The Man in Possession

by Hilda Pressley

  ‘Of course I’m serious. Why shouldn’t I be?’

  She skirted that question. She was not sure why she had asked it.

  ‘Very well, yes. I’d love to come, thanks.’

  ‘Good, I’ll give you a call around seven,’ he said briskly, and went out.

  Julia scarcely knew whether she was pleased at the invitation or not, or whether she could justifiably feel flattered. As she was the only woman to hand, and at present the house was rather a depressing place in which to eat, she decided she could hardly feel flattered. And pleased? She had not really been looking forward to another evening alone. She had had so many since David had died, in spite of Max being around.

  As she brought some kind of order in what used to be the Hargreaves’ study she began to realise for the first time how lonely she really had been. She realized, too, that though she had been grateful for Max’s friendship, she only liked his company for any length of time when she was in a particularly good humour. The slightest thing put her off him. She hadn’t wanted to see him tonight, for instance, yet she was quite happy to go out to dinner with Mr. Leighton. It even mattered to her what she wore, but she told herself that this was only because she felt he would be accustomed to taking out smart and well-dressed women and she wanted to be equal to the occasion.

  Naturally, as she searched her wardrobe an hour or so later she did not appear to have a thing to wear. A greater part of her wardrobe was still at home because since coming to Norfolk she had not dressed up a very great deal. She was still young enough to dress informally and, spending most of her time around the boatyard, she wore slacks and sweaters a good deal anyway.

  Tonight, however, she felt she needed to strike exactly the right note—whatever that was. Casual elegance, not appearing to have dressed up too much. Her hand closed on a dress she had bought for Christmas one year and had only worn a few times. It was in corduroy velvet, dove grey with a froth of white lace at the neck and sleeves. She took it out, and for a moment knew a sharp stab of pain. She had been wearing this dress when she had first met David. Quickly, she put it back on the rail. She couldn’t wear that. She simply couldn’t!

  Then: ‘Don’t be silly, darling. Wear it. Go out and have fun,’ she seemed to hear David say.

  She smiled to herself and reached into the wardrobe again and brought the dress out. That was just the sort of thing he would have said. She didn’t know about the evening being ‘fun’, but at any rate she ought to stop being so silly.

  She pinned up her hair and had a bath, and it was with a feeling of pleasure that she slipped on the little grey dress and smoothed it over her hips. It still fitted her perfectly, and looked exactly right for the occasion. Was she attaching too much importance to the evening? she asked herself. After all, it could barely be called a social engagement. He simply wanted to go out to eat and someone to go with him. Any other woman would have done just as well. All the same, he was her boss, she argued with herself, and the first time out with any man was an occasion. First time? She gave a wry smile. It might also be the last.

  Roger Leighton knocked on her door at a little after seven, and she slipped on her simulated pony-skin coat and a pair of white gloves. When she opened the door she was gratified to see a swift raising of his dark brows.

  ‘Very nice.’ Then his glance went to her thin shoes. ‘But stay there for a minute and I’ll back the car up a little closer.’

  She watched with some amusement as he brought the car almost to the door, then put down a rubber car mat for her to step on to avoid the snow-covered ground.

  ‘Thank you, Sir Walter,’ she couldn’t resist saying.

  He opened the car door for her and helped her in, then slammed the door and went swiftly round to the other side.

  ‘When one meets up with a lady, one tries to behave like a gentleman,’ he answered, starting up the car.

  Miraculously, the car pulled out of the snow again without too much fierce revving, and they were soon back on to hard ground. A glance at the dark grey car-coat he was wearing with its rich fur collar and she was glad she had chosen to dress up a little bit, and there was no doubt about the expensiveness of his car. She leaned back and let the luxury and comfort wash over her. It was a long time since she had felt so completely relaxed.

  ‘Have you any particular preference of a place to eat?’ he asked after a moment or two.

  She shook her head and snuggled still further into her seat.

  ‘I’ll leave it entirely to you—unless, of course, you want my advice.’

  He gave her an amused glance. ‘No, I think I know of a place. The hotel in Norwich where I stayed overnight will be fine until I’ve had time to look around further.’

  He was a wonderfully smooth driver. Julia closed her eyes. She had almost forgotten what it was like to be taken out in such style. Her own car had only been small, David’s had been a shooting brake, and they had seldom dined out in style the short time they had known each other. In style. She laughed to herself. To Roger Leighton this was an ordinary ‘popping out to dinner ‘evening. Nothing special.

  A sudden squealing of brakes brought her upright.

  ‘Sorry,’ murmured the man at the wheel. ‘It was the clot in front of me. Were you asleep?’

  ‘Not really. Just relaxing. Such a comfortable car—and such smooth driving—’

  ‘Until now.’

  She gave the flicker of a smile. ‘Never mind. You can’t hope to go through life without being brought up short every now and then.’

  ‘Who’d want to?’ he retorted. ‘But I don’t like to be taken off guard.’

  ‘Oh, I see—’ she said slowly.

  ‘What do you see?’ he asked, pulling up at a traffic light.

