Rachel Lindsay - An Affair To Forget

by Rachel Lindsay

  "It has nothing to do with pride. It's just that he hasn't asked me to go!"

  The older woman digested this remark. "Then you must suggest it yourself," she said slowly.

  "I wouldn't dream of it!"

  "Don’t be so stiff-necked, my dear. If Nicky were my fiancé I wouldn't let him out of my sight."

  "You mean you wouldn't trust him!"

  "He's a virile young man, Valerie, and he's surrounded by beautiful girls and other young men who have very loose morals. He needs someone like you to be with him. If he didn't, he wouldn't have fallen in love with you."

  Valerie did not know what to say. More and more she was doubtful whether she and Nicky had a future. There was something about his attitude toward her that puzzled her. At times he seemed eager to have her with him and at others he acted as if she were a hair shirt. But when she tried to question him to ask why she irritated him, he always laughed and said that he was the one at fault.

  "You're too nice for me," he had said only a few days ago. "That's the whole trouble, Val. I’m not sure I can live up to you."

  No sooner were the words out and he had seen her stricken face, than he had withdrawn them, and their tiff had ended—as it always had done until last night— in kisses and reassertions of his love for her. Yet alone—as now—her doubts returned.

  "I'm seeing him before he leaves," she murmured. "He may say something about my coming with him then."

  As always it gave her a thrill to enter the hotel and see the admiring glances that followed her as she crossed the foyer and made her way to Nicky's suite— the only girl who had the right to do so unannounced. And how many thousands of them would give their eyeteeth to be in her position? Reminding herself of this, she entered the sitting room.

  "Is that you, Val?" He called from the bedroom, and wordlessly she ran through and flung herself into his arms. What did pride matter when the man she loved was flying thousands of miles away from her in a matter of hours? Nicky's kiss was satisfyingly ardent, though brief, and he hastily returned to his packing.

  "Let me do it for you," she offered.

  "It's nearly done."

  "You're a very tidy packer," she said admiringly.

  "I've had plenty of practice."

  "Don't you ever long to settle down in one place?"

  "That's not my life-style."

  She tried to envisage herself in his, and failed dismally. Something of her feelings must have penetrated his absorption, for he placed a pile of shirts on the top of his case and gently pulled her into his arms.

  "I'm not saying we'll travel around forever, sweetheart. But until I've made my bundle, beggars can't be choosers."

  "You a beggar?" she laughed. "You could afford to stop work this minute and live comfortably for the rest of you life."

  "But singing and traveling is my life—for the next few years. After that, we'll settle in one place."

  Happiness overwhelmed her. "Do you know that's the first time you've said 'we'?"

  "Is it?" He pulled back and stared into her face, his eyes moving over every feature. "That just goes to show how insidious you are—worming your way into my life until I suddenly find I can't do without you."

  "I should hope not! I'm the girl you love, remember?"

  For an answer he began to kiss her, lightly at first, then with deepening passion.

  "Oh Nicky, I wish you weren't going away."

  "It's only for a month." He rested his cheek on hers, then pushed her back. "Hey, if I don't finish my packing I'll miss the plane."

  Methodically he made a final survey of the four cases on the king-size bed, then closed the lids and locked them.

  "Will you go back to Kerring?" he asked absently.

  "Yes. There's no point staying in London without you."

  "Don't go out with your farmer friend again. I was mad as hell at you last night."

  "I was pretty mad at you," she confessed. This was the first time Nicky had referred to Mark and she was determined they were not going to quarrel about him. "I've known Mark all my life and I was very hurt by your attitude last night."

  "I was hurt to see you kissing him."

  "Actually, he kissed me. He—he won't do it again."

  "You're damn right he won't! You're not going to give him the chance. I won't have you going out with him, Val. Is that clear?"

  Had Nicky asked her gently there would have been no problem.

  How could there have been when she had no desire to go out with any man other than him? But there was an edge to his command she did not like, and she reacted to it.

  "I won't go out with Mark if you won't go out with any other girls while you're away."

