by Lilian Peake
Elise swept out into the pouring rain and huddled into her coat. Phil was giving her a lift from the end of the road and she got into his car thankfully.
‘Hope this rain doesn’t put people off,’ he muttered, peering through the rain-spattered windscreen.
There was a small group of people under the trees when they arrived, trying in vain to get some protection from the bare boughs. Elise opened her umbrella and held it over an elderly lady who was standing under a tree, shoulders hunched forward; hands clasped one over the other and stamping her feet.
They talked about the weather. ‘What a pity,’ the old lady said, ‘there are such people as Alfred Kings in the world who go round cutting down beautiful things.’
Elise agreed and looked about her, seeing the great gaunt trees reaching high overhead towards the black clouds, their branches bare of leaves, doomed probably never to see another spring. In that moment of truth, she had to admit to herself that this little protest meeting would make not one atom of difference to Lester and his grandfather. They would find a way somehow of defying the wishes of the local residents.
The people were trickling in instead of coming in their dozens as she and Phil had hoped. Ten minutes later, while the pouring rain beat down on to the carpet of last year’s leaves, Phil Pollard began to talk. He spoke fluently and convincingly and he had the crowd with him from the start.
But it troubled Elise to think that he was after all only preaching to the converted - if these people had not agreed with him in the first place, they would not have come.
There was a disturbance on the edge of the crowd and a group of youths started a scuffle. Phil Pollard, disregarding the rain that ran off his hair and down his cheeks, pushed through the crowd and said to the young men, ‘If you disagree with what I’m saying, tell me in a civilised way so that I can answer your criticisms.’ But they said no, they didn’t disagree, they liked the woods as much as he did. It was just that they thought they saw an apprentice from Kings hiding in the crowd and acting as a spy, but admitted they had been wrong.
It was growing dark when Phil resumed his speech. Elise looked round and saw with surprise that most of the crowd were still there. She recognised a familiar figure standing by one of the trees and caught her breath.
What was Lester doing there? He glanced her way, but not a flicker of recognition passed across his face, which was as stiff and cold as a mask.
Didn’t he realise, she wondered with a spurt of anxiety, although she chided herself afterwards for allowing it, that if some of the people around them - especially those young men - recognised him as being part of the Kings’ set-up, they might attack him? Then - she asked herself in agony - whose side would she be on? She would not allow herself even to contemplate having to make such a choice.
The meeting was unanimous in deciding to consult a solicitor and get advice on the best way to stop the builders from touching the woods until there had been a public enquiry.
The crowd drifted back to the road, where the cars which had brought them were revving impatiently. One by one they pulled out from the curb and drove away.
Phil took Elise home. ‘Good meeting,’ he observed as they went along. ‘That should give Alfred Kings something to think about. By the way, didn’t I see his grandson hovering under one of the trees? What was he doing there - spying on us?’
‘Probably,’ Elise said bitterly. ‘I expect he’ll report back to his grandfather about what was said and the decision we came to.’
That evening Elise was doing the washing-up with her father’s help when the phone rang. Mr. Lennan answered. The conversation was brief.
‘Yes, she’s here,’ Elise heard him say, then he put the phone down. He returned to the kitchen frowning.
‘That was Lester. He seemed annoyed about something. He’s coming to see you straight away.’
Elise tried to ignore the chill of fear which ran down her spine, and shrugged carelessly. ‘It’s probably about the meeting this afternoon.’
‘How did it go?’ her father asked.
She told him what they had decided and he said he sympathised but it was just one of those things, wasn’t it? She grew a little irritated with him for refusing to allow himself to get personally involved with anything these days.
He said, in a defeatist tone, ‘You won’t change Alf Kings’ mind, you know. Whatever happens he always goes ahead and does what he wants. He’s got a name for it round here. And Lester’s no different.’
Elise had reached the landing when the doorbell rang. She stiffened with fright. ‘Roland,’ she called, ‘answer the door.’
