The Man in Possession

by Hilda Pressley

  She directed Andy where to put the filing cabinet and rearranged the furniture to make more space.

  ‘Have you got a few minutes to spare?’ Roger Leighton asked, gazing at the walls and ceiling with an expression of distaste.

  ‘I’m at your disposal, of course,’ she answered.

  ‘Then come and give me your opinion with regard to a colour scheme for the living room. I can’t stand it as it is much longer.’

  Carefully controlling the flood of memories of David which crowded into her heart, Julia followed Roger across the hall. She stood in the doorway for a moment, and as clearly as if he were actually there, she saw David’s fair head leaning back on his favourite chair, then sitting at the piano and again bending down to put a fresh log on the open fire.

  ‘The piano is about the only decent thing in the room,’ said Roger Leighton, causing her visions to fade.

  Julia glanced around the room. It was true. Profits had been ploughed back into the business rather than spent on things like new furniture or other home improvements, and David had spent his spare money on piano music and records.

  ‘There’s the record player and the album,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Oh yes. But I expect the records are mainly pop.’

  A swift anger rose in her. ‘Why should you suppose any such thing? There might be some, but in the main they’re a very good collection of classics—whole symphonies and concertos. If you don’t want them—’ She had been on the point of offering to buy them, but an enquiring look from him caused her to break off.

  ‘Were you—a personal friend of the previous owners?’ he asked.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, you could say that.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. But I hope you’re not going to be offended every time I criticize anything that belonged to them or any of their methods—that sort of thing.’

  ‘Of course not. I can take honest criticism either of myself or—or a friend when it’s given in the right spirit, but—’

  ‘But—what? Why do you so often break off in midsentence?’ he demanded.

  ‘All right, since you press me. I was about to say that you so often jump to conclusions.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Don’t you ever do that yourself?’

  ‘I suppose so—sometimes.’

  He nodded. ‘So do we all.’ Then, after a pause:

  ‘Right. Then I might keep the record player. Do you play the piano, by the way?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘What do you mean by a little?’

  She suppressed a sigh, wishing he would stop asking personal questions and talk about the decor of the room, if that was what he had brought her here for.

  ‘I suppose it depends on what your musical requirements are,’ she told him. ‘I’m not up to professional standard, otherwise I wouldn’t be working here, would I? I suppose you might say I can play moderately difficult things reasonably well, but not always perfectly.’

  ‘Fair enough. Come in and play any time you like. I don’t play myself, but I like to hear someone else—barring five-finger exercises. Now then, let me hear your ideas about decorating and furnishing this room.’

  Julia glanced around. Homely was the kindest word which could be said about it. There was a large, old-fashioned sofa and a couple of heavy armchairs, a television set of the old cabinet variety, but no books. Neither David nor his father had been great readers. In the spring, summer and autumn, their spare time had been little enough, and in the winter David preferred either to play the piano or listen to the records while his father read the local and national newspapers from cover to cover. And for the short time Julia had stayed with them, she had been content to listen to David’s playing, too, or to take a turn in playing herself, though her performance lacked the brilliance of his. ‘Dreaming again?’ came Roger Leighton’s voice.

  She started. She must have spent more time with her thoughts than she realized. ‘I’m sorry. But look, Mr. Leighton, why don’t you get a decorator in and ask his opinion?’

  ‘Perhaps I will, but I want your ideas and opinions, too. I want the room—in fact the whole house—to have a feminine touch. It’s a little too masculine at the moment even for me.’

  A feminine touch. Why? If he was thinking of getting married why couldn’t his future wife choose her own furniture and colour schemes? Julia was sure she herself wouldn’t want another woman choosing for her. But perhaps he was planning a surprise. He folded his arms and waited, a look of resigned patience on his face.

  Julia suppressed another sigh and glanced around the room again, frowning slightly.

  ‘It’s really a little difficult to know what to do with this room,’ she said. ‘It isn’t really big enough to accommodate a grand piano and leave space for much else. A lot depends, of course, on how much entertaining you intend doing.’

  ‘Well, some, naturally, but I go for the small, intimate parties rather than filling my house with people I’m merely acquainted with.’

  Julia smiled faintly. They would have that much in common anyway.

  ‘Do you know what I once thought I’d like to do with this room? But you probably wouldn’t agree,’ she said.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Well, the dining room is next door. It’s been very little used, and I don’t suppose you’ll sit in state there very often alone. I think it would be a good idea to knock part of the room down and have an open plan dining/sitting room. Make the division about here—’ she indicated the end of the piano—’ have the same carpet throughout, preferably in some rich dark colour, with pale walls. Velvet curtains for winter, and perhaps none in the summer on the dining side with the french windows looking out on to what ought to be the garden. Lighter armchairs than these,’ she went on, touching one of the present cumbersome ones, ‘and a long settee, possibly of cane. I’m sure you’ll want to have a new dining room suite, too. I saw a lovely one in town the other day. It had a name and a very unusual design in mahogany. The table had two sets of centre legs—if you know what I mean—’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean. ‘

  ‘—and the sideboard was bow-shaped with long, slender legs. The chairs too, were beautifully designed.’

