by Lilian Peake
A few trees had been spared, as Lester had said, a cypress, an elm and a beech or two. There were huts everywhere. One of them marked ‘Site Agent and Clerk of Works’ was, she supposed, Lester’s. She decided to take no chances in case he was there, so she hurried past, only to stop, shocked into momentary panic by the sound of his voice.
He was standing a short distance away talking to a man who was studying a large sheet of paper - probably the plans of a house - and Lester was running his forefinger over them, pointing something out. He was so absorbed in his discussion he could not possibly have seen her.
She thought it prudent to get herself out of sight until he had gone, so she stepped off the road, picked her way across the builders’ rubble and made for the shelter of a half-built brick wall. Balancing one foot in front of the other, she walked along a duckboard spanning a large hole and stepped down alongside the wall.
It was then that she saw the man, half sitting, and half lying against the brickwork he was supposed to be working on. He was smoking and it looked as if he was taking an unofficial break. He saw her and stood up, taking his time about it. The look in his eyes should have warned her, but fear fixed her feet securely to the spot. With his heel he ground out the cigarette he had been smoking. He was short, his black hair smoothed down with grease, the state of his face suggesting that he had not shaved for some days.
He swaggered towards her, head slightly down, a gloating look in his sharp eyes. ‘Hallo, sweetheart. Come for a chat?’
She took a short agitated step backwards and with it just cleared the end of the half-built wall. She turned to walk over the plank again, saw the hole beneath it, hesitated, and as she did so, his hand closed on her arm. She made a vain effort to wrench it away.
‘Stop it!’ she said, trying to shout but croaking instead. Then a little louder, ‘Stop it!’
She looked round wildly for help, but the man jerked her back behind the shelter of the wall. Footsteps came running along the road, there was a shout, the sound of rubble being disturbed by heavy-booted feet and a voice ordered, ‘Take your hands off that girl, Wayman!’ The man dropped her arm at once.
‘Now you, Elise.’ Lester motioned with his head. ‘Get out.’
But Elise could not move. Her legs would not function, her feet would not obey. Lester snapped, ‘You’re fired, Wayman.’
‘Now look, boss,’ the man whined, ‘no harm done. I wasn’t going to do anything to her…’
But Lester said, walking away, ‘Come to the site office and get your cards.’
‘Have a heart, boss,’ Wayman moved to stand in front of him, ‘don’t be so hard. I’ve got a wife…’
‘You should have thought of her before you put your hands on that girl.’
‘But, Lester,’ Elise said, and he swung round towards her, ‘I’m perfectly all right -‘
‘You keep out of this.’ Then to the man, ‘Come on, Wayman. Two weeks’ pay in lieu of notice. And that’s more than some firms would give you in the circumstances.’
Elise saw the ugly look that passed across the man’s face and recoiled as if she had been physically assaulted. But Lester had walked on and missed it. She followed at a distance, intending to slip away unnoticed, although Lester, it seemed, had other ideas.
‘I want to see you, Elise,’ he said, unlocking the site office door and letting himself in.
‘I’m going home, Lester.’
He repeated icily, ‘I want to see you, Elise.’
She shrugged and rested her shoulders sulkily against the side of the hut. The man was not kept long in the site office, and when he came out he leered at her. ‘Thanks for sticking up for me, girlie. Pity we were interrupted, but better luck next time, eh?’ He waved insultingly and went off.
Lester called her in. She stood in the doorway, sullen and resentful, hands thrust into her jacket pockets.
‘Close the door,’ he said. She obeyed him, with her foot.
His arm was resting on the top of a filing cabinet and he was twisting a pencil between his fingers. ‘Now. Tell me why you came, when I distinctly told you to stay away from this site.’
She muttered, ‘Just looking round.’ Then she rallied, resenting his questioning. ‘Why shouldn’t I come here? I used to walk through the woods almost every day before you and your grandfather murdered them. Where else can I go?’
