The sight of the graves, then imagining seeing Larry, had jangled her nerves. She was unsettled. The result of the holiday and what followed, she decided. A few days home and she would be back to normal. Her normal dowdy self! she thought with a sudden shock.
No, she wouldn’t slip back into what she had been before. Larry’s admiration was something that had altered her opinion of herself. For a while she had seen herself as an attractive and desirable woman. She mustn’t accept that the improvement was temporary. At least then something would have been gained from their affair besides just memories. Tomorrow, she decided, she would make a start by going to a good hairdresser and finding a softer, more feminine style.
Television had little to offer, she was out of touch with all the soaps. She picked up a book and decided to get undressed and bathe luxuriously in some of the expensive bath oils she had bought in Macy’s, New York, then go to bed early and read. She’d pour herself a drink – there was some Metaxa left from her Greek holiday. Tonight was a time to indulge herself. Tomorrow she would begin a new stage of her life. That was something to celebrate.
As she went through the hall she saw a small, white envelope. Curiously she went to pick it up. There was no post this late, unless a letter had been dropped through someone else’s door by mistake and pushed in later on. She turned the envelope over. It hadn’t come by post, there was no address and no stamp, only her name.
She opened it. Then she gasped with shock. The note was from Larry.
3
Rosemary stared at the note in disbelief. Where was he? Why hadn’t he knocked? How had he found her address? Questions bowled through her confused brain like straw scattered by a wild wind. Belatedly, she opened the front door and looked out. There was no sign of anyone in the shadowy evening.
Beyond the small front garden with its tangle of marigolds, geraniums, sweet williams and fuchsia, bound together by an unruly marriage of trailing bistort and lobelia, was a footpath. Beyond that, a grassy bank and the small stream flowing calmly down to join the River Dovey. In front and to her right was the wooden footbridge that crossed the stream, half shadowed by trees. To her left the path led to where steps rose to the level of the road which crossed the stream via a stone, parapeted road bridge.
There wasn’t a sound. What the locals laughingly called the main road, was rarely full of traffic. This late evening there wasn’t a single car to disturb the night. Even the waterfall that came under the road some distance to her left was slow, spilling softly over the worn rocks, rippling to recover then moving quietly on; peaceful and familiar. Rosemary stepped inside and closed the door.
She read the note again more calmly. Larry was in Aberystwyth and wanted to meet her. There was a phone number for her to call, but when she did so, her fingers trembling with confused excitement, she was told he was not there but would she kindly leave a message. The disembodied voice promised politely to give the message to Mr Madison-Jones the moment he arrived the following day.
‘But I thought he was there already?’ Rosemary queried.
‘Not until tomorrow, Mrs Madison-Jones. He has a room booked for you both for three nights starting Friday,’ the woman said. ‘What time shall I tell him to expect you?’
Rosemary stuttered a little, confused and embarrassed by his disregard for the truth.
‘I – er – will you ask him to phone? I’d better remind him of the numbers.’ She added stupidly, ‘They’ve changed and he never remembers.’ She recited the numbers of her home and the library and the woman repeated them and took them down.
‘Will there be anything further, Mrs Madison-Jones?’
‘Thank you, no.’ She put down the phone and felt a giggle rising in her throat. This was so ridiculous; more like a farce than real life! The fact that he had booked a double room, naming her as his wife was a shock, but who was to know? The town was far enough away from home for there to be little chance of anyone here finding out, and even if they did she was twenty-five and, since London, no longer a virgin.
But a tiny doubt remained. She would be unhappy if her neighbours thought her anything other than a respectable librarian who wrote children’s stories. She smiled at her foolishness. After the mixture of thrill and fear had settled down to happy anticipation, she began to wonder again how the note had arrived at her door.
The obvious explanation was that Larry had asked someone to post the note through her door, someone who was passing near. Or perhaps he was the man she thought she recognised, driving the Citroen Dolly? Of course he wasn’t! Why did she look for more mystery than there already was? She went back into the living room and revived the fire. She no longer felt like going to bed. She undressed and sat before the blaze.
She read the note several times but it revealed no more than the first time. Larry was in Aberystwyth and would like to meet her. She had given the woman her library telephone number and wondered if he would in fact ring, or, foolishly, whether the note was some kind of hoax. Why would he let her go without a word then take the trouble to seek her out? A knock at the door startled her and she almost ran to answer it.
‘Rosemary,’ Gethyn said apologetically, ‘can you spare a moment?’
‘Come in, Gethyn, if you’ll excuse my appearance.’
She saw his colour brighten as he attempted to make a complimentary reply but the words were lost in embarrassment and he lowered his head and said nothing. He was dressed in ill-fitting clothes of a style popular many years before. He had on an over-wide tie, over which he wore a hand-knitted V-necked sweater. On top of that, unbelievable in the warmth of the evening when even the cheerful fire was not really necessary, a tweed jacket. She realised she had never seen him in anything specifically chosen for summer.
‘It’s about Mam’s grave,’ he said when they were seated near the crackling fire on which fresh logs were beginning to catch.
‘What about it?’ Rosemary frowned. Surely they hadn’t been damaged again?