  ‘You appear to have very good taste,’ he remarked. ‘And I think your idea of knocking these two rooms into one is excellent. But I’ll have to do something about the heating. I hate these radiators. They spoil the appearance of a room, don’t you think?’

  Julia agreed with him and excused herself, escaping to the study to put things to rights there. Seeing a mental picture of the finished rooms had put a tight band of pain around her heart. If only she had been making these plans with David! She had been a complete idiot to agree to staying on here. On her own, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But with another man in David’s place—

  She shook off her depression and went back across to the office to see what else required to be brought over. She found Max there, glancing all around and running his hand through his hair.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked. ‘Moving house?’

  ‘More or less. Mr. Leighton is having the whole place redecorated and furnished—and the other room made into an office for himself,’ she told him.

  ‘Lord! Executive style. And where are you going to work in the meantime?’ She told him and he pulled a face. ‘That’ll be awkward. I don’t like the idea of having to knock on his door every time I want to see you.’

  ‘You’ll have to learn to come out of working hours. It won’t take long, not more than a week or so, but in any case, I don’t really think you should come and see me when I’m working. I’m not exactly my own boss.’

  He gave her a questioning glance. ‘Do you mean you’ve decided to stay on after all? I thought you said over the phone last night that nothing would induce you to?’

  ‘Yes, I know. And I did write out my notice and hand it to him, but—’

  ‘But he got to work on you?’

  She averted he
r head. ‘Well, it was obvious that he wanted me to stay on. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to go.’

  He grinned. ‘That makes two of us. I didn’t want you to go, either. You know why, don’t you?’

  Julia frowned. ‘Max, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.’

  ‘Why not, for heaven’s sake?’

  She opened her desk drawer and began to collect her few personal belongings together.

  ‘You know how I felt about David. It isn’t very easy to forget. Besides—’

  He moved swiftly to her side and put an arm about her shoulders.

  Darling, this is nonsense.’ He lifted up her chin and said softly but firmly: ‘David is dead. You must accept that. You can’t love a man for ever.’

  ‘Can’t you? You don’t understand.’

  ‘But I do,’ he insisted. ‘Really I do. I knew David, too, you know. He was a friend of mine. He wouldn’t want you to pine for ever.’

  ‘I’m not pining!’

  Her lips quivered. She wasn’t pining. It was just that she needed him so. A love did not die just because the person died, and while she still loved David this way there was no room in her heart for anyone else. Not in the same way.

  Max pulled her round gently to face him, and feeling the need for comfort she leaned on him for a brief moment. There was a footstep outside and, inevitably, Roger Leighton appeared in the doorway. Raggedly, Julia moved out of Max’s arms. She had not felt like this about David for quite some time. Going into the house, seeing his piano again must have brought everything back, she concluded fleetingly.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ Roger Leighton asked, searching her face.

  She shook her head swiftly. ‘No, no. It’s—all right.’

  His sympathetic expression vanished and he turned to go out again.

  ‘Did you—want me for something, Mr. Leighton?’ she called out.

  He turned and gave Max a hard stare. ‘It’s not important,’ he answered. ‘When you’re free will do.’

  He strode away, and Max gave an amused smile. ‘Well, well. Different from his attitude yesterday,’ he remarked.

  Julia sighed. ‘Having put me in the position of his assistant he would hardly reprimand me as though I were a typist.’

  ‘As his assistant, eh? That’s interesting,’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘Is it?’ she queried absentmindedly.

  He nodded. ‘Let’s go over to the houseboat and have a cup of tea. You look as though you need one.’

  Julia glanced at her watch. It was near the time she usually had tea anyway and she certainly felt she could do with a cup. She led the way across the snow-covered ground, remarking that she would be glad to see the end of the snow.

  ‘According to the weather forecast there’s a thaw on the way,’ Max informed her. He stretched out on the studio couch and watched her as she made the tea and poured it. ‘You know, I don’t think you’re all that keen on working with—or for—Leighton, are you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, still feeling ragged somehow. ‘One minute he seems all right, another, I could hit him.’

  Max grunted. ‘I should think he can be pretty maddening most of the time. Is he going to—run the business, then?’ he asked. ‘Or sort of come and go and leave things to you?’

  Julia shook her head. ‘He intends to make a go of it.’

  Max grimaced. ‘Got a lot of big ideas, has he?’

  ‘Some,’ she answered briefly, reluctant to discuss her boss with Max.

  He laughed. ‘I can imagine! These city types—it doesn’t make sense. An oil magnate, more or less, trying to run a boat-hire and boatbuilding business. I don’t think he’ll last five minutes.’

  ‘I don’t see why not. And if he did fail, it wouldn’t reflect very favourably on me, would it?’

  Max looked up at her and gave a slow smile. ‘There might still be a chance of being the owner if you—go about it the right way.’

