The Tender Night

by Lilian Peake

  Janine smiled. ‘To keep you company, of course.’

  ‘You make me feel like an old granny! You think I’m going to spend my time sitting in the corner knitting and looking on indulgently, while you “kiddies” play?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Janine, and Shelley threatened her with a plate she was washing.

  Janine said casually, taking the plate from her and drying it, ‘Mrs. Caversham said that now I’ve passed my exams, I can have that partnership in the business, provided I can put some money into it.’

  Shelley frowned. ‘How much money?’ Janine told her. ‘We haven’t got that much to spare, Jan. I’m sorry, I only wish we had.’

  ‘But you’ve been working overtime a lot lately, haven’t you?’

  Shelley smiled at her sister’s bland assumption that any money she, Shelley, earned, was Jan’s to dispose of at will.

  ‘I have been working overtime, Jan, I agree, but I certainly haven’t been paid for it.’

  Janine dried the plate over and over again. ‘But surely we’ve got some savings tucked away?’

  ‘For “we” read “you”,’ said Shelley, ‘meaning me, of course. Yes, I’ve got some savings, not a great deal, but I put them aside for emergencies and holidays, not to mention new curtains and so on. I don’t see how I can give that money to you, Jan, much as I’d like to.’

  ‘There must be a way,’ Janine said, her face like that of a small girl who has seen a beautiful but unobtainable doll in a toyshop window.

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ Shelley told her. ‘In the meantime, you’d better make a list of guests for your party. If it’s too long, you’ll have to trim it, won’t you?’

  Shelley kept her promise and baked the cakes for Janine’s party. Janine made the savouries and sandwiches. Both Emery and Craig were coming, Emery’s acceptance being definite, Craig’s provisional. Pressure of work, he said, might keep him away.

  The party was in full swing and still Craig had not arrived. The guests had been asked by Janine to provide their own drinks and in this they had obliged liberally. Music was provided by a record player brought by the boy-friend of one of Janine’s colleagues.

  Shelley danced for a while with Emery, but did not enjoy it. There were too many people in the small room to make dancing enjoyable, although the others seemed to thrive on the closeness. Shelley slipped out into the kitchen unnoticed, even by Emery. He was too busy dancing, gyrating and swaying opposite Janine to notice Shelley’s absence.

  The coffee had to be made, cups and saucers assembled and trays filled with food. Janine was either supremely ignorant of the work going on behind the scenes, or deliberately forgetful of all the preparations a party involved. Shelley thought it was the latter, and felt she could not blame her. It was her party, after all, in celebration of her achievement.

  The knock at the door had Shelley’s heart knocking, too. There was only one other guest to come. Craig gave a brief, ironic smile as he saw Shelley’s apron, her fingers stained with red from the beetroot she had been slicing, and the flushed, hard-pressed look about her.

  ‘Cinderella?’ he asked. ‘Sitting amongst the cinders while little sister plays?’

  ‘Someone has to do the work,’ Shelley muttered, returning to the kitchen. She added over her shoulder, ‘The party’s in the living-room. Please go in.’

  But Craig strolled along the hall and propped himself against the kitchen doorway. ‘If the party’s in the living-room, what are you doing here?’

  She snapped, buttering scones, ‘I’m not in a party mood.’

  ‘Still mourning your lost love?’

  Shelley did not answer.

  ‘Why isn’t anyone helping you?’

  ‘I suppose by “anyone” you mean Jan. It’s her party. She’s enjoying herself.’

  ‘If she’s all that happy in here,’ nodding towards the living-room, ‘without my company, what am I doing here?’

  ‘You mean why did she invite you? As her boy-friend, perhaps?’ Shelley smiled at the tomato sandwich she was making.

  ‘Hell, no. Wrong age group.’

  She looked at him with some surprise. ‘You say that after going around with her for months?’

  He lifted the shoulder that was not resting against the door frame. ‘A pleasant way of passing the time. She’s good to look at and stimulating company.’ With a provocative smile, ‘Unlike her sister. Cheerful disposition—again, unlike her sister.’ He saw her lips tighten. ‘Why the irritation? You consider I’m denigrating you?’

  ‘I’m used to that from you. Anyway, why should I worry about what you think of me?’

