That Man Simon

by Anne Weale

  Mrs. Shannon gave a little sigh of relief. ‘Well ... shall we have tea? Do some and sit down, Mr. Gilchrist. I’ve been meaning to ask you why you’ve had so much ground dug out? Is it for a cellar, perhaps? We have one ourselves, of course, like most large old houses. But I thought they were no longer built?’

  ‘No, as a rule they are not,’ he agreed, taking the chair she had indicated. ‘A properly damp-proofed cellar is considered too costly nowadays, although they’re still common on the Continent, and the timber houses of North America nearly all have a basement of some sort.

  Personally, I think they’re an excellent feature. In the case of my own house, the basement will form a garage with a boiler-room and plenty of storage space. So many modern houses have totally inadequate storage, and are far too cramped in every way.’

  ‘Our problem is just the reverse,’ Mrs. Shannon said wryly. ‘We have far more space than we need. We are very attached to this house because we have lived here so long.

  But now that we are getting on in life I think we should really be more comfortable in a nice little modern bungalow.’

  ‘This is a very handsome room,’ he said, glancing round the high-ceilinged, spacious sitting-room with its elaborately moulded cornice, tall windows and high marble fireplace.

  It was a room which for many years had been spoiled by a hideous wallpaper, brown paintwork and heavy drab curtains, all inherited from the previous incumbent and unchanged by the Shannons because there were so many other calls on the Rector’s stipend.

  But the previous summer, Jenny had persuaded them to let her tackle a complete redecoration. Now the walls were painted primrose, to give an illusion of sunlight on the greyest winter afternoon, the paintwork was white, and the windows were framed by folds of glowing, inexpensive coral repp.

  ‘Ah, this is Jenny’s doing,’ Mrs. Shannon explained, with an affectionate glance at her grandchild. ‘She’s such a capable girl. She even made these pretty bright chair covers.’

  ‘Really? How enterprising. You have an expert eye for colour, Miss Shannon.’ From across the room, Simon Gilchrist somehow forced Jenny to meet his eyes. ‘I shall have to enlist your advice when I come to decorating my own house.’

  The cool effrontery of such a statement, when he knew how intensely she disliked him, made Jenny seethe afresh.

  But before she could think of a suitably caustic retort, he had turned to her grandfather with an inquiry about the private vault in the churchyard.

  After tea, the old people took him round the garden, and he did not come into the house again. From her bedroom window, Jenny saw that he had left his car in the lane at the rear of the Rectory, which was why she had had no warning that he was visiting them.

  Later on that evening, while Jenny was washing up the supper dishes and her grandmother was drying them, Mrs.

  Shannon said suddenly, ‘Mr. Gilchrist reminds me of a young man I used to know before I met your grandfather. I remember Charles had dark hair, and just the same sort of smile as Mr. Gilchrist. He had a rather bad reputation, and somehow that made him all the more attractive. One always had the feeling that he might say or do something quite shocking, and I’m sorry to say that I found it rather an enjoyable sensation. By comparison, the other young men I knew seemed so dull.’

  Jenny could not help smiling. ‘I didn’t know you had a shady past, Granny.’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t, my dear. I was much too sheltered to have a chance to misbehave myself. But there was one occasion when I think Charles intended to kiss me, if I hadn’t been a coward and run away from him. You see, for a time I thought I was in love with him, and I believe he was quite fond of me. But even if he had proposed, my parents would never have consented. And when I met John I soon realized that my feeling for Charles had been only a foolish infatuation.’ She paused, her thoughts far away. ‘But I must admit there were times when I couldn’t help wishing I had let Charles kiss me - just once.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Oh, he went to the devil, as they used to say in those days.’

  ‘Perhaps he really loved you,’ Jenny suggested.

  ‘I very much doubt it, dear. He was a born philanderer.

  Charming susceptible young women was his hobby. They say a reformed rake makes a better husband than a man who has never sown any wild oats, but I don’t think it’s true. Oh, I’ve just remembered! – Could you pop across to Mrs. Langdon with those knitted squares which Miss Johnson brought round after lunch. I was going to call on Mrs. Langdon when Mr. Gilchrist arrived and put it right out of my head, and I know she’s waiting for some more squares to finish her Red Cross blanket.’

