The Man in Possession

by Hilda Pressley

  He shook his head. ‘You tend to fly off the handle, partly because you’re so honest. But you also have a—strong sentimental streak in you.’

  She felt her cheeks warming. ‘You sound like a character-reading act at a—’ She broke off, suddenly realising how rude she was being. ‘I’m sorry.’

  His jaw tightened for a second, then his lips curved into a slight smile. ‘That’s all right. I didn’t intend to get so personal, but at least you’ve confirmed what I said. You tend to fly off the handle.’

  ‘I’ve already said I’m sorry,’ she flashed out. Then she saw the humorous side and laughed. ‘You’re perfectly right, of course.’

  ‘There you are. Honest, too. I told you I was an expert.’

  Mischief stirred once more as she looked at him across the table. ‘Of course I only fly off the handle when someone provokes me.’

  ‘And I provoked you. You must learn not to let your feelings show so much.’

  ‘Why? I was brought up to express my feelings freely. How else can the human race get to know each other? There’s far too much surface politeness, people pretending they don’t care about things. Why should we be afraid to show our emotions?’

  She could see from his expression that he did not agree with her and at heart, she did not fully mean what she had said. There were times when control was necessary. He said more or less what she expected him to say.

  ‘Emotions can get out of hand if they’re not controlled. Mass hysteria, for example. It isn’t wise to bottle up sorrow too much, of course. I think everyone more or less agrees on that.’ He gave her an odd look which at that moment there wasn’t time to interpret. He went on: ‘But in conceding the need for free expression, there is another factor to be considered. The effect on other people.’

  Conscience smote her and she was aware of a hurt feeling mixed with resentment that he had knowingly or unknowingly administered a dose of medicine.

  ‘You mean—I say what I think without considering the feelings of others?’ she queried bluntly.

  His eyes opened wide. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. You’re sensitive as well as being sentimental. And before you protest about that, I mean it as a compliment. I should say you’re only too well aware of the feelings of others. I was referring to those people who take freedom of expression to extremes and to blazes with the effect on either individuals or the world in general. Rioters, demonstrators, warmongers and murderers, for instance. I’m quite sure that in allowing you a certain amount of freedom of expression your parents didn’t let you have all your way. A certain amount of self-control is essential. If you’re not taught it as a child, life can well be hell when you grow up.’

  He tackled his food for a few minutes as if he felt he had said too much, or as if he had been speaking personally and wished he hadn’t. But taking a glance at his face, she would have thought he was a man who had learned to control his feelings very well indeed. Perhaps a little too well.

  He looked up suddenly and smiled. ‘We’re getting too serious, aren’t we? I was supposed to be telling you what kind of man was your type.’

  ‘So you were. Do tell me. I can hardly wait to hear.’

  He took a sip of his wine. ‘Let me see now. One thing is certain. You’d need a man whose mind matched your own—lively and intelligent. But his brain would have to be slightly superior to yours. You wouldn’t want it other. And he would have to be firm with you at times.’

  ‘Really?’ she mocked.

  ‘Yes, really. You need taking in hand.’

  ‘By some man?’

  ‘By some man,’ he reiterated. ‘And for your own good.’

  ‘The dominant, masterful male!’

  He eyed her without smiling. ‘Call it what you will. You need protecting from men like that—’ again his glance went in Max’s direction ‘—who would break that sensitive heart of yours, leave you mentally unsatisfied and be quite incapable of shouldering the responsibilities of married life.’

  Julia eyed him rather uncertainly. He was either paying her some very great compliments or simply heartily disliked Max.

  She gave him an amused smile. She felt it would never do to take him too seriously.

  ‘When—or if ever—you meet a man willing to take on the job, perhaps you’ll let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll have to get along the best way I can,’ she said lightly.

  There was a short silence, then he asked unexpectedly: ‘What sort of man was David Hargreaves?’

  She felt as though she’d been dealt a blow on the heart. She drew in a painful breath and felt the blood drain from her face.

  ‘I—I’d rather not answer that,’ she said stiffly. Then a feeling of exquisite tenderness took possession of her. Dear David. Why shouldn’t she talk about him?’ It’s—difficult to say just what kind of man he was,’ she said softly. ‘He was one who could both excite me and give me a sense of peace, whom I could admire as well as—love, a man of gentleness and of strength, a man without whom—’

  She broke off, suddenly aware of the scrutiny of the man across the table. For a few moments she had forgotten the existence of anyone else. A man without whom I never thought I could exist, she had been about to say, until she had felt the magnetism of the man sitting opposite her. It occurred to her now that this evening was the very first time she had felt natural since that ghastly day when David had met with his accident.

  ‘I’m—sorry,’ she said swiftly. ‘I—got carried away.’