  "What does that mean?" he snapped.

  "What do you think it means? You'll be away a month and you'll be surrounded by doting dolly birds. I don't want you to date any of them."

  "I can't stop them hanging around me. And if I go out at night, I can't sit and eat by myself."

  "You've got Bob and the boys from the group."

  "And they've all got their girls! What am I supposed to do—play fifth wheel?"

  "You could play at being a loving fiancé," she retorted, inflamed by the knowledge that though he demanded something specific from herself, he was not willing to offer her the same. "Or maybe you aren't my loving fiancé?" she continued.

  His eyes narrowed, giving him a calculating look I hat turned him into a stranger. "No woman tells me what to do, Val. I'm my own boss. Either you take me as I am or… or "He stopped.

  "Or break off our engagement?" she finished for him. He gave a sharp, indrawn breath, then made a visible effort to relax.

  "Don't be crazy. Why should you say a thing like that?"

  "I thought you were the one who was saying it."

  "Well, I wasn't. Our engagement is important to me. I—" He stopped, and again there was a strange look on his face. "You know, Val, I wish we could have-"

  But whatever he wished was not to be voiced, for Bob breezed in, followed by the luggage man.

  "Hello Val, you look a sight for sore eyes." He waved to the cases. "All set to go, Nicky? We're running late."

  He strode back to the sitting room and Nicky gave Valerie a rueful smile. He still looked as if he wanted to say something important, but Bob called him again and it was as if a shutter came down over his face.

  "I must go," he said hurriedly. "Don't come to the airport to see me off. I hate farewells." He held out his arms.

  "Nicky, for God's sake!" Bob called again.

  Nicky's arms dropped and he made for the door. "Goodbye, sweetheart. See you soon."

  Left alone in the middle of the room, Valerie remained motionless for a long while. She could not believe Nicky had gone, and though she knew it was only for a month, she had a strange feeling she had lost him forever.

  The next afternoon she returned to Kerring. She had only been away a few weeks, yet she felt as if she were coming back after an absence of years. And in terms of experience it was years. It was not only outwardly that she had changed, but inwardly too. She was no longer quite so innocent and unworldly; no longer able to believe that love made the world go round.

  Her father was not yet home but Mrs. Jakes, the temporary housekeeper, emerged from the kitchen as she let herself into the hall. She was a tall, angular woman whose correctly waved hair was indicative of her character.

  "Good afternoon, Valerie. Mr. Browne isn't home yet. But I'm expecting him any minute."

  "Good." Valerie smiled at the woman. "I hear you've been managing very well. My father says he feels quite spoiled."

  "He's an easy man to take care of."

  Mrs. Jakes glanced back to the kitchen. "The dinner is in the oven and there's a trifle in the refrigerator. I usually stay and serve it to your father but — "

  "There's no need for you to do that now. I'm sure you'd just as soon go home."

  Mrs. Jakes slipped on her coat. "Will you want me to work out the week? I've no o
bjection to coming in as long as I won't be in your way."

  "Of course you must finish the week," Valerie said quickly. "I don't see why Dad should be the only one to sample your home-baked bread!"

  Looking pleased, the woman left, and Valerie glanced into the oven, sniffed appreciatively and then wandered into the sitting room. The house had been kept in perfect order while she had been away and there was nothing for her to do until her father came home.

  She thought of the questions he would want to ask but which he would be too considerate of her privacy to do, and knew that sooner or later she would tell him herself of her doubts. But not yet; not until she had come to a more definite conclusion.

  Later that evening she gave her father an encapsulated account of her stay in London, laying emphasis on Nicky's visit to Bayswater and glossing over the unexpectedness of his departure to America.

  "And now I'm back to take care of you," she concluded, "and all the rest seems like a dream."

  "Hardly a dream, my dear. Nicky won't be gone forever. You'll soon want to share your life with him."

  She was surprised. "Are you rushing me into marriage? I thought you were the one who wanted me to take my time?"