  The Langdons lived in one of five tall Georgian houses on the south side of the green from where the village took its name. The front doors of the houses opened directly on to the pavement, but the houses had long walled gardens behind them, with gates leading into Stable Lane.

  Jenny went round by the back way and found Mrs.

  Langdon enjoying the late evening sunlight in a chair under the mulberry tree.

  ‘Hello, Jenny dear. How are you? Do you like marrons glaces? My sister sent this great big box of them for my birthday. Try one.’ Mrs. Langdon laid down her needlework, and gestured with her spectacles at the box on the teak garden table.

  Jenny explained her mission, and they talked about the forthcoming sale of work for some minutes until the older woman suddenly changed the subject by asking, ‘Jenny, have you and James had a row about something?’

  ‘A row? No - why should we?’ Jenny said blankly.

  Mrs. Langdon sighed and made an adjustment to the cushion at the small of her back. ‘Oh, dear, this is rather difficult,’ she said, frowning ‘I do try not to be one of those dreadful possessive, interfering mothers - but I can’t help worrying when James behaves so oddly. I thought perhaps you and he might have had a tiff. But if you haven’t, it must be something else that’s upset him.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since he took me to the pictures.

  Perhaps he’s working too hard,’ Jenny suggested.

  ‘Yes, he has been very busy recently, but I’m sure it’s not only tiredness that has him so edgy all week. He swallows his meals with no idea what he’s eating, and at night I hear him prowling about his room till all hours.’

  A faint flush coloured Jenny’s cheeks and she bent her head, smoothing the silver paper from the candied chestnut.

  ‘Perhaps it’s just the spring. Most people feel restless and jumpy at this time of year, don’t you think?’

  ‘Especially if they’re in love,’ Mrs. Langdon said dryly.

  Jenny gave her a swift startled glance.

  ‘Is James in love?’ she asked unsteadily.

  ‘I thought you might know the answer to that, my dear.’

  The flush became a wash of vivid colour and, seeing it, Mrs. Langdon went on quickly, ‘Perhaps I ought not to be saying this, but you must know that everyone thinks you and James have “an understanding”, Jenny dear. If it’s so -

  and nothing would make me happier – don’t you think it’s time it became official? I don’t know how strongly you feel about James, but I’m sure he’s devoted to you, and perhaps lacks the courage to tell you. People don’t realize it, but he’s terribly conscious of his limp and his cheek.’

  ‘I know,’ Jenny murmured.

  ‘Then perhaps if you were to give him some definite encouragement...’ his mother suggested, with a gesture.

  Before Jenny could reply, James came out of the house and walked towards them. He was wearing a blue cotton shirt and khaki drill slacks - his customary working kit in warm weather - and carrying a can of beer and some food on a plate.

  ‘Home at last. Hello, Jenny.’ He bent to kiss his mother, then dropped into a deck chair.

  ‘Hello, James.’ Jenny found herself unable to look at him.

  ‘Did you get the cow out of the ditch?’ Mrs. Langdon asked.

  ‘Yes, aft
er much heaving and tugging.’ James stretched his long legs and began to eat a cold leg of chicken. ‘Phew -

  it’s hot. I hope this early heat wave isn’t going to be our one brief spell of summer, like last year.’

  He sounded perfectly normal, Jenny thought.

  When, half an hour later, she said she must go, James at once offered to run her home.

  ‘Oh, no, please, don’t bother,’ she said hastily.

  ‘No bother - I’d like to. See you later, Mum.’

  Jenny had never imagined that she could ever be so ill at ease with someone as long a part of her life as James. But as they went through the house and climbed into the estate car, she was tense with nervousness.

  ‘What were you and Mum nattering about before I came back?’ James asked, as he put the car in gear.

  ‘Nothing much ... the sale of work and so on.’ She paused, then blurted out, ‘She says you’ve been rather liverish lately.’

