by Lilian Peake
‘Would you be prepared to go into the higher price ranges?’ Her voice was strictly formal.
‘Within reason, yes.’
She led the way across the room and showed him a turntable displayed on a shelf. ‘This is the best one we stock. I know it’s good because I’ve heard it in action.’
‘Could I hear it in action?’ He looked at her, his eyes those of a stranger. ‘Can you demonstrate it for me?’
‘Of course. I take it you have an amplifier at home?’ He nodded and watched her deft fingers as she connected the turntable to the demonstration amplifier and connected this to two large speakers.
‘Clever girl.’ She swung round at his changed tone and saw the mockery in his eyes; But there was admiration in them, too. She flushed.
‘What would you like to hear - something classical,’ she asked sharply, ‘or something more popular?’
‘You make the choice.’
She chose a Tchaikovsky symphony and he commented, ‘I see your musical taste favours the romantics, what with this and Scheherezade.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ she asked with irritation.
‘Nothing. It’s just that I thought you had forsworn romance as I’ve forsworn women. After all, your way of life could hardly be called romantic, could it?’
She held in her retort as he knew she must and put on the record. The music filled the large room and as she listened, she looked at him covertly. He stood remote and withdrawn, wrapped around in concentration. After a while he indicated that he had heard enough.
‘Now I should like to hear one or two more turntables for the purpose of making comparisons.’
She sighed and looked at her watch. She was due to go home to lunch soon. But he was a customer - a valued customer at the price he seemed willing to pay for a piece of equipment - so she had to keep her patience and carry on without protest.
She made a mistake in one of the connections and tutted loudly. He strolled across to her. ‘What’s the matter? I warned you that if I ever came into your shop, I’d be an awkward customer.’
‘You can say that again,’ she murmured under her breath. Then, sorry at once for stepping out of line, she looked at him and apologised.
He smiled, reached across and took the screwdriver from her fingers. ‘Let me do that.’ And he connected the speaker to the amplifier while she watched.
‘Thanks,’ she said sullenly, refusing to look at him.
It was when she was connecting up the fourth record player that she heard Phil Pollard’s voice downstairs. ‘Where’s Elise?’ he was asking Clare.
She looked quickly at Lester. He was frowning. ‘Upstairs,’ they heard Clare answer, ‘demonstrating some equipment to a customer.’ Then she lowered her voice thinking they could not hear, ‘It’s Lester Kings.’
They heard an explosive noise from Phil. ‘I’m going up,’ he said.
Lester wandered to Elise’s side and rested on his elbow against the counter. By the time Phil appeared at the top of the stairs, Lester was gazing into her face with something approaching adoration.
‘Stop it,’ she hissed, but his lovesick expression did not alter.
‘Hallo, Mr. Pollard,’ she said, trying to move out of range of Lester’s eyes, but the work she was doing effectively prevented it.
‘Hallo, Elise,’ he said gruffly, looking at Lester with venom.
Lester slowly turned his head to look at Phil, smiled, then as if he could not stand being distracted from his contemplation of Elise for more than a few seconds, let his eyes wander back to her again.
This time his gaze took in more than her face. It pointedly explored the trim figure underneath her pale blue dress and when he heard the heavy breathing of the owner of the shop turn into a gasp of strangled anger, he moved nearer to her.
Phil Pollard fiddled amongst the equipment for a few moments, pretending to be looking for something, then, as if he could not stand it any longer, went downstairs again.
When they were alone, Elise turned on Lester. She opened her mouth to hurl whispered abuse at him, but he raised his hand to caution her, thus in one action reminding her both of his status as a valued customer and her own as a subservient shop assistant.
Another twenty minutes was to go by before he finally made up his mind to take the first turntable she had demonstrated. By that time she felt reduced to the instability and shakiness of a jelly, whereas Lester was as calm and collected as when he had first walked into the shop.
He paid by cheque and loaded the turntable into the van which was parked at the kerb. Then he returned to buy some records.