  "I still do. But I'm being realistic. Nicky doesn't need to save up to get married and I can't see him having a long engagement. In his kind of circle they don't usually have any!"

  "Or marriages either," she said dryly. "That's what's worrying you, isn't it?"

  "I'm not worried for myself, Valerie. It's your happiness that concerns me."

  "Nicky and I aren't… I mean I haven't______ "

  "Good." Her father concentrated on his dessert. "To get back to the housekeeping… I think I'd like to keep Mrs. Jakes on. You've looked after me devotedly since your mother died and I've always felt guilty about it."

  "That's nonsense. I've enjoyed doing it."

  "Well, you shouldn't. Even if Nicky hadn't come on the scene, I was going to put a stop to it. You're young and you should have a life of your own—not spend it taking care of your father."

  "You've got everything worked out," Valerie said, half-pleased, half-dismayed. "You're making me redundant!"

  Her father chuckled. "And a good thing too. You're far too glamorous now to go back to the duster and the sink."

  "Do you like the new me?"

  He surveyed her casual shirtwaist, the pure silk material not in the least casual, and her subtle makeup and carefully disarrayed hair.

  "I always knew you were a beauty," he said gruffly. "Was it Nicky's idea?"

  "All my own. I think he was rather surprised by the change in me." She thought back to his easy acceptance of it and wished he had shown more delight. But there were many things she wished Nicky would do. So many

  That night in bed she mulled over all her father's comments. He was right when he said Nicky did not need to save up to get married. Yet Nicky himself had never even suggested a date. He had been quick enough to try and presume on the marriage vows.

  She trembled at the memory of that passionate interlude on the cabin cruiser. Since that day he had never allowed himself to get so aroused. Surely that indicated how much he loved her? Or how little?

  Sharply she sat up and turned on the light. She looked around the room and tried to restore her chaotic thoughts to order. If she had such doubts about Nicky's love for her, she must do something about it. To live in limbo was untenable. As soon as he returned from America they would talk things out.

  The next week went by on leaden feet and Valerie had to invent things to keep herself occupied, spending each afternoon tramping the Downs. With Mrs. Jakes in charge of the house she dared not do more than look after her own room; even to suggest menus for their evening meals had to be done with tact. She toyed with the idea of going back to work full time at the Taverners, but knew that until she had settled her future with Nicky it would not be fair to do someone else out of a job.

  She wrote to him every other day: describing in detail her solitary wanderings, each sentence pregnant with longing for him, but all she received in return was one brief note saying he was working eighteen hours a day in the studio, and was longing to see her.

  Ten days after his departure he telephoned her. She was out at the time and desolate at having missed his call.

  "He said he'd phone you again," Mrs. Jakes sympathized. "But he wasn't sure when."

  It was an announcement in the next Sunday's paper—one of the tabloids which Valerie deliberately bought in order to keep track of the pop star world— that she first learned that Nicky might be staying in America far longer than a month. "England's Golden Boy signs picture deal with M.G.M." ran the center- spread headline, while the story beneath it gave details of the great plans being made for Nicky's future. No wonder he was too busy to telephone her again. If the Sunday news was to be believed he might soon be too busy even to see her.

  That afternoon she walked farther and faster than usual, her feet keeping tempo with her feverish thoughts. But nothing could calm them, and it was only the sight of a girl walking ahead of her and limping badly that brought her back to a saner mood. Hurrying forward, she came abreast of the girl, who was about her own age, with long fair hair and a pleasant if unremarkable face, now wrinkled with pain.

  "Have you hurt yourself?" she inquired.

  The girl turned wide gray eyes on her, her most lovely feature. "It's my ankle," she gasped. "I twisted it coming over the field. Terribly stupid of me but—ouch!" She clutched at Valerie's arm.

  "Put your arm round my shoulder and hang on," Valerie said firmly. "Do you think you can manage to hop to the main road? It's not far and we can get a bus from there or flag down a car."

  "I'll try—it's awfully good of you."