  ‘So I noticed,’ he answered, his face set in an expression she could not read. Then he added, ‘He was evidently quite a man, and almost impossible to compete with, I imagine.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, yes, but whether he was my “type” or not as outlined by you—’

  Her thoughts took over. David had been intelligent enough to run a boat-hire business. Whether superior to her own intelligence she would find it impossible to say. But firm—and by that she supposed Roger Leighton had meant masterful—he had not shown any evidence that she could recall. He had had no need to. But one did not love a man for mind or capabilities so much as what he did to you. She and David had liked each other immediately. Some might have called it love at first sight. Of one thing she was certain. From their first meeting until his fatal accident a few months later they had been absolutely everything to each other.

  ‘I think it’s time to change the subject,’ came Roger’s voice brusquely.

  She started. But she agreed. The conversation had become much too personal.

  ‘Tell me about the oil business,’ she said. ‘Is it really anything like that well-known television series?’

  He nodded. ‘It is, as a matter of fact. At least, in some respects.’

  ‘And were you on the engineering side or—’

  ‘No, sales. But I don’t really want to talk about oil, if you don’t mind. I came to Norfolk to get away from it. I’d much rather talk about the Broads. The very sound of the name has long held a fascination for me. Why are they called that, by the way? They’re really sort of lakes shooting off from the rivers.’

  ‘Perhaps the name just evolved—a broad stretch of water. They’re man-made, you know, caused by digging out peat, ages ago.’ Then: ‘Have you ever taken out a Broads yacht or cruiser for a holiday?’ she asked.

  ‘A yacht a couple of times—not as often as I would have liked.’

  ‘I suppose business kept you pretty busy,’ she said, though in the back of her mind was the thought that perhaps the woman in his life did not like sailing.

  He said, ‘Yes,’ briefly, then after a pause went on to discuss the sail craft of their own fleet, asking her about her own sailing prowess and which boat she used.

  ‘A half-decker with lug sail,’ she told him promptly. ‘They’re ideal for solo sailing—so easy to manage.’

  ‘But not much “fun”, is it, sailing alone?’ he queried.

  She smiled a little. ‘Sometimes there’s no option.’

  ‘True, but
if there is someone around—’

  She nodded, thinking of David again. With the right person sailing was more than ‘fun’. It was sheer heaven. She and David had planned a honeymoon on a two-berth auxiliary yacht.

  Roger Leighton broke into her thoughts, this time talking about the business, that he would like to encourage sailing by having more yachts for hire.

  At this she felt once more the urge to tease him. ‘That would not be very good business.’

  She expected he would realise that she was joking, but he didn’t. He took her seriously and the conversation was not quite as pleasant as it had been previously. They took their coffee in the hotel lounge and Julia noticed his glance go to the clock several times, almost as if he were wanting time to pass. At nine-thirty he suggested it was time to be going.

  ‘I promised to get you back for ten,’ he added.

  He rose, not giving her the opportunity of changing her mind even if she had wanted to.

  It had been a mixed sort of evening, Julia thought as she sat back in the dimness of his car. If it were not for a certain reserve and unaccountable changes of mood he could be an interesting, even an exciting man. At this thought she experienced a faint twinge of conscience, of disloyalty to the memory of David. This was the first time she had taken any interest in another man, as a man, since his death. It was odd that until this evening she had avoided talking about him. Now she found she wanted to. Why, she could not explain, except that she felt almost as if she were being released from a kind of bondage.

  It was not until Roger turned into the boatyard that she realised neither of them had spoken all the way home. Apparently he also had been engrossed in his thoughts.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ he said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. ‘Dead on time. If you’ll give me your key I’ll open your door for you.’

  ‘It’s all right, I can—’ But the words, I can manage died in her throat. He was not the kind of man one should say that to. He would not appreciate independence in a woman.

  As if to prove her right he ignored her half-finished sentence and held out his hand. With a feeling of amusement she rummaged in her bag and put the key into his palm. In a second he was out of the car, had unlocked the door of the houseboat and was holding the car door open for her.

  He helped her out and she thanked him. ‘Would you care to come in for a coffee?’

  ‘Er—no, thanks. I have some letters to write, and I mustn’t rob you of your beauty sleep.’

  More disappointed than she felt she should have been, she pushed open the door of the houseboat and stepped inside.

  ‘Goodnight, then—’

  ‘Julia-’

  She turned hopefully. Another half hour of his company over a cup of coffee would round off the evening very nicely.

  But all he said was: ‘Thanks for turning what would have been a very dull evening into an extremely pleasant one.’

  To Julia’s ears it sounded stilted and conventional. She murmured her own thanks and said goodnight once more before closing the door.

  For a little while after hearing his car drive the few yards to his house and garage, Julia battled raggedly with a sense of dissatisfaction, but gradually she relaxed and smiled to herself as she recalled some of their conversation. In all, she went to bed in a happier frame of mind than she had known for a very long time.

  During the night there was a change of wind direction, and a gradual thaw set in. For three days rain came down, accompanied by high winds. The workmen moved into the office and Julia squelched her way to and from the house to work in the temporary office there. She saw very little of Roger. He seemed to be off on some business of which she knew nothing, and when she did see him he had very little to say to her. Julia began to wonder whether he had regretted taking her out to dinner. Perhaps from now on he wanted there to be strictly a boss-employee relationship between them. It was all useless conjecture, of course, and she told herself it didn’t matter to her in the slightest what he had in mind. All the same she would be glad when the busy season began, though even Easter was still some weeks away..