Thankfully Elise handed him over to Clare and while she served the other customers, was forced to see him laughing, talking and generally making up to the young woman who now appeared to be her brother’s girlfriend.
She did battle with her feelings and lost, giving herself up to an orgy of jealousy. When lunchtime finally came, Lester was still in the shop. His back had been turned to the filthy stares the shop owner was directing his way. He knew Phil Pollard could do nothing about his prolonged visit, because he was spending more money that morning than many customers spent in a month.
When Elise went home, she called out ‘goodbye’ to Phil and Clare but ignored Lester, although he turned at the sound of her voice. She walked past her usual bus stop because the last thing she wanted was to be offered a lift by the grandson of Alfred Kings, although she knew it would have got her home in half the time.
When a Kings’ van did cruise along beside her for a few yards and a voice called her name, she turned away to stare into a shop window until the driver swung the van from the kerb and revved angrily and noisily into top gear as he drove away.
Elise was in the middle of washing her hair that afternoon when the phone rang. She clasped the towel round her shoulders and ran downstairs to answer it.
‘Elise?’ said a voice she knew only too well. ‘This is your awkward customer.’
‘Oh,’ she said. Then, ‘What do you want, because I’m in the middle of washing my hair, and it’s dripping all over the telephone and carpet.’
He thought that was very funny, he said, and if he wasn’t in the site office with half a dozen people queueing outside to see him, he’d keep her talking for half an hour. Then he went on, ‘That turntable you sold me this morning - ‘
‘Is there something wrong with it?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he came back smoothly, ‘I haven’t had time to listen to the darned thing yet, have I?’ She apologised and said she had forgotten he was a hard-working man these days.
He ignored her sarcasm and continued, ‘But I’ll be trying it out this evening. Would you like to come along to my place and hear it in action?’
She didn’t answer at once. She held her breath.
‘Elise - are you still there?’
She let the breath out slowly. ‘Of course I am.’ She had to make him repeat his question in case she had misunderstood his words. ‘Do you mean -?’
‘I mean I’m inviting you to my digs to listen to the turntable you sold me this morning.’ His tone became softer, insinuating. ‘What else did you think I had in mind?’
She snapped, ‘You know very well that’s not what I thought you meant!’ She was aware that she was overreacting and was glad of the distance between them to hide her blushes. ‘But it’s - very kind of you to ask me. What time?’
‘I’ll call for you about eight. All right?’ There was a pause, then, ‘Now go and dry your hair and make yourself look beautiful - if you can.’ He rang off.
She bit her hp. A typical Lester Kings ‘farewell’ to his old friend’s sister!
When Roland came home he said, ‘I’m taking Clare out this evening. Did she tell you?’
Elise nodded and her brother’s look dared her to comment. She countered his challenge by telling him about her date with his friend. He stepped back like someone who had had a blow aimed at him.
‘You’re going t
o Lester’s? What on earth for?’
She shrugged. ‘Because he invited me.’ She did not explain, she maliciously left him to come to his own conclusions - and knew they would be wrong. Instead of looking pleased as she thought he might, he seemed worried. A frown creased his forehead and he ran an uncertain hand through his thick light brown hair.
‘I thought he’d finished with girls.’
She shrugged again nonchalantly and swaggered up the stairs. But her manner reverted to normal when she was out of his sight.
After their evening meal, Roland went off in his car to collect Clare. Elise had never seen such purpose in his actions, such decision in his movements. This was a side of him that had been kept securely hidden because, she supposed, there had never been any incentive before to bring it into the open.
When Mr. Lennan heard of his children’s sudden plunge into the social whirl, he was not disturbed. ‘I wonder,’ he said, when told of Lester’s invitation, ‘if he’s got over his broken engagement yet?’
Elise told him, ‘He said he’d renounced women, so I don’t think he has recovered.’
