by Lilian Peake
‘And all the regulations you’ve got to take notice of these days! A builder’s bound hand and foot by bits of paper. Now my grandson, he’s been brought up in the trade the new way. From the start he’s been taught what’s right and what’s wrong, passed exams and got a string of fancy letters after his name. Me - I had to pick it up the hard way, by learning as I went along.’
Mrs. Dennis called, ‘Mr. Kings, cup of tea for you. Ask the young lady if she’d like one, will you?’
But Elise refused politely and watched him go with ill-disguised relief. She opened a window to let out the pipe smell and got down to work again. She had nearly finished when Lester came in. When he heard about his grandfather’s remarks, he laughed.
‘That’s his favourite subject, the old days and the new. He’s found the changes hard to accept, which is partly why he got the business into such a muddle and had to call on me to get him out of it.’
‘Well,’ she said pointing to a paper on the desk, ‘this is a change I hadn’t heard about, there aren’t any local building byelaws any more.’
He came to stand beside her. ‘No, there aren’t. Building regulations are mandatory now, under an Act of Parliament. So the next time you look over a house which is being built,’ he ruffled her hair, ‘and don’t take that as an open invitation to visit Kings’ new estate - ‘ he smiled while she tidied her hair with some annoyance, ‘remember that the size of the timbers, the thickness of the walls, even the slope of the stairs and so on have all been regulated by the aforementioned Act.’
She looked up at him. ‘So a builder can’t make up his own mind about those things?’
‘He certainly can’t. And what’s more, he’s got to show all his calculations to a local building inspector for approval. He has to take into account things like floor loading and wind loading - all in the interests of safety.’
‘I begin to see,’ she said slowly, ‘why your grandfather handed over his business to you. You know so much about it, don’t you?’
He smiled. ‘If that’s a compliment, even if it is an oblique one,’ he bowed, ‘many thanks. But knowing your opinion of me, it’s probably more a statement of fact than an expression of admiration. Am I right?’
She looked down at her hands, refusing to answer.
‘But you’re learning too, aren’t you? If I go on teaching you the basic requirements of the building industry, it won’t be long before you know so much about it my grandfather and I might even consider offering you a partner-ship.’ His eyes grew mocking and he moved away. ‘But that wouldn’t do at all, would it? You’d want to reverse the process and knock down the houses we’ve built and put the trees back!’
He dropped into a chair and flung the safety helmet on the desk. He pushed his fingers through his thick brown hair and said casually,
‘So you were out when I phoned last night. That’s unusual for you. Where did you go - to Clare’s place?’
‘No.’ She ran her forefinger lightly over the typewriter keys, glad that her back was towards him. ‘I went out with Howard.’
He said sharply, ‘I thought you didn’t like him.’
‘I don’t, particularly. It’s just that - well, he rather bulldozed me into it.’
‘But you could have said “no, thanks”.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ Her tone was petulant. ‘I said “yes”.’
‘And I suppose when he asks you to marry him, you’ll say “yes”, justifying your answer by saying he “bulldozed you into it”.’
Again she was silent.
‘Do you like him any better now?’
‘No. If anything, less.’ He seemed to be waiting for her to explain. ‘He - he kissed me.’
He got up and walked across to her, and leaned against the desk, facing her. The question came softly. ‘And did you like it?’
She shivered. ‘No. I hated it.’
‘Perhaps you’re cold.’ She looked up, puzzled, and realised what he meant. ‘Are you, Elise?’
She answered uncertainly, ‘I - I don’t know. I hope not, but - -‘ She knew the worry was there in her eyes.
Slowly his hand came out and held her face, his lips followed and held her mouth. She did not back away, she did not flinch.
At last he lifted his head and took away his hand. ‘No, you’re not cold. Whatever else you are, you aren’t cold.’
He returned to his desk and sat down as though nothing had happened. She fought for composure and began to type, forcing herself to appear as calm and collected as he was. Why had he done it? To prove to her yet again how little she affected him?
He said, after a while, ‘Easter’s only ten days away. I’m going north to see my parents.’
She stopped typing and turned, saying tritely, ‘Oh, that will be nice.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘For whom - you or me?’
She turned away from him. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘What will you do at Easter, Elise? Stay at home? Go out with Howard?’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Who knows?’
‘No doubt,’ he commented, and his cynicism stung her, ‘it depends on how hard he pressurizes you, and whether or not he uses his “bulldozing” technique again.’
She did not reply.
He stood abruptly. ‘Have you finished the work?’ ‘Not quite. Why?’
He put on his safety helmet and immediately pushed it to the back of his head. ‘I have to go. Can you make your own way home?’
‘Of course.’
He raised his hand and left her.
She worked on mechanically, her technical skill overriding her emotions and carrying her through to the end. She put the letters on Lester’s desk to await his signature.
She swung her cardigan cape-like round her shoulders and a sleeve hit against the waste paper basket knocking it sideways on to the floor. The contents spilled out and she tutted and knelt down to scoop up the paper in handfuls, dropping it back into the basket.
