A Bid for Love & A Chance of Happiness

by J. B. Sherrard

  At last the day ended. Another of her decisions, that of moving back into the flat immediately, had to be implemented and ringing for a taxi she packed her belongings and vacated the college guest-room. She left a note of thanks for the Principal, remembering to commend, in it, the students who had so generously come to her aid, and waited for the taxi in the hall.

  When at last Petra was safely in the refuge of her home, she made herself a pot of tea and then, finding herself unable to do anything until she had made her phone call, she drew the letter with his number on it from her handbag, and prepared to dial.

  The number rang out and as she listened, praying that no Mrs. Romilly would answer it, Petra suddenly wondered what she would say if there was a reply—she had thought of no excuse for the call.

  Quickly she slammed her hand on the telephone buttons and cut off the call. She must have a reason to phone. She thought for a moment, to find something that, should it be needed, would not arouse Nicholas' suspicions if he heard of the call later. Journalist? No, she would have to name a paper. Business? Market Research? Then a perfect idea came to her, she would say she was a freelance photographer and ask to make an appointment to take some pictures. Nicholas wasn't there, of course, so she could ring off promising to call again for an appointment.

  Once again she dialled the number, promising herself she would wait for twenty rings before she rang off. There was no reply. Instead of adding fuel to her hopes this inconclusive result made her even more depressed. She rang again every twenty minutes, each time letting the number ring twenty times before giving up.

  At her fifth attempt, on the eleventh ring, the receiver was picked up and a woman with a pleasant voice said the number. Shaking violently, Petra took a deep breath and began her prepared call.

  "Is that Professor Nicholas Romilly's home?"

  "Yes, it is, who's calling, please?"

  "May I speak to Professor Romilly, please?"

  "I'm sorry, he's in Yorkshire this week." The voice sounded regretful.

  "Am I speaking to Mrs. Romilly?" asked Petra huskily.

  "Yes."

  "Mrs. Anne Romilly?"

  "That's right. Who is that, please?"

  "I'm so sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Romilly, my name is—" Petra paused, she hadn't thought of a name, "Margaret Mitchell—"she had caught sight of her copy of Gone with the Wind, on the bookshelf. "I'm a freelance photographer. I just wanted to make an appointment with Professor Romilly. Perhaps I can phone again."

  "Yes, do, Miss Mitchell. I expect him home tomorrow evening."

  "Thank you very much," and feeling sick and miserable, Petra hung up.

  Anne Romilly had existed in 1978 when the book was published, in 1980 when the Who's Who in the library was published and in 1985 when Petra Hinton spoke to her on the telephone.

  Chapter Seven

  Now that she had established beyond doubt that Nicholas, the man she had fallen so deeply in love with, was married, Petra, stunned and shocked, had to consider what she should do about the situation.

  She could of course tell him she knew about his wife and say she would never see him again. That was indeed what she knew she ought to do, but had she the strength? Supposing he admitted he was married when she taxed him with it, but suggested they carried on their own liaison? Was she prepared to do so? Was half a loaf better than no bread? Or, she could pretend she knew nothing and wait for him to tell her, but even then the ultimate question to be decided would be the same.

  The evening stretched before her, but there was work she had to do, and trying hard to relegate all thoughts of Nicholas and her dilemma to the back of her mind, she set herself to it. She was in some measure successful. Even though as she closed each folder she had to force herself to open the next, while she was actually reading the contents and commenting upon them, she found her attention held.

  At last she closed the final one and went to bed. She pulled her quilt about her and dozed off quite quickly despite her mind's subconscious agonising about her problems.

  When she awoke in the morning she felt tired and unrested, but she found her decision had been partially taken. She would tell Nicholas she knew about his wife. She knew there was no way she could maintain a pretence of not knowing. All she had to do was wait for a suitable moment on Saturday night and break the news.