  He thought a moment, then, ‘Ah, I know why you’re needled. Because you object to the way I speak so casually of my relationship with your sister. You’ll be starting in a minute on your favourite topic, that I’m breaking her heart and condemning her to a life of man-hate like her jilted sister.’

  Her eyes flashed up to his, which were laughing. ‘Will you please go and join the party?’

  He did not move. ‘If I’m so important in her life, then why did I see her getting on so well with your boy-friend as I passed the window just now on my way to the front door?’

  ‘What do you mean, “getting on so well”?’

  ‘She was sitting on his knee and had her arm round his neck.’

  ‘They—they’ve probably had a bit too much to drink.’

  ‘Well,’ he folded his arms, ‘it’s as good an explanation as any—in the absence of the truth.’ Shelley looked up at him questioningly and saw his jeering smile. ‘Can’t keep any man, can you?’

  She threw down the knife and flung herself on him, but he moved swiftly and had her wrists imprisoned in a punishing grip. ‘My word,’ his eyes narrowed expectantly, ‘there’s fire in that body as well as a brain in that head. I seriously started wondering how far I could go before you began to show how much you hate my guts. So the man who walked out on you hasn’t completely dewomanised you after all, and stripped you entirely of self-respect.’

  ‘Let me go,’ she said, her breath catching in her lungs.

  ‘What, let you loose to tear me to bits with those claws? Look at them, curled and grasping all ready to draw blood.’ The living-room door opened and he let her go. Her wrists were red and sore and she rubbed them, flexing them to restore the feeling and movement. ‘You hurt me,’ she muttered tearfully.

  He folded his arms again. ‘And you asked for it. The next time you throw yourself at me, I won’t just hold you off. I’ll give you more than you’re asking for.’

  ‘Craig, you came!’ Janine came flying out from the midst of the party and flung her arms round his neck. ‘Come and dance with me!’

  He held her waist. ‘Shouldn’t you be out here helping your sister?’

  ‘She’d only tell me was in the way. Come on!’ She pulled Craig behind her and he seemed to go willingly enough.

  Shelley finished the sandwiches and arranged them on a plate. She could hear the throb of the music and over it, the laughter and shouts of the dancers. Cigarette smoke drifted into the hall and as she loaded the trolley with food, she heard a shriek.

  Janine rushed out of the room. ‘A cloth and lots of water,’ she demanded. ‘There’s Coke on the carpet.’ Then she rushed back into the room.

  Shelley groaned. She found the necessary cleaning materials and took them amongst the crowd. While Shelley got down on her hands and knees, everyone stood in a circle and watched.

  Craig’s voice above her head asked, ‘Who spilt the Coke?’

  ‘Confess, confess,’ one of the young men shouted.

  ‘I did,’ said Janine.

  ‘Then don’t you think you should be down there cleaning up instead of Shelley?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Craig,’ Shelley murmured, but she felt herself lifted by two strong, determined hands and put aside. The cloth was taken from her and pushed into Janine’s hand.

  ‘Get on with it, sweetie,’ said Craig, his voice lig
ht but edged with a quiet authority. ‘You did the dirty deed, you clear up the mess.’

  Some of the men clapped ironically. ‘That’s right, keep the women in their place,’ one of them said, and ducked as the girls threatened to set upon him.

  ‘But, Craig—’ Shelley remonstrated.

  He put his hand round the back of her neck and marched her from the room. But instead of leading her into the kitchen, he walked her to the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Get up there, woman, take off that schoolmarmish blouse and skirt I swear I’ve seen you wearing at work and wriggle yourself into something attractive. The more tight-fitting it is, the better the men will like it, and I’m no exception. I’ve seen you sunbathing on the sands in next to nothing, so I know just what you’re hiding underneath all this camouflage.’ He tugged at the neck of her blouse, but Shelley wrenched herself free. She tried to turn and dive beneath his arm, but he moved and blocked her escape.

  ‘If you don’t go of your own accord,’ he threatened, ‘I’ll carry you up and keep you under surveillance until you’ve done what I say, whether I offend your maidenly virtue or not!’

