Debbie was, momentarily, at a loss for words. There was no hint of mockery or sarcasm as Alistair smiled at her. He appeared to be sincere in what he was saying. ‘I’d like to think you’d give me a chance, Debbie,’ he went on. ‘To start with we’ll have a drink together, shall we? Whatever am I thinking of, us sitting here without a drink! What would you like?’
‘Oh … a sweet Martini, with lemonade,’ she replied.
‘Coming up right away,’ he said, caressing her shoulder as he walked past.
She had already had a couple of drinks earlier in the evening and was feeling in a mellow mood; but she was not so muddle-headed as to trust Alistair entirely. But she was seeing a different side to him. Maybe he was not the playboy she had once thought him to be … and she knew that she had, deep down, always felt attracted to his good looks and charm.
He was soon back with the drinks. ‘Cheers, Debbie,’ he said as he raised his glass. ‘Here’s to us. Would you consider having a night out with me when we get back to Leeds? But to start with … maybe we could spend some time together tomorrow? We’ve two visits, haven’t we, one in the morning and another in the afternoon?’
‘Yes, why not?’ she answered. It would do no harm to be friendly.
They talked together comfortably for the next half hour, and when she said it was time she retired, Alistair stood up with her. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘We’ve another full day tomorrow.’
As they walked out of the room together he put his arm casually round her waist. The bar had closed and most of the other students had gone, including Fran. They paused outside Debbie’s door – Alistair’s room was on the floor above – and he put his arms round her. Very gently he kissed her lips, a tender kiss, full of promise. But he did not linger.
‘Goodnight, Debbie,’ he said. ‘It’s been a lovely evening. See you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, see you, Alistair …’ she replied. She went to bed feeling bemused but strangely light-hearted.
The following day, Thursday, as had been predicted, was a busy day. They set off after breakfast for Kedleston Hall; only four miles away from Derby. Debbie sat with Janet on the bus as she had done the day before. Alistair gave her a cheery smile and a nod as he passed to a seat further back.
Kedleston Hall was a grand country house with architecture in the Palladian style. The gardens and the grounds had scarcely been altered in style since they were designed two hundred years ago. There was plenty to see in the two hours they spent there, although the estate was small when compared with that of Chatsworth House.
As they wandered through the grounds in twos and threes rather than in one larger group, Alistair caught up with Debbie, and Janet and Bob encountered one another. Fran was walking round with two of the men; there was, of course, a preponderance of men. She gave a slow smile – a sort of ‘Well, fancy that now!’ sort of smile – as she walked past Debbie and Alistair and gave a little wave of her fingers. Debbie smiled back feeling a mite self-conscious, but Alistair took no notice. Fran didn’t seem annoyed, although Debbie had not expected her to be. She had shown very little emotion when she broke up with Ralph, and she had always given the impression that her relationship with Alistair was a casual one.
The gardens had been designed by Robert Adam. There were several follies to be admired, or to be regarded with amusement: a triumphal arch, an ornate bridge spanning the stream, and a cascade, though not as grand as the one at Chatsworth. There was also a summer house and an orangery, and a Long Walk between tall trees now fully in bloom.
Packed lunch consisted of sandwiches, as it had done the day before. They set off then for their next port of call: Haddon Hall, not far from the pleasant town of Bakewell. They were to spend a couple of hours there before having some free time in the town itself.
Haddon Hall was quite a surprise: a sort of medieval castle with a garden that had been designed in the seventeenth century, one of the few still remaining in England. There was a balustraded terrace and ancient stone steps leading up to the house, and mullioned windows which glinted at oblique angles in the afternoon sunshine. Cameras were at the ready as they strolled round the garden, an English representation of a sixteenth-century Italian garden. Late spring flowers were in full bloom, but they were too early to see the reputed splendour of the rose garden, which was a twentieth-century addition to the grounds.