  All she could do now, was live through the next thirty-six hours, and as always hard work seemed the answer. After a morning of third year lectures and tutorials, she got ready to pay an unexpected visit on her teaching practice students. It would keep her mind well occupied and mean she would have little chance of meeting Tom.

  On her way past the secretary's office, she popped in to hand in her expenses sheet. Miss Merton, the secretary, was a chatty soul, and Petra was subjected to the latest college gossip, all except that relating to herself, of course.

  Miss Merton was interrupted in full flow when the telephone rang, and Petra edged thankfully away as the secretary's attention was turned from her, but she was stopped at the door.

  "This call's for you, Petra. Don't be too long, your friends should use the common-room phone, you know."

  Petra's heart missed a beat. It must be Nicholas. No one else would ring her here. She was right and her heart skipped again as she heard his deep voice say, "Petra? Is that you? I thought I'd have to leave a message."

  Aware that Miss Merton was at her elbow, gathering in every word for future distribution, Petra kept her reply formal.

  "Yes, Professor, how nice to hear from you."

  Nicholas laughed. "You're being overheard," he said.

  "As a matter of fact I am."

  "Never mind. We'll cut the protestations of undying love to a minimum. Had a good week?"

  "Not bad. Have you?" Petra found her voice came huskily and cleared her throat.

  "Fine. Very good, in fact. The problem is, as a result, something has come up and I shan't be able to make it this weekend."

  "Oh."

  "I'm sorry, angel, but I'll try and get away one day next week."

  "If you like." Petra suddenly felt very tired.

  "Sure you don't mind?" Nicholas sounded relieved.

  "No. I understand."

  "I knew you would. I'll explain it all when I see you."

  "Yes. I must go now." Petra knew it sounded rather abrupt, but she had to end the conversation before she broke down and cried.

  Nicholas' voice softened. "Take care. I'll come as soon as I can get away. 'Bye now."

  " 'Bye." Petra's farewell was little more than a whisper and she replaced the receiver.

  With a deep breath she turned round to face the inquisitive secretary. "Thank you, Miss Merton," she said and left the office.

  So, Nicholas wasn't coming on Saturday and Petra would have to wait even longer before she could have an answer to the question that tormented her. His words, "couldn't get away," came back to her, echoing in her despondent mind. "Get away," as if there was a restriction.

  Quickly she made a decision and before setting out to visit her students as she had planned, she slipped into the telephone booth in the front hall and phoned her parents.

  "Darling, what a lovely surprise," cried her mother. "Of course you can come home for the weekend. When shall we expect you?"

  "I'll collect my things after college this afternoon," Petra replied, "and depending on trains, should be with you later tonight."

  "That's marvellous," said her mother. "Dad will be pleased when I tell him. I'll have something in the oven that'll keep, so just get here when you can."

  Her mother's voice sounded so relaxed and normal that Petra almost broke down, but she knew she had made the right decision. A weekend alone in the flat was unthinkable.

  She made her school visit brief and managed to catch a train earlier than she had anticipated. Once she was on her way, Petra found herself longing to be there, close within the safe familiarity of home, with her parents, always so loving and understanding at
her side. They would know at once, when they saw her, that something was wrong, but Petra was certain they wouldn't pry or question her; they would wait for her to confide in them. If she chose not to, they would give her comfort and strength simply by being there.

  In this Petra was right. Apart from commenting that Petra looked pale and in need of a good night's sleep, her mother said nothing to show that she was aware of Petra's low spirits.

  Petra herself very nearly did pour out the whole story to her mother. Several times she was on the point of speaking, but on each occasion she drew back. The decision she had to make was one she had to make alone. She knew how her parents would view her involvement with a married man and as the two days of the weekend progressed, the standards and values instilled into her since she had been a child asserted themselves once more and she knew what her decision must be.

