The Tender Flame

by Anne Saunders

  ‘If you are asking if I intend to stay, the answer is yes. I know there are adequate rooms. And it is my home, Miss Ashton.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘By all means see to Stephanie first, Jan,’ he said falling into automatic use of her first name. ‘Then, you realise we must talk?’

  ‘Yes, Da—Mr. Spedding,’ Jan replied heavily, feeling that she knew just what course that talk would take. It was annoying but natural for her to trip up and almost call him David. Annabel had always referred to him so, and it was the name she thought of him by.

  ‘David will do very nicely.’ He didn’t add, ‘for the short length of time you will be here,’ but he might as well have done.

  Stephanie went up the stairs docilely enough, but she was too wide awake for Jan’s liking. The meal had been too rich an indulgence for a little girl. The chocolate pudding, just before going to bed, had been a mistake. She had been showing off, trying to impress him what a good cook she was. She hoped her pride wasn’t going to be taught a sharp lesson in humility. But Stephanie had been so delighted to have her daddy home that Jan hadn’t had the heart to give her an earlier nursery supper and pack her off to bed.

  ‘I’ve got a tummy ache,’ Stephanie announced.

  ‘Lay quite still, darling, and it will go off.’

  Stephanie didn’t want to lay quite still. She wanted to sit up, hug her knees and talk. Then she wanted a story. In sympathy with Stephanie over the loss of her mother, ‘No’ was a word that Jan hadn’t been able to bring herself to use very often. As she succumbed to the ‘Just one more story’ plea, Jan realised she had a spoilt child on her hands.

  When, eventually, she did manage to sneak back downstairs, it was to find that David had washed the dishes and made the coffee. She gratefully accepted her cup, too weary to say, ‘You shouldn’t have bothered. You should have left it to me.’

  ‘It’s no good closing your lashes on me,’ he rebuked sternly, as though she was feigning weariness to get out of that proposed, and dreaded, talk.

  She jerked awake. Not lacking in courage, she decided to attack in a bold and direct manner. ‘You’re going to fire me, aren’t you?’

  There was something insulting in the quantity of lazy amusement in his voice. ‘I must. Now that I’m here, there is nothing to keep you. There is not a single reason why you shouldn’t leave in the morning.’

  She gasped. Her chin lifted in defiance. ‘So soon? It will break Stephanie’s heart.’

  It was silly of her to appeal to his better nature. He hadn’t got one!

  ‘Melodramatic nonsense! Hearts don’t break that easily.’

  How she managed to restrain herself she would never know. It was on the tip of her impetuous tongue to say, ‘You speak from experience, of course.’ As it was she said angrily: ‘You’re not being fair.’

  ‘I am being practical,’ he corrected emphatically. ‘You are not old enough for the responsibilities of the job. It’s obvious, even on short acquaintance, that Stephanie would be a handful for a worldlier, more experienced woman.’

  A short acquaintance! Incredibly, he was referring to his own daughter! Her determination strengthened.

  He continued in that irritatingly smooth fashion of his, ‘How can a child like you be expected to cope?’

  How dare he call her a child? Was he forgetting that she had carried the den single-handed, while he’d chosen to be absent? How dare he be so cool and mocking and superior? How dare he look at her as though the idea of her being engaged for the job in the first place was an amusing joke!

  He seemed to be observing the expressions that chased across her face. His findings caused him to say tautly: ‘I am sorry you are taking this as a personal slight. It’s not meant that way. The original error was not all yours.’

  ‘You think that when I applied for the job, I should have been turned down as being unsuitable?’

  ‘That is precisely what I think.’

  ‘But I was set on. And I’ve coped.’ She bit her lip and said in weary resignation, ‘But that’s not the real reason, is it? You’re not dismissing me because you think I lack maturity, but because I talked too much earlier on in the Coffee Bean?’

  ‘My dear girl, the one is inseparable from the other. Youth and indiscretion go together. You were merely acting your age, and what could be more natural? So while not exactly blaming you, I am unwilling to keep someone on I see as a danger to something that is personal to me and not a subject for general discussion. I am referring, of course, to my privacy.’

  Contemplating the case he put before her with a sinking heart, she made a belated attempt to apologise. ‘Privacy is something I respect. I promise never to infringe on yours again.’

