Enemy From the Past

by Lilian Peake

  He caught her hand on its way to his face. He said through his teeth, ‘Oh no, you don’t, my little sweetheart. If you want the rough stuff, you can have it—but I’ll start the fun, not you.’

  He discarded her hand and made for the stairs. Patrick emerged from the kitchen. Unable to turn her anger on to her husband-to-be, Rosalind inflicted it on her brother.

  ‘You,’ she snapped, ‘you wishing that—that barbarian on me!”

  At the top of the stairs Slade turned, eyebrows raised, expression cold. Furious that her voice trembled, she pushed past Patrick and went into the kitchen, slamming the door. Later, when all was safely quiet upstairs, she went to bed.

  Next morning, Rosalind met Slade at breakfast, not that she ever had long for that particular meal.

  Patrick sat on a high stool at the breakfast bar in the large kitchen. Slade was waiting for a slice of toast to pop up from the toaster. He looked frowning at the wall clock, then at the fresh-faced, hastily-dressed girl in the doorway.

  ‘Tut, tut, Miss Prescott. Late for work?’

  ‘She always rushes in and out of the kitchen in the morning,’ Patrick commented. ‘Don’t know how she finds time to get any food into her. She must be trying to impress someone. It can’t be me, so it must be you.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, Patrick,’ Rosalind snapped. ‘I’m not out to impress anyone.’

  Slade inhaled. ‘If you aren’t, your perfume is. Did the boy-friend give it to you on some special occasion in gratitude for—’

  ‘Boy-friend, what boy-friend?’ Rosalind snapped. ‘I bought it my—’

  The toast popped up. She reached out, pushing Slade aside, grabbed the toasted bread and rushed to the table with her prize.

  ‘Why, you—’ He followed swiftly, gripping her arm and forcing it behind her. Together they froze, a piece of instant sculpture. They were facing each other, eyes riveted, breathing quickened. The last time they had been so close Rosalind had twisted away, evading him. Now she wanted to cry, not in sorrow but in an agony of fleeting but incredible joy.

  There was a scraping of Patrick’s chair, a clearing of Patrick’s throat. ‘Excuse roe,’ he said, and left the kitchen.

  Rosalind was not even conscious of the pain in her arm muscles, twisted out of place. When Slade’s mouth took hers it was with a force which this time would not, could not be turned away. Still holding her, he swung her to one side and bent over her, letting his mouth wander over her throat and down, down to the cleft revealed by her partly opened blouse.

  Then he lifted her, scanned her face with blazing eyes and released her. Only then did the pain from her twisted muscles hit her, but she compressed her bruised lips to hold the cry in her throat. Slowly her hands lifted to refasten the opened buttons. Her brain registered dismay—at the swift and entirely unexpected flaring of passion, at the strange stirrings deep inside her, at the instinctive knowledge that, however much a woman might come to love this man, he was in essence as out of reach as the mountains on the moon. And before much longer he would be her husband!

  Slade’s jaw moved, hinting at teeth gritting each against the other. There was no reading his expression.

  Rosalind offered him the toast on her plate. He said, ‘You have it.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry any more.’

  He lifted a shoulder and accepted the offering.

  Rosalind left the kitchen, meeting her brother returning. He glanced at her but, close as they were, he seemed unable to unravel her expression. ‘Five minutes,’ he called after her as she rushed up the stairs.

  Rosalind had hurried from the house and caught an earlier train without telling Patrick of her intention. She could not face a journey sitting with two men who would, she knew, ignore her existence.

  She was seated at her desk when Patrick’s head came round the door. ‘What was all that stampede in aid of?’

  ‘You mean why didn’t I go to work with you this morning? Let’s say it wasn’t because of you.’

  He was silent for a moment, then, with a frown, he said,

  ‘You’ll have to get used to him, Rosa. He’s your—’ She clapped her hands over her ears. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and went away.

  Gerry Alton arrived twenty minutes late. He went, as usual, to Rosalind’s office. His rucksack dropped to the floor. After a quick smile Rosalind returned to studying the forms in front of her, hoping to convey to Gerry the message that she was too busy for their usual chat. If she had not been so pressed for time, she would have attempted to have the talk with him that Slade had requested. Maybe later …

  Gerry jerked at the straps of his rucksack. ‘I enjoyed yesterday evening.’

