He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. Deborah froze. It was a brief kiss, over almost immediately, but it brought back all the desire she’d felt in the car on Hyndon Hill, and it had not diminished. As Josh pulled away she heard him sigh.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t want it, did you?”
She swallowed hard, surprised to find that what she really wanted was for him to do it again. “I—I need some time to myself, to think things out…”
“Yeah, well. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” He handed her the bicycle. “Demelza’s coming tomorrow.”
“D-Demelza?”
He dug his hands into his pockets and stared up at the starry night sky. “Mmm. We lived together in Reading. She’s coming to join me here at the Towers, now I’m settled.”
“Oh.”
“And she’s the jealous type, too, so I’m afraid we can only be friends—is that okay?”
“What? Oh. Yes. Friends.”
He smiled and she caught the gleam of his white teeth in the darkness. “Good. You will save me a dance at the village hop next week, won’t you?”
“I—um—I’ve agreed to help with refreshments…”
“I’m sure they can spare you for one number.”
“What about Demelza? I thought you said she was the jealous kind.”
“She is. But she’d much rather I danced with you than with a man-hunter like Kylie Tring.”
Deborah winced: so she was too dull to be considered a threat. “Oh. Okay.”
“Right. See you next week, then. ’Bye.”
She watched him saunter away, and found she was clutching at her bicycle as if it were a life raft. What was happening to her? She’d given Josh the impression she wasn’t interested, and he’d responded by informing her he wasn’t free. She realised that was not at all what she wanted to hear. Should she take this as a good sign? She must be getting over Bernard if she was attracted to another man. It was a crumb of comfort but only a tiny one. After all, if Josh wasn’t free then he was as unobtainable as Bernard. Deborah sighed. Sometimes life just wasn’t fair. She put away her bicycle and went indoors.
As she made her way to her room, she found one thing to smile at. This Demelza would be one in the eye for Kylie Tring.
Chapter Eleven
Deborah approached the Wednesday rehearsal with mixed feelings, but she was conscious of a definite lowering of her spirits when Alan Thorpe reported that Josh Lancaster wouldn’t be coming.
“I was having dinner at the Towers last night, and he told me he wouldn’t be able to get away tonight.”
No, thought Deborah, now he had Demelza to occupy his time, they probably wouldn’t see so much of him. Resolutely she turned her attention to stitching the seams of the angels’ costumes for the Brownies while Anne Lindsay wrestled with an ancient lion skin rescued from an old box of pantomime clothes.
“Ouch! That’s the second time I’ve tried to sew my finger to this wretched hide! Makes you wonder why I do it. I haven’t even had anything to eat yet.”
“Busy week?” Deborah asked.
“Mmm. I’ve been covering for a colleague at school this week, and I’ve even agreed to do her slot at the parents’ evening tomorrow, so I’ll have to stay in Flixton, no point in racing home just to go straight back out again. I’ve hardly seen my house this week.” She laughed. “What a moaner I am! Don’t take any notice, Debs. You know I’d much rather be busy than sitting at home moping, dwelling on the past.”
Deborah thought of Bernard and London. “Do you still miss him? Your husband, I mean.”
Anne paused, considering. “Yes. Yes, I do, although it isn’t as bad now. For a long time after he died, I didn’t think I’d get through. The loss is like a physical pain, you see. Everywhere you turn there are reminders.”
“I know.” Deborah lowered her head over her sewing as she felt Anne’s eyes upon her. “I mean, I can imagine how it must be, losing someone you love. But—it does get easier, doesn’t it?”
Anne smiled at the girl’s dark head. The Kemertons didn’t gossip, but she’d heard that Deborah hadn’t come to Moreton just to help her father run the restaurant. The rumours said she was nursing a broken heart after being hurt by some whiz-kid in the City.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, it does get easier.”