  With great reluctance, she climbed the stairs, turning once to see if Craig had gone, but he remained in the hall watching her. There were some purple velvet pants hanging in her cupboard which Janine had bought for her months ago. They had stayed unworn because she had felt she could never rise to their demands. They followed her outline too faithfully for her peace of mind. Now they clung like a second skin. Janine had bought a white round-necked top, slashed across with wide horizontal purple stripes to match the trousers. This also fitted her well—too well, Shelley thought, as she studied her profile in the long mirror.

  Strange, she thought, as she combed her hair and applied some make-up, I feel a different person. Not as I used to feel when Michael loved—she corrected herself—when I thought Michael loved me. But more—feminine was the wrong word. Female, she told herself, I feel more female ...

  As she crept down the stairs, hoping to slip into the kitchen unnoticed, she saw Craig at the same moment as he saw her. There was a long, thundering silence. The thunder was the blood pounding through Shelley’s veins as she saw Craig’s expression.

  After a long, long time, he murmured, ‘My word! I feel like Professor Higgins in Pygmalion. I’ve produced a woman, and my God, what a woman!’ He said softly, ‘Come down here, Miss Jenner.’

  Slowly, almost terrified of what he would do—if he so much as touched her she would scream—she complied. Now they were face to face as she paused on the bottom stair. His hands were in his pockets. As she stepped down into the hall, she knew an overwhelming feeling of desire. She wanted those hands to slip out of hiding and grip her as they had gripped her in the kitchen when she had tried to batter him, to slip round her and hold her, never letting her go...

  But those hands stayed where they were. Only his eyes bridged the gap between them, soaking up her image like blotting paper until it spread and covered the entire area. He did not touch her. He could make as many comments as he liked, but the fact remained that she was still not attractive enough to make him want to reach out—

  ‘Shelley! Darling!’ Janine hugged her. ‘You’re wearing the things I gave you. At last you’ve had the courage to put them on. What do you think of her, Craig? Isn’t my sister great? I haven’t seen her look like this since Michael—’

  A hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, Shelley. I meant for ages.’ Over her shoulder, ‘Emery, come and see your girl-friend now. Grab her quick before someone else gets the idea!’

  Emery came and Emery grabbed, with both his hands. He pulled Shelley into the living-room, turning one of the men out of an armchair and occupying it himself, pulling Shelley on to his knee.

  Janine turned to Craig. ‘I want to sit on your knee.’ She tried to tug him towards a chair which a girl had vacated, but Craig would not move. ‘What’s the matter?’ Janine asked plaintively. ‘I’ve been on your knee before. Why not now?’

  But Craig had his eyes on her sister, who was now caught tightly in the clutches of the man on whose lap she was sprawled. ‘Come on, Shelley,’ Emery was saying. ‘You’ve held me off long enough. I’m a frustrated artist champing at the bit. In that come-and-get-me outfit, you can’t still pretend you’re made of stone.’ He placed a kiss on her lips and held them.

  ‘Craig!’ cried Janine, excited by the sight of her sister in Emery’s arms. ‘Kiss me like that.’ She added childishly, ‘After all, it is my party.’

  The others laughed, but Craig said, his eyes hard, ‘If you want me to make love to you, sweetie, we’ll do it in private.’ Shelley struggled free of Emery’s mouth and tried to sit upright, but Emery held her down. She turned her head to look at Craig, hoping somehow to convey to him that she had been forced into the situation against her will.

  But Craig eyed her cynically. ‘Heaven knows, I’m not inhibited, far from it, which is exactly why I’d rather do it without an audience. Then I can really let myself go.’

  ‘Come on, then, Craig,’ Janine said happily. ‘Upstairs—’

  ‘Jan!’ Shelley said sharply.

  Craig remarked, eyes narrow and spiteful, ‘Your big sister’s warning you off me, Janine. In her eyes, I’m an immoral, dissolute lecher who uses women for his own ends and then throws them aside.’

  ‘Man, what’s wrong with that?’ asked one of the men from his horizontal position on the floor. Everyone laughed again, everyone but Shelley. She struggled once more to get away from Emery and this time succeeded, standing up and straightening her clothes.

  ‘I’ll get the food,’ she said, and came up against Craig, who was blocking the doorway.

  She felt the hardness of his body against hers and her desires—those desires which had been battered into senselessness by the brutal suddenness of Michael’s desertion—were rekindled into clamouring life. Their eyes met and the tension in his limbs were reflected in his look. Somewhere deep inside him there lurked a strange kind of anger, but anger which was held rigorously in check..