  ‘So did I, Gerry,’ she answered with a warmth which she hoped contained gratitude. Her eyes began reading again, although her brain was unable to concentrate. Something made her look up to find Gerry staring at her.

  He said, ‘That kiss before I left last night—did it mean anything?’

  Rosalind frowned, trying to remember, then she smiled, hoping he had not noticed. ‘It meant—’ she had to think quickly, ‘that I enjoyed my date with you, and—and thank you for seeing me home, and—’ His pained look stopped her. ‘As you said last night, Gerry, what’s a kiss?’ She could hardly bear the disappointment in his eyes. Walking across to him, she put her arm round his drooping shoulders. ‘It meant I like you very much. That’s what it meant.’

  He brightened at once. ‘So have you decided to—?’

  ‘To move in with you?’ Was this the time to tell him the truth—that she was joined by a contract, in theory if not yet in fact, to the senior partner in Compro? Not in business hours, she decided, and found the decision to let him remain for a little longer in ignorance of her engagement a relief even if it left her feeling somewhat two-faced.

  She returned to her desk. ‘Gerry, I can’t. My—my brother relies on me. There’s no one else to look after him. And Slade’s come to live there …’ How else to put him off apart from the truth—because he still did not look convinced. ‘And—I do hope you understand, but there’s my position here. I am the personnel officer.’ She hated hypocrites, but right now she was being one herself. ‘I feel I should set the standard.’

  Gerry stood, grasped his bag and made for the door. ‘If that’s how you feel, then forget we’ve ever been friends. After all, you’re the sister of one of the bosses.’

  Dismayed by his reaction, she rose, stretching out her hand. ‘Gerry, don’t go—’

  The door was pushed fully open, narrowly missing Gerry. Slade Anderson stood there, anger compressing his lips, his eyes grey-green as the sea’s depths. Why, Rosalind wondered abstractedly, hadn’t she noticed in the past how intriguing a colour they were? Then she remembered. In the old days, she hadn’t looked beyond the lenses of his glasses.

  ‘Talking business, Alton,’ asked Slade, ‘or about more personal things? Whatever it is, it looks as though she doesn’t want you to go.’

  Gerry gave Rosalind a look that was both furious and bitter. ‘Next time I come and see you,’ he said, ‘I’ll make an appointment for an interview, Madam Personnel Officer. If there is a next time!’ The words were angry, but the look on his face was so vulnerable that Rosalind’s impulse was to run after him.

  Slade entered. ‘Still handing them out?’ he queried. ‘Still hitting below the belt and laughing when they crumple up? You’re an expert. It comes with years of practice, I suppose. You haven’t changed,’ his eye did a quick scan of her face and figure, ‘not in any of the fundamentals.’

  His hair looked ruffled as if he had run his fingers through it. He watched her looking at him. ‘Admiring my hair-style?’ he asked sarcastically.

  ‘No. Just wishing I could take a couple of handfuls and pull it.’

  He advanced menacingly towards the table. ‘Do you want a repeat performance of this morning?’

  She retreated backwards from her desk. ‘Will you—will you get out?’ He must not come near her, not now, not
when the mere sight of him set her pulses drumming. ‘I have work to do.’

  He relaxed. ‘Glad I don’t have to remind you of that fact.’ He went to the door, then turned. She sighed and sat down. ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘Just remembered what I came for.’ He strolled to the desk. ‘Patrick tells me you’re interviewing soon for the job of customer liaison officer. I’d like to take a look at the applications.’

  Rosalind asked, annoyed, ‘Is it such an important post that it merits the attention of the Big Boss himself?’

  His look was cold. ‘This is business. Just because you’re marrying me soon—’

  Soon? she thought with dread.

  ‘It doesn’t make you any different from the other employees here.’

  Which, Rosalind thought, was putting her in her place with a vengeance. Deep down, she acknowledged that once again she’d asked for it. What annoyed her most was that again he was right. She pulled towards her the papers she had been studying when Gerry had interrupted her. ‘Sorry for stepping out of line,’ she muttered. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Like to bet?’