“Oh, Deborah, my love, Rita Tring can’t come tonight. Tummy bug or some such thing.” Mrs. Gresham tutted and fluttered her large bony hands. “I was relying on her to take the ticket money at the door—will you take a turn if I set up a rota?”
Deborah glanced across the room to where Graham Tring was setting up his disco in the corner. He was being assisted by Yvonne Willetts, the redhead chosen to play Delilah in the pageant. He didn’t look too anxious about his wife’s indisposition, she thought, watching them giggling together as Graham showed Yvonne how to switch on the flashing lights that filled the village hall with intermittent splashes of colour.
“Of course. Just tell me when I’m needed.”
“Thank you, love. I’ll go first, then Anne has said she’ll take a turn, so if you go on after that, about nine, there shouldn’t be too many people coming in by then.”
Mrs. Gresham was proved depressingly correct. After nine o’clock Deborah sat at the table by the door and watched the figures on the dance floor. Everyone seemed to be having such a good time. A group of girls were dancing in the centre of the floor, and older members of the village were gathered at one side, dancing occasionally but more often chatting and laughing. There was no sign of Josh, and Kylie was twining herself around Tim Gresham, her strappy little dress cut low at the neck and high at the hem to leave very little to the imagination. Deborah thought poor Tim looked distinctly uneasy with such an unusual degree of attention.
“Excuse me.”
Deborah jumped. “Sorry. Daydreaming.” She smiled up at the stranger. “Three pounds, please. That does include the hot dog supper,” she added, as he looked slightly taken aback.
The stranger pushed his glasses into position and stared at her for a moment before digging into his pocket to pull out a handful of coins.
“Tell me, is Mrs. Lindsay here?”
“Mrs.—? Oh, Anne. Yes. She’s serving in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” He took his ticket and walked away. Deborah watched him, wondering if he was some colleague of Anne’s from the school where she worked. Perhaps he fancied her—and why not? Anne Lindsay wasn’t that old, and besides, she was far too nice to be on her own all the time…
“Hi, Debs. Not too late, are we?” Josh’s voice interrupted her reverie and she looked up to find he was accompanied by the three other members of Four Front.
“Oh—hello. No, of course you’re not late.” Deborah handed him four tickets. “Where’s Demelza?”
“She didn’t want to come. She’s—er—she’s not a party animal. You remember Andy, Steve and Spike? They dropped by to see how things were going so I persuaded them to come along and support the disco. Ryan would have come too, now he’s recovered from the chicken pox, but he’s gone off to Spain to top up his tan before going back onstage. Are you selling tickets all night?”
“No, only another ten minutes or so.”
“Good. You promised to dance with me, remember?”
Deborah’s spirits rose as, with a parting smile, Josh strolled off. Kylie immediately abandoned Tim Gresham and ran to greet him, almost dragging him onto the dance floor. Deborah sighed and looked away. Kylie might not be his type, but he was certainly good at hiding that fact. Soon all four lads were enjoying themselves on the dance floor, at the centre of a group of admiring girls.
In the kitchen, Hilda Gresham was humming along to the music as she tipped two dozen sausages onto a baking tray. Anne looked at the growing pile of bread rolls at her elbow, each one neatly sliced and waiting for its filling.
“How many more should I do?” she asked.
“Oh, another dozen or so,
I should think.” Hilda glanced at the pile. “Dancing gives them an appetite, and cooking gives me a thirst!” She refilled the two wineglasses sitting discreetly behind the microwave.
“No more for me,” Anne protested, “or I won’t be able to cook.”
“Nonsense, it’s only your second. And it’s not as though you’re driving home tonight.”
“No,” Anne conceded, “but it doesn’t seem right to be drinking free wine when everyone else is buying their drinks.”
“Nonsense.” Hilda was reassuringly brisk. “It’s a tradition started by Clara Babbacombe years ago—a little cook’s aid for those working in the kitchen. It helps to encourage volunteers.” She looked up as someone approached them through the semidarkness. “Sorry, we’re not serving supper yet. Another half hour at least.”
