That Man Simon

by Anne Weale

  ‘Yes, she’s after Mr. G. right enough,’ she went on, as they hurried along the street together. ‘It’s as plain as daylight. And there’ll be no room for Polly if she has any say in the matter. She’s no time for children, has that one.

  Number One is all she cares about.’

  Jenny knew she ought not to encourage the housekeeper to gossip, but she could not resist saying, ‘Do you think Miss Waring is likely to have any say?’

  ‘I don’t know, my dear, and that’s a fact. It won’t be for want of trying if she doesn’t. She’s as artful as a basket of monkeys. But Mr. G. isn’t an easy man to make out, you know. You can’t tell what’s in his mind. But he wouldn’t be the first man to make a fool of himself over a pretty face.’

  ‘Whatever happens, I’m sure he would never send Polly away. He’s all she has now,’ Jenny said bleakly.

  ‘Well, maybe not - but I wouldn’t stay on, not with her there. She’s civil enough to me now, but I know what it would be if she was mistress. I worked for a young madam like her once before. About your age she was, and married to a chap old enough to be her father. Never a “please” or

  “thank you” in the six months I was there. I told my sister when she came over to see me last week, I said “I shan’t stay on if that’s the way the wind blows. I had enough being treated like a skivvy by that young Mrs. Beckett.” Phyllis agreed with me.’

  She went on in this vein all the way home, and Jenny was thankful to escape when they reached Simon’s house.

  The day continued showery and overcast until mid-afternoon, when the sun came out again. During the evening, Jenny was tidying her chest of drawers upstairs when she heard voices and looked out of her window to see Simon and Fenella sitting on the terrace together.

  Once, Simon turned his head towards the Rectory and she quickly drew back into the bedroom, despising herself for watching them but unable to restrain her curiosity. A few minutes later they went indoors. Had Simon spotted her face at the window? she wondered sickly.

  A few days later she was collecting some Harvest Festival hymn sheets for her grandfather from a small jobbing printer in the town, when the shop door bell rang.

  Glancing casually round, she saw Simon coming in.

  The assistant was upstairs in the stock room and there was no one else in the shop. Stricken by an agony of embarrassment, Jenny turned quickly back to the counter, her face and neck crimson.

  ‘Good morning,’ Simon said evenly, from behind her.

  ‘Good morning.’ Her reply was barely audible. ‘Oh, hurry up ... please hurry up,’ she silently appealed to the assistant.

  As she heard him coming down, Simon said, ‘Jenny, I’d like to have a word with you. There’s a coffee shop round the corner. Can you spare ten minutes?’

  ‘There you are, Miss Shannon.’ The assistant handed her a parcel. ‘That’ll be nineteen and sixpence, please.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She thrust a pound note at him. Without looking at Simon, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m in a hurry.’

  Then, thrusting the sixpence change into her pocket, she dashed out of the shop and down the street.

  Ten minutes later, waiting to be served in a wool shop, she bitterly regretted her flight from him. What had he wanted to say to her? What a fool she had been to panic.

  The following afternoon, the Shannons were having tea in the garden when Jenny heard the door bell ring.

  ‘I’ll go, Granny.’ She put down her cup and saucer and walked across the lawn to the garden door, quickening her pace as the bell rang again, and then again.

  ‘Hang on: I’m coming,’ she muttered, as whoever it was put their finger on the button a fourth time and kept it there.

  She opened the door. ‘Is Polly here, Jenny?’ Simon asked urgently.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Where the devil can she have got to?’ he said worriedly.

  ‘I’ve just got home. Mrs. Rose has been in her room all afternoon. When she called Polly in for tea, she wasn’t there.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s hiding somewhere.’

  ‘No, I’ve looked everywhere. She’s not in the garden or the house.’

  ‘Could she have gone down to the village? To the sweet shop?’

  He shook his head. ‘She’s not allowed to go there by herself because of the traffic on the main road. Besides, it’s early closing day.’

  ‘She might have gone all the same, if she was bored. Is Mrs. Rose ill?’

  ‘She had a headache after lunch. She took some aspirins and told Polly to play in the garden while she lay down for half an hour. But she went to sleep and didn’t wake up till I came back.’

  ‘I’ll ask Granny if she’s seen Polly about this afternoon,’

  Jenny said quickly.

  She ran back to her grandparents, and explained that the child seemed to have disappeared. But Mrs. Shannon had not seen Polly since before lunch, and neither had the Rector.

