The Tender Flame

by Anne Saunders

  Walking down the wide aisles, between the regimented shelves to the blare of canned music, Jan compared it unfavourably with excursions to Alice Spink’s general store where the potatoes were scooped up from a sack, and the yellow country butter was cut from a huge slab. And you weren’t fed entertainment from a speaker, you supplied your own. The shop was the focal point of gossip and gossip was the chief source of entertainment. She remembered how she had been taken in by the apparently slower pace, and had even wondered if the transition from a bustling town to this sleepy village atmosphere would be too great. Until it had dawned on her that it was a fallacy and there was more below-the-surface activity than first met the eye. In the early days she had found the ways of the country people strange, touching, artful and sometimes baffling. They would argue like fury amongst themselves, but they were fiercely loyal to their own and Jan had taken it as a compliment when they opened their ranks to her. All she’d had to do then was battle with the mysteries of the local dialect, and once that was mastered she was home and dry. And not averse to picking up the latest bit of gossip with her order!

  ‘Jan! Jan Ashton,’ the voice repeated her name insistently. ‘I heard you’d returned to civilisation.’

  ‘Hello, Sylvia,’ Jan greeted the tall, brown-haired girl coming towards her. She had rounded features, a snub nose, a mouth of generous proportions, and a figure to match. Jan thought it a great pity that her nature wasn’t as pretty as she was, and immediately felt guilty for her lack of charity.

  ‘I see the rustic scene hasn’t killed you off. Of course, nobody actually dies of boredom. I bet you’re glad to be back.’

  Jan fought off her attack of nostalgia for Willowbridge and said: ‘It’s always nice to be home.’

  Nothing had altered between them. Although Sylvia’s smile beamed on her, it had neither the warmth nor the naturalness of the sun. It was artificial and met no easy response in Jan. And it wasn’t just the forced nature of her smile, Jan found it difficult not to recall that it was Sylvia who had told her about Martin’s interest in another girl.

  ‘Have you much more to get?’ Sylvia asked, inspecting the box of eggs and the pack of cheese in Jan’s wire basket.

  ‘Just some apples and milk,’ Jan replied.

  ‘I won’t be long either. Wait for me beyond the checkout and I’ll treat you to a coffee and a Danish.’

  She couldn’t throw Sylvia’s friendly overture back in her face, and besides which she was wondering if she’d misjudged her about the other. Sylvia was so sweetly eager to prolong the meeting that it hardly seemed possible that she had informed her about Martin and Tara out of malice. Or if she had, perhaps she’d had second thoughts and was sorry and dearly wanted to make amends.

  ‘All right,’ Jan said, smiling. ‘Only I’m flush so the treat’s on me.’

  ‘Had a premium bond up or something?’

  ‘No. I’ve just been paid up.’

  ‘Oh? It’s not a holiday break then? Have you had the push?’

  Jan wished she hadn’t been quite so forthcoming. Sylvia was hardly the best confidante in the world. ‘Not really. My employer has quite recently died and my work commitment came to a natural end.’

  ‘Oh!’ Sylvia was momentarily nonplussed, although doubtless she would think of some searching questions to ask later.

  Over coffee and Danish pastries in the chrome-plated elegance of the adjacent coffee bar (not a patch of the aromatic cosiness of the Coffee Bean at Willowbridge) Sylvia said thoughtfully: ‘You look peaky. Have you been pining for Martin?’

  Martin had long since been relegated in her mind as a dear and valued friend. They’d lived within a stone’s throw of each other and his mother had been ‘Aunt’ Dora to her, as hers had been ‘Aunt’ Muriel to him. If Tara hadn’t come along, and she hadn’t subsequently met David, perhaps they might have drifted into marriage without ever knowing there was a deeper love than the fondness they felt for each other, a love as tender as an early summer breeze, as scorching as a rim of fire.

  With the genuine affection she would always feel for Martin, Jan fastened eagerly on to his name. ‘How is Martin?’