‘You can go where the hell you like,’ he countered angrily, ‘except to this building site. It’s private property, owned by my grandfather and myself.’
‘But you can’t expect to keep the general public off building sites. They have to come to inspect the houses before deciding to buy.’
‘Quite right, but people like that come on legitimate business. You aren’t the “general public”. When you come here, you’re trespassing. And you’re a distraction. The men I’ve got working for me at the moment are a nice enough lot, but they’re only human. When I take men on, I don’t go into their backgrounds or their pasts, only their work potential. We can’t avoid getting one or two doubtful ones, as you’ve discovered by experience. We just have to take our chance.’ He tapped the pencil on the palm of his hand and his smile became insulting. ‘Of course, I’ve heard of women who haunt building sites like “camp followers”, but I didn’t think you were one of them, although’ his eyes flickered suggestively over her, ‘I could be wrong.’
His taunt went home and she coloured deeply. She took a few moments to recover, then said, ‘According to you, I have no effect whatsoever on a man, so why worry about my powers of distraction?’ He said nothing, merely continued tapping the pencil. The movement began to irritate her and she blurted out bitterly, ‘Of course, I forgot, it wasn’t men in general, was it? It was you in particular I had no effect on.’
He dropped the pencil but made no attempt to pick it up. He changed his position to lean back with both his elbows on top of the filing cabinet and considered her as attentively as if he were studying the plans of a house.
She went on, ‘That’s something you excel at, insulting me,’ she pushed the pencil round the floor with her foot, ‘with your own special brand of abuse. I ought to be used to it by now, but - ‘ She looked up quickly, hoping he had not noticed. He had.
‘So my insults upset you, do they?’ he drawled. ‘Now that surprises me. If you hate me as much as you say you do, they ought to pass over your head.’
She was silent, afraid of giving herself away again. Then she kicked the pencil to the other side of the hut and went to the door.
‘I take it you’ve got the message?’ he asked mildly.
‘Message or no message,’ she snapped, ignoring the anger building up in his eyes, ‘you’re not keeping me off this site.’
‘There are ways,’ he said nastily, ‘of keeping intruders off building sites - by the use of guard dogs. So if I’m pushed too far, you’ll know what to expect. And I’d hate to have to extricate you from the jaws of one of those animals. Just pass that message round your confederates and fellow protesters, will you? It might save an awful lot of trouble.’
She frowned, not believing him. ‘You wouldn’t do that. Those dogs are vicious creatures. There would be protests.’
She saw his slow, derisive smile and knew how foolish she had been to think that the threat of demonstrations would make any difference to him. He would deal with those as he had dealt with the others - with contempt.
She went out, stemming the door so hard the hut shook under the impact.
CHAPTER 7
Elise decided not to ask her brother how his friendship with Clare was progressing. She did not relish the rebuff that would have come her way if she had. Nor did she mention it to Clare. But judging by her colleague’s bright
1 eyes and the aura of contentment which surrounded her, Elise guessed that all was well.
While part of her resented the fact that her friendship with Clare had been brought to such an abrupt end, the more charitable side of her nature delighted in the fact
that her brother, after years of undiluted bachelorhood, had so easily and with such certainty found the woman with whom he wished to share the rest of his life.
Harold Lennan appeared to be taking in his stride his son’s acquisition of a girlfriend. It did not seem to worry him that one day Roland might want to set up a home of his own. He had said often enough that if ever his children decided to leave him, he would not stand in their way, and that he would be quite capable of looking after himself.
Elise was alone, as usual, one evening when the telephone rang. With a flick of excitement she recognised the voice.
‘Lester here. I’m moving tomorrow from my digs. Could you oblige as promised and help me pack?’
‘Of course, Lester. When, afternoon or evening?’
‘Both, probably. Is that too much? You could have some food here if necessary.’ She agreed. ‘Good.’ He added cynically, ‘If it does nothing else, it will give the landlady something to talk about to her friends and neighbours.’ He rang off.