  ‘She can’t be far away. You go and look round the village, Simon, and I’ll go up the lane to the Council houses,’ Jenny said briskly. ‘If she was at a loose end, she might have gone out of the back gate and found some children to play with.’

  But none of the families living in the row of Council houses up Rectory Lane had seen Polly, nor had any of the children playing on a stretch of nearby common land.

  Jenny hurried back to Simon’s house where she found Mrs. Rose in a state of great agitation. Simon had not yet returned from his search of the village.

  ‘Oh, Miss Shannon, whatever can have happened to her?’ the housekeeper exclaimed distressfully. ‘It’s all my fault. I never should have left her alone. But I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that, and she’s never left the garden before. Oh, where can she be, poor mite?’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself, Mrs. Rose. We’ll soon find her,’

  Jenny said bracingly.

  ‘But it’s nearly six o’clock, and she knows we have tea at half past five.’

  ‘Yes, but she hasn’t a watch and children don’t notice the time if they’re busy playing.’

  ‘I think someone’s gone off with her. She’s such an innocent little soul, she’d go with anyone. And you hear of such terrible things ...’

  ‘Now we mustn’t lose our heads, Mrs. Rose,’ Jenny said soothingly, as the housekeeper burst into tears. ‘Ah, there’s the car. I expect Simon has found her in the village.’

  But when she ran outside, he was alone.

  ‘Not a sign of her,’ he said tersely. ‘Oh, God, where is she?’

  ‘Do you think Fenella might have called and taken her for a run in her father’s car?’

  ‘No, I checked at the Warings’. Fenella’s been in town all day.’

  Jenny gnawed her lower lip, thinking furiously. ‘The wood!’ she exclaimed, after a moment. ‘She might have gone to the wood - she liked it there. Wait a minute, Simon. I’ll run round and get Granny to look after Mrs.

  Rose. She’s in a fearful state. Then I’ll show you where it is.’

  But although they searched the wood from end to end, and shouted Polly’s name, she was not there.

  ‘I’d better go to the Constabulary House,’ Simon said in an expressionless voice, as they drove back towards the village. His face was grey under his tan.

  ‘No, first let me look in her room. I have an idea,’ Jenny said urgently, as they neared Simon’s house.

  He gave her an uncertain glance, then slowed the car and swung it through the gateway in a flurry of flying gravel.

  In the living-room Mrs. Rose was still sobbing. Jenny went straight to Polly’s room.

  ‘Yes, look - her teddy bear has gone,’ she said, pointing to the low divan. ‘And that little attaché case you gave her for her school things - it’s not on the windowsill. Wait a minute, let’s look in her cupboard.’

  As she expected, Polly’s bright red raincoat was missing from the rail of cotton frocks in the wardrobe. ‘Simon, I think she’s run away,’ she said
quietly. ‘Run away? But why? ... and where to?’

  ‘I don’t know. But at least it rules out any ... worse possibilities.’ She caught sight of a large pink plastic piggy bank on top of the chest. The pig wore a hat which shot up when coins were dropped through the slot in its back.

  Underneath, there was a disc which unscrewed for the contents to be removed. But there was no money in it at the moment.

  ‘Have you any idea how much she might have had in here?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Not much. About a pound, perhaps. I gave her four bob a week. Half to save, half to spend.’

  ‘She can’t go far on a pound.’ Jenny heard her grandfather calling her. She dropped the pig on the bed, and dashed out into the hall. ‘What is it? Have you found her, Grandpa?’

  The Rector shook his head, out of breath. ‘You’re wanted on the telephone, Jenny.’

  ‘Who is it? I can’t come now.’

  ‘It’s the police.’

  ‘The police? - For me?’ Jenny said blankly.

  ‘I took the number and told them you would ring them back from here.’ Her grandfather gave her a slip of paper.

  After she had dialled the number, it seemed an eternity before a voice answered. Quickly she gave her name, then waited again while the call was put through to an extension. Beside her, almost touching her, Simon stood tense with leashed impatience.

  Instinctively, thinking only of the torment of anxiety he was suffering, she slipped her free hand into his. His face showed no change of expression, but his fingers closed over hers.

  ‘Hello? Miss Shannon here.’ Holding her breath, she listened to the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Yes ... yes, I see. Just a moment, please.’

  She took the receiver from her ear. ‘Oh, Simon, they’ve got her. She’s all right.’

  Simon’s grip tightened until Jenny winced with pain.