  She felt an almost foreign sense of mischief bubbling inside her. ‘You like life to be a challenge, but in general you like to be the one who’s doing the challenging—not other people.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that I’m aggressive?’

  ‘No—o, not in so many words. I simply think you’re the sort of person who likes to go out and meet life and to be girded to meet challenges.’

  He grunted. ‘I’ll have to think about that one. At the moment I have to concentrate on my driving.’

  She smiled in the darkness of the car. ‘I am taking rather unfair advantage. I’ll say no more until you can give proper attention to conversation.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  He dropped her off at what was unquestionably the best hotel in town, and she waited in the foyer while he parked his car. She knew that he would be at least five minutes, as new traffic regulations prevented parking outside the hotel, so she settled before the log-effect fire. What she was not prepared for was the appearance of Max, and the sight of him caused her acute embarrassment. He stared at her.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here, Julia?’ he asked. ‘I thought you wanted an early night?’ He dropped into a chair opposite.

  ‘So I did—and I still do.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t want to come out at all. At least, that was the impression I got. So why—’

  ‘I changed my mind, that’s all, Max. I’m sorry.’ Her glance flicked to the door where Roger Leighton’s tall figure was pushing a way in.

  Max turned swiftly and saw him. ‘Oh, I see. That’s the way the wind blows, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she answered, slightly annoyed. ‘He asked me out to dinner and—well, I—didn’t feel I could refuse.’

  He gave her a most calculating look. ‘You mean you didn’t want to.’

  Roger strode past them to deposit his coat, but there was no doubt he had seen them.

  ‘Max, I’ve said I’m sorry. When you asked me I just didn’t feel like coming out. Later I—did, that’s all.’

  He stood up as a mini-skirted girl came through the glass doors.

  ‘Well, it’s an ill wind, Julia. Here comes my date. Have a nice evening.’


  Julia thanked him, feeling distinctly nettled. What had he meant exactly by the reference to an ‘ill wind’? Possibly trying to save his pride by hinting that he preferred the other girl anyway. And obviously he had put some interpretation of his own on her change of mind.

  Roger returned. ‘Would you like, a drink here—or would you prefer the cocktail lounge?’

  She shook her head as she watched Max and his companion go into the cocktail lounge.

  ‘Here, please.’

  You—wouldn’t like to go and find somewhere else to eat?’ he queried, glancing in the same direction.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘It’s rather unfortunate Max choosing to come here too, but the damage—if any—is done now.’

  He ordered their drinks, then asked: ‘Why do you say, if any?’

  ‘Naturally, he’s rather annoyed that I declined his invitation, then accepted yours. But I think only his pride is hurt, and that he’ll soon recover.’

  I can imagine. About his pride being hurt, I mean. But look—if it’s going to prove too embarrassing, we can go elsewhere. I wouldn’t like the evening to be spoilt.’

  She smiled suddenly. ‘It won’t be. I didn’t know the girl he was with, but she looked very attractive.’

  Roger grimaced. ‘Not to my taste. Clothes too short, hair too long, lack of character in the face.’

  Julia laughed. ‘You deduced all that from the back?’ He eyed her speculatively, as if suspecting she was having fun at his expense.

  ‘I had a good enough look at her face from the front just before she and Windham turned into the hotel—and her clothes and hair were visible from the back.’

  Laughter ticked over inside Julia. ‘Point taken. So you don’t approve of short skirts. Or long hair.’

  ‘I don’t like clothes as short as hers, at any rate. Yours are just about right,’ he answered, glancing at her hemline and her slim legs. ‘And I like to see a woman’s hair looking as though it’s cared for and with some semblance of style.’

  She smiled broadly. ‘Like mine?’

  His glance flicked over her fair hair, layered to a medium length, kept manageable by the healthy, outdoor life she led, plus regular applications of conditioner.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Like yours.’

  She was glad that the waiter came with their drinks. She had begun to feel a little embarrassed, realizing she had been virtually asking for compliments. All the same, it was rather nice to know he approved of her appearance, and she was sure he was not the sort of man to pay compliments if he did not mean them. But what did he think of her as a person? Perhaps it was too soon for him to tell, and that was one question she would not ask him.

  ‘As a matter of interest,’ he said, after a pause, ‘why did you turn Windham down and then accept my invitation?’

  She gave him a mischievous glance. ‘When he asked me I just didn’t feel like going out. You made me change my mind—which says a great deal for your powers of persuasion.’

  ‘Mm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t really wanted to, I hope.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she assured him.

  He smiled suddenly. ‘May I call you Julia?’

  ‘Of course,’ she answered swiftly.

  ‘And my name is Roger.’

  She nodded. ‘Roger. A family name?’

  ‘No. The family name is Charles. Fortunately, I was given two names and as soon as I was at an age to think things out for myself, I insisted on being called by my own choice of name—Roger.’

  She would have liked him to elaborate, to have said why he objected to the family name. She felt sure there was much more significance than mere dislike of a Christian name. But for that very reason she did not ask.

  ‘And at what age did you start to think for yourself?’ she quizzed with a smile.

