by Lilian Peake
He lifted his shoulders. ‘I can’t blame you. If I’d been in your position and a woman did that to me, I wouldn’t trust any woman.’
With that he left her.
Shelley worked late again that evening. Immediately after her evening meal she returned to the office and took her place at Mrs. Allard’s desk. Emery had brought some work with him which kept him occupied for some time. Then he walked across the room and lifted Shelley’s hair which was in its usual ‘tail’.
‘Undo this for me, Shelley.’ She looked up, startled. ‘I want to sketch you sitting at that great big desk acting the great big executive.’
Reluctantly she released her hair and it swung round her face, softening her features. Emery removed her glasses. ‘That’s better. Now carry on working.’ He switched on the light and returned to his seat. ‘Forget I’m here.’
So, with the greatest of ease, Shelley forgot Emery was there. There were a number of puzzling items in Mrs. Allard’s post and she wished she could ring her employer on the ship on which she was cruising—through the Mediterranean, wasn’t it?—and ask her advice.
When Emery had finished he showed Shelley the sketch of herself. She asked if she could keep it, but he refused. ‘I haven’t got much of you, heaven knows. So I’m keeping this. Sorry.’ He bent down and kissed her upturned mouth, once, twice.
The door opened. Craig Allard watched as the kiss ended hurriedly. He contemplated the red faces and the confusion. With agitated hands Shelley lifted her hair from her face, but it sprang back over her cheeks.
‘Ter-rouble,’ Emery murmured, rolling the word round his tongue.
‘Yes, Mr. Allard?’ Shelley asked faintly.
Craig answered curtly, ‘I saw the light in my mother’s office, so I came to investigate.’ He looked at Emery, who took the hint the look contained.
‘I,’ Emery said philosophically, ‘know how and when to make myself scarce, but fast. ’Bye, Shelley. See you,’ he raised his hand, shot a glance at Craig and said to Shelley, ‘all in one piece, I hope,’ took his belongings with him and left Shelley to her fate.
‘So,’ said Craig, his eyes subjecting her hairstyle and her casual clothes to a close scrutiny, ‘for your boy-friend you become a woman.’
Under his estimating gaze her fingers and toes curled. She was painfully conscious of the old striped shirt she had pulled on, which stretched tightly across her breasts, a size too small because it had belonged to Janine; the belted, faded denim pants she had picked up from the floor of her wardrobe.
Since she was not officially on duty, she had decided that anything would do in the way of dress, but Craig’s hard eyes were merciless, making the most of her slightly dishevelled appearance. Shelley found herself move involuntarily in a squirming, twisting motion.
‘If you must make love,’ he drawled, ‘I’d be obliged if you would do it on your own premises and not in my mother’s office, at my mother’s desk.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong, Mr. Allard,’ Shelley protested, wishing for some inexplicable reason to set the record straight.
But he snapped, ‘I believe what I see. In any case,’ he looked at his watch, ‘what are you doing here? Your office hours end at five.’
‘Officially, they do, but when your mother’s away, there’s so much to do I can’t get it all done in the day. So when I’m not typing for you, I come back here in the evenings.’
‘To do what, for heaven’s sake?’
‘The admin work.’
‘You, tackle the administration of the school in my mother’s absence?’
‘Who else is there?’ There was a touch of appeal in her voice. ‘No one knows as much about it as I do.’
He gave an exasperated sigh and came to stand beside her. She felt his approach as if it were a physical thing. What made her so aware of this man? Why did one part of her want to pull away and the other, in her imagination, reach out towards him?
Now the feel of him—although no part of him touched her—was unbearable. She tried in desperation to separate her reason from her emotions and failed miserably. They were as one in their desire—to make contact with this man beside her.
Then he bent down, one hand on the back of her chair, the other with the palm flat against the desk top. He was so close his jacket brushed her arm, his chest pressed against her shoulder. She wanted to turn, reach up and pull his head down, to feel his cheek against hers...
