"No, don't. You're perfect as you are."
Except for that wild ride the previous night, and that hardly counted, this was the first time that Jane had ridden in the silver-grey Jaguar. She sat slightly side-ways, her head back against the head-rest so that she could watch Simon as he drove. The classic profile, deeply tanned face, sharply contrasted by the white turtleneck he wore under a navy blazer, his brown hands almost casually on the wheel, the piercing blue eyes intent on the road ahead. This was a picture that seemed to burn itself into her brain, a picture she promised herself she would never forget. Simon, feeling her scrutiny, turned his eyes from the road for a moment and smiled at her, that enigmatic, faintly mocking smile that made her heart lurch.
It didn't take long to reach the town of Culloden. It was almost a mirror image of Oban. There was the usual jug milk store competing with an old general store, the same scattering of boutiques with very expensive-looking items in the windows, some ancient residences with old-fashioned porches shaded by centuries old trees looking slightly aloof among the modern bungalows with their carefully tended rock gardens sprung up so close to them. The inn was just outside of the town. It was a beautiful old grey stone house with a gabled roof and shutters painted white. When Simon opened the massive oak door for her, Jane found herself in the dimly lit entrance hall of what appeared to be a private home, but a home from a bygone era. The floor of the hall was of slate, the chandelier and the small lights in wall sconces were replicas of hurricane lamps. French doors opened into two rooms, one on either side of the hall. Jane surmised that one must have been a bar because of the laughter and the loud voices that filtered from it. The other, towards which Simon led her, was the dining room. A middle-aged woman dressed in pioneer costume hurried over to them.
"Mr. Wade, how nice to see you again."
"It's nice to be here, Mrs. Wilson," Simon answered with a smile. "Do you think you can find us a table?"
"Mr. Wade, for you, we will always have a table," and she led them to a table for two by a window overlooking the garden. The whole room was furnished in early Canadian pine. The tables were bare except for handwoven placemats in gay colours, and each table held a small bouquet of fresh wildflowers. The opposite wall of the room was dominated by a huge fieldstone fireplace in which were hung large cast-iron pots being warmed by the flickering flames. Jane noticed that the waitresses, also dressed in period costumes, were serving the diners directly from the pots.
"What a delightful place," she said.
"Thank you, miss," answered Mrs. Wilson. "I'm so glad you came tonight, now that the weather has turned cool. The last few weeks it was so warm it was impossible to keep the fire going and we had to serve from the kitchen. It sort of took away from the atmosphere."
She handed them hand-lettered menus and gestured for a waitress. Simon gave her their order for drinks and they settled down to study the menu, which, although it was not extensive, offered them a variety of early Canadian dishes, both English and French. Jane decided on smoked salmon and Simon chose the pate. "Oh," Jane exclaimed, "they serve tourtière. I've always wanted to try it."
"It's excellent here," Simon answered. "I think I'll settle for rack of lamb. And we must have soup. It's a recipe that Mrs. Armitage has been trying to get from Mrs. Wilson for years, without success."
Their drinks arrived and Simon gave their order to the waitress. As she turned to go, a group of six people appeared at the door of the dining room. Their laughter and raised voices filled the room and Jane thought that this must be the people who had been in the bar when they arrived. Everyone in the dining room turned towards the noisy crowd as Mrs. Wilson hurried to them. As Jane turned her head, she heard Simon sigh, "Oh, no." She glanced back at him and was surprised to see the frown that appeared on his face. When she glanced again towards the door she saw a small, blonde, familiar figure standing in the forefront of the group. "Why, it's Daphne Baxter," she gasped.
The three girls and three young men were all dressed in jeans; the men wore open-necked sports shirts and the girls a variety of blouses. Jane was astounded to see that two of the girls, one of them Daphne, wore light, sheer Indian cotton blouses with nothing whatsoever under them.