  On Thursday evening however, as she was putting things away at the end of the day, he came into the study/office.

  ‘Have you thought any more about my suggestion of getting away for a week-end or so?’ he asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Can’t you tear yourself away from the place?’

  Her eyes widened at his tone. ‘I—don’t know what you mean. It’s just that I haven’t thought about it.’

  ‘Don’t you want to see your parents?’ he asked accusingly.

  She had actually been thinking of inviting them to visit her over Easter. There was plenty of room in the houseboat. Quite apart from the Broads, this was a very good area in which to spend a holiday. There were so many places of interest all around, and she knew they would enjoy it.

  She looked at Roger Leighton’s dark face and wondered what had happened to annoy him.

  ‘I’ll look up trains and go this week-end,’ she said mildly. She thought she had also better ask him if it was all right for her to invite her parents to stay, and was about to do so when he exploded again.

  ‘Trains? You can’t travel by train.’

  ‘That’s the only way I’ll get there,’ she told him. ‘I haven’t a car at present. I sold it when I wanted to buy the business. I’m afraid I’ve been using the firm’s van for odd trips into town. I shall have to get another car, but meanwhile—’

  ‘You can either get yourself another car or use the van, just as it suits you, but I’m going down to Surrey for the week-end-myself. That’s why I asked you. I thought we might as well travel down together. I’m sure we can both be spared at the moment, whereas in a few weeks’ time neither of us will be able to get away.’

  That was true. ‘But won’t Kent be out of your way?’

  ‘Very little. We could travel down tomorrow afternoon and come back Monday morning. And by the way,’ he continued before she could say anything, ‘ask Mrs. Harris if she’ll come in over the week-end and clean up the office after the workmen have left. It would be a good idea, too, to decide where you want things to go and leave some instructions with Andy. You won’t want to come back and find everything in a muddle and in the wrong places.’

  He nodded and walked away in the manner of one accustomed to taking explicit obedience for granted.

  ‘Yes, sir, certainly, sir,’ Julia muttered under her breath.

  He was certainly in charge and, if one did not watch out, would also take charge of one’s life. But oddly enough the idea did not so much anger as amuse her.

  She telephoned her parents to let them know she would be coining, and at three o’clock the following day Andy knocked on the door of the houseboat to tell her that Mr. Leighton was waiting for her at the front of the house. The boy insisted on carrying her small case and putting it in the boot of the car. Roger opened the door at the passenger side for her without getting out and they set off towards Norwich.

  ‘I’m picking up another passenger,’ he told her. ‘Somebody who works in the oil company.’

  ‘Going all the way, you mean?’

  He nodded. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not. But would you rather I sat in the back? Then you’ll be able to talk.’

  But he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Stay where you are.’

  He stopped outside a hotel just inside the city boundary and disappeared into the revolving doors.

  Julia did not know whether she was glad or sorry that they were to have the company of another man, but on the whole she thought it just as well. Roger Leighton could be stimulating company, as she had learned, but something had happened since that night they had had dinner together, and at present he wasn’t very communicative at all.

  He seemed to be gone for quite a long time, and she feared they would be in trouble for parking over the limit if he did not come soon
. But at last he appeared. Greatly to her surprise he was accompanied by a woman—she had taken it for granted that it would be a man. Roger opened one of the rear doors and thrust a case on to the back seat, then helped the woman in. Julia caught a glimpse of someone fashionably dressed and with a certain air. The whiff of an elusive perfume came faintly to her nostrils as the woman took her seat. As Roger went round to the other side of the car Julia turned to smile at her, but involuntarily her eyes widened in surprise.

  It was the woman whose face he had drawn while doodling and in the photograph she had picked up from the floor of the house.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Roger slammed the car door behind him, then half turned in his seat.

  ‘Julia, this is Miss Celia Palmer. Celia—Miss Barclay, my deputy.’

  Julia smiled and was about to make some friendly remark, but the other girl took a swift look at her and spoke to Roger.

  ‘Your deputy? Really, darling—’

  Roger pulled the self-starter. ‘Yes, my deputy, Celia,’ he muttered over his shoulder. ‘And don’t call me darling.’

  ‘All right, dar—Roger, just as you say,’ came the answer.

  The car slid away from the kerb. Julia stole a sideways glance at Roger’s face, but it was a mask. Like many men, he was adept at hiding his feelings. Julia was in no doubt whatever that Celia Palmer was more than merely ‘somebody who works in the oil company’. They had once been engaged, she was sure of it. Obviously, the other girl had been so in the habit of calling him darling, she still did so automatically, and though Roger might be angry with her, he must still be in love with her, otherwise why draw her face without realizing he was doing so, and why did he still carry her photograph? Julia also recalled Roger’s frequent absences from the boatyard in the past few days. He had been seeing Celia, of course.