  ‘He’ll be better now that you’re back, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Has he been ill?’

  Sylvia’s round brown eyes went rounder with glee. She had always relished telling a tale. ‘You don’t know!’ she squealed. ‘Of course, it’s all happened quite recently, but I thought Martin would have written to tell you, or better still, telephoned.’

  ‘About what?’

  Sylvia sat back, taking a ghoulish delight in keeping Jan in suspense. ‘About his break-up with Tara. Everybody but them knew it couldn’t last. I suppose really their temperaments are too much alike. Tara couldn’t manage him as beautiful as you did, Jan. She made it plain from the beginning that she wasn’t going to follow your lead and pamper him out of his moods. I’m not saying that you were weak to let Martin walk all over you the way he did. I accept that it’s some people’s nature to do anything for a quiet life, and very nice too if you can square it with yourself to be like that. I wish I could. The world would be a more tranquil place to live in if there were more people like you.’

  No, Sylvia hadn’t changed. She still possessed the knack of getting under the skin. But Jan felt a niggle of sympathy for her. A reasonably clear picture was emerging. Sylvia had always chased Martin. Martin would be feeling low, and perhaps Sylvia had made a bid for him, but he was too wise to be susceptible to flattery and too wary to be caught on the rebound.

  All the same, Jan couldn’t resist having a little scratch back. ‘Some people think tranquillity is a euphemism for dullness.’

  She thought it odd how you could be different things to different people. For example, tranquillity was something David would not associate with her.

  ‘You’re not dull. Such a thought never entered my mind.’ She looked at her watch and said disbelievingly: ‘If little Sylvia doesn’t get her skates on she’s going to be late again. I’ve already been ticked off twice this week for being late back from lunch. Work is such a bind. I’ve still a million things to tell you, and I want to know everything that’s happened to you while you’ve been away. I can’t promise for definite, but I might see my way to popping round to your house this evening, if that’s all right?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I might be going out,’ Jan replied, as offputting as she dare.

  ‘That won’t matter. If I come and you’re out that will be my hard luck. The walk will do me good.’

  * * *

  That evening, Jan waited until she was sure Martin would be home from work and then she lifted the telephone and dialled his number.

  ‘Hello, Martin,’ she said recognising his voice immediately. ‘It’s me, Jan.’

  ‘How marvellous! Where are you phoning from, you gorgeous psychic creature? You must have known I needed cheering up.’

  ‘I’m at home.’

  ‘Better and better. When can I see you? Now? If you haven’t eaten, perhaps we could grab a bite to eat somewhere. Please say yes, Jan, for old times’ sake.’

  She didn’t want to start anything up again with Martin, but because of the way he’d worded the invitation it would seem churlish of her to refuse. ‘Yes, then.’

  ‘Great. Where would you like to go?’

  Not sure what he had in mind, a proper meal or a bar snack, she replied: ‘I’m not fussy.’

  ‘Neither am I, so long as the steak is good.’

  ‘How about the Horse and Hounds?’ She named a venue that had never been one of their special places, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t think she was retreading memories in the hope of reawakening the romantic interest between them. She had slipped up.

  ‘Anywhere but there, Jan.’ His voice sounded pained. ‘It was Tara’s favourite place.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be tactless.’

  ‘That’s all right. I realise you couldn’t have known.’

  ‘You have
n’t got over her yet?’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. She turned out to be a right bitch. You’ve no idea how she treated me,’ he said in a hurt little voice.

  Her inside gave a big sigh of despair. She knew from past experience that Martin in a sorry-for-himself mood was not the happiest of fortunes.

  That unlikely beginning preceded an evening that turned up more than one surprising twist. She had thought there might be some constraint or awkwardness between them, but no, they picked up from where they had left off. Which was in itself a thought to ponder over. They had never been lovers, only the warmest of friends. She had been the naïve one to think the little-girl affection she felt was a sufficiently strong feeling to take them into the intimacy of marriage.