Mrs. Wilson had no choice. There was only one empty table left in the dining room large enough to accommodate them, and as it happened it was just one table removed from where Jane and Simon sat. The table between them was occupied by an elderly couple who were just finishing their coffee, and as Daphne and her friends seated themselves next to them the gentleman gestured to the waitress to bring their bill. Daphne's party had ordered more drinks and as the elderly couple left, the waitress brought them. As Daphne took her first drink from her glass she looked over to the next table. Her eye's met Jane's and then swung instinctively to the back of Jane's companion. Jane watched fascinated as Daphne placed her glass carefully on the table, lit a cigarette and then picked the glass up again. She rose with a muttered excuse to her companions and approached their table. Jane tried to smile as Daphne sauntered towards them, her drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Simon rose stiffly as she appeared at his elbow. "Hi, Simon," Daphne drawled, ignoring Jane.
"Daphne, do you know Jane Sullivan?" Simon asked quietly.
Daphne cast a casual glance at Jane and answered, "Oh, sure," and then proceeded to ignore her. Simon still stood stiffly, making no effort to be polite. However, when Daphne asked, "Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?" he had no choice but to fetch a chair from the now empty table next to them. "Thanks," Daphne said, as she seated herself.
"Well, Simon, how are you? We never see you anymore," Daphne asked, still ignoring Jane.
"I'm into a new book. I don't go out much." Simon's tone was cold and flat and Jane couldn't help feeling that anyone but Daphne would have beaten a hasty retreat, but she seemed unphased by the cool welcome she was receiving. "What do you hear from Mona?" she asked.
"I don't," and this time Simon's tone was icy.
"Well, I do, occasionally," and Daphne paused. "I must answer her last letter and tell her you're hitting the high spots of Culloden with the hired help. I'm sure she'd be interested," and with a laugh she rose and went back to her table. Jane was stunned. Daphne was the only person that she had ever met who. was directly and deliberately rude. She didn't know how to handle it.
Mrs. Wilson bustled up with a beautiful, hand-painted antique soup tureen, followed by a waitress with a basket containing huge, thick slices of homemade bread. As Mrs. Wilson served them, she kept up a disjointed monologue of apology, delivered in a soothing, quiet voice. "So sorry, Mr. Wade… Sorry, miss… Couldn't help it… after all, can't turn them away." Stepping back she surveyed them, the steaming bowls of soup in front of them and said, "Now, don't let anything spoil your dinner, will you?" Jane and Simon had to smile at her earnestness and they assured her that they would not.
They ate in silence, partly because of the unpleasantness with Daphne, but also because the food was so delicious. Daphne and her friends were loud and boisterous and when it came time for their coffee, Mrs. Wilson approached them.
"Mr. Wade, you know I have a small private parlour at the back of the dining room and I'd consider it a favour if you and the young lady would have your coffee and liqueurs there."
Simon smiled at her gratefully. "How perceptive you are, Mrs. Wilson. We accept with pleasure," and he rose and pulled Jane's chair back for her. It was necessary for them to pass Daphne's table in order to reach the doorway at the back of the dining room that led to Mrs. Wilson's parlour. As they passed, Daphne smiled up at Simon, and said, "Remember me to Mona next time you're talking to her." When they were out of earshot she must have said something else to the others, which was followed by a burst of laughter. Jane had never been so uncomfortable. She felt as if every eye in the dining room was riveted on her back.
Mrs. Wilson saw them seated comfortably in an antique loveseat in front of a small fireplace and bustled off to get their coffee
. The tiny parlour, like the rest of the inn, was furnished with exquisite taste, but in a different manner. Here Victorian antiques replaced the rustic effect of the pine furniture in the dining room. Snowy white curtains, trimmed with eyelet embroidery, framed the casement windows, the facing and mantle of the fireplace were of white marble and old family photographs dotted the walls.
As soon as Mrs. Wilson had left the room, Simon took Jane's hand in his. "I don't know how to apologize. I would have given anything to spare you that unpleasantness."
