Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  The day of the move: Saturday, January 10th. 2009, Deszree went out with them in Mal’s new Ford Festiva well, new to her. It had only had one owner and the dial showed low kilometers. The transport truck with their white goods and furniture was due to arrive about noon. All the other stuff was already there, but still in boxes. On the back seat Deszree rode with a potted palm, her house warming gift.

  “You have to start with something else living in your house too,” she had declared firmly that morning, appearing ready for the drive behind its leafy fronds.

  Mal was pleased she had been able to negotiate such a good deal on the car. It was not the de Dion Bouton, but this time it was hers and just right for commuting. The outside was cream, no dents; a grey interior and no stains. Over the Christmas break she had driven to Selly Oak Hospital where Monica had arranged for an interview with Nikki Portman, the Deputy Director. Being a sister hospital with the QEH there was a close liaison between them. It was like Mal would be going to an outer district of Monica’s empire, provided of course, Nikki was in need of a new recruit.

  The interview had gone well. The department, set up along similar lines to the QE had not felt strange. Nikki was really looking for someone full-time, the number of caseloads having increased enormously, especially since the establishment of the mandatory reporting of child abuse. Now everything took more time. There were so many complicating factors in a family break-up, or in custody disputes. Nothing was ever straight forward. New legislation had been debated to speed up family court procedures, but no-one knew when it would come into being. Nevertheless, she was a pragmatist prepared to settle for what she could get. Mallory had top spot on the ladder and she was satisfied she met all the key performance indicators their regional supervisor demanded. Who knew, this applicant might want more hours later down the track. It was arranged she would begin the second Monday in January.

  Deszree was the perfect ‘first-footer’. She saw the potential in everything and if sometimes felt rather overwhelmed, didn’t let it show. After the delivery vans had deposited their loads, she helped get everything sorted into its rightful room and place. Jellie looked after the little things: linen, china and toiletries, while the others unpacked the tables and chairs and set up the beds.

  Mal moved into the office to hook up the computer and printer and the copy/fax machines and get them on line. Deszree found the various channels on their plasma screen and got the DVD player going while she was at it. The house was developing a ‘lived in’ feel leading her to wish she could find somewhere like this for herself. Instead, she would be looking for a new sub-let. They all took a break to enjoy a coffee made with the new espresso maker. Deszree showed Jellie how it was done. She had brought milk and beans from the unit to help them out and used the new grinder for that fresh taste. Mal proposed that afterwards they could drive into Knowle to stock up on real provisions.

  The town centre had a village atmosphere which suited Jellie just right. Going up and down the aisles they tried to think of everything the result: a mountainous trolley-load needing one to steer and one to push. The novelty had so excited Jellie she had found it too hard to stop. Playing house was exhilarating, but by the end they were all worn out.

  “Hey! Could anyone go a pizza?” Mal was hungry and despite all their purchases, didn’t feel like cooking. They were in agreement.

  By the time they reached the house the central heating had kicked in giving it a welcome atmosphere. It was even fun putting-away; that part of shopping she usually hated. A fire in the grate, sending out a crackling blaze would be perfect, but for that they needed to build up the wood pile and start a kindling box.

  “Next time we’ll have a fire for you Dez.”

  Mal ran her back to the unit, leaving Jellie to settle herself down with some TV. Without heavy traffic it took less than half an hour, door to door.

  “I’ll miss you guys, but I’m sure things will work out for you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Dez. But you know we haven’t emigrated to Timbuctu.” They embraced warmly then Mal raced down the stairs to slide behind the wheel of her new compact. As she cut away from the curb she was conscious of her heart thumping, anxious now to be ‘home’. Jellie was by herself in the new house, she was sure she could cope, but … anyway she was too much looking forward to this, their first evening together.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Connor had been unable to keep thoughts of Nigella Patchford out of his head since that first encounter, tormented by those viridian eyes beneath the thick fringe of dark lashes. There was something special about this woman, not just her amazing beauty. That demureness of attitude as she had smiled her thanks had intrigued and captured him. He never saw this in the Babes he usually spent time with and was fascinated. Ever since then, he had been trying to come up with some excuse to take him out to Driftwood Acres.

  Connor had been engaged for over a year now. They had decided to wait on the nuptials until their finances were solid and they could afford a more prestigious address. Their lives had slipped into a comfortable routine. Miley Earles was a sweet girl, but then had come Nigella Patchford. What a handsome meal-ticket!

  Miley was used to his working long hours; being needed at meetings and quite often she had work commitments of her own. They were both ambitious which was one of the reasons they had clicked so well. He reckoned he could carry the two of them until he had achieved what he wanted. Anyway, he would be helping Nigella enjoy her money – an association of mutual self-interest?

  That apart, she was obsessing him. It was as though she drew him from another time when manners, etiquette perhaps, meant there was more to a relationship than a quick bonk in the back room at a bash. His confidence and easy manner had given him lots of those, but he craved something more, or thought he did; why else this fixation over and above mere ambition? You wouldn’t go as far as marriage would you Con, he deliberated.