  Having made her choice Petra knew she must implement it at once, before her strength failed her and she changed her mind. Borrowing a sheet of notepaper from her mother that Sunday afternoon, she wrote to Nicholas and told him she didn't want to see him again. She gave no reason but asked him to respect her decision as final and not to contact her again. She read the letter through once and miserably dry-eyed, sent it to the address at the head of his own letter.

  "I think I'll walk along and post this," she said as casually as she could.

  Her mother looked at the threatening sky and said, "Do you really want to go now? It won't go till tomorrow, you know."

  Petra felt certain that if the letter was still in her possession tomorrow it wouldn't go at all, so she said, "I shan't be long, but I could do with a breath of fresh air and a walk after that enormous lunch."

  The sky fulfilled its promise and by the time she reached the post office, the rain was coming down hard, pounding on the pavement, bouncing several inches into the air. Petra was drenched in moments, but she was hardly aware of the fact. With rain running down her face, her own tears passed unnoticed; her mind was already cold, her body reaching the same state seemed unimportant.

  "Goodbye, Nicholas," she whispered and slipped her letter into the box. Then she continued to walk in the rain until weariness took her home. Despite the dreadful emptiness that stretched before her, Petra felt more at ease with herself, calmer and more relaxed than she had since Tom had first told her about Nicholas.

  Something of it showed in her face, for when she finally reached her parents' house and stood dripping on the hall carpet, her mother simply put her arms round her for a moment and said, "I don't know what decision you've been making, darling, but I'm sure you've made the right one." She hugged Petra fiercely and added, "Go and have a bath before you catch your death of cold, then when we've had tea, Dad and I'll drive you back to the flat. No trains for you tonight."

  Petra was supremely grateful for her mother's understanding, and managed to maintain some semblance of normality until they had seen her into the flat, but when at last the front door closed behind them and she was left alone in the silence of her room, Petra crept into bed, the bed where she had found such joy, and cried herself to sleep.

  Nicholas Romilly's reaction to Petra's letter was characteristically swift and decisive. He ignored her requests not to come again and to accept this as final and arrived on her doorstep on Tuesday evening.

  Petra, knowing Nicholas, had feared he would do just that and had prepared herself to face him, so it was no surprise, when a thundering fist summoned her to her door, to find Nicholas waiting outside. Without a word he strode past her through the flat into the living-room. Petra closed the door behind him and taking a deep breath followed him. He stood with his back to the windows, for all the world as he had stood in the basement flat the first time she had seen him, and as she entered the room he dragged her letter, crumpled from his pocket.

  "What is this?" he asked, his voice tight and controlled.

  Petra looked across at him and replied calmly, "I imagine it's the letter I wrote you." She felt far from calm, but she was determined not to fight with him, nor to break down and cry.

  "What does it mean?" he demanded.

  "Exactly what it says," she replied carefully. "You shouldn't have come here."

  "Aren't I at least entitled to some explanation?" he said coldly. "I had a feeling perhaps that our last evening together might have given me a right to that."

  Petra had guessed that if Nicholas came at all he would demand an explanation, and she had prepared one for him. The idea of giving him the true explanation—that she had discovered he was married—she had quickly dismissed. If his marriage had not proved a barrier from his point of view before, there was no reason to expect it to do so now, and Petra had an awful feeling that if he took it into his head to try and persuade her to carry on the affair, she might well fall prey to the temptation.

  So she had an explanation ready and now she began to give it, but under the dark glare of his eyes she faltered and didn't deliver the speech as she had rehearsed it.

  "I don't want to see you again because I'm going to marry Tom." She blurted it out and then shrank away from him as she saw the fury mounting in his face.

  "And when was this all arranged?" His voice was soft and low and chilling.

  "We've—we've been going out together for some time and, well, when he saw us together at Angelo's he discovered how jealous it made him and realised he was in love with me." Petra's words tumbled out under Nicholas' icy stare.

  "And that was the object of the exercise? To make him jealous?"