  Abandoning humour, and that mocking, supercilious drawl she had found so disagreeable, he said with a seriousness that Jan found even more disconcerting, ‘I am not prepared to take the risk. You should have counted to ten before opening up to a complete stranger.’

  She cautioned herself, don’t panic. Just tell the truth and everything will be all right. The truth never lets you down.

  But she was panicking. Not only that, she was seething with pent-up fury and frustration. His calm and polite pose was unnerving. He was doing it on purpose, of course. His contrasting coolness was cruel provocation. It was a deliberate and well-thought out manoeuvre to goad her into a state of quivering anger. She was so incensed she could hardly keep a limb still.

  She swallowed and said with painful effort: ‘Is it any good saying that I had a strong suspicion that I knew who you were? It wasn’t the indiscretion you took it to be. I thought it was a good way of telling you a few home-truths. I realise now that it was silly of me, but I was hitting back.’

  ‘My compliments on a most touching and inventive effort,’ he replied cynically.

  ‘But it’s the truth,’ Jan claimed, nonplussed.

  After all, the truth would not suffice. She wondered at her own gullible expectation that he would even recognise it. What dealings would he have had with truth and honesty and integrity? Such things were outside his comprehension. Hearsay had been proved right. He was devious and heartless and she hated him with a depth of feeling that shocked her gentle soul.

  ‘Tomorrow I want you out,’ he said in a low voice that challenged her brave spirit and filled her with trepidation. ‘That is my final word.’

  ‘But not mine,’ she flung back at him with assumed bravado.

  CHAPTER TWO

  If she hadn’t felt so quivery she would have stayed to argue. She seemed to need her energy to crawl upstairs.

  The staircase twisted up to a half-landing with a window on one side and a bedroom leading off. It wasn’t very large, but as she sorted out clean sheets which smelt of the sunshine they had been dried in, she thought David would be comfortable here. More’s the pity.

  Annabel hadn’t been able to manage the tortuous narrow stairs, and the front parlour had been converted into a bedroom for her. It had since reverted back to its original use.

  Jan continued up the stairs to the main landing which gave access to the remaining two bedrooms. Stephanie’s bedroom had a fiercely sloping roof and nursery wallpaper depicting characters from her favourite nursery rhymes. Jan’s room was the smallest, but it had the best view. She wondered why nobody had thought to knock out the tiny window and replace it with a larger one to make the best advantage of the beautiful countryside.

  Tonight she was in no mood for window-gazing. She abandoned her clothes, dragged on her nightgown and slid into bed. The ceiling began to spin. She had an ominous suspicion that temper alone hadn’t been responsible for her shaking limbs. Of all the times to fall ill.

  A million or so years later, her bedroom door opened. A voice commanded: ‘Wake up, will you!’ It was a very irritated sounding, pressing sort of voice. ‘I’ll be hanged if I’m going to apologise for disturbing you, because it’s your own stupidity that makes it necessary. Are you totally irresponsible, or simply l
acking in commonsense? Don’t you know enough to appreciate that you can’t indulge a child to excess without facing the inevitable and unpleasant consequences. Stephanie has been sick.’ He’d been ranting on at a great pace. Now there was an extended pause before he asked: ‘Are you all right?’

  When he saw for himself that she was in no position to answer, he said with quiet acceptance, minimal fuss and monumental patience: ‘Forget I said anything.’

  She struggled to sit up, but the effort was too much and she didn’t object to the hands on her shoulders easing her back down. She didn’t object to anything, and even made little murmurs of ecstasy as the cool fingers touched her burning forehead.

  She dearly wished she could speak, but the stabbing pains in her chest made it difficult even to breathe. She wanted to ask, no beg, no plead with him not to leave her. Somehow he seemed to understand this without her having to utter a single word, because he said somewhat disjointedly: ‘Only for a little while. I promise I’ll be back.’

  It was the promise she remembered and not the desolate sound of his receding footsteps.

  True to his word he came back. ‘Steph’s okay now. What am I going to do about you?’

  Jan was happy to let that be his problem. After all that had gone before, after being strong and capable and cheerfully coping, it was heaven to shrug off the burden and let someone else be responsible for her.