  ‘With regard to the family business—which is tied up with the name—from the age of about ten,’ he told her.

  ‘Did that mean that you—disapproved of the business as well as the name?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘No-o, not really. I simply wanted to have a separate identification. I didn’t become actively involved with the business until I was eighteen.’

  As he spoke his face sobered and she wondered what the situation was between him and the oil business. Had he really, as Max had suggested, quarrelled with his father? Of a happy, united family herself, she hoped not. To her way of thinking there were only two reasons left for his leaving the business to come to Norfolk. One was a general dissatisfaction with the oil company, the other a broken love affair.

  ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’ he asked, as she set down her empty sherry glass.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She rose, conscious that her previous light-hearted mood had changed. He too seemed to have become rather grave, and she wished they had kept his family and the oil business out of the conversation.

  They were shown to a table for two and menus placed before them. It was plain from the way Roger questioned the waiter and consulted her taste that he was well accustomed to going out and about, to dining at the best places. He seemed to know instinctively the right food and wine to choose and quickly shook off his serious mood of a few minutes ago.

  ‘Well, tell me a little about yourself,’ he said as they began the first course.

  Reluctant to talk about the double tragedy of David and his father’s death she said lamely: ‘There’s not much to tell.’

  He gave her an amused, admonishing look. ‘Come now, I’m sure you can do better than that. You’ll have me thinking you have a shady past. You’re not a native of Norfolk, anyhow, are you?’ he prompted.

  It was silly to be so reticent about herself. There was no need to talk about David if she did not wish to. And so she told him about her parents and the Kentish fruit farm.

  ‘It must be very lovely, especially in the spring,’ he commented.

  ‘Oh, it is. It’s really beautiful. I love it.’

  ‘Then why—’

  It was inevitable, and she could not really understand her reluctance to speak of David.

  ‘Why did I come to Norfolk? I met David—Mr. Hargreaves’ son. We became friendly and I came for a holiday. Then we—I decided to stay.’

  ‘You and he—?’ he queried hesitantly.

  ‘We became engaged.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Do forgive me. It must have been—terrible for you.’

  Suddenly she felt her food would choke her, yet at the same time she told herself it was ridiculous to feel this way. She could not understand herself, except that, while not actually still grieving for David, the gap left in her life was greater than she had even realized.

  ‘Tell me what you think of the wine,’ Roger said in a quiet voice.

  She took a sip and forced a smile. ‘It’s very good.’

  She drank a little more and found she could continue the meal better.

  ‘How long since you went home?’ Roger Leighton asked her, after a minute or two.

  ‘Christmas.’

  ‘Why don’t you go again? Take a little holiday while the work on the office is being done. I imagine you won’t want to go when things get busy.’

  She smiled genuinely at that. ‘How nicely you put it,’ she told him. ‘But I can’t very well go now. You’ve only just come.’

  ‘The place won’t fall apart because you’re not here,’ he told her.

  ‘I suppose not. Perhaps I could go for a long weekend,’ she suggested.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you. I just thought you needed a change.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  He looked as though he might deny it, but a waitress came to clear away their empty plates and serve the second course. Julia noticed that Max and his friend had now taken their places at one of the tables. Roger saw them too, and gave Julia a questioning look.

  ‘You don’t seem to mind.’

  �
��Why should I?’

  He smiled. ‘That’s answer enough. You don’t look exactly heartbroken. And I’m glad. I wouldn’t have said he was your type at all.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ she answered. ‘What makes you say so—and what sort of man do you think is my type?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘The answer to the first question can be very brief. It’s a sort of instinct I have that a man like that could never make you happy. One thing being a director of Melloid has taught me is to judge character from the look of a person. I’ve met so many in the course of business.’

  ‘Aren’t you ever mistaken?’

  He shook his head. ‘Very rarely. A person you can trust looks straight at you.’

  But she was not so easily convinced. ‘But wouldn’t that be one of the tricks of a con man—to look you straight in the eye while planning to do you down?’

  ‘Oh yes. But there are other things. A confidence man is generally too smooth, agrees with you too readily, never gets annoyed. A person you can trust has depth.’

  Julia shook her head swiftly. ‘But you can’t tell just by looking at a person whether he has depth or not.’

  ‘You can, in a way. There’s a certain look in the eyes, in the set of the jaw, in a man’s—or woman’s—whole expression.’

  Julia had to concede that he could be right. Hadn’t she come to some conclusions about Roger himself from across the auction room? It was true she had not been able to put her assessment of him to a real test, but—

  ‘That man,’ Roger was saying with quiet emphasis, eyeing Max across the room, ‘is as selfish as hell and as conniving as a fox, if I’m any judge.’

  Julia was conscious of a sense of dismay. It was rather frightening to meet a man who judged the character of people so ruthlessly.

  ‘I don’t see how you can possibly tell,’ she protested. ‘And personally, I’d hate to be judged in such a way.’

  His eyes widened. ‘But you wouldn’t be judged that way. The worst one could say about you would be that you have a mind and a will of your own—and that can’t be called a fault.’

  ‘It could be,’ she argued.