  The lightning switch to the personal made her heart leap. There was a message in the smile that greeted her glance, underlined by the straying of his gaze to the inviting swell beneath the crisp white blouse. ‘Shall I force those buttons open again?’ he asked softly.

  ‘This is business, Mr Anderson.’ She mimicked his words primly. ‘Just because you’re marrying me soon …’

  He came round to her side and grasped her chin, pulling it round. No love in his eyes, she mused, no adoration and devotion as there used to be … He threw away her chin and she had to quell a surge of disappointment.

  Rosalind pushed the papers towards him, but he pushed them back. ‘Make way for the Big Boss, woman,’ he said, motioning her out of her chair. Piqued at his order and by the fact that she had to obey, she stood up. Slade pulled up another chair and indicated that she should occupy that. She gave him an indignant look and he said, ‘You see, you’re defying me—silently—already. I’d have won my bet.’

  ‘And you’re pulling rank ‘

  He took his place at her desk. ‘What were you doing to young Alton when I came in, if not pulling rank?’

  She could not tell him the real reason, so she prevaricated. ‘That was different.’ She sat beside him. ‘It was a last resort. I did it to—Oh, let’s get on. Mr Anderson,’ she added with a spurt of rebellion. His response was immediate and goading.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Anderson.’ Colour dyed her cheeks at the realisation that that would indeed soon be her name. He smiled at her discomfiture and at having put her so effectively in her place.

  He scanned the forms and the accompanying letters. ‘I see that all of them have photographs attached. Your idea?’ She nodded. ‘Ten out of ten, my love.’

  The smile which accompanied the endearment, in spite of the fact that both were false, made her heart skip. Involuntarily she smiled back, and his eyes lingered on her. She found her body going tense beneath his scrutiny and the sensation that had almost knocked the breath from her as a result of their clash that morning threatened to return.

  Slade, however, had cut off, returned to the real world, to work, to emotionless objectivity. ‘This one looks good,’ he said. ‘Qualifications, past experience,’ he stared appreciatively at the photograph, ‘not to mention perfect features.’

  ‘Beauty,’ Rosalind said aggressively, ‘is in the eye of the—’

  ‘Man who fancies the woman,’ he finished, grinning. He looked at her. ‘Jealous?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then you ought to be.’ He smiled at the paper in front of him. ‘It’s a hobby of mine to play one woman off against the other.’ He put the application form to one side and continued to read through the rest. As he finished each one he passed it to Rosalind.

  ‘I have read them through,’ she said.

  ‘Then read them again. A short list of twelve is too long.’

  Bristling, she said, ‘I thought I should allow for changes of mind and non-appearances of applicants.’

  ‘Twelve is still too much. Make it six.’

  She drew a breath. ‘Are you trying to teach me my job?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and continued reading.

  The retort nearly broke through, but she compressed her lips and held it back. Slade smiled as if he had been aware of her internal struggle and she squirmed with indignation.

  His head turned. ‘Want to hit me?’

  ‘Yes!’ she hissed.

  ‘Be my guest. But I warn you, if you do, fiancée or no fiancée, you’ll find yourself down those stairs and out of this place so fast you’ll think you’ve been hit by an earthquake. Not to mention a month’s pay in lieu of dismissal thrown out after you.’

  The eyes that swung towards her were so hard her breath caught in her throat. There was one thing the vanished young man had left behind—the vow of revenge, the ravaged pride, the bitterness as he had sworn, all those years ago, For you there’ll be no escape.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AT lunchtime Rosalind went to the office which Gerry shared with two others. At first she thought the room was empty, but Gerry was at the window, half hidden by the dusty curtain.

  He turned and she exclaimed, ‘Gerry, you look so unhappy you bring out my maternal instincts!’ He made a face, then gave a weak smile. As she put out her hand, the smile grew stronger. ‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry, Gerry. You see, I do have—well, a few problems of my own and sometimes they get in the way of my better judgment. I can’t explain, but do you understand?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he said, taking her hand. He still had that touching ‘little boy lost’ look and Rosalind tugged him towards the door saying, ‘Hungry?’