She made her own way to Lester’s digs. She had dressed for the part, putting on her old black slacks and a sleeveless cotton top. The landlady let her in, eyebrows exaggeratedly raised. ‘Mr. Kings is out, dear.’
‘Yes, I know, but he won’t be long. I’ve come to help him pack.’
‘HAVE you, dear?’ The inflection was nicely calculated to imply the faintest breath of scandal, and Elise responded to the implication too quickly, chiding herself afterwards.
‘He said he needed help and we’re old friends, you see…’
‘ARE you, dear?’ The insinuation was there again, but this time Elise was not drawn. She ran up the stairs, eager to get away from those probing eyes which, judging by the minute examination they were making of her clothes, were memorising every detail to pass on to interested neighbours.
Chaos greeted her. Lester had made some attempt to gather his things together, but there had obviously been no method in his efforts. There were two packing cases in the living-room and one in the bedroom. His possessions appeared to have been thrown into them, with no regard for order or preservation of the contents. He did not seem to know that the more neatly things were packed, the more the containers would hold.
Elise took out one by one the items he had hopefully put into the packing cases and painstakingly repacked them, leaving much more room than before. She wrapped breakable ornaments in soft clothes and tucked books into empty corners.
By the time Lester turned the key in the lock and came sprinting up the stairs, she had packed two large suitcases with clothes and filled cartons and boxes with books and other personal belongings.
He paused in the doorway, taking in at a glance the progress she had made. ‘You must have worked damned hard to achieve this,’ was his comment as he crossed the room to her side. ‘You really did mean it when you said you’d help, didn’t you? Some women I know would have sat around until I arrived and then roused themselves to put the kettle on and make some tea, while I got down to it!’
She flushed at his compliment and smiled up at him. ‘You obviously don’t know the right women.’
‘You’re dead right. I’ll have to go out of my way to cultivate this one, won’t I?’ His arm rested lightly round her waist, but she moved quickly out of range.
‘There’s still plenty for you to do, though. You’ve got so many books! There are those two shelves by the fireplace to clear. Could you get on with it?’
‘Are you giving me orders in my own territory, young woman?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I’m organising you. It’s about time someone took you in hand.’ He approached her menacingly, but she backed away. “The chaos that greeted me when I arrived nearly made me turn and run.’
As his hand reached out to get her, she did turn and run - into the bedroom. She attempted to clear the dressing table, but it was in such a state of disorder, being strewn with documents and papers connected with his work, she decided it might be more prudent to let Lester tackle it himself. As she turned to call him, her eye was caught by the glint of glass amongst the layers of paper. It looked like a photograph. She extricated it carefully and found that it was. Across a corner was a message written in a neat, feminine hand. ‘To Lester,’ it said, ‘with my everlasting love, Nina.’
As Elise studied the beautiful face, the regular features, the perfect nose and mouth, eyes which were innocent yet challenging, her heart sank. She thought miserably, ‘No wonder he was heartbroken at losing her. A girl like that would only have to lift her finger and any man, even Lester, would go running back at her command.’
‘Yes,’ said a voice at the door, ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you found that.’ He stood at her side. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she, my ex-fiancée? The only thing she lacked was constancy.’ His eyes laughed at her in the dressing table mirror. ‘But women are faithless creatures, aren’t they? And I don’t suppose you’re an exception. Are you?’
She ignored his question and put down the photograph, bending over the papers and trying to get them into some sort of order.
‘You haven’t answered me, Elise.’ She looked up, surprised by his change of tone, as though he really expected an answer.
She tried to supply one. ‘Well, I - I don’t -’
‘No, of course you don’t know. You’ve never been given the chance to find out.’ He was being cynical again and this, oddly, she found easier to cope with than his sudden sincerity. ‘Your constancy has never been tested by any man yet, has it? According to Roland, you’ve never had a real boyfriend. I find that astonishing.’