But he said, ‘You go. I’m busy. It’s probably Lester. Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes. You’ll have to entertain him until I come.’
Entertain him? Elise would have laughed if she had not felt so afraid. The bell pealed again and she forced her legs to take her down the stairs, one reluctant step at a time, to answer it. As soon as she opened the door, Lester stepped inside. His face was white with anger and as she turned to dive up the stairs his hand shot out and caught her.
‘Don’t run away,’ he said in a tone that frightened her. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He pulled her into the sitting-room, closed the door and stood with his back against it, cutting off all means of escape.
CHAPTER 4
‘IF it’s about the meeting, Lester,’ Elise said plaintively, hating herself for her timidity, ‘see Phil Pollard. He - ‘
‘It’s not about the meeting,’ he said through his teeth. ‘It’s about what happened as a direct result of the meeting.’
She frowned and pushed her hair back uncertainly. She said, shaking her head, ‘Then I know nothing about it.’
‘Oh, don’t you? Are you trying to tell me that you and your precious boss didn’t talk that pack of young hooligans into going round to my grandfather’s house and hurl stones at the office windows and break them systematically one by one?’
She said, appalled, ‘No, of course not. You were at the meeting. You heard what was said. You know we didn’t do anything of the sort.’
‘I’m not saying it happened in the course of the meeting. I’m saying you spoke to them - bribed them, probably - afterwards, as the crowd left.’
‘You really think we would stoop as low as that?’ She shrugged. ‘All right, think away. You’re so unscrupulous yourself you think everyone is the same. But I assure you, we don’t use your methods or your grandfather’s.’ She could see her words had increased his anger rather than convinced him of her innocence. She sighed. ‘I can only repeat that I was not responsible for what those young men did, nor was Phil Pollard. But,’ her head came up, ‘I have every sympathy with them. I wish I’d thought of it myself. I might even have gone with them and cheered them on.’
Roland pushed at the door and Lester moved to let him in. He had heard her remark.
‘Don’t be stupid, Elise,’ Roland said, plainly worried by his friend’s grim expression. ‘You know you wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.’
She rounded on him. ‘Oh, wouldn’t I? Why not? Go on, say it - I haven’t got the guts! I know what you think of me.’ Her eyes swung to Lester. ‘And I know what you think of me. And you’re wrong, so wrong. It amuses you to call me a mouse - it only shows how little you know about me. I’ve got my own share of guts and I’m warning you, if you go ahead and tear down those trees, I’m not going to be held responsible for what might happen to any houses you may build where those woods now stand.’
She pushed past her brother and swept up the stairs, leaving behind two astonished men.
As usual after Sunday lunch, she went upstairs to her room next day and put on her headphones. But it was useless; she couldn’t concentrate on what she was listening to. She put aside the pile of records, pulled on some slacks, put on her dark blue anorak and called to her father that she was going for a walk.
She made for the woods, over the railway line and up the hill
. The path through the woods was churned into mud by yesterday’s downpour. The horses’ hoof marks imprinted in the earth by the early morning riders were rain-filled to the brim.
The earth squelched underfoot and Elise wished she had remembered to wear her boots. Hands in her pockets, she wandered beneath the trees, their branches an interwoven canopy of black lines against the sky.
She passed through the fresh-smelling undergrowth, breathing in the heady scent of the soaking leaves. She wondered, as she walked, how she could make Lester change his mind. If she reminded him of how, in childhood, they used to come to these woods, climb the trees, and eat their sandwiches, sitting with their backs to the hard, rough trunks, would he listen with greater sympathy to her pleas? Would she be able to touch his compassion and persuade him to allow the place to remain untouched?
She stood at the side of a holly bush and remembered how the three of them used to gather the scarlet berries at Christmastime and carry them home in triumph to decorate their houses.
