had nothing planned and when the college closed for the summer vacation the following week, she had still made none. Tom and Melanie were going to Yugoslavia for two weeks, "For our real honeymoon," as Tom put it, and various other members of staff were off to far-flung places. Petra, though restless, could think of nowhere she wanted to go, except Thessos of course, but there was no way she could turn up there uninvited.
Knowing enforced idleness would be the worst possible thing, she spent the first weekend of the holidays with her parents after which she invited herself up to Cumbria to stay with Mary for ten days. But there were still nearly ten weeks before the college year began again and to Petra they stretched into infinity.
Travelling back from Cumbria, she decided to try and get a part-time job, and got as far as buying a local newspaper at the station to look for something, but when she got back to the flat there was an air letter waiting for her which entirely changed her plans. The stamps were Greek and the address was written in Nicholas' bold hand.
Shaking, she picked it up and carried it through to the living-room. Then she sat down, drew a deep breath and opened it. Inside there was an airline ticket and a single sheet of paper. The ticket was for a return flight to Athens, and on the paper it simply said, "Please come. Nicholas."
Petra stared down at the contents of the envelope. She couldn't believe what she saw. The ticket was dated for July 31st. She glanced at the date on her watch. July 31st was tomorrow. Her immediate reaction was 'I can't possibly go, I've no time to get ready.' But even as she thought this she knew from the crazy leap of joy in her heart that she was going. Somehow she would be on that flight, come hell or high water. She looked at her watch again. She had precisely eighteen hours to organise herself, pack and be at the airport for the flig
ht.
Why he had sent the ticket, what had made him contact her at all, she did not know. Perhaps it was because she had rung his home, and his mother had mentioned it in a letter. Petra neither knew nor cared, but whatever the reason she was determined not to waste this chance; her second and probably last chance to be with Nicholas and her only chance to set the misunderstandings to rights.
With a singing heart she phoned her parents, did some laundry, found her passport and packed her case before she allowed herself a few hours sleep. Next morning she rushed to the bank and then caught the London train. By two o'clock she was in the air and on her way to Nicholas.
She had been so busy, she'd had no time to think once her decision was made, but as the plane droned its way across Europe, doubts began to assail her. What should she do when she arrived? She had no way of contacting him, and hadn't even let him know she was coming. If she hadn't gone to Mary's she might have had the letter days earlier. If she'd stayed in Cumbria any longer she would have missed the opportunity altogether. Her heart skipped a beat at that thought. Would he be at the airport? He knew after all which flight she'd be on, if she were coming.
"Please let him be there," she prayed. "Please let him be there, and help me not to waste my second chance."
As the aeroplane circled Athens, Petra could see the city spread below bathed in the hot afternoon sun. It shimmered faintly in the heat haze and Petra gazed at it sprawling beneath her, hoping and praying Nicholas was down there somewhere waiting for her.
The plane landed and taxied in towards the airport buildings. Petra followed the crowd on to the airport bus and then up into the luggage hall.
While she was waiting for her case to appear, she took the opportunity of going into the ladies and renewing her make-up. She gazed into the mirror there, and seeing a pale face staring back at her from huge navy eyes, she wondered how she would look to Nicholas. Quickly she applied more make-up, trying to add a touch of colour to her cheeks; then she brushed her hair and re-coiled it into a knot on the top of her head. It was cooler off her neck, and wearing her hair up always gave her confidence. She had travelled in a cool linen dress, and smoothing the skirt from her hips she gave one last glance in the mirror and went to collect her luggage.
A Chance of Happiness Page 10