‘Someone has changed the flowers, and the ornament I bought has been replaced with one smaller and less ornate,’ he said.
‘That was me, Gethyn.’ Rosemary decided at once that it was best to tell the truth. ‘I went up there when I came back from holiday and found the flowers broken and scattered and the vases smashed. I tried to replace them so you wouldn’t find them and be upset. Sorry, I couldn’t find exactly the right ones.’
‘You did that for me?’ Brown eyes stared at her with such admiration that she turned away. This time it was her turn to be embarrassed.
‘It was nothing. You’d have done the same for me,’ she muttered.
‘Oh yes, indeed I would, but – Rosemary, thank you.’
She stood up, dismissing him, and he stood beside her, tall, strong and suddenly different from the man she had known all her life. She felt his eyes following her as she went to open the door. She saw him out and closed the door against him. What was it about Gethyn that was different?
She felt stirrings of excitement, a heightening of her senses, strongly aware of herself as a woman more than of him being a desirable man. He was attracted to her!
She wondered what had caused the almost imperceptable shift in their relationship and decided that the change was in herself rather than him. It was meeting Larry, loving him, being loved and growing, in a matter of moments, from a quiet, orderly, single girl, to an experienced, more sensual, woman. But was it only herself? Hadn’t Gethyn become somehow different too? There was a look about him she hadn’t seen before. Perhaps the death of his mother had cut some invisible cord?
How odd, the thought as she doused the fire and set off up the stairs to her bed. Gethyn, whom she had befriended in her childhood was suddenly an enigma. But not, she reminded herself firmly, not someone who could mean anything. So be careful, Rosemary Roberts, or you’ll find yourself in a very awkward situation. Neighbours are sometimes too close for comfort.
* * *
Gethyn went back to his lonely house but, lik
e Rosemary the other side of the shared wall, he did not sleep. She was considerate and kind. Imagine going to the trouble of sorting the mess on the grave to save him being upset. Few would do that for him. She must care.
All through the long weeks while she was away he had dreamed of her home-coming, a return to find him waiting, his arms open for her and her suddenly realising how much she needed him. He was her haven and she was beginning to realise it. His mother’s death was a tragedy, but it was necessary to clear the way and make room in their lives for each other. It was all meant to be, he thought as he relaxed against his pillow, his hand on the shared wall where he imagined she would be lying; it was all happening for the best.
Beside his bed was a photograph of his mother. The house was full of photographs, in assorted frames, on the walls and on most of the available flat surfaces, some going back to the days when his mother was young. This one was of his mother when she was about forty, before he had been born. He picked it up and stared at it.
She had been, from what he had overheard people say, set in her ways. Because of her age, her attitudes overlapping from a previous generation, his life had been inhibited and filled with older people. She had been more like the grandmothers who had occasionally called at the school to meet their grandchildren and spoil them with forbidden sweets and comics and trips to the park.
He remembered with surprising anger how he had resented being asked if his mother was his gran. He remembered too how Mam had refused to allow him to play with the other children, probably, he thought now, staring at her photograph, because she felt ill-at-ease with the parents. Some of them twenty-five years her junior! ‘Mamma’s boy’, they’d called after me, he remembered bitterly.
Perhaps it wasn’t too late to change? He sensed rather than knew that Rosemary was not happy about the way he looked. Being out of work meant he didn’t have a lot of money for clothes and anyway, Mam had drummed it into him that it was wicked to buy things you didn’t really need. The clothes he had were good and with plenty of wear in them. That too, he recognised with a resurgence of anger, was an attitude from a previous generation.
He replaced the photograph on the small bedside table and ran his hand over the shared wall. Behind it Rosemary was sleeping. He wondered if she was dreaming of him.
When Rosemary walked to her car the following morning to go to the library, she heard a voice calling her name.
‘Miss Roberts.’
She turned to see a tall, slim young man approaching and looked at him curiously. He was fair and his eyes were smiling in friendly greeting. He held out his hand as he reached her and said, ‘I’m one of the students, living in the Powells’ house. Huw Rees, how d’you do, Miss Roberts?’ He was looking at her boldly and with obvious interest. She wondered why she was suddenly of interest to the opposite sex when until now, most men had ignored her. Perhaps being half in love with Larry showed on her face and made her more attractive?
‘I share number five with a friend, Richard Lloyd, although there’s usually several more of us flopped around in sleeping bags. If you ever need anything, just call on us; our skills are varied and we want to be good neighbours.’ He smiled, released her hand somewhat unwillingly and stood while she walked across the wooden footbridge to where she parked her car.
‘Your car?’ she asked, pointing to the rather battered Capri. He shook his head.
‘That belongs to Richard, it’s shanks’s pony for me I’m afraid.’
As she got into the car she saw the door of number one open and Gethyn came out and waved to her.
‘I’ll put your milk inside for you, out of the sun,’ he called. Rosemary chuckled. It seemed Gethyn too was staking his claim to be allowed to help her!