  James did not answer, and within a couple of minutes they were at the Rectory. Then he switched off the engine and turned to face her.

  ‘Yes, I know I have,’ he said equably. ‘Do you want to know why?’

  Suddenly Jenny felt frightened. She was almost sure what he was going to say, but she wanted to stop him. ‘No, not yet - it’s too soon. Not yet,’ she thought desperately.

  Aloud she stammered, ‘I - I expect you’ve been overdoing things. You need a holiday.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ James said gruffly. ‘I need you.’

  In full view of anyone who might be looking out of the Rectory windows, or passing in the road, he took her in his arms and kissed her again.

  At first it was like the other kiss, gentle and tender. Then she felt a kind of shudder run through him, and he strained her against him, his lips suddenly fierce and demanding.

  When he let her go, he was pale under his tan, and breathing hard.

  ‘I’m sorry, but - oh, Jenny, I love you,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘You will marry me, won’t you, darling?’

  ‘Oh, James ... I don’t know.’

  He looked as shocked as if she had slapped him. ‘Don’t you love me?’ he said blankly.

  She looked out of the windscreen, her fingers nervously pleating her cotton skirt. ‘I don’t know, James,’ she said again.

  He was touching her now, but she felt him tense. ‘Is it because of my leg and my face?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course not!’ she said vehemently.

  ‘I’ve always taken for granted that you didn’t mind about this,’ he said in a low voice, his hand going up to his cheek.

  ‘You know I don’t.’

  Horrified that he should even consider such a possibility, she put out her hand and gently stroked the place with her fingertips.

  He caught hold of her wrist and pressed his mouth against her palm. ‘What is the reason, then?’ he asked, in a muffled voice.

  She hesitated. ‘I suppose it’s just that I’ve never really thought about marriage - except as something in the future.’

  ‘But you must know whether you love me or not.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said unhappily. ‘It’s hard to explain. I do love you ... in a way. But I don’t know if I’m in love with you. I’ve always been terribly fond of you.’

  ‘You liked it when I kissed you, didn’t you?’ he asked huskily.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ she agreed frankly. ‘But people can like kissing without being in love, can’t they? I’ve never kissed anyone else, so I’ve no ... basis for comparison.’

  James grinned suddenly. ‘Oh, Jenny, you’re so sweet and funny. A basis for comparison, indeed! I should hope you haven’t.’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious. I honestly don’t know what I feel,’ she said worriedly.

  ‘Well, think about it, will you?’ he said gently. ‘I must admit I didn’t quite realize it myself until a couple of weeks ago. It ... sort of hit me one day. It was funny, really. I was looking out of the surgery window and Margaret and Bob Jones went past with that darn great flashy pram of theirs.

  Suddenly I wished I had a wife and a kid like Bob. And when I thought about having a wife, I thought of you.’

  ‘Oh, James!’ Jenny’s throat was tight. She had an impulse to fling her arms round his neck and say, ‘I do love you - of course I do.’

  But something held her back, a tiny niggling doubt in the back of her mind.

  ‘So you’ll think about it?’ James asked again.

  She nodded, and slipped quickly out of the car.

  He blew her a kiss through the window. 'Don’t take too long, darling. Good night.’

  Jenny thought of nothing else for several days, but the more she thought, the more uncertain she became. Now it was she who scarcely tasted the food she ate, and who was still wide awake long after midnight.

  One morning, Fenella telephoned. ‘We’re having a little buffet party this evening. Would you like to come?’ she asked.

  Jenny hesitated before accepting. Fenella’s mother was the self-appointed leader of Farthing Green ‘society’

  - if such a term could be applied to the small clique of women who took turns in holding coffee mornings, bridge teas and cocktail parties; and who vied with each other in acquiring the latest status symbols. Jenny had been to a score of Mrs. Waring’s parties, and had never much enjoyed herself at them. But at least the food was always good, and it would be a chance to wear a blue dress she had made in January but never yet worn.

  She said, ‘Yes, I would like to come. Thank you, Fenella.