  The cool sponge on her hot cheeks and forehead was the nearest thing to bliss she’d ever experienced, and the voice was so blessedly gentle as the impersonal fingers worked on the buttons of her nightdress.

  ‘Sorry about this, but what choice have I? I can’t leave you in this state. If I were a doctor it would be all right. In a way I am, but it’s not the right category. The truth is, I’m more used to dealing with rats and mice than people. You think I’m a rat, don’t you? Perhaps it would help if I thought of you as a mouse. The trouble is, you don’t look like a mouse and you certainly don’t act like one. Can’t you help me? You could at least push your arm in. Ah! Got it. You’ll feel more comfortable now.’

  She did. For a little while. Then she began to shiver and burn again, and this nightdress, too, became soaked in perspiration. Whereupon the gentle ministrations, accompanied by the soothing voice, began all over again.

  Her throat was unbearably dry. If only she could ask for a drink. She tried to speak, but all she managed was a croak. It didn’t matter. He was here again and as before he exactly anticipated her needs. The rim of the cup touched her lips and the cool liquid eased the dryness.

  As the fever took hold, her mind started to wander. In moments of consciousness she recognised Doctor Ives. What was he doing here? Was someone sick? Concentration was achieved only with the greatest of difficulty, and the effort to reason proved too much. She gave up the unequal struggle and slid back into the secure and safe world of her childhood. Back into the golden world of sun and buttercups, books and pansy-faced kittens. Every moment of every day crammed to the brim with happiness, except for that one time. She didn’t want to think about that time, but instead of marching quickly by, her thoughts stuck there.

  ‘Are we going to Gran’s for tea, Mummy?’

  ‘Not today, dear. Gran is very ill.’ Too young to appreciate the full implication, she was not too young to soak up the fear and the sadness in her mother’s voice as she explained with gentle optimism, ‘I must go to Gran’s house and stay with her for a little while. Just until she’s better.’

  ‘Can’t I come with you? Please let me.’

  ‘No, my darling. You’re better off here. It wouldn’t be any fun for you. And, anyway, what about poor Daddy? You must stay and keep him company.’

  At that point a masculine note of persuasion had entered the argument. ‘How would I manage the shopping, sweetie-pie, if you weren’t on hand to nudge me which brands to buy?’

  Daddy was so silly. It wasn’t just the shopping, he didn’t seem to know anything at all about girls’ clothes. He thought that buttons should fasten on the other side, and no matter how firmly he tied her ribbon in her hair, and sometimes it was so tight it seemed to lift her scalp, it always slipped off. If Mummy didn’t come home soon, she wouldn’t have any hair-ribbons left. Why didn’t she come? A tear slid down her cheek.

  ‘Hey, what’s this?’ A man—Daddy?—asked.

  She tried to smile for him and for extra measure she lifted her arms up round his neck, pulled his head down, and gave him a big kiss.

  Lucidity returned for a brief moment, long enough for her to realise she had just kissed David Spedding, but not long enough for her to bother about it.

  She sensed now that someone was there besides David and she didn’t mean Doctor Ives. The hands tending her were more sure of themselves, less awkward and much smaller than David’s. She opened her eyes and the anxiety in them faded at the friendly reassurance on the face of the woman looking down at her. ‘All right, my lamb?’ the woman enquired, and Jan nodded weakly and went back to sleep.

  Jan had no notion of time. It could have been seconds, hours, or even days later when David came in. She was sitting up in bed and taking notice—of the fact that while she had been ill he had looked after her beautifully. With only the assistance of a doctor’s prescription? Oh no! Please don’t let her have dreamt the presence of a woman. She thought she might have. If David had got someone to help out and do the ‘lady’s maiding’ but, surely it would have been a neighbour? Mrs. Weaver next door was the likeliest person to call on. But she was a widow who didn’t much like living alone, and she spent most of her time visiting relatives. She’d confided to Jan once that she was the eldest of a large family. Jan thought she had five sisters and three brothers. As she had four children herself, when it came to visiting she had plenty to go to. The woman Jan thought had been looking after her had a face that didn’t fit anybody she knew.

  ‘M’m, this is an improvement,’ David said.