Her eyes were caught by the words on a scrap of paper. The writing, which was somehow familiar, was carefully formed and rather feminine and seemed to be part of a letter which looked as if it had been ripped to pieces by angry fingers.
‘Darling Lester,’ it said, ‘I’m writing to ask if you - ‘and there, tantalisingly, it stopped.
Still on her knees, she searched feverishly for more until piece by piece like a teasing jig-saw puzzle, she put the letter together again.
‘Darling Lester,’ she read again, ‘I’m writing to ask if you will take me back. Please believe me when I say that I’ve never stopped loving you and would give everything I possess to see you again and feel your arms round me, holding me and loving me as you used to do.
‘Is it possible for you to come north so that we could talk it over? Please write to me soon and say “yes”. I miss you every hour of the day, darling. Yours forever and ever, Nina.’
Slowly, hopelessly, Elise gathered up the torn pieces and dropped them back into the waste paper basket, watching them float and settle like giant flakes of snow. She gazed at them, frowning, wishing they would melt away before her eyes.
Well, at least she knew the worst. His ex-fiancée still loved him and wanted him back. She would be seeing him soon, wouldn’t she, when he went north to see his parents? What did it matter that he had torn up her letter? Since the girl lived next door, they could hardly avoid meeting.
Elise thought of Nina’s beauty and she remembered with piercing clarity the desolation which had driven Lester to the edge of brutality the night his engagement had ended.
Even if he had torn up Nina’s letter, even if he did say monotonously and with apparent finality that he had put women out of his life, there was no doubt about it. Nina’s wish would be granted - she would get Lester back.
Elise was alone in the house. She stood at the sitting-room window watching the setting sun sinking in a wild cloud-scattered sky. The wind-racked branches of the trees bordering the pavement rose and dipped as i
f trying frantically to shake themselves free of the buds which were erupting all over them.
She was troubled by a restlessness that pawed at her like a dog demanding attention. The walls of the house imprisoned her body and stifled her mind. She felt a yearning for the woods that had gone, the rustling leaves, the crackle of twigs, birdsong, the scent of leaf-mould after rain.
The sense of loss, of deprivation returned and with it a fierce resentment, stronger than before, against those responsible for it. If those trees had been allowed to survive, they too would have been in bud, holding out hope in their uplifted branches, the promise of summer to come.
She thought about the thefts from the building site. They were getting worse, the local paper said. Things were disappearing at a faster rate. Windows, newly fitted, were being systematically smashed. Even the scaffolding fixed to the brickwork was being tampered with, causing a serious hazard to the workmen.
She wished she could be sure Phil Pollard was not behind it. Surely a man as sincere and honest as he was would be incapable of such action. But, another voice argued, someone who resented the development of that housing estate as much as he did might be capable of doing anything to impede its progress.
The restlessness within her became unbearable. She made up her mind - she would go out. She put on her blue anorak and tucked her trouser legs into long white boots. She slammed the front door behind her and, lowering her head, butted her way through the gale, which formed an almost tangible wall in front of her. She pitted her strength against it until it gave way before her dogged persistence.
An impulse had brought her out, an impulse which had contained the nucleus of an idea. ‘Go to the building site,’ it had said, ‘wander round and try to find some clues which might help to establish the identity of the thief. Then Phil Pollard would be absolved from blame.’
The estate seemed deserted. She had expected that. A thief would remain hidden for as long as possible. He would not wander round openly as if he had every right to be there. He might even bring a van and leave it parked nearby, ready to be loaded with the stuff he had stolen.
A van! She thought of Phil Pollard’s van, the one he used to deliver customer’s goods. But she dismissed the thought. It would surely take an experienced criminal to be as well organised as that. And whatever else Mr. Pollard might be, he was not a criminal.
The wind raged and blustered through the half-built houses, whipping round stacks of timber, swooping over cement bags heaped into mounds and protected by tarpaulins with loose flapping corners. It played havoc with her hair and flirted with her jacket, making it billow out around her like an inflated balloon.
She picked her way over the scattered bricks and drain pipes and made for the shelter of a newly-completed house. There was glass in the windows, a neat front door and a double garage. She peered inside and admired the layout and the decorations, walked round the back and stood on tiptoe to look into the kitchen.
The equipment which had been installed was lavish and expensive. She envied the people who had had sufficient capital behind them to buy such a place. As she wandered over the land which would one day form the back garden, it came to her with a profound shock that the house occupied the ground where the hornbeam - her hornbeam - had stood.
She strolled round to the front again and as she emerged from the sideway, something warned her. Some primitive mechanism started ticking over in her brain, telling her of lurking danger. A prickle of primeval fear crawled up her spine rippled across her neck and scraped over her scalp.
There was a noise, not an everyday sound that might be dismissed as meaningless, but a furtive shuffling which, lifted up and magnified by the clamour of the wind, made her body tingle with apprehension.