He threw himself full-length on the bed and pulled her down to sit beside him. ‘Aren’t you afraid of being alone in a bedroom with a philandering, libidinous bachelor, who has publicly renounced women except for what he can get out of them? Or are you really so incredibly innocent that you’re quite unaware of the dangers implicit in such a situation?’
She smiled uncertainly, not knowing how to take him. Looking at him lying there, she thought he was quite capable of getting whatever he wanted from a woman. And, there was no doubt about it, she was fully aware of the dangers - the tantalisingly attractive dangers - of being alone with him in such a situation.
But her one protection from him - and from herself - was her cloak of innocence and this she flung hastily round her. She nodded.
He smiled incredulously. ‘Are you being serious?’ She felt a gentle tug as he started to impel her down towards him. ‘You tempt me,’ he murmured, ‘to give you a practical demonstration of the hazards involved. After all, who better than an old - and shall we say trusted - friend of the family to introduce you to the salacious pleasures of the flesh?’ His eyes wandered appreciatively over her. ‘There’s no doubt about it,’ he said softly, ‘you need something, some catalyst to turn you into a living, breathing woman, instead of just an extension of a piece of radio equipment.’
His mockery stung her. She jerked her hand away and pulled herself upright. Like the young Lester tormenting her on the swing, the mature Lester was tormenting her now.
‘I came to help with the packing,’ she said acidly, ‘not for a lesson in seduction. Anyway, we act as abrasives on each other, don’t we? Like chalk and cheese, you said - we just don’t mix.’ She carried on with the work.
He lay there for some time watching her and when she could not stand it any longer, she went out of the room. He soon joined her and they worked in silence side by side.
The landlady brought them some food which they ate while they packed. When the work was finished, he took her home. As she opened the car door, he thanked her.
‘I’m more than grateful, and I mean that.’ His hand came out to prevent her from getting out of the car. ‘Tell me something. Why did you do it? Was there a motive, a reason? I’d honestly like to know.’
‘Of course there wasn’t a motive. I did it because you needed help, that’s all. And perhaps for old times’ sake. After all,’ she got out and stood on th
e pavement, ‘we used to be friends, didn’t we?’
He phoned a few days later and she asked him, ‘Did your moving pass off without a hitch?’
‘Yes, mainly thanks to your excellent packing. Mrs. Dennis took over at the other end. She “organised” me, as you would put it. She also praised your handiwork. Er - changing the subject, you remember I mentioned a chap called Howard Beale?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, moistening her lips, ‘why?’
‘He’d like to meet you. Can I bring him round?’
‘But, Lester, I didn’t think you meant it. You know very well I don’t want - -‘
‘He’s standing beside me, Elise.’ His voice was warning her to be more guarded. ‘We’ll be round in ten minutes.’
He cut off and Elise was left staring stupidly at the receiver. She replaced it slowly and looked down at the clothes she was wearing - old black trousers, black too-tight sweater. She shrugged. What of it? She didn’t aim to impress the man. If her appearance put him off, all the better.
She tidied the sitting-room, plumping up the cushions and picking up the magazines and newspapers strewn over the floor, then ran upstairs. They arrived before the ten minutes were up. She heard the doorbell ring and her father answered it. She combed her hair and fluffed a layer of powder over her face.
They were in the hall when she went down. Lester watched her, his face a study in blankness. Then she saw the man he had brought with him.
He was of medium height, as solid in build as apparently in bank balance, prosperity and success sitting smugly on his shoulders and giving him an air of pomposity and of premature age. He could not have been much more than thirty-five, but he looked like a man whose mental outlook was of someone approaching retirement.
He stared boldly at Elise as she stood quietly at Lester’s side, waiting for him to introduce them. She knew at once she would not like him. Even if her heart had not been given in its entirety to Lester Kings, she would not have spared this stolid, dull-looking person another thought.