‘That’s the end of our educational visits,’ said Mr Hartley when they gathered in the minibus once more. ‘We’ll have the usual meeting when we arrive back this evening, to exchange thoughts and ideas. But we are having two hours in Bakewell so that you can shop or have a cream tea, and don’t forget to buy a Bakewell tart!’
‘Actually, they call them Bakewell puddings,’ Janet told Debbie as the bus set off. ‘There’s a little shop that sells them. It’s their own special recipe and it’s a closely guarded secret. I shall buy one to take back.’
Debbie decided that she would do the same. It would be a nice treat for the girls. If Fran had the same idea then they would enjoy a double treat. She discovered as she strolled round the town – Alistair having now come to join her – that there were several shops that claimed to have pudding made to the original recipe. She chose the shop that looked the most authentic, a quaint little place with its window full of the oddly shaped tarts – or puddings. When Debbie’s mother made her version of a Bakewell tart it was perfectly symmetrical. These were of irregular rounded shapes with a deep crust filled with a yellowy brown custard mixture sprinkled with nutmeg. Both she and Alistair bought one to treat their flatmates.
Bakewell was a pretty valley town surrounded by wooded hills stretching away to the high moorland of the Peak District. They climbed the steep steps of an old-fashioned little café to the top floor. There they looked out on the busy main street, enjoying freshly baked scones with jam and cream.
Debbie was having a lovely time, and thoughts of Kevin and of Graham did not intrude as she took pleasure in Alistair’s company. He was not cynical or flippant, as she had sometimes known him to be. She wondered if that was a guise he liked to assume, and that this was the real Alistair that she was seeing now.
She told him that she intended to visit a gift shop she had noticed further up the street. She wanted to buy a gift for her mother, who loved all kinds of pretty ornaments. She suggested that he should make his own way back to the bus as her errand might not appeal to him, but he insisted on coming to the shop with her.
She was mesmerized by the dazzling display of goods; china tea sets, figurines, cut glass and silverware, most if it out of her price range but lovely to look at. Eventually she settled on a posy bowl with dainty spring flowers crafted from bone china. She had been undecided between that and a cute little china teddy bear. Her mother still treasured an old bear from her own childhood days. Debbie, too, had never parted with her first teddy bear.
‘Let me buy that one for you,’ said Alistair, picking up the little bear that she had put to one side. It really was cute; golden brown with a bonny face and a blue ribbon round its neck. She decided not to offend him by refusing his offer. Instead she said, ‘Oh, how nice of you, Alistair! Thank you …’
At the same time she was seized by a feeling of déjà vu. She had owned a little bear once before, a pink fluffy one that she had called Rosie. She had learnt later that it had been left in her cot by her birth mother, Fiona, when she had been forced to give her up for adoption. Debbie had taken the little pink bear along with her when she had gone to seek out Fiona, and she had given the little bear back to her.
Fiona had told her how she had been given the bear by her boyfriend when they had visited the funfair at Battersea, back in 1951. They had been on a church visit to the festival of Britain. Fiona had also told her what had happened later that evening, and how, consequently, she had found herself pregnant at the age of seventeen.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Alistair, noticing that she had suddenly gone quiet.
‘Er … nothing,’ she
said, smiling at him. ‘Nothing at all. It’s lovely, Alistair.’
But the memory of what Fiona had told her niggled at the back of Debbie’s mind, as though her birth mother was warning her to be careful. It had turned out well, though, for Fiona in the end. She, Debbie, was here as a result of that indiscretion. Moreover, she and Fiona had found one another and had become close friends. It was an example of ‘things working together for good’, a text she had heard Simon bring into his sermons more than once.
The group of students met together in the common room following the evening meal. When they had exchanged ideas and opinions about the gardens they had seen they stayed together as a group for a while, enjoying a last tête-à-tête and a drink to celebrate the three happy days they had spent together. New and closer friendships had been formed. They had all been acquainted with one another beforehand, but spending time in close proximity had cemented a few relationships.