Jane tried to laugh lightly. "But Simon, it wasn't your fault. You can't be responsible for Daphne's actions." But in her mind Daphne's last remark repeated itself over and over… "Remember me to Mona next time you're talking to her." Was it possible that Simon still kept in touch with his former wife? Was he still in love with her? Was that why during their most intimate moments he used the word "need" rather than "love?" She was surprised at the depth of pain such an idea produced. It was frightening to think that her whole happiness depended on this strange, volatile man sitting next to her.
They were both quiet during the drive home. When they reached the house, Simon suggested a nightcap, but Jane answered a little wearily, "No, thank you. I'm very tired. Good night, Simon."
As she turned away towards the spiral staircase, Simon caught her roughly by the arm and drew her back into his arms, holding her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. He buried his face in her hair and his voice was rough with pain and desire. "Don't Jane. Don't withdraw from me now. I couldn't stand it." His lips, hot and dry were on hers, forcing them apart. For a moment Jane was frightened by the intensity of his desire and then, deep inside her a flame leapt and she found herself clinging to him, thinking that she could never get close enough. She was utterly powerless against his strength and yet she realized that she didn't want to push him away, not now, not ever.
Suddenly, there were footsteps at the end of the hall and Simon thrust her away from him. Jane staggered a little and then ran through the dark to the spiral staircase. She had just reached the first step when Mrs. Armitage switched on the hall light. "Oh, Miss Sullivan, won't you have some coffee before you retire?" Jane kept her back to her and kept on climbing the stairs. She tried desperately to keep her voice steady, "No, thank you, Mrs. Armitage. I'm a little tired."
Simon had already disappeared into the living room without a word. Mrs. Armitage looked rather puzzled and then said, "Well, good night then," although there was no one there to hear her.
When Jane reached her room she didn't turn the light on. She sat on the edge of the chaise lounge staring out into the darkness outside, trying to control the trembling of her body, and trying not to think of what might have happened had Mrs. Armitage not come along when she did. She also tried to shut her mind to another thought, she wasn't sure whether she was glad or sorry that the evening had ended as it had.
Chapter Eight
While Jane bathed and dressed the next morning, she reached a decision. She had already told Simon that before long she must go into Toronto and visit the reference library in order to get information she needed to continue her research. Although she could put it off for a few days, she decided not to. She needed time to think, and that was something that seemed to be impossible as long as Simon was around. She hated the idea of leaving him even for a day or two, but she was terribly confused and couldn't help thinking that if things continued as they were going, something would happen that they would both regret.
When she entered the dining room she was surprised to see that Simon was still there, lingering over coffee. His face lit up when tie saw her and he rose. He started towards her, but when he saw that Mrs. Armitage had followed her into the room, bringing Jane's orange juice, he stopped, and when Jane was seated, he sat down again. His brilliant eyes seemed to devour her face, but he kept his tone light. "Well, you're looking bright this morning. Did you finally catch up on your sleep?"
"Yes, I think so," Jane answered, and then went on, before she lost her nerve. "Simon, remember I told you on Saturday that I would have to go into the city to check out some facts at the reference library? Well, I really think I should go today."
Simon looked stricken. "Today? But surely it could wait a while."
Jane was touched by his reaction, but determined to stand firm. "There's no point in putting it off. I have to go, it's a nice day for a drive, so I might as well go and get it over with. By the way, I'm not sure if I can manage to get all the information I need in one day. Would it be all right if I stayed over in a hotel?"
Simon frowned. "Stay over? Surely that won't be necessary."
"Perhaps it won't be. I'm only saying in case it is."
Simon replied, grudgingly, "Well, of course it's all right, whatever will be easiest for you, but it will be very difficult to do without you for more than a day—I mean as far as the work is concerned."
Jane smiled tenderly at him. "I promise to get back as quickly as I can."
It was, she thought, only a small white lie, because she bad already decided to stay over in the city. She had to have the time to sort out her thinking and her emotions.