  Martin had a cultured appearance that did justice to his well-cut lounge suit, and yet had he been wearing casual sweater and jeans, Jan knew he would have looked just as immaculate. He was incredibly good looking. Perhaps his features were too refined for a man, and his light brown hair was too fine and silky and could have done with more bounce. But it was his boyish face that accounted for a high percentage of his charm.

  He awarded Jan a devastatingly ponderous look as he declared: ‘You have lost a little weight and done a lot of growing up.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ she said, deliberately ignoring the slight twinge of regret in his voice. ‘Not about the weight, about the other. I couldn’t stay the wide-eyed ingenue for ever.’

  ‘Why not? I liked her. She was honest and straightforward and a man knew where he was with her.’

  Poor Martin. Didn’t he realise that if they’d fallen in love it couldn’t have been like that? Despite his seniority, she suddenly felt older and wiser than he was. She knew that being honest and straightforward and knowing exactly where you stand with each other is what friendship is all about. Love, especially the vulnerable early stages of falling into it, is a much more complex relationship. For her own protection a girl has to throw up so many smokescreens that it’s a wonder the man ever manages to pierce the murk and find her.

  ‘Oh, Martin,’ she said, and on impulse she reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

  Instead of squeezing her hand back and letting go, he held on to it and carried it up to his lips. Her index finger was selected for his kiss, then very meaningfully he placed the favoured finger against her cheek in the manner of transferring the kiss there.

  Her pulse acknowledged that it was a very sensual thing to do.

  His eyes fixed on hers in a full-beamed hold. They were gently provocative. ‘That’s all I wanted to know. Your manner has been putting up “Don’t touch” signs. Wouldn’t you say that’s just torn them down? You’re not indifferent to me, after all.’

  ‘I responded to a trick. It was a new experience . . .’ She wavered to a stop.

  ‘And who says old friends can’t share new experiences?’

  She shook her head. Her voice was gentle. ‘Count this old friend out, Martin. For us it would be too dangerous. We like each other too much. It would be fatally easy to mistake our feelings for something else.’

  She wondered how bad a beating he had taken from Tara. When Sylvia told her they had split up, she had assumed it was by mutual consent. Now, if she was reading Martin right, it would appear that Tara had been the one to call it a day. Martin was bruised. She hoped his ego had taken the worst of it. She could put balm on his ego without being false to herself, but she couldn’t heal his heart. That finger-tip trick had been an effective pulse-raiser. She would have had to be made of stone not to respond, but it had been pure sensualism that had left her heart untouched.

  ‘I’m not suggesting we rush anything, Jan. The treatment Tara gave me would be enough to put some men off women for life. At the other extreme, I know it would be very easy, and comforting, to turn to someone on the rebound. I won’t let it be you. I value our friendship too much to put it in jeopardy by making false claims. The fact that I find you a very exciting and attractive lady is not a false claim. It is also true to say that I’ve barely thought about Tara this evening, and I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more. Do you know, I haven’t felt this relaxed and as happy since we stopped going around together. So . . . all I’m saying is, let’s not be too hasty. Can we be friends . . . and see what happens?’

  ‘We are friends. Nothing has altered that.’

  ‘Don’t look so frightened, Jan. I’ve learnt my lesson. I won’t hurt you again.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of myself. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I’ve got to impress on you that friendship is all that’s on offer.’

  He was neither perturbed, nor put off. ‘You seem to forget, Jan, that I’ve always liked a challenge.’

  She consoled herself with the thought that she had tried to get through to him.

  On the short drive home, the mood reverted back to the easy Martin-and-Jan camaraderie.

  At her door it came naturally to say: ‘Coming in for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  In the old days, many an enjoyable evening had been wound up in the cosy atmosphere of her mother’s kitchen. Although she had sophisticatedly asked him in for coffee, her hand reached out automatically for the cocoa tin. As he had done countless times before, Martin raided the pantry and pounced on the green and cream cake tin which had never let him down in the past, and didn’t fail him now.