  With the question still unresolved in her mind, she found she couldn’t look directly at him. Her glance fixed on his hands. ‘Thank you for looking after me,’ she said, but to her horror it didn’t just come out sounding prim, it sounded stiff and ungracious to the point of being resentful.

  ‘My pleasure.’ This cliché did nothing to minimise her embarrassment. After an unforgivably long pause he said: ‘I had help.’

  Now that she could look at him she saw that he was grinning in huge enjoyment of the joke. She could have hit him.

  ‘I thought someone was here. But who is she? Where is she? Why didn’t you call a neighbour in?’

  All the tilting-to-laughter lines of his face turned down into a frown. He said with a touch of irritation that conveyed his annoyance, ‘I’m not on those sort of terms with the neighbours. When I walk down the street I don’t get as much as a ‘Good day’ so how could I ask for help?’

  ‘Sorry. I’d forgotten.’ Forgotten that local opinion had a down on him for his cruel desertion of Annabel and his child. ‘I’m also sorry I’ve been a nuisance to you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I’ve had many worse soakings, with not as much as a sniff to tell of my foolishness.’

  She knew he regarded her as an exasperating infant, but he didn’t have to make it so obvious. He could have tempered his tone and guarded his expression.

  ‘You must know it wasn’t the chill alone. That might have been the final straw, but it wasn’t the root cause. I didn’t know, until Doctor Ives told me, that you’d looked after Annabel singlehanded. Little wonder it drained you both physically and mentally. Goodness knows how, but somehow you managed to stave off the inevitable reaction until I arrived to take over, and then you gave in.’ His expression grew thoughtful without surrendering that cool look of censure. ‘I’m frankly puzzled. Why were you such a little idiot? I don’t understand why you had to do everything yourself.’

  ‘Doctor Ives said I coped excellently.’

  ‘That’s the whole point. Doctor Ives shouldn’t have let you. Why didn’
t you get a qualified nurse for Annabel? Failing that, I’m sure you are on good enough terms with the neighbours to have been able to get someone in to lend a hand. It would have been better than taking the whole load on yourself.’

  Jan agreed wholeheartedly. Unfortunately there hadn’t been the money to pay for private nursing, and it was typical of Annabel that she wouldn’t have a neighbour in, although the offers of assistance had been plentiful. She had always prided herself on showing a bright face, and that was the face she wanted to be remembered by, not the face with the lines of suffering etched so deeply that the cosmetic camouflage no longer sufficed. So, scrupulously endeavouring not to neglect Stephanie, Jan had tackled everything that was asked of her and more besides, and if she were honest with herself it was the one thing she couldn’t give to Annabel, a new lease of life, that was the most wearisome burden of all to bear.

  Sleep became a luxury, and towards the very end even cat-napping in a chair was denied her, but she never lost sympathy with Annabel’s pride. The pride that had given her the courage and seen her through the earlier traumas of being confined to a wheelchair, never wavered, and from the respect she couldn’t deny Annabel, an unlikely bond had been forged. The loyalty Jan had given to Annabel then, held good now.

  She rounded on David with blazing eyes. ‘Didn’t you know your wife at all?’

  He took an involuntary step towards her and Jan’s chin tilted forward to challenge his raised hand. Whatever his first intention, the hand carried on up and swept through his dark hair. Had he really been going to strike her and then had second thoughts?

  ‘My . . . wife,’ he said tonelessly.

  Did he find it difficult to reconcile Annabel in his thoughts as his wife? Of course he’d never lived with her after going through that sham marriage ceremony. In sickness and in health hadn’t meant very much to him, she thought in bitter condemnation.

  He said loftily: ‘I have no intention of defending my actions. I don’t care what you think of me.’ And then his tone took on a musing note, it was as if he wasn’t talking to her at all but raking through his own painful thoughts. ‘Annabel’s pride. Ah . . . yes! Even in death that must be protected irrespective of what suffering it causes or to whom.’ His eyes flicked back to hers again and although savouring of sarcasm, there was a look in them that didn’t so much repel as have her biting on her breath in sympathy for him. ‘I owe you an apology, Jan. It was wrong of me to call you a little idiot for going to ridiculous lengths at personal cost to protect Annabel’s pride. I should be the last to pass judgement. I, too, have gone to extremes to protect that pride.’