“Are you Mrs. Lindsay?”
“Me? Good gracious no! Anne—Anne, this gentleman’s looking for you.”
Anne pushed a strand of blond hair from her face with the back of her hand and turned to find herself looking at a total stranger. The man was leaning on the counter, his blue-grey eyes staring at her through a pair of metal-rimmed glasses. She took in the thick, dark gold hair falling over his brow, the soft blue shirt beneath a thin summer jacket. The overall affect was boyish, although he wasn’t young. He stared back at her, no hint of a smile in his eyes.
“Are you Mrs. Lindsay?”
“I am. Can I help you?”
He stood up. “I am Professor Duggan.”
She gave him a blank look.
“Oh?” she said politely, “Should I know…? Oh.”
There was the first glimmer of a smile in his eyes as he saw the recognition in her face.
“So you do know who I am.”
“I know you’ve written to me a couple of times, but what on earth are you doing here?” She had to raise her voice against the music.
“Anne—you promised me the next barn dance. Come along now!” Alan Thorpe breezed up, his brows lifting a little as he looked at Professor Duggan. She did not feel equal to the task of performing an introduction. Besides, the rude man didn’t deserve it.
Alan held out his hand. “Come on, I’m sure Hilda can manage for ten minutes.”
She hesitated and was about to refuse when she caught sight of the professor’s face. The lips had drawn into a thin line, and his eyes positively sparked with anger. She almost laughed out loud at his petulance. Instead she gave him her sweetest smile.
“Of course, Alan. Sorry, Professor, but if you want to wait, I won’t be too long.”
She tucked her hand in Alan’s arm and walked off to the dance floor.
“Friend of yours?” Alan Thorpe tried to sound casual.
“What? Oh no! In fact, he’s the academic who wrote to the paper telling me I’d got my facts wrong. He tried emailing me, now he’s come here in person to tell me the same thing.”
“What? To a disco?”
“Yes.” Anne laughed. “Isn’t it ridiculous?”
“Completely stupid,” Alan agreed, much comforted. “What an idiot!”
Deborah watched Anne and Alan join the circle. Kylie and Josh were also on the dance floor, waiting for Graham Tring to start the music. She stifled a sigh. It was years since she’d done anything except disco dancing, but suddenly she wished some knight would come and rescue her from her role as a wallflower. Her wish was granted, but the knight appeared in a most unexpected guise.
Clara Babbacombe rolled up, followed closely by Godfrey Mullett.
“Come on, Deborah, you look as if you’d like to dance!”
“I would, but—what about the tickets?”
“Oh, Godfrey here will look after those. He says he doesn’t want to dance, so he can take your place. Come on, dear, they’re starting. I’ll be the man, if you like.” She led a bemused Deborah on to the floor where, after much laughing, they mastered the steps, four forward, four back, into the middle…
“Right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s do that again, but this time we’ll make it progressive!” Graham Tring’s voice boomed out through the speakers, and Deborah was pleased that Miss Babbacombe didn’t suggest they sit out. She found she was enjoying herself, moving around the circle, dancing with people she’d known all her life, each one with a cheery word or smile for the brief time they danced together, and then she was facing Josh, returning his smile with an idiotic grin.
“You look as if you’re having a good time.”
“I am! I’d forgotten how much fun these things could be.”
“Depends on the company.”
It was time to move on. She wondered if he was missing Demelza, and realised with a jolt that she was not missing Bernard. The barn dance ended and Deborah felt her spirits rise as Josh approached. She watched him hopefully, but before he could speak, Kylie came bouncing up.
“Come on, Josh, you promised me another dance, remember?”
Josh glanced at Deborah. She gave him a glittering smile. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about me, I don’t like this record anyway!” She swung away, determined to get herself a drink. Josh hesitated, but answering the insistent tug as Kylie caught his hand, he followed her back to the centre of the dancers.