She drove into the town, Gethyn and Huw forgotten, wondering if Larry would phone her. It was Thursday, not much time to arrange to meet if he was in Aberystwyth. Although she had spoken confidently on the telephone when she discussed her arrival, it was bravado; she wouldn’t go anywhere unless Larry phoned to confirm.
She decided to use her lunch-hour to go to the shops and buy herself a couple of smart, colourful outfits just in case Larry did get in touch. If it had been some hoax, although she doubted if it could have been, then the new clothes would cheer her anyway and the outlay wouldn’t be wasted.
As soon as she mentioned her intention, Sally asked to go with her.
‘I love shopping for clothes,’ she said, ‘and if Megan doesn’t mind, I can have the same lunch-hour as you and help you choose.’
Unable to think of a reason for refusing, Rosemary smiled and agreed.
Sally’s comments and enthusiasm did help her to avoid the usual and look at different styles but all the time they were together, the girl seemed to be asking questions. Mostly about the cottage and its neighbours. After a while, Rosemary became intensely engrossed in her examination of the garments on offer and ignored the endless interrogation. She went back to the library having bought nothing.
‘Why is she so curious?’ she whispered to Megan on her return. ‘What can interest her about my neighbours, a few people she doesn’t know?’
‘New to the job and anxious to make new friends, I suppose. Did you get anything nice?’
‘No, I saw some lovely things though. But if I bought them it would be a waste of money. It was probably a hoax.’
‘Why would you think it’s a hoax, for heaven’s sake?’ Megan sounded exasperated.
‘Lack of confidence I suppose, not believing that someone like Larry could want to bother with someone like me.’
‘Have you looked at yourself, lately? Beautiful you are, with eyes like welcoming beacons to any red-blooded male!’ Rosemary laughed delightedly and admitted there had been a change in the attitude of a few young men.
‘When you next go shopping for clothes, I’m going with you!’ Megan said firmly. ‘And I’ll make sure you come back if not broke then badly bent!’
Rosemary laughed.
* * *
Larry had walked out of the London hotel intending never to see Rosemary again. She was confusing him. First he had decided she was ordinary, homely, the kind of dame he wouldn’t waste a moment on. Then that smile of hers began to get to him and he had allowed himself to be drawn into an affair he hadn’t intended. The fact that she lived in the very area he needed to search was too good to ignore and leaving her like that had blown it.
How could he see her again? Thinking out an excuse for his behaviour wasn’t easy. But he was sure enough of his own attraction to hope she would be so glad to hear from him again she wouldn’t delve too deeply into his story.
He had bought a car, a small Citroen, and it was easy to slip a note through her door. Finding her home hadn’t been so easy, the place was unbelievably dark and it was a miracle he hadn’t landed in that brook!
He called the Aberystwyth hotel and was given her message. Just before lunch-time he picked up the phone.
* * *
Larry’s call came just before Rosemary and Megan were due to leave for their shopping expedition.
‘Rose Mary, I was devastated when I got back from my early morning wander around London to find you’d gone! And without leaving your address too. I’d hoped you’d want to see me again.’ He hoped his fervent voice would make the words more convincing.
‘I thought you wouldn’t – I mean, I didn’t think you – I—’ She faltered to a stop and Larry laughed and said, ‘You thought I was avoiding you on your last morning deliberately? Oh, honey. After we’d had such fun together? And after that wonderful night? I didn’t know you were leaving so soon. Honestly. I came back after buying a paper and a few bits and pieces and your room was empty.’
She wanted to believe him, oh, how she wanted that, but she remembered with heart-aching clarity seeing his clothes gone, and seeing the empty room. He had vacated it before she had woken. How could he have been disappointed to find her gone?
‘How did you get my address?’ she asked. ‘I
told the receptionist I had a book belonging to you and wanted to return it. She hesitated but in the end she gave me your address. The fact I was coming so near your home was a gift from the gods but I’d have come to find you anyway, you must believe that?’
‘I believe that.’ Rosemary smiled. It was what she wanted, needed, to believe. Perhaps he had taken his luggage down stairs and had gone out, forgetting the time —
‘You are free for the weekend?’ Larry queried.
‘The whole of it?’
‘You bet the whole if it! I’ve made reservations at an hotel on the promenade or whatever you call it. Dark grey stone, a forbidding exterior, but warmth, friendliness and comfort inside. Please say you’ll come?’
‘I’ll see you at seven.’
‘Earlier, please, baby.’
‘I could drive up straight from the library. I could be there by five-thirty?’
‘Great, I’ll leave all the sightseeing ’til you arrive. First, we have to climb up Constitution Hill, at the far end of the beach. The locals call it “Consti” I’m told. Are you game for that?’
‘Race you to the top,’ she laughed. ‘Loser buys the teas.’
* * *
The second shopping trip was a whirl of excitement. With Megan’s help and Sally’s enthusiasm, Rosemary bought dresses for the evening and for the day, summer cottons and silky gowns. Out went the ubiquitous cardigans and sensible shirts, in came smart jackets and colourful tops. Culottes took the place of the comfortable and baggy trousers she wore for walking the hills. She would go prepared for any occasion Larry and Aberystwyth could offer.
Search for a Shadow Page 4