  What time?’

  ‘Seven-ish. Don’t bother to dress up. It will be very informal. See you this evening, then.’

  As Fenella rang off, Jenny smiled to herself. ‘Very informal’ meant that Mrs. Waring and her daughter would be dressed up to the nines, but did not expect their guests to compete with them.

  After lunch she washed her hair and dried it out of doors in the April sun. This was the time of year she loved best of all, when everything was beginning to come to life again, and soon it would be warm enough to have tea in the garden, and to sleep with the windows flung wide, and to jump out of bed in the morning with pleasure instead of reluctance.

  The clock on the church tower had just struck seven when she set out for the Warings’ Tudor-style house at the other end of the village. She was posting some letters for her grandfather in the box at the corner of the green when a motor horn tooted. She glanced over her shoulder and saw James climbing out of his car outside the surgery.

  He came across the grass, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his shirt open at the neck. As he approached, Jenny felt a small knot of tension tightening inside her.

  ‘All dressed up, I see. Where are you off to?’ he asked, eyeing her new dress. It was still very warm, and she was carrying the white wool coat which she would need for coming home.

  ‘The Warings are having a party. I thought you and your mother might be there,’ she said, trying to sound at ease, but knowing that her colour had risen.

  ‘They did invite us, but Mother hasn’t been too fit this week, and as you see I’m only just knocking off. I might have come along if it hadn’t been a rather wearing day. But by the time I’ve cleaned up the party will be half over. So I think I’ll have a bath and a meal and an early night.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be missing much. I’m sorry your mother isn’t well. I’ve been busy decorating or I would have popped in to see her. Perhaps I’ll look in tomorrow,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Yes, do - she’s always glad to see you.’ James studied his dusty shoes, and Jenny tried vainly to think of something to say. ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you from the party. Have a good time,’ he said, at length.

  When she reached Red Gables, there were already several cars parked in the road outside, and on the gravelled sweep in front of the house. The pseudo-Elizabethan door was opened by Elsie Bagley, the daily help. It was Elsie who was responsible for the entire village
knowing that, in spite of outward appearances, the Warings did not get on. Mrs.

  Waring would have had a fit if she had realized that every time she and her husband had a row, Elsie lost no time in imparting the details of the dispute to anyone who cared to listen.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Jenny. Coats in Mrs. W.’s bedroom.

  You know the way, don’t you?’ She jerked a thumb at the staircase. Then, lowering her voice, ‘Miss Fenella’s not down yet. She’s doing herself up special tonight. Got the new boy-friend coming, you see,’ she explained, with a smirk.

  Jenny left her white coat in the ornate oyster and gold bedroom at the front of the house, and then crossed the close-carpeted landing to tap on the door of Fenella’s room.

  Bidden to enter, she found the other girl sitting at her dressing-table, wearing only a bra and tights. She was putting on eye make-up.

  ‘I shan’t be long,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘Has everyone arrived?’

  ‘No, only the first half-dozen, I think. How many people are coming?’ Jenny sat down on the end of the bed, admiring Fenella’s flawless golden back.

  Like most brunettes, she had an olive skin and, with the aid of a sun-lamp, cultivated a year-round tan so that she looked always as if she had recently returned from a skiing holiday or a cruise.

  ‘About thirty, but mostly Mummy’s cronies.’ Having finished her eyes, Fenella sprayed herself with scent. ‘That’s a nice little dress. One of your home-mades?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I think it’s quite successful, considering it cost me only three pounds,’ said Jenny equably. ‘What are you wearing?’

  Fenella moved to her wardrobe and took out a tunic-and-trouser suit of silver crochet. ‘This.’

  When she put it on, Jenny said sincerely, ‘It’s lovely.’

  She wished she had the confidence to wear the dashing extremes of fashion.

  As they went downstairs, the doorbell chimed. Fenella opened it, and greeted the group of guests arriving at the same time. Jenny, glancing through the hall window, was shaken to see Simon Gilchrist strolling up the drive. How had he come to be invited? she wondered in consternation.