She wandered round, naming the trees. Here was a rowan, sturdy and straight; there a birch, its branches thin and graceful even at that time of the year. There was the beech they used to climb and the oak they used to swing on. And this was the hornbeam she had got stuck in and Lester had had to rescue her from its wide spreading boughs. There were elms too, the ones Lester had declared were diseased, but to her inexperienced eye, there seemed to be nothing wrong with them.
A mist was coming down now, giving the place a gentle mystery, lending a drifting ghostliness to the trees as though they had already died and were part of the past. The birdsong was faint and twittering as though the birds were apprehensive, sensing the approach of darkness and destruction.
She shivered and made for home, turning for a last look. Her heart thudded as she thought she saw the figure of a man walking between the trees. His head was down and he seemed to be wandering about as she had done, getting the feel of the place and walking among memories. But even as she looked the illusion faded into the mist. She sighed, chided herself for imagining things and went home.
Lester came that evening. Elise was reading and he walked across the room and sat on the arm of her chair. She couldn’t bear him so near and started to rise, but his hand restrained her.
He was in a cynical mood, she could sense it. ‘How’s the brave, fearless, intrepid Elise Lennan this evening? The girl with guts, as she claimed so confidently yesterday, the little mouse that’s turned into a great and dangerous tigress.’ He put his fingers under her chin and turned up her face. ‘If I sit here much longer will she tear me apart with her jaws?’
Elise jerked her chin away. ‘Oh, shut up!’ she snapped rudely, thinking he would move away. But he stayed where he was.
She looked up at him suspiciously. ‘What are you aiming to do - soften me up, talk me round to your way of thinking, and agree with you that the woods should be slaughtered in the name of progress?’
He moved to stand in front of her, the better, she was sure, to drive home his derision. ‘Talk you round? An insignificant nobody like you? I wouldn’t waste my breath.’
Yes, I was right, she thought, he’s ridiculing me again, the big brother’s friend, superior in his manliness, arrogantly putting the timid little mouse in her place.
‘Thanks, Lester,’ she said, keeping her eyes down, ‘that’s just the sort of compliment I’ve come to expect from you over the years.’
Why did his taunts always have to land dead on target? Why did he always set out to hurt her? And why did she let him?
She gave her attention to the magazine, trying to ignore him as he stood there, hands as usual deep in pockets, staring down at her.
‘What are you reading?’
Startled by his change of tone, she looked up. He sounded softer, kindlier, indulgent almost, like a big brother suddenly realising his little sister had feelings and was human after all. And he was smiling.
Caught off guard, she told him. He moved to her side and looked down at the magazine. ‘All about hi-fi? You, a girl, trying to understand the technicalities of audio equipment?’
‘Why not?’ She was on the defensive as usual. ‘It helps me to explain it better to customers when I’m selling them the stuff.’
‘How incredibly conscientious!’ It was a statement spoken with sincerity, without a trace of sarcasm. She flushed at the first real compliment he had ever paid her.
Roland came in and Lester said, ‘Your sister will soon be so knowledgeable about hi-fi she’ll be able to open a shop of her own.’ They laughed. ‘I’ll have to patronise Phil Pollard’s establishment one day and test her knowledge. If I do, Elise, I promise to be the most awkward customer you’ve ever had!’
Roland invited him to sit down, but he said he would rather stand. He seemed restless and roamed round the room. He stopped with his back to the curtains and looked at his watch, as though he had just come to a decision.
‘Do you mind, Roland, if I phone Nina? I haven’t heard from her lately and I’d like to know why.’
‘She’s probably busy, Lester,’ Roland said, seeking an explanation which might allay his friend’s anxieties. ‘You know how hard nurses have to work.’
‘All right, so she’s busy, but hell, she is engaged to me, after all!’
Roland indicated the phone in the hall. ‘It’s all yours.’
Elise went upstairs. She could not bear to listen to Lester talking to the girl he was going to marry.
She sat on the bed, reading. She tried to shut out Lester’s voice, but he was talking so loudly and so insistently she could not help hearing.