Debbie and Alistair were alone together as the evening drew on. Fran was across the room with the two men, Dave and Barry, who she had been with earlier in the day. Debbie noticed her looking across a time or two, then looking away as Debbie caught her eye. She seemed happy, laughing and joking along with her two companions. Fran had an ease of manner that enabled her to socialize with most people.
Debbie’s feeling of a warning voice in her mind receded as the time passed by. She was enjoying Alistair’s company so much; he was witty and amusing, and very interested in her and her plans for the future. He even mentioned, tentatively, that there might be a possibility of her finding employment at his place of work, as an assistant in their team of landscape gardeners.
She nodded non-commitedly; she was not thinking of the future, only of the present, the here and now. What did it matter if she had drunk more than she usually did? Alistair kept topping up her glass with the sweet Martini that she liked, and she did not say no. She was starting to feel aroused in a way she had not done before, as she anticipated how the evening might end. They were not talking so much now as they sat close together with Alistair’s arm around her.
Thoughts of her three flatmates flickered through her mind. She knew that Fran was experienced when it came to intimate relationships. She had spent several weekends with Ralph, in his flat or hers. And little Lisa had a secret smile and such an air of contentment that made Debbie wonder if she and Neil were not a great deal closer. And as for Karen … Debbie felt that she was far more sensible and circumspect than she appeared to be, beneath all her bluff and bluster. But Debbie pushed that thought away as she was not feeling at all sensible.
Alistair turned his face towards hers and kissed her. ‘I think it’s time to call it a day, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘But there’s still the night time ahead of us.’
She nodded silently as they got up and left the room. The few who remained paid no heed to them. She felt a sense of relief that Fran and her friends had gone. They mounted the stairs with their arms around one another. As they paused at Debbie’s door he kissed her again.
‘I’ll join you in a little while, shall I?’ he said. He looked at her questioningly. ‘You are sure about this, aren’t you, Debbie?’
‘Yes …’ she replied. ‘Quite sure.’
She entered the room and switched on the light. The bulb was covered by only a parchment shade and its harsh light shone down on the bed with its candlewick cover in an unappealing shade of olive green, the worn rug at the side of the bed and the cheap utility furniture. But what did they matter? She felt all tingly inside and soon she would forget all her inhibitions when Alistair’s arms were around her.
She started to undress, taking off her jumper and skirt. She felt a little wobbly as she stood on one leg to remove her tights. She reached out to grab the side of the dressing table, and her eyes alighted on the little bear that Alistair had bought for her earlier that day. Just as it had that afternoon, the thought of that other little pink bear flashed into her mind … and the memory of what Fiona had told her. How it could happen so quickly, so easily, especially if your head was in a whirl and you were not fully aware of what you were doing.
Suddenly, Debbie became fully aware of what was happening and what she had come so close to doing. It was as though Fiona was there, watching over her. Debbie knew that she must not go on with this, not because of what might happen as a consequence, but because it was wrong. She did not love Alistair. She doubted that he had any real feelings for her either. She quickly stepped into her skirt again and pulled her jumper over her head.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Her head was beginning to clear a little now as reality dawned upon her. She was feeling ashamed of herself, and stupid as well. What should she do? Tell Alistair that she had changed her mind, of course. And how would he react? She knew how sarcastic and mocking he could be sometimes; but it was not entirely his fault. She had come close to going along with it quite willingly.
There was no time to think about it any more, though. She heard Alistair’s knock on the door, then he entered without waiting for her ‘come in’. He stared at her.
‘What’s wrong, Debbie? I thought you’d be all ready and waiting in your sexy nightdress, or without it …’
She looked at him, opening her mouth to speak, when he spoke again. ‘Oh, I get it. Changed your mind, have you? Well, I suppose I’m not surprised, really. I might have known – whatever would Mummy and Daddy say?’
She didn’t like his mocking tone, but it might have been worse. At least he hadn’t sworn at her or turned violent – not that she had really thought he would – or even raised his voice in anger. He was merely being cynical, a side to him that he had hidden so well over the last two days.