Andy, the square-jawed Adonis, was standing very close to Deborah and caught her arm as she passed him. “You don’t like rock music?”
She tossed her head. “Not much.”
He grinned and pulled her back onto the dance floor. “Liar,” he said, without heat. “Come on. It’s better than being a wallflower.”
He was a good dancer and she relaxed, aware of the envious glances of the other girls, even those dancing with Spike and Steve. Andy was clearly the best-looking guy in the room, and possibly one of the best dancers as well. The party mood was infectious. This was no time for reticence, she told herself, allowing her body to move sensuously to the beat.
Andy smiled at her. “That’s better. Having fun?”
She nodded and found herself hoping that Josh could notice.
As Graham Tring seamlessly linked into a slow number, Andy pulled Deborah into his arms.
“Relax,” he said, feeling her body tense beneath his touch. “It’s only a dance, not a lifetime commitment.”
“Sorry.” She gave him a wry smile. “Out of practice.”
“Then practice now. You’re safe enough with me.” His hand rested lightly on her back. “Just let yourself go with the rhythm…that’s it…see, it’s not so bad.”
No, thought Deborah. It wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was very good, a hundred times more enjoyable than all those London clubs she’d visited with Bernard and his friends.
Anne returned to the kitchen, her face glowing with laughter. She sobered a little when she saw Professor Duggan waiting there for her. He was leaning against the counter, his arms folded across his chest.
She put up her chin. “Now, you were going to tell me why you’ve come here looking for me.”
“I should have thought that was obvious.”
“Not to me. You could have put a note through my door.”
“I could, if I had written it beforehand. As it is—”
“Okay, folks, just two more numbers before supper!” Graham Tring roared into the microphone.
The professor tried again. “I’ve been trying to phone you—oh damnation! Isn’t there somewhere quieter we can go?”
“Well, this is a disco, what did you expect?” she retorted. She saw the irritation in his face and with a sigh she turned to Mrs. Gresham. “Hilda—”
“I know what you’re going to say, and it’s all right, I can manage, love. Off you go and enjoy yourself. Yvonne’s coming over to help me serve the food. I don’t know what it is to be popular!”
Trying to ignore Mrs. Gresham’s broad and obvious wink, Anne led the way to the door, giving Godfrey a tight smile as she passed. “I’ll be back soon.”
Outside, the night air was blissfully cool. Anne carried on across the narrow footbridge to the
moonlit churchyard, where the noise of the disco was reduced to a mild thumping. The sky still had a pinky-purple tinge in the west as the last shreds of daylight clung to the horizon, and the moon cast pale but sufficient light for Anne to see her way. She glanced at her companion, noticing for the first time how tall he was. Her head hardly reached his shoulder.
“Now, what is so important that you had to come barging into a dance to find me?”
“My good woman, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week. You haven’t replied to any of my emails and you never answer your phone.”
“It so happens that I’ve been working away most of this week. What with that and the pageant, I haven’t been home much.”
“Oh.” He stopped, and she wondered if he would apologise but guessed he would not. Her impression of Professor Duggan was a man who was used to getting his own way. But when he did continue, his voice had lost its angry edge. “Since I was in the area, I thought I would make one last attempt and call on you, but your house was empty. However, an enquiry at the local pub—what is it, the Dog and something…”
“Sardine.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sardine. The Dog and Sardine. That’s the name of the pub.”
“Yes, well. Thank you. They told me I’d find you here.”
“Well, now you’ve found me, what do you want?”
He stood before her, hands in his pockets, his head slightly on one side, watching her. “You know very well. You have to correct the misapprehension that St. John’s is a Templar church.”
The professional in Anne wanted to agree with him, but two glasses of wine had made her obstinate.
“Are you sure it isn’t?” she countered. “Are you an expert in that period?”
“No, but at one time I touched on the medieval history of this area in my researches—”
“So your knowledge is not extensive.”
She heard his intake of breath. He said stiffly, “My observations are based on sound records, not legend.”
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