She reined in her thoughts, pushing her hair back with a shaking hand. Her eyes sought his, hoping he had not guessed at the tumult that was whipping her emotions into a state of near-hysteria. She met a cool, mocking smile. He knew, she was convinced, just what he was doing to her!
‘Show me,’ he said, ‘an example of the kind of work you’re tackling.’
Glad of a diversion, she sorted with flustered fingers through the pile of papers she had been studying. ‘These are the applications for the post of deputy head. I’ve been sorting through them—’
Instead of pleasing him, her words made him angry. ‘You’re hardly qualified to tell the good from the bad. Don’t tell me you were attempting to draw up a short list?’ Her eyes were tearful as they sought his. Why could she never please him?
‘Who else is there to do it, Mr. Allard? And these,’ she extracted a handful of forms, ‘for a mathematics teacher.’
He straightened. ‘Get up, woman. Let me sit down. This is going to be a long job.’ He motioned to the phone. ‘Get your sister for me. I had a date with her.’
Janine answered brightly. Shelley thought, with a touch of compassion, ‘She’s going to be disappointed.’
Craig took the phone and Shelley could tell by the sound of Janine’s voice just how disappointed she was. ‘What’s keeping you?’ she wailed.
He glanced with a hint of spite at Shelley. ‘It’s not a case of what, sweetie, but who. Another woman, that’s who’s keeping me. In fact, she’s sitting on my knee with her arms round my neck.’ There was an even louder wail from the other end, and Craig laughed. ‘It’s your sister who’s come between us. There now, you should be writhing with jealousy! You are? Then you can quit worrying right now. It’s work, pure and simple, that’s the cause of the trouble. Your sister doesn’t lavish her feminine charms, if she has any,’ his glance swivelled sideways and lifted, but no higher than the portion of Shelley’s anatomy which strained against her shirt, ‘on me. Tomorrow evening? Doubt it, I’m writing a book, as if you didn’t know. I’ll ring you at the shop if I can make it.’ He rang off.
‘Pull up a chair,’ he said shortly, ‘and stay quiet while I read, learn and digest.’
‘But, Mr. Allard, I’ve studied most of it in detail. Perhaps I could—’
‘When I want your assistance, I’ll tell you.’ He contemplated the mixture of frustration and anger on her face, then transferred his eyes to the pile of papers.
Some minutes later, during which time Shelley had chafed and fidgeted, he surfaced. ‘Got your notepad? Right, take these names and head the list “Candidates recommended for consideration for the short list for the post of deputy head teacher.” He then dictated six names, and passed on to the vacancies for teachers. Then he flicked through the remaining pile of papers.
‘There’s something amongst those I can’t quite understand, Mr. Allard,’ Shelley ventured.
‘You don’t say,’ he commented dryly. ‘Someone trained in office practice should surely be equal to the administration of a privately run boarding and day school?’ His smile was quizzical and she coloured.
‘It’s connected with a proposed extension to the school,’ she told him. ‘Your mother seems to be putting the work out for tender, but I can’t trace anywhere that she’s applied for planning permission. I would have thought that was essential before getting builders’ estimates.’
‘You’re right, Miss Jenner. Trust my mother to overlook such an important fact. I’m fond of her, but that doesn’t prevent me from criticising her. To be frank, I think sh
e took on this school on a wave of enthusiasm.’ He leaned back to talk to her. ‘You know, the realisation of a life-long dream, and now she’s seen just how dedicated and hardworking you have to be to run such a place, so that it develops and doesn’t stagnate, she’s up and away and trying to put the whole project out of her mind.’
He turned his attention to the plans of the proposed extension and tapped the papers with his finger. ‘This was the “business” I had to see the Wallasey-Brownes about, although your sister didn’t believe me. Sylva’s parents had offered to invest money in the school if these extensions were built. But their economic circumstances have changed and they’ve withdrawn their offer. Since my mother was away on one of her interminable trips abroad, they invited me there to break the news. After which I took Sylva for a drink, just to show there was no ill feeling. So tell your little sister that, will you? She still doesn’t believe it could have been “business” that made me break our date when she saw the beautiful Sylva in my car.’ He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘Implicitly. But does it matter?’