  Faced with the angry expression she had hoped would never be directed at her, Petra could only nod dumbly. "And your little bit of play-acting did the trick, did it? Next day he rushed round and popped the question?" Nicholas spoke contemptuously, his face a mask of disgust. "How delighted you must be that your ruse worked. Of course, I'd have thought the latter part of the evening a little over and above the call of duty, unless of course Tom was in the wings somewhere."

  "Nicholas!" The cry was ripped from her at his cruelty, but she knew she had achieved her object. After this confrontation there was no way Nicholas Romilly would approach her again.

  "Nicholas!" he mimicked. "I might not have minded bringing your Tom to his senses, my dear, had you confided the purpose of the exercise to me. But I dislike being used."

  "So do I," said Petra miserably.

  "I dare say we all do," said Nicholas smoothly. "And when is the happy day?"

  "I don't know yet."

  Something in the way she spoke made Nicholas jerk his eyes to her face once more. "Surely Tom is eager to claim his bride; the bride who maintained he had no claim to her only a week ago? Or doesn't he know yet?"

  "I—I," began Petra, quailing under his gaze.

  "He doesn't know yet!" cried Nicholas with an unpleasant bark of laughter. "You haven't accepted him yet, have you?" He grabbed Petra by the shoulders and shook her hard. "You were waiting to see if I could come up with a better offer. Well, sorry to disappoint you, darling, but I can't. Tom Davies is welcome to you. You deserve each other." He thrust her from him in disgust and without a backward glance, strode from the room. The slam of the front door found an answering echo in Petra's heart as it too closed on an empty silence.

  For several weeks Petra moved and lived as if in a dream. Every day she went to college, delivered her lectures, held her tutorials, helped her teaching practice students through their final days. Outwardly she was calm, inwardly she was cold. No emotion seemed to touch her; her laughter was a mechanical reaction, lacking spontaneity; her eyes were dry.

  On one occasion she was jerked from her lethargy, only to be plunged in deeper as a result. She thought about Mrs. Arden, now safely established in the old people's home and decided she ought to go and see her. Suppressing in her mind that the reason for this was that Mrs. Arden was the only tenuous link she had with Nicholas, Petra telephoned the home and spoke to the warden.

  "My dear, I'm so sorry," said the warden in dismay. "Mrs. Ar
den died last week. A heart attack. Her funeral was yesterday."

  Petra was staggered. "Oh, I see. I didn't know."

  "Who did you say you are?"

  "Just a friend. I used to live in the same house. I did her shopping sometimes."

  "I'm so sorry you weren't told of her death," said the troubled warden. "Her son was told and he made all the arrangements. He can't have realised. He was at the crematorium of course, but they didn't stay. It was a very quiet affair."

  "They?" queried Petra.

  "He and a woman, his wife perhaps? He didn't introduce us."

  "No. Well, thank you for telling me. Goodbye." Petra replaced the receiver. Her last link with Nicholas Romilly was gone. Mrs. Arden was dead and buried, and he hadn't even bothered to let Petra know. Anger sparked for a moment and then the torpor settled back once more.

  Petra stopped avoiding Tom. It was not his fault that his words had been true, and she had long since forgiven him the way he had broken the news to her. And Tom, seeing she no longer avoided him, sought her out and tentatively offered his friendship once again.

  Because she was lonely and it didn't matter, Petra accepted his company and might eventually have accepted more; but the term drew to a close and the holidays caused a natural break in their relationship. Tom went skiing over the Easter holiday and Petra visited an old college friend, Mary, in Cumbria. Mary was happily married to a Cumbrian farmer and Petra slipped into the farm routine with an ease that amazed her. The wild freedom of the fells crept into her soul and in the bright days of early April she braved the chill of the hillside air and the sudden downpours of the rain and strode out across the hillsides as if in search of something. Mary was so happy with her husband Clive, that at first Petra felt she was intruding, but theirs was a relationship apart, complete when they were alone, elastic enough to include those round them with ease when they were not and Petra envied them.