  Slowly they made their way the hundred yards to the main road, but it was hard going for the girl's ankle had swollen to twice its normal size and was giving her a great deal of pain. But eventually they reached it and were lucky enough to stop a car whose driver Valerie knew and who offered to take the injured girl wherever she wished to go.

  "I'm staying at the Manor Farm," she explained.

  "With Mark?" Valerie asked, surprised.

  "With his mother actually. Do you know them?"

  "Very well."

  "I'm an old friend of the family," the girl went on. "Sheila Stewart."

  "Of course—I remember now. You used to live here when you were a child."

  "That's right." Sheila turned eagerly in her seat and Valerie noticed that her rather plain face had lit up, making her look almost pretty. "I used to live at the Thatch Close—the red house on the other side of Ker- ring. Mark and I used to play together as kids. At least he used to let me tag along with him. He was six years older than me, you see—" She stopped and winced.

  "You'll soon be at the farm," Valerie said reassuringly, "and Dick and I will help you into the house."

  "I'm so glad I met you both." Sheila smiled at Valerie and the driver, a burly man who ran the village grocery shop. "That's part of village life, I suppose: having people around when you need them."

  "They're also around when you don't," Dick grunted, and both girls laughed.

  Reaching Manor Farm, Valerie was relieved to see Mark by the door. Taking in what had happened, he lifted Sheila bodily from the car and within moments had her in the sitting room, settled on a sofa, while Mrs. Chariot, tall, plump and motherly, bustled about giving orders for the girl's comfort.

  "I'll be pushing along," Valerie murmured.

  "Not before tea, you won't," Mrs. Chariot said, and glanced at her son who had skillfully bandaged Sheila's foot. "Don't you think you should have called the doctor?"

  "It's only a simple sprain. Sheila trusts me, don't you, old girl?"

  Sheila nodded, then lay back with her eyes closed, trying not to show she was still in pain. Valerie studied her. She was small and slim, and her skin had the translucent paleness of poor health. Her light brown hair was as fine as silk; and though she was
not pretty, there was something appealing about her. The gray eyes suddenly opened and stared directly at Valerie.

  "Don't try to remember me," she smiled. "I left here when I was ten. My parents divorced, the house was sold, and Mother and I settled in Birmingham."

  "From the sublime to the ridiculous," Mark grunted.

  "Not for Mother. She was a Staffordshire girl. She went back to her roots."

  "How can anyone have roots in Birmingham!"

  Sheila laughed. "Well, she found happiness there, didn't she?"

  "Indeed she did," Mark grinned, and looked at Valerie. "Sheila's mother met a Canadian businessman who came over for a Birmingham Trades Fair, and married him ten days later!"

  "What a lovely story," Valerie exclaimed, turning to Sheila. "Are you going to Canada too?"

  "No. I'd feel in the way. I'll go for a holiday, of course, but not for the first year."

  "That's why Sheila's here." Mrs. Chariot came into the conversation as she came back into the room wheeling a laden tea trolley. "She got a bad dose of flu and is here to recuperate."

  "I bumped into Mark a couple of weeks ago," Sheila explained. "When Mother left for Canada I decided to move to London. I'm a secretary at the Farmers' Union and I attended the Agricultural Show at Earls Court."

  "She recognized me among the cows!" Mark grinned. "Then fainted in my arms."

  "Flu," Sheila explained again, "and when Mark told his mother, darling Mrs. Chariot insisted I come here to recuperate."

  "There's nothing like country air for putting you on your feet again," Mrs. Chariot said firmly.

  "Providing she doesn't keep spraining her ankles," Mark teased, "or I'll think she doesn't want to stand on them!"

  "How clever of you to guess that I want to stay here." Though Sheila spoke lightly, her face was flushed. "But heartbroken, though, to leave you. My boss only gave me two weeks' sick leave."

  "You'll stay here till you're quite well. If your boss doesn't like it, let him get another secretary."

  "But I like my job."

  "You like the country too. You said so."

  Feeling vaguely embarrassed, Valerie rose. "I'd better be going," she said. "Goodbye, Sheila. I hope your ankle will soon be better."