It was dusk now and her eyes strained to strip away the thin layer of darkness. There was the noise again and she peered into the increasing gloom in an effort to trace the source of it. Her eyes were caught and riveted by the shape of a dog, an Alsatian, standing a few feet away, staring at her. Its eyes were beady and menacing, its head was lowered, its ears pricked and rigid, its body tense and waiting.
Panic shortened her breath to gasps, she was encased in fear, mummified with fright. The dog snarled and drew back its lips. Its eyes were staring from its head, fur raised, body stiff and impatient and eager for blood.
Help, get help - the thought slipped stealthily, silently into her mind. Involuntarily she tore her eyes away from the dog’s and looked up, straight into another pair of eyes - Lester’s. He was standing at the door of the site office, watching, waiting for the dog - his guard dog - to spring and teach her a lesson.
He must have known all the time she was there. He must have been following her movements, observing her, waiting for her to start pilfering and thieving. A sob of horror that he could distrust her so racked her body. The dog, waiting for the slightest movement, sprang.
As its paws hit her shoulders, she screamed and went over backwards, twisting in her descent on to her side. Its teeth sought a hold, sank into the sleeve of her jacket, pulled and tore with all its strength. The jaws moved upwards to the hood and wrenched and ripped and snarled. They moved again towards her neck and she put up her hands and screamed again.
Footsteps came pounding. There was a shout. The dog lifted its head and listened. A brick came hurtling past, missed the dog but frightened it. It fled away into the dusk.
Hands came out to help her, but she dragged herself upright and twisted away from them.
‘Go away!’ she screamed hysterically. ‘It was your dog, your guard dog. You set him on me, you let him loose to come after me and tear me apart!’
‘You’re out of your mind, Elise. Do you think I would ever do such a thing?’
‘You? You’re capable of anything, even murder. Go away, I hate you!’
His hand shot out and grasped her arm and he dragged her towards him. She resisted with all her strength, but found his muscle power was greater than hers. She struggled nevertheless and he jerked her against his chest, trying to compel her to be still. She realised she had lost the battle and in her desperation found his hand, grasped it and lifted it towards her teeth.
He saw what she was doing, swore violently, took a handful of her hair and jerked back her head such force that she cried out. But he had freed the hand she had intended to bite.
‘Come to your senses, woman! You’re hysterical, you don’t know what you’re doing.’ Limp now with exhaustion, she pulled away from him and stood abject, her head down, gasping for breath, her eyes full of tears from the pain of having her hair pulled.
She heard him mutter, ‘And I tried to rouse you by calling you a mouse! I must have been crazy to summon your latent aggression out of limbo. I should have let it be there forgotten and decently buried among all the other debris of your childhood.’
She put her hands to her face and her body shook with sobs. His arms went roughly round her and pulled her to him. She went because she had no strength to resist. When he pushed her head down to his chest, she let it be there while the rest of her body shook with the aftermath of terror. Gradually the shuddering passed and she lay still against him.
He said softly over head, ‘Were you aware of what you were trying to do? Did you know you were trying to bite me again?’ He lifted her face and she could hardly see him in the darkness, but he seemed to be smiling. ‘Weren’t you satisfied with the scar you’ve already given me - did you think it should be joined by another?’
‘I’m sorry, Lester, I’m sorry,’ was all she could say, and she sought the shelter of his chest again.
He held her close for a few more minutes, his hand stroking the hair he had pulled. Then he turned her gently and led her towards the site office. She went along beside him, her head still down. He switched on the light and sat her in a chair, finding another for himself.
‘I wish I could give you a drink.’ He looked round at the dusty filing cabinets, the wooden shelves crammed with box files. ‘But
I can’t.’ He waited for a few moments, then, ‘Can you listen to me, Elise? I want to put the record straight. I want to make it perfectly clear that the dog which attacked you was not - repeat not - a guard dog. It was a stray I’ve seen prowling around for some time. It appeared to be harmless, so I’ve done nothing about it. But the gale and,’ he smiled, ‘the sight of you must have brought out the worst in it.’ She sat silent, her head drooping. ‘Do you believe me?’
She mumbled reluctantly, ‘I suppose I shall have to.’
He looked at her clothes. ‘Your jacket’s a mess. I’m sorry about that. I’ll buy you another.’
Her head came up and her look accused him. ‘In doing so,’ he said sharply, ‘I am not admitting liability for the attack. I simply feel responsible because it occurred on this building site and because - because of our friendship in the past.’
She noted his carefully chosen words, implying that they were no longer friends. Well, she told herself miserably, it was true, wasn’t it? She had said so herself often enough.
There was a long pause, then he asked as if he had had to force himself to do so, ‘There’s something I must know, Elise. Why were you wandering about on this estate?’
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said resentfully, ‘that I was going to steal something. Well, you’re wrong.’
‘I don’t think that, Elise.’ He was speaking gently. ‘But I do think you may be shielding someone. Are you?’