‘I’m sorry, Alistair,’ she began, although she wasn’t sorry that she had changed her mind. But what else could she say? ‘It’s nothing to do with what my parents would think. But I don’t love you, do I? And I know you don’t love me. It … it wouldn’t be right.’
He gave a bitter laugh. ‘What has love got to do with it? Have you never thought of having a bit of fun … with somebody that you like? Where’s the harm in that? Because I did … I do like you, Debbie, and I thought you liked me.’
She nodded. ‘I do like you, but I just can’t … do that.’
‘Fair enough.’ He gave a shrug and turned towards the door. ‘Goodnight, Debbie. Sweet dreams!’
She burst into tears as she heard the door close, tears of relief. She had got out of that quite easily, but it didn’t stop her from feeling no end of a fool.
Alistair nodded curtly at her the following morning, and Debbie half smiled at him. The four women in the group sat together for breakfast as they had done before.
Fran spoke quietly to Debbie. ‘How are you and Alistair getting along? I couldn’t help but notice …’
Debbie shook her head. ‘We’re not … seeing one another. It was just … well, whatever it was it’s over now.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Fran. ‘I only mentioned it because I was concerned for you, Debbie. I’m not jealous; don’t think that. It didn’t work out for Alistair and me, and I know he’s certainly not the right man for you.’
‘Thanks, Fran; I know that myself,’ she replied, aware that her friend was perfectly sincere.
Debbie was glad to get back to college and the routine of lectures and study groups, and practical work in the gardens now that spring was well advanced. She and Alistair spoke to one another only when they needed to do so. And as far as the other two men in her life were concerned, things were very quiet there as well. Two weeks had gone by since the start of the term and she had not heard from Kevin. Neither, strangely, had she heard from Graham. She was beginning to wonder if she had burned her bridges with both of them.
Twenty-Two
‘It’s a lovely day,’ Vera Hargreaves said to Stanley one Saturday afternoon in mid-May. ‘Do you feel like a run out into the country, pet? Perhaps we could stop somewhere and have our tea? It’d be a nice li
ttle treat for us.’
‘Yes, good idea,’ he replied. ‘I’ve something else in mind, though, that we could do first. How about a trip to the garden centre? It’s time for bedding plants now, and they have a good selection at Sunnyhill. Mr Hill always gave me a discount when Debbie was working there.’
‘She’s not there now, Stanley.’
‘No, but that doesn’t matter, does it? He’s very reasonable with his prices. And happen we’ll be able to have a word with Kevin an’ all. Nice lad, isn’t he, Kevin Hill? We didn’t see him very much, though, when our Debbie was home the last time. I thought they were getting … you know … more serious, like?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Stanley. I think they might have had a bit of a fall out. Debbie didn’t say so, but she was rather quiet about it, and I didn’t ask. Anyway, like I keep saying, she’s still very young.’
‘She’ll be nineteen next week …’
‘Yes, I hadn’t forgotten, Stanley. I must get her card in the post and I’ll send a box of treats for them to eat, chocolate cake and biscuits and a couple of tins of salmon. And I’ve bought her that silver pendant that she liked in the jeweller’s window.’
‘It won’t be long before she’s home for good, will it?’ Stanley remarked. ‘Only two months or so, and she hasn’t mentioned a job yet, has she?’
‘No, but I dare say something will turn up, Stanley. She’s a clever lass. She could’ve gone to college – proper college, I mean, or university – but she was so set on this gardening idea.’
‘So long as she’s happy, doing what she wants to do,’ said Stanley. ‘When she gets a job, though, it might be miles away. Have you thought about that, Vera?’
‘Yes, I suppose I have, but it’s time enough to worry about that if it happens. Now, we’d better be making a move, hadn’t we? You go and start the car and I’ll be with you in a jiffy.’
Old Friends, New Friends Page 26