  What had she done to annoy him? Any moment, she thought, edging past him, his hand would come out and grip her as Emery’s had done, but more viciously and without Emery’s playfulness. But she was allowed to go by and he made no attempt to touch her.

  He did follow her, however, but was silent as she made the coffee. She wished he would speak. She knew he was watching her and her cheeks grew warm, her actions jerky and self-conscious, her heartbeats heavy and hard. If his eyes could have this effect, what would the touch of his hands do to her?

  But she fought her emotions and the response he could arouse simply by being in the same room. She fought for rationality and detachment, because there was something she had to ask him.

  ‘Craig?’ she said uncertainly, her eyes on the work she was doing. He was so silent she looked up at him. His expression hardly encouraged her to go on, but she braved his dark, brooding eyes and asked,

  ‘Have you—have you any more notes ready for me to type? I mean the book you’re writing?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’ Her disappointment was too obvious to be ignored and he asked sharply, ‘Why?’ She said it didn’t matter, but he insisted on an answer. She said with a shrug, ‘I just wanted to earn a bit of extra money.’

  For a long time there was no reaction and Shelley, who had not dared to look up, wondered what was going through his mind.

  ‘Am I permitted to know why?’ he asked at length. Now she was silent, but he persisted. ‘For yourself? For a holiday, perhaps? Or clothes?’

  ‘For Jan,’ Shelley replied. ‘Now she’s qualified, Mrs. Caversham’s offered her a partnership in her hairdressing business, provided Jan can contribute some money as a partner.’

  He walked across the kitchen and confronted her. ‘Let’s get this clear. You’re actually intending to earn money in order to give it to your sister, to subsidise her career?’

  She looked away uncomfortably. ‘That was the general idea
.’ Then, challenging him, ‘Is that a crime? That I should want to help my sister? Who else is there, if I don’t?’

  ‘She couldn’t earn the money for herself, of course?’

  ‘She could, but at her rate of pay it would take her years to accumulate the amount Mrs. Caversham seems to want.’

  ‘She could spend less on clothes, couldn’t she? Each time I see her she’s wearing something different, unlike you who dresses in the same sackcloth and ashes day after day.’

  ‘How I dress is irrelevant,’ she said sharply, ignoring the pain his words had inflicted. She could hardly say to him, Your mother pays me so poorly I haven’t enough money left over to buy myself clothes.

  ‘It might be to you, but it isn’t to those who have to look at you all day.’

  ‘All right, so don’t look at me!’

  ‘My dear girl,’ he drawled, ‘I look at you as little as possible. Except when you’re dressed like that. You should wear those clothes more often. In that outfit a man can really see what you’re made of.’ His eyes raked her from top to toe.

  ‘So,’ she said, turning away to hide the high colour his scrutiny had induced, ‘you haven’t any work I could do?’

  ‘I’ve told you already,’ he said quietly, ‘no. What do you want me to say—yes, there is some—work you could do for me?’

  Their eyes met and as she saw the meaning in his her whole body burned with embarrassment and anger.

  ‘Even if you offered me work now,’ she snapped, ‘I wouldn’t take it, not even if you said you’d pay me treble what you were paying me before!’

  She pushed the trolley past him along the hall and into the living-room.

  Craig walked into the headmistress’s office next morning. He was holding a letter and it was plain he was in a bad mood. Now what have I done? Shelley wondered.

  But for once it was not the headmistress’s secretary who had provoked his ill-humour. It was the headmistress herself.

  Craig threw the letter on to Shelley’s desk. ‘From my mother. Read it.’

  Shelley picked it up and obeyed. ‘Craig dear,’ Mrs. Allard had written, ‘I’ve met the most charming man. He’s an ex-major, like your father was. He hasn’t an abundance of money, but he’s certainly not poor. His manners are impeccable, his background public school, Oxbridge and the army. Who could ask for more? I’m thinking of marrying him, dear. I’m sure you’ll have no objections, because he’s so right for me you could find simply nothing to object to. Do write and tell me you approve of my plans. I shall feel so much happier if you do. A letter will find me at the address above. My hotel room and the Major’s face each other across the passage.’