  He sighed. ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘Usual place?’

  He hesitated. ‘Will we be having company?’

  ‘You mean members of the higher sections of Compro’s hierarchy?’

  ‘Highest,’ Gerry corrected with a smile.

  ‘I doubt it. The senior half of it and I parted on—to put it kindly—unfriendly terms this morning.’

  As she and Gerry occupied their usual table they were not joined by either Patrick or Slade, who shared a table with two other members of Compro’s staff. The women were secretaries, one of whom had been John Welson’s personal secretary. The other worked for the head of the commercial projects department.

  The woman talking to Patrick was married with grownup sons. The girl who occupied Slade’s attention was young, attractive and using all her charms to capture and hold that attention. It seemed, Rosalind thought, that he thrived on attention. With a stab of jealousy she told herself sourly that, looking at the girl as he was, it wouldn’t be long before he asked her the vital question—will you, and if so, when?

  Rosalind’s lips trembled so much she had to swallow her drink to hide the fact. Why, she thought, oh, why is he forcing me to marry him? I don’t flutter my eyes at him like that girl, I don’t give him ‘come on’ glances, I don’t put my hand on his sleeve and gaze at him … Maybe, her other self whispered, if you did, if you parted your lips as she’s doing, he’d look at you like that, make you laugh instead of cry inside, kiss you lovingly instead of as if he had to get all that stored-up hate out of his system.

  A hand covered hers and Gerry’s voice said, ‘Problems?’ She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘Can’t, Gerry. Wish I could.’ She gulped a couple of mouthfuls of her drink and wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. She took a hold on herself and said, ‘Can I meet you somewhere this evening?’

  At once Gerry brightened. ‘Changed your mind?’ When she shook her head, the corners of Gerry’s mouth went down, then they both laughed. ‘Ah, well, I’ll just keep right on hoping. Where shall we meet and what time?’

  ‘About eight? In the High Street outside Woolworths. We’ll decide where to go then. Oka
y?’ She picked up her bag and pushed back her chair.

  On their way to the door they passed Slade and Patrick. Slade, although appearing to be completely absorbed by the young secretary, raised his eyes as Rosalind passed and gave her a hard but indecipherable stare. Boldly she stared back and it was as if the bitter words they had exchanged that morning still rang in their ears. She looked at the girl, then back at Slade.

  It was, she realised from his sardonic smile, a tactical error on her part. He had discerned the jealousy she would have given a fortune to hide from him. Inadvertently she had put into his hands yet another weapon with which to hurt her.

  Gerry was late—which, Rosalind thought with a smile, was in character. The lights were on in the Woolworths store where she waited, but the place was empty. To pass the time she studied the contents of the windows, but her thoughts were back at the house.

  When she had appeared at the living-room door, saying to her brother, ‘I’m going out,’ Slade had asked, eyebrows raised, ‘Where?’

  As her fiancé, he had a perfect right to ask the question as his future wife by coercion and not by choice, she considered she had a right to refuse to tell him.

  ‘Out,’ she repeated, closing the door on his displeasure.

  Gerry appeared running, braking to a stop in front of her. He was dressed in the clothes he had worn during the day, except for the parka he had pulled over them. ‘At your service,’ he said, grinning. ‘Tell me where and I’ll call a cab.’

  His arm slid round her. In view of the object of their meeting, about which she hadn’t yet told him, Rosalind allowed the arm to remain.

  ‘I want to talk, Gerry. Any suggestions where?’

  He rubbed the back of his neck, looked at her once, twice, then ventured, ‘My place?’

  ‘Is it private?’

  ‘Better and better,’ he assured her, grinning. ‘Very private.’

  She shook her head as they started walking. ‘Not what you think, Gerry.’

  He was silent, staring at the ground which reflected the lights from the closed shops. He did not see, as Rosalind did, the outline of a tall, familiar figure pass by in the same direction across the road. The fact that Slade had seen fit to follow her to discover the identity of her companion angered her so much, she closed the gap between herself and Gerry. Pleased, he smiled down at her, his arm tightening. The watcher disappeared into the darkness.