Her father laughed. ‘Renounced women? At his age? He’ll change his mind. He’ll meet some nice girl who’ll knock him cold, then he’ll wonder what he ever saw in the other one.’
Her father was speaking, Elise mused sadly, as though Lester had not yet met the wonderful creature who would ‘knock him cold’. And he hadn’t, of course. She knew that her effect on men had always been nil and always would be, especially on Lester.
She wore a dress she had bought for Christmas and had never worn since. It was apricot-coloured, long-sleeved and close-fitting. It buttoned to the neck and had delicate touches of white in the collar, cuffs and belt.
She combed her hair as Clare had done, flicking the ends forward so that they framed her face. She used a little more make-up than usual and slipped her feet into a new pair of white shoes. She changed her possessions into a matching white handbag, then sat on the bed and wondered why she had gone to all that trouble.
It’s only Lester I’m seeing, she told herself. What difference does it make how I look?
When she opened the door to him, he stepped inside and stopped dead. ‘You are - Elise Lennan?’
She coloured at his meaning - that in his opinion Elise Lennan could never look attractive, no matter how hard she tried.
‘I’m sorry, yes, I am.’ She closed the door, wanting suddenly to run up to her room and tear it all off. What had made her dress up like this? What would he think - that she was after him?
‘I’ll get my coat,’ she said dully, feeling all the excitement which had buoyed her up all the afternoon drain away.
She called up to her father that they were going and he peered down from the landing and said he hoped they enjoyed themselves.
‘We’re only going to listen to some music,’ she said as they went out to Lester’s car. ‘I don’t know why he said that.’
Lester did not comment. His odd silence made her feel awkward. It could only mean that he was embarrassed by her obvious desire to please him and it was as much as she could do to force herself to get into his car and not run back into the house.
He hardly spoke on the way to his digs, except to comment on the arrival of spring and how the evenings were getting longer.
They met his landlady in the hall and he introduced them. Mrs. Carter, her name was, and she looked Elise up and down appreciatively. Then she glanced at Lester with a knowing light in her eye. He did not appear to notice, and motioned Elise up the stairs.
‘First on the left,’ he said, and showed her in. ‘This is my living-room. The room next door is my bedroom.’
His manner was brisk as he removed some books from the armchair and invited her to sit down. He took off his jacket and threw it on the floor under the window. His shirt was a brilliant yellow and he was wearing a flower patterned tie, his trousers were deep blue cords, tightly belted at the waist. The effect his careless good looks had on Elise’s pulse rate unnerved her. She was so tense that even her thoughts seemed cemented in concrete.
She reached for a book and opened it to hide her shyness. It was a textbook about building. She heard him laugh and realised he was standing beside her chair holding out a glass. She put the book aside and took the drink he was offering.
He sat on the couch, stretching out his long legs and resting his head on a cushion. ‘Teaching yourself to become a builder now, as well as a highly efficient saleswoman of audio equipment?’ She coloured at his compliment and he went on, ‘I was most impressed by the girl who served me - so patiently and knowledgeably - this morning.’ He studied the contents of his glass. ‘If she hadn’t swept out of the shop in such a huff at lunchtime and in addition refused the lift I offered her, I would have told her so earlier.’
She shrugged, trying to look as though his praise meant nothing to her. ‘It’s my job.’
Through the long silence that followed, she tried to think of something to talk about, sifting through her thoughts like a detective seeking evidence of a crime, but could not find a single clue to help her.
He did not seem to be bothered. He even closed his eyes. She wanted to cry out, ‘Look at me, acknowledge I’m here, don’t ignore me as if I didn’t exist!’
What would he be doing, she wondered, torturing herself with her own incoherence and inadequacy, if I were attractive and interesting and full of charm?
He said, without opening his eyes, ‘So Roland’s got himself a girlfriend?’
‘How did you know?’ she asked, her voice coming out strange and thin.
‘He rang me at the site office in case I was going round to see him tonight.’