He examined her face for a few moments, then turned away, saying indifferently, ‘Not really. While I look through this lot, could you produce some coffee from somewhere?’
Shelley nodded and went through to the kitchens, asking Mrs. Allard’s housekeeper for a tray of coffee and biscuits. When it was ready, Shelley carried it into the office.
Craig looked up. ‘What did you do, wave a magic wand?’ Shelley explained and he commented, leaning back and relaxing, ‘Resourceful, aren’t you? Intelligent, too.’ He watched while she poured.
‘Which, of course, doesn’t commend me to you.’
He looked up at her as she handed him his coffee. ‘To use the words you flung at me a few minutes ago, does it matter?’
She inched the chair from his side and, satisfied at last with the distance she had put between them, drank her coffee. He watched her activities with a quizzical interest. ‘It doesn’t matter to me in the least, Mr. Allard, whether you like me or not.’
She expected retaliation and sure enough, it came. With lowered lids he did a detailed survey of her outline, just as Emery, if he had been sketching her, would have done. Craig said, ‘You’re a shapely wench, aren’t you? I wonder that any man could be enticed away from you once you’d got your claws into him. Tell me,’ he hitched an arm over the back of the chair, ‘how would you set about keeping a man from straying if you really wanted him? Would you offer him certain—inducements, or would you just let him walk away without a fight?’
‘Fight? I wouldn’t bother myself. No man is worth fighting for.’ Even as she spoke the words she knew they were not true. This man, who seemed to take such pleasure in tormenting her—he would be worth fighting for.
‘Bitter,’ he commented, ‘acrimonious, even after—how long?’
‘Since I broke with Michael? Seven months.’
‘Mm. From the look of you your external injuries have healed, but internally you’re still bleeding. Any chance of a reconciliation with the man?’
‘None at all. I told you he found someone else.’
‘If he ever came back to you, would you take him?’ The question caught her unawares.
‘I—I really don’t know. Perhaps. It—it would depend on so many things.’
But deep in her heart she knew that Michael was part of her past. He had no place in her future.
‘Do you intend to spend the rest of your life moping for him?’
‘No,’ she answered shortly. ‘I’ve put him out of my mind. All the same, I’m not allowing any man to get near me again, either mentally or—’ She eyed him uncomfortably, leaving the sentence unfinished.
But he finished it for her. He stood, put out a hand and caught hers. He tugged her from the chair and pulled her hard against him. ‘Physically?’ Her body, where it touched his, caught fire. ‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘you shouldn’t say a thing like that to a man. It challenges him and when a woman—an attractive woman—challenges a man, there’s no knowing what will happen next.’
It was imperative that she should escape from him, so she jerked her body petulantly. He let her go and she could not quell the quicksilver tingle of disappointment which ran up her spine.
But he had not finished with her. She had moved to the other side of the desk, but he strolled round it to face her again. ‘You’re—how old?—twenty-five? Let me give you some advice. Do you know the poem by Edmund Waller, Go, Lovely Rose? He asks the rose to give a message to his lady-love. Take note of the last two verses, Miss Jenner.’ Softly he quoted, ‘Small is the worth of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die—that she the common fate of all things rare may read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair!’
She ran to the door and put it between them.
Muriel Allard returned from her cruise. While Shelley was busy elsewhere, the headmistress had a long session with her son. When he had gone and Shelley took her place at her desk again, she found her employer agitated and flushed. This was so much out of character that Shelley asked if she was well.
‘Perfectly, dear.’ Muriel added disarmingly, ‘I’ve had something of a reprimand from my son, a kind of mental rap over the knuckles. Absenting myself from duty and so on. But,’ she shook her head like a bewildered child, ‘I can’t help being something of a nomad. It’s in my blood. I crave for a change of scene if I’m too long in one place. I told him I had every confidence in you as my secretary to cope in my absence. He said you had not only acted as my ultra efficient secretary, but as the whole darned administration! Is that true, dear?’