After breakfast she returned to her room and packed a small overnight bag. When she went to put the bag in her car, she found Simon pacing up and down outside. He came to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
"Jane, do you really have to go? I have this crazy feeling that if you do, something will happen and I'll lose you."
Jane's heart turned over as she looked up at those piercing blue eyes and saw the expression of longing on his face.
She answered, rather breathlessly, "Dear Simon, you won't get rid of me that easily."
He bent then and kissed her and all the longing that she had seen on his face, all of his fear of losing her were in that kiss and she clung to him. Finally he let her go, and said huskily, "Jane, don't go."
She tried to keep her voice steady. "Simon, I must. My goodness, suppose Mrs. Armitage had seen?"
"I don't care if the whole world sees," he answered angrily. "All right, if you must, then go," and he took her bag and put it in the car. She followed him and put her hand on his arm. "Simon, please don't be angry." Then he smiled and reached out to stroke her hair. "How could I be angry with you? Just hurry back."
"I will," she answered with a wave, and as she turned the car around and started down the driveway, she leant out of the window and called. "I'll phone you tonight if I'm staying over."
Simon watched until she reached the end of the driveway and turned on to the concession road. Then the car was gone, hidden by a hill. He turned morosely back to the house, his hands in his pockets.
Despite the wrench of leaving Simon, Jane had a kind of holiday feeling as she turned off the concession road on to the highway. It was a bright, clear day, warm but dry and the sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud in it. She couldn't help thinking as she drove along, how different her life had become since that first day when she had driven along this same road on her way to the house on the ridge. How confused and unsure of herself she had been then. Simon had changed all that. She was still confused, it was true, but in a different way. She realized suddenly that her problem with Simon was simply that she was afraid to trust him, and surely this inability to trust went back to her childhood, to her mother's going away and to the shock of learning that that going away had been desertion. It was, she concluded, unfair of her to carry that distrust over into her relationship with Simon. As she thought this, she almost stopped the car. Should she go back and tell him how foolish she had been? And then she remembered that however much he seemed to want her, he had never used the word 'love.' And so she kept on driving towards Toronto.
When she reached the city she drove first to the Park Plaza hotel and checked in. Although she had never stayed there, she had had dinner there occasionally with her father and had always loved the stateliness and charm of the old hotel, the impeccable service in the dining room and marvelled at the f
act that the maitre d' never forgot a face or a name. Now, of course, it had been completely changed. It's modern lobby, decorated in deep shades of red, was strangely similar to all the other lobbies of all the new hotels springing up so quickly around the city. She requested a room in the older part of the hotel and had her bag sent up. She then set out for the reference library.
As she had expected, her work was finished late in the afternoon. She returned to the hotel, soaked lazily in the tub for half an hour and then phoned room service and had her dinner sent up. Much as she would have liked to dine again in the dining room, she was shy about entering a dining room alone, and besides, there would have been too many memories of the happy special occasions that she had shared there with her father.
When she finished eating, she decided that she couldn't put it off any longer; she would have to phone Simon. Much as she longed to hear his voice, she dreaded the disappointment, or even anger that might result when she told him that she was going to stay over.
Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice when he answered the phone, but he sounded so very far away. It seemed to be a poor connection. There was music and a great deal of noise in the background, laughter and loud voices.
"Simon?" she said.
"Yes. Oh, hello, Jane. I gather you've decided to stay over. It's just as well. It would be a little late to start back now."
His ready acceptance of the fact that she wasn't coming back tonight was so different from his attitude of the morning that Jane was speechless for a moment.
"Jane, are you still there?" he asked. "I'm sorry, I'm having a little trouble hearing you."
"What's going on, Simon? Do you have guests?" Jane asked, incredulously. In all the time she had been at the house on the ridge, Simon had never entertained.
"Something like that," Simon answered. "I'll explain when I see you. When do you expect to get back?"
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