  Tying up these last loose ends had been the perfect pretext, but on phoning to make the appointment he had cogitated on how to navigate the circumstance that Mallory Mason might answer. Check the file: Miss Mason worked at the hospital Monday to Wednesday. He had phoned that day and made it for the following Monday morning.

  As Connor pulled into the driveway he noticed signs of a recent clean-up. Great piles of dead plants; large mounds of dried leaves and lopped branches were scattered about, waiting for burning. The tall trees, thick with age, surrounding the lawns were magnificent. As the sun intensified its shimmer, he saw wisps of white smoke from the chimney trailing leisurely upwards into a cobalt sky, drifting with the breeze to vanish behind a line of distant trees. The place looked idyllic. Perfect for a sylvan nymph, he romanticised.

  Walking the short distance to the wide front door, the staccato sounds of a labouring chain-saw reached him clearly through the brittle morning air. He yanked on the bell-pull and was rewarded with an echoing chime resonating through the house. Some time elapsed before the door opened and there she stood, breathless in her haste, cheeks glowing from the nippy air.

  “Good morning Connor. Sorry to keep you waiting, I was in the laundry. Do come in.” Opening the door wider, she took a step back. She looked so different in worn cords and a few extra layers for warmth. This time her hair was tied loosely out of the way, but a few strands had escaped into a charming unruliness, temptingly seductive in their casual innocence. She smiled self-consciously enough to melt his heart.

  “No problem. It didn’t take me as long as I thought.” He stepped over the threshold into an open room, awash with morning light streaming through a set of three casement windows. It was now furnished with large, easy chairs with plump, cream linen cushions, soft enough to lose yourself. The seating was arranged around a low, wooden table covered in an assortment of horse and country magazines. A log fire behind a brass-rimmed fender was dying down to embers, but the heat was still powerful.

  “What a lovely room. It feels so leisurely,” he exclaimed, looking up at the wide,
heavy beams forming the ceiling. He removed his overcoat to throw it over the back of a chair. Today he wore his dark, business attire which gave him a practised and competent air. It could have caused distance, but his warmth and friendly charm made him effortlessly informal.

  “Please sit.” She hesitated uncertain, unused to a man in her private space. She felt off kilter. “Err…r can I get you something to drink, a cup of tea perhaps?” She sat stiffly on the edge of her seat as she spoke.

  “No. I’m fine thanks. Look, this won’t take long and I’m sorry to be bothering you.”

  “No bother I assure you. My days are not hectic.”

  Yes that voice, as soft as I remember. She’s not from around here. “It appears you’ve settled in well,” he observed, giving her his most winning smile.

  “Yes. Of course, this is really a quiet time as far as the stables go. We only have two horses. They’re here with us while their owners are wintering overseas. This way they could close up their house until their return.” She realised how unskilled she was at making small talk, but knew well enough what was expected.

  “Oh yes. It’s great if you can escape England in winter,” he nodded.

  She had not really meant that. She liked England in winter, especially the frosty morning rides, so crisp and invigorating. Mal liked them too, before she had to get ready for work. She even thought it was better than going to the gym.

  “You needed to see me?” she enquired, politely.

  Oh yes, I did! He admired the ebony sheen of her hair as a sliver of light from the bay window moved quickly across her body, like a hand-held spot-light. “No drama. I just need you to look over these papers; to agree that everything’s in order.” Shifting slightly to the couch’s edge, he reached for his briefcase to set it on his lap before unlocking: “Just to confirm the rental arrangements for Miss Mason. This is to run to the end of the financial year. That’s correct?”

  Jellie was not sure how long it was meant to go, but she did know Mal had insisted on this rental business – as if it mattered.

  “I don’t know. If you say so,” she demurred.

  “Oh, you’re not sure this is what you want?” he observed sharply pen poised, momentarily suspended in mid-air.

  “Oh yes. She has to pay rent,” she agreed readily as a hot wave of embarrassment washed over her. She didn’t want to be responsible for making changes. He indicated where her signature was required and watched her hands, small boned and graceful; the writing so precise. The business was being conducted too soon. He was not ready to leave, so while she signed next to the little flags, he asked if he could take her up on the offer of a cup of tea, before his journey back to the city. His smile deepened. One thing about Connor, he harboured no uncertainties as to his ability to seduce.

  “Of course I’ll see to it.” She hastened from the room and while she was away, he took the time to let his eyes wander and take in some of her essence. He wanted to know more and yes, it was important. On her return, bearing a tray with everything they needed, including a plate of shortbread cookies, she found him studying a picture on the far wall. He swung round at her entry.