‘Well, I—’ Confused, not liking to admit the truth, Shelley shrugged. ‘As you said,’ she finished feebly, ‘I coped.’ She did not add, ‘With your son’s help.’ It seemed as though Craig had not told his mother of his timely intervention into the affairs of the school.
‘I can’t promise I won’t go off again, that’s the trouble,’ Mrs. Allard said, with a pleading look in her eyes. She laughed, regaining her sense of humour. ‘It’s a kind of affliction I have. Perhaps I could take some medicine for it!’
But Shelley knew there would be no cure for Mrs. Allard’s wanderlust. She also knew, deep down, that Mapleleaf House School could not function indefinitely with an increasingly absent headmistress. The threat to her and Janine’s existence, happiness and security was so great that she did not dare to contemplate the consequences of Mrs. Allard’s constant craving for a change of scene.
‘You know,’ she told her employer, with some trepidation, ‘that the annual parents’ day is fixed for a month’s time.’
‘I have to admit, dear,’ with a smile, ‘that I’ve been doing my best to forget the fact. But the information is here,’ she patted her head, ‘filed away. I doubt if you’ll allow it to gather dust!’ She frowned, a little worried. ‘My son tells, me I’m not only working you too hard, I’m also underpaying you.’
‘Please,’ Shelley rushed in, ‘don’t worry about my salary. I haven’t complained. I’m content, I’m not asking for more.’
Mrs. Allard sighed. ‘Then that’s all right. You see, the finances of the school are not as stable as they might be. What with price increases in every line ... my son is pressing me to increase the fees, but I’m afraid to do so in case the parents simply could not meet them and take their children away.’
She gave another breathy sigh, put her doubts behind her and got down to work.
It was a Saturday morning in the Easter holidays. The school was deserted, except for the boarders whose parents lived and worked abroad. One or two teachers who lived at the school organised outings to keep the boys from fretting too much.
Shelley was in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes. Emery had gone home to Lancashire and Janine was at work at Mrs. Caversham’s hairdressing salon in the village. The front doo
r was pushed open and Craig strolled in. He watched Shelley from the doorway.
‘A testimonial for you,’ he commented without a preliminary greeting, ‘would run oddly. I quote, “Not only is Miss Jenner able to run a private educational establishment singlehanded, but she’s domesticated into the bargain. Intelligent, when she cares to exercise her brain, decorative when she likes to make the effort. The only thing she lacks is a heart, warmth, responsiveness—everything that makes a man want to grab her and say, “She belongs to me. Hands off.” ’
She faced him, pressing back against the sink. ‘If that’s all you’ve come for, to laugh at me, then you can just turn round and leave the way you came.’
He had only been in the room a few moments and yet her heart was pounding as if she had run uphill carrying a loaded furniture van. It was that odd feeling he provoked in her of wanting to hit back at him every time he came within talking distance. Michael had never affected her in such a way. If he had, would he now be married to her instead of being the boy-friend of another woman?
Craig strolled across to face her, arms folded, legs slightly apart. ‘Thanks for the charming welcome, which is what I’ve come to expect from you. Nevertheless, I refuse to take umbrage. Instead, I’m going to give you an order. Dry your dripping hands, leave those perishing dishes and go and collect your swimming outfit. A spade and pail, too, if you like. You’re going out.’
‘I’m sorry, thanks for the thought, but I can’t. Janine’s coming home for lunch.’
He moved a little nearer, crowding her in against the cupboard beneath the stainless steel sink unit. As she pressed closer to it, so he moved again until their bodies made contact. ‘I’m taking you,’ he said, ignoring her burning cheeks and strangled breathing, ‘to the coast, to Runswick Bay. Now run along like a good girl and get your things.’