‘Yes,’ he was saying, ‘I know you told me you were seeing a lot of him, but I assumed it was in the course of your work. After all, nurses surely come into contact with doctors all the time - ‘
There was a pause while he listened, then, ‘But why didn’t you tell me you were going out with him? You didn’t want to upset me? That’s rich! All right, so you want to break off the engagement. Go ahead. Consider it an accomplished fact. Send me the ring back? No, thanks, keep it as a memento of my love!’
The receiver was slammed down and there was a deep and deathly silence. What should she do? Elise wondered.
Go down to him? Sympathise? No, that she could not do. She stood at the door, uncertain and hesitant.
She heard Roland say gently, ‘Come in here, old chap. I’ll get you a drink. No, not in there. Elise might come down.’
A door closed and Elise retreated into her bedroom. She sat, staring at the carpet, seeing nothing. There was a murmur of voices from the room beneath her, broken now and then by long, painful silences.
She realised after a while that it was getting late. She had to go down, she couldn’t avoid it. Her father would be expecting his cup of tea. She passed his bedroom where he was working and crept down the stairs. It was so quiet, she decided that Lester must have gone.
She opened the sitting-room door and stopped in her tracks. He was standing there, alone, staring hopelessly into the dying fire. She backed out, but he called to her, his voice grating and harsh, ‘Oh, come in, for God’s sake, and stop creeping around like a bloody little mouse.’
She went in because after that she had no alternative. His shoulders were slouching, his breathing heavy, his eyes bitter with pain.
She ventured, ‘I’m so sorry, Lester - ‘
He rounded on her. ‘Don’t give me your pity. What do you know about it? You, with your scampering mouse personality. You know nothing, and never will.’ He raised his voice. ‘And stop looking at me as though I’d suffered a bereavement!’
Roland came in and looked from one to the other. He saw his sister’s pale face and his friend’s angry eyes.
Elise sank into a chair. She told herself, desperate to check the tears, ‘He’s been hurt beyond reach or help. That’s why he’s hurting me. There’s no other reason.’
He went on in the same hard tone, ‘I’ve only been ditched by a girl, nothi
ng worse. There are plenty more women around I can enjoy myself with.’ He moved in front of her. ‘You, for instance. You hurt me once, marked me for life, in fact. Why shouldn’t I repay the compliment and leave my mark on you for life?’
He caught her wrist to drag her out of the chair, but she cowered away from him.
Roland said, ‘Lester, old chap …’
Lester dropped her wrist and sank into the other armchair, covering his eyes with his hand.
Elise looked at him with a compassion so strong it drained her of vitality and left her limp. She wanted to comfort him with her body, hold his head against her… She reeled under the impact of the feeling, but it passed and she was left sick with fright at what it meant.
Roland motioned her out of the room. ‘But, Roland - ‘ she protested softly.
‘Oh, let her stay,’ Lester muttered. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t touch her. As from this moment on, women, as far as I’m concerned, are poison, strictly not to be taken in any shape or form.’
Roland said pointedly, ‘Elise, I’ve put the kettle on. Make some tea, will you?’
When she got to the kitchen she found she was shaking. With difficulty she pulled herself together and made the tea. Roland took two cups into the sitting-room. Elise gave one to her father and drank her own in her bedroom. Some time later, she heard Lester leave.
Clare was alone in the shop next morning when Elise arrived.
‘Hallo,’ she said cheerfully, ‘Mr. Pollard’s just phoned to say he’s off to one of the other branches this morning to see a sales rep who’s calling there. He’s left you in charge.’
Elise had never felt less like being in charge in her life. She had slept badly and even when she had managed to lose consciousness, Lester’s face, drawn and miserable, had haunted her dreams. Had he really been so much in love with Nina, who was so many years his junior? Or was it only that his pride had been deeply hurt by the manner of her rejection?
She went into the office, hung up her coat and removed the cover of the typewriter. She typed until coffee time, leaving Clare to serve the handful of customers who called in.