  ‘Your mother must have known I was coming. She’s baked my favourite fruit cake.’

  ‘Don’t be so conceited!’ Her smile softened the rebuke. ‘It’s a good keeping cake and she probably made it so that she’d have some sweet stuff in for when they return.’

  ‘I didn’t know they were away,’ he said, taking up the kitchen knife and cutting generously. ‘Your mother won’t begrudge me a piece. Where have they gone?’

  ‘I was going to ask you if you knew.’

  ‘Your mother can certainly cook. She’s going to make some man a wonderful mother-in-law. I don’t know where they’ve gone because I haven’t been in touch with your parents very much lately. But that’s an omission I intend to rectify. This is comfortable, Jan.’

  Too comfortable. The kitchen was at the back of the house and private from prying eyes. Jan jumped up briskly and led the way through into the lounge, making the excuse of wanting to put a record on. Deliberately she did not close the curtains.

  She chose a single player which they both liked, and when the little arm clicked back to base she said: ‘It’s late. Finish your cocoa and go home.’

  ‘You’re very obvious, Jan. Do you honestly think leaving the curtains open is going to put me off? Anyway, I like giving nosey passers-by something to talk about.’

  Jan sat rooted in her chair, holding the cocoa mug in front of her as though it would afford protection. The cocoa mug was taken from her and placed on a side table. Martin picked her up out of the chair, moulded her to his body in the closest hug she’d ever known, and proceeded to kiss her.

  He had always kissed her goodnight when they’d spent an evening together, but never like this. His mouth was hard and passionate and bruised her lips. It was the searing flame, without the qualifying tenderness. And these rough, exploring hands in no way related to the gentleness she had come to expect from Martin. At first she thought he had lost control, but then she realised he was avenging himself for the wrong that Tara had done to him. It was something, an excitable fury, he needed to get out of his system, and Jan knew instinctively that if she put up a struggle it would take longer for it to burn out.

  He let her go so abruptly that she almost keeled over. Yet as she saw the stricken look come to his eye, her determination to stand by him and help him was staunch. The years of their friendship rallied to her aid and she lifted her hand to touch his cheek. ‘Don’t say a word. I understand.’

  ‘Dearest Jan,’ he said brokenly. ‘I wish I did.’

  For the second time that evening he touched his lips to her hand. Bu
t this time it was not a trick to inflame her senses, but a gesture of abject apology. The contrasting gentleness after his recent brutality brought the tears to her eyes.

  ‘Goodnight, Martin,’ she said.

  She leaned limply against the door she had closed behind him, listened for the sound of his car driving off, and then shot home the bolt.

  Feeling emotionally spent, she started up the stairs. Her trembly legs had only taken her half way, when she heard the knock on the door. What had brought Martin back? She couldn’t face him again this evening. It was asking too much of her.

  The knock sounded again. Martin knew she was in. Of course she must answer the door to him.

  But when she drew back the bolt and opened the door, it wasn’t Martin she faced. It was, incredibly, David glowering down at her.

  ‘May I come in?’ he enquired with a sardonic lift of one dark eyebrow when it became apparent she wasn’t going to do the niceties without being prompted.

  ‘Of course. Please do.’ She stood aside to let him enter and then guided him into the lounge, flicking on light switches as she went.

  The heavy velvet curtains were still undrawn.

  ‘With your permission, I’ll close these.’ Without waiting for the former, he did the latter. ‘Much better. I hate to feel that someone out there could be looking in.’

  Jan met his eyes squarely, but it was still only a tentative thought in her mind that David had looked in on her and Martin. She could tell nothing from his expression.

  ‘This letter arrived for you shortly after you left.’

  She looked down at the envelope which he had taken from his pocket and placed in her hand. She recognised her mother’s handwriting.

  ‘You didn’t come all this way to play postman,’ she said, trying to shake her brain free of its stultifying numbness.

  ‘No. I had another reason.’

  Whatever that might be, he had travelled a fair distance and her curiosity must wait until certain formalities were got out of the way.