  “What a lovely place. They certainly don’t build houses like this anymore,” he observed, then returned to his examination of the delicate tones of the water-colour. The style was almost impressionist in a manner he had not seen before, obscure and faint and yet creating a feeling of lightness. Jellie followed his gaze, but made no response, conscious of the disinclination to speak of her home, her past or herself. She was in another life now. It was a life where she had changed, not only from a girl to a woman, but from one person to an entirely different one; a person with new designs and with totally new visions. Instead she asked how he liked his tea.

  “Clear thank you, one sugar.” He came back to his seat and accepted the fine china.

  “I wonder if the artist painted that from life … I mean if it’s authentic.” His astute eyes were questioning.

  Jellie tried to ignore the trenchant feeling of unease. She felt cornered. Not exactly caught in a trap, but lacking the verbal skills for extrication. “It is a real house.” She buried her face in her cup, but she couldn’t stay like this. When she emerged he was studying her with alert curiosity. He decided to drop this line of inquiry, seeing how she had become so keyed up. Wishing to achieve an easy camaraderie he asked instead how she was enjoying the country.

  “You don’t find it too quiet?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, in that way she remembered. Her breathing settled and she began to expand on her life in this time. It was a good one and she was getting used to new routines. But privately, his presence brought home to her that the days could be too quiet and sometimes overly long. Now the moment of panic had passed she was able to feel comfortable, relaxed even, in this young man’s company. She had warmed to him before and now she liked him even better. It was like having Ambrose back and she enjoyed it. Time flew until the moment he looked at his watch and he declared his surprise.

  “This has been such a lovely visit Nigella. I didn’t mean to use up so much of your morning.”

  “That’s all right. Time is what I have lots of.” As they both stood, she bestowed one of those smiles on him, like an exclusive gift he was beginning to look forward to. Tentatively, with appealing reticence he asked if he could come visit again, soon – even if there were no papers to sign. Jellie agreed that would be nice.

  “I’m always here, so it will be very pleasant to have someone to talk to, but you must be a busy man.” For a moment he saw an exceptional, quixotic worry in her eyes as she frowned in concern. How innocently she revealed her feelings. He was beginning to appreciate her lack of pert cheekiness which he so often encountered in the bars. The thought fleetingly crossed his mind: Give up the night clubs for a while? No, he didn’t need to go that far. Room for both!

  “I’m kept on my toes, but Armstrong and Walsh don’t work only in the city. From time to time I do have to see clients, out this way.” He looked steadfastly into the depths of those now settled eyes and added: “So you would be happy for me to drop in?”

  “Very happy,” she admitted, as her face flushed an eager and very inviting shade of pink. She walked with him to his SUV hatchback, a Mitsubishi Outlander. She admired its sleek yet powerful appearance, squinting against the sun, now high in the sky.

  “Yes she’s a beauty, but not only in looks,” he observed proudly and went on to list some of the features: a trip computer, cruise and traction control, ABS brakes with EBD and climate control aircon, to name a few. She did her best to follow, hoping to nod in the right places. She didn’t want to appear a total ignoramus in front of her new friend. By now a chilly wind was scattering about playfully, blowing leaves every which way. As she lifted her hand to her eyes to shut out the sky, the better to see, it caught the ends of her long pony tail and whipped them around to make them stick to her moist lips. Laughing, he stopped talking to untangle them from her face then made the suggestion: “I’ll have to take you out for a spin in her next time. Maybe lunch?” This accompanied by a swift smile.

  She watched him peel away, his tires scattering gravel in a low arc as the engine roared to life, then she walked out back to continue with the laundry. While her hands moved mechanically, her mind relived the last hour. It had been quite intoxicating. She realised she had thoroughly enjoyed herself, recalling the magic of the moment when his bark of laughter had echoed off the rafters; it had been so full of energy. With his feet stretched out toward the hearth, leaning back against the cushions, he had been so like Patchy. He used to lengthen himself out like that when he was in one of his expansive moods. Sighing, she shook her head. She was learning to live in harmony with these fragments of memory, but it was imperative she move on. Still, it truly would be nice if he called again – in fact she looked forward to it. She liked the way amusement danced in his golden brown eyes. It was his face had captured her attention this visit. It showed such confidence in every bol
d line; the lopsided quirk of the arched eyebrows, the long sharp ridge of his nose to the flaring nostrils. There was an arroganceto the angular features, not injected with scorn so much as expressing a carefree breeziness. His wide mouth was straight, but curved at the corners as if ready to break into laughter at the slightest excuse. The young men of her girl-hood had had this style, as though the game of life would never end. In his company, for a while, she felt re-vitalised and yes, carefree too.

  Now it was time to move on to prepare the feeds for later, so with a light heart she tripped over to the barn to begin sorting the grains. When Mal came home she found her involved in cooking dinner. They had slipped into a comfortable routine of exchanging news while Mal enjoyed a beer. No alcohol for her, but she did like tonic water in a wine glass. This evening she felt she had real news to impart and gleefully recounted all about Connor’s visit. Mal was pleased to see what a positive effect this had had on her and recognised the long way Jellie had come. Their move to Driftwood had been the best thing.