  Julia frowned. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Surely you don’t want me to spell it out for you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I want to know what you mean.’

  He laughed shortly. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! All I mean is that if you leave him alone and don’t spoonfeed him, drop a hint here and there that you’d still like to buy the place—’

  ‘He knows that already, and I can hardly work for him and watch him do something disastrous without saying a word.’

  ‘It needn’t be anything disastrous, as you put it. But I don’t see why you should run his business for him. Just let him make his own decisions—he’ll soon run his neck into a noose.’

  Julia did not like this kind of talk at all. ‘I shall just do my job as usual, Max. What else can I do? I certainly couldn’t keep silent if I thought he was doing something detrimental to the business. If he ever turns down my advice or suggestions, it will be a different matter, of course.’

  Max shook his head. ‘Honestly, Julia, you’re being very short-sighted. This boatyard is only a hobby—a sideline—for a man like Leighton. He’s not serious about it. Let him trip up a few times, and he’ll soon pack it in. And meanwhile, make him one or two offers.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Max,’ she said firmly. ‘What you suggest is quite impossible. I shall do my best to help him. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t like to see him trip up or fail in any way. If he finds the life doesn’t suit him or he decides to sell for any reason I shall certainly ask for the first option. Beyond that—no.’

  Max finished his tea and stood up. ‘I still think you’re being silly and obstinate. However, what about tonight? We could have a bite to eat somewhere if you like, or have a look around and see what’s on at the pictures.’

  But Julia felt put off Max’s company for the present. ‘Not tonight, if you don’t mind, Max. It’s been a—ragged sort of day, and I’d just as soon stay in and have an early night. Some other time.’

  He shrugged. ‘All right.’ But on his way to the door of the boathouse he turned. ‘I’ve offended you by what I said, haven’t I?’

  She shook her head, not wanting to make an issue out of it. ‘Not really.’

  He laughed briefly and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You took me too seriously. I didn’t want you to do anything your conscience wouldn’t let you. I know how badly you wanted this place, that’s all. I’d still like to see it in your hands, and I feel pretty certain that, one of these days, it will be. I’ll give you a ring—and maybe we’ll have dinner at the Staithe at the weekend.’

  She smiled and nodded and he left. She didn’t want to quarrel with Max. He was just about the only friend she had at present. At home, of course, she had had lots of friends. But in this part of the country it took time. If you did not meet people in the course of your work—and Julia didn’t—you had to join a club or a society, and that was something she had never got around to, probably never would.

  She washed the cups and saucers feeling restless and unsettled. She would be glad when the snow had gone and the busy season arrived. She would then have no time for mooning.

  She went back to the office and collected together the few remaining items from her desk drawer and took them across to the house. Roger Leighton was nowhere to be seen as she pushed open the glass vestibule door and went into the study. Andy had brought everything across he could lay his hands on and had piled it all higgledy-piggledy in the middle of the room.

  She set to work on sorting it out and as she picked up the telephone directory from the floor she saw what looked like a white card. She picked it up and turned it over, to see that it was a photograph. She had never seen it before, yet it was vaguely familiar. It was the photograph of a woman—young, attractive, well groomed.

  Then suddenly Julia recognised her. It was the same face Roger Leighton had drawn when he had been doodling this morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As Julia stared at the picture Roger Leighton came into the room. She glanced up
swiftly and held the photograph out to him.

  ‘I think this must be yours.’

  He took it from her, his face taut. ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘On the floor just now. You—must have dropped it,’ she answered, turning away and continuing with what she was doing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him put the photograph in his pocket. How had he come to drop it? she wondered. He didn’t look the kind of man who would continually take out a photograph and keep looking at it, no matter how much in love he might be.

  ‘Do you want any help?’ he asked suddenly. ‘It all looks the most frightful muddle.’

  ‘I can manage, thanks,’ she answered. ‘I’ll soon get it all sorted out. Do you want me to set up two desks—one for each of us?’

  He nodded. ‘You might as well, though I’m not expecting to spend much time in here. I—take it your—friend has gone?’ he remarked, with what seemed a swift change of subject.

  She nodded. ‘I’ve—told him he mustn’t come to see me during working hours.’

  ‘Oh, why?’ he queried unexpectedly.

  ‘Because I—don’t feel it’s right. You’re not paying me to have social calls.’

  He gave a faint smile of amusement. ‘I appreciate your being conscientious, but you’re not being paid by the hour. I wouldn’t have asked you to stay on if I didn’t think I could trust you to use your discretion in these matters. Are you—er—by any chance seeing him this evening?’

  She gave him a surprised look and shook her head. ‘I’m planning an early night.’

  ‘What do you call early?’

  ‘Oh, bed somewhere around ten o’clock with a good book. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d take pity on a stranger in a strange land, so to speak. This place depresses me entirely at the moment. Would you come out and have dinner with me?’ His lips curved again in amusement. ‘I promise to bring you back by ten.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ she asked dubiously.