So Lester had filled in the evening, had he, by inviting her to his place, an evening which would otherwise have been long and boring and lonely. He must have decided that even her company was preferable to his own.
‘He seems rather keen on her,’ he remarked casually.
‘Yes.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t understand it.’
He laughed loudly and opened his eyes. ‘Now is that statement a product of your ignorance of the facts of life? Or is it that you’re casting doubts on Clare’s attractiveness, or is it surprise that your brother is at last displaying signs of becoming aware of the fascinations of the opposite sex?’
She smiled back at him. ‘The third, I think.’
‘Unbelievable,’ he said, watching her, ‘that all that masculinity has been sleeping below the surface, undisturbed for years. Then a pretty young woman comes along and without even trying, wakes it roughly from its slumbers, and he’s up and after her like an animal in search of a mate.’
She acknowledged his words with a smile, but said, ‘What puzzles me is that they hardly addressed a word to each other.’
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his glass between his palms. ‘My dear girl,’ he said softly, ‘it’s obvious, whatever you may say to the contrary, that you don’t know the facts of life.’ She started to protest. ‘You may think you do, but,’ he shook his head, ‘as far as sex is concerned you’re ignorant, untutored and if I may say so, utterly unawakened.’
She hunched herself up in the chair and turned her head away. Why was he talking like this? When would he stop his probing and stop torturing her with the truth? ‘You need a boyfriend.’
Her head shot round and there was fear in her eyes. ‘No, thank you!’
‘I didn’t say you want one, I said you need one.’ He examined her speculatively. ‘And I know just the person to suit you.’
Now what was coming? Half in fear, half in hope, she waited.
CHAPTER 6
‘THE man’s name,’ Lester said slowly, ‘is Howard Beale.’
She turned her cheek against a cushion and closed her eyes to hide the pain. What had she expected - a proposal of marriage from Lester Kings?
‘He’s a surveyor, comfortably off, owns a big car, lives - on his own - in a large
detached architect-designed residence.’ He paused. ‘And he’s looking for a woman to share it with him.’ He waited for a response but none came. ‘Does the idea attract you?’ Still no answer. ‘I’ll arrange a meeting. It shouldn’t be difficult to get you together.’ She made no movement. ‘If your brother has stolen the only friend you’ve ever had,’ he continued relentlessly, ‘and what’s more, in doing so has found himself a wife, you won’t want to be left out in the cold, will you?’
She moved at last, managing to cloak her misery with anger. ‘I told you,’ she rasped, ‘I don’t want - or need - a boyfriend. I’m perfectly happy as I am.’
‘You look it,’ he said cuttingly.
She stood up. ‘If this is all you propose to talk about for the rest of the evening, I’d better go.’
He stood too. ‘All right, we’ll change the subject. Come over here and watch me connect up the expensive new toy you sold me this morning.’
He took a screwdriver from a toolbox and started connecting the wires to the amplifier, then to the two speakers which stood in opposite corners of the room. ‘Don’t inspect my workmanship too closely, will you? This is just what they call a “lash up” for your benefit. I’ll do the job properly when I’ve got more time.’
She smiled, happier now that the conversation had veered away from personalities to a sphere in which she felt completely at home.
‘While I’m doing this,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘you sort through my new records.’
She did so, exclaiming with pleasure at his choice.
‘You mean to say,’ he said to the back of the speaker, ‘you like my taste in music? There’s actually something about me you approve of? My word,’ he straightened and put away his screwdriver, ‘that surely calls for celebration. Let’s drink to it.’
He refilled her glass and put it into her hand. ‘Let’s drink to the future - to me in my lonely bachelor flat, and you in your architect-designed detached house.’
She took the glass from her lips and started to lower it angrily to the coffee table. He held up his hand. ‘All right, let’s make it simply - to us.’ He raised his glass and touched hers, then he tossed the drink down his throat. She sipped hers and they waited for each other to speak first.