  Then he moved away and sat down in the nearest chair, raking a hand through his crisp dark hair in a gesture of inexpressible relief.

  It was several minutes before Jenny rang off, expelling a long sigh of thankfulness.

  ‘Polly is at the railway station in town,’ she explained.

  ‘She’s quite safe, and the station police will look after her until we fetch her. They rang me because she gave them my name and address. We’d better go at once.’

  Simon nodded, already on his feet. Since hearing the child was safe, Mrs. Rose had been crying again, with Mrs.

  Shannon trying to soothe her.

  ‘We’ll stay with her until you come back, Mr. Gilchrist,’

  she said.

  ‘Thank you ... if you would. Come on, Jenny.’

  It was not until they had passed through the village and out of the restricted speed zone that Jenny said, ‘Where did your sister live, Simon?’

  ‘In York.’ He overtook a lorry and, with the road clear ahead, accelerated. The big car surged forward, the needle flickering up towards the fifties.

  ‘That’s where Polly was going ... or trying to go.’ He did not answer. The speedometer reading was sixty now and, with little traffic about, he kept his foot hard down on the throttle until they reached the outskirts of the town.

  A British Railways police sergeant was looking out for them at the main entrance to the station buildings. ‘Miss Shannon? Come this way, will you, Miss. The little girl is in our office.’

  ‘This is Mr. Gilchrist, her uncle and guardian,’ Jenny explained.

  ‘Good evening, sir. I think, if you’ve no objection, it might be best for the young lady to see the child first.

  When we told her you were coming to collect her, she was very upset and scared. Thinks you’ll punish her, I daresay.’

  The sergeant’s face was impassive, but something in his tone suggested that little girls of eight did not run away from home without good reason.

  ‘Certainly,’ Simon said tersely.

  Jenny sprang to his defence. ‘It’s not Mr. Gilchrist’s fault that Polly ran away,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘He’s been wonderful to her.’

  The sergeant looked slightly taken aback. He opened a door off the booking hall. ‘In here, please, miss.’

  Jenny looked at Simon. To her surprise, she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. She flashed him an uncertain smile, and preceded them into the office.

  Polly was in an inner room with a young police constable. She was sitting on a chair, her spindly legs dangling short of the floor, her teddy bear clutched to her chest. She was not crying now, but her eyelids were red, her grubby cheeks streaked with tear marks. When Jenny opened the door, a look of pathetic apprehension came into her thin little face.

  ‘Oh, Polly ... Polly darling!’

  Jenny flew across the room and folded the child in her arms.

  ‘Aren’t you angry?’ Polly whispered presently.

  The constable had tactfully withdrawn, closing the door behind him.

  Jenny knelt back on her heels, but kept her arms round Polly’s waist.

  ‘No, I’m not angry, pet - and nor is Uncle Simon. We’re too happy at finding you safe. You gave us a dreadful fright.’

  ‘Where’s Uncle Simon?’

  ‘In the next room. Have you had any tea?’

  Polly shook her head. ‘The policeman brought me some milk and that cake, but I wasn’t hungry.’

  ‘Well, I am. I think it would be a good idea if we all had something to eat before we go home, don’t you?’ Jenny stood up, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and led her through to the outer office. ‘Polly and I are starving. Could we have a quick snack in the buffet, Simon?’ she suggested, in a matter-of-fact voice.

  ‘By all means. I’m a bit peckish myself. Hello, Polly.’

  Simon ruffled the child’s hair, and turned to thank the sergeant for looking after her.

  Outside the office, Polly tugged Jenny’s sleeve and murmured something.

  Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, of course, pet. Look, there’s the cloakroom over there, and here’s a penny. You give it to the lady inside and she’ll look after you while Uncle Simon and I ring up Mrs. Rose and tell her when we’ll be home.’

  After the child had trotted off to the cloakroom, she said to Simon, ‘She’s very strung up. I haven’t asked the whys and wherefores yet. I think some food is a priority. It’s nearly six hours since her lunch.’

  He nodded. ‘Whatever you say. I’ll phone the house from that kiosk.’

  In the station buffet, they had tea and baked beans on toast. Deliberately, Jenny kept up a flow of inconsequential small-talk, and Simon followed her lead. Soon, with some food inside her and the two grown-ups behaving as if nothing extraordinary had happened, Polly began to look less pinched and nervous.

  Driving home, she sat between them on the broad bench seat. Presently her eyelids began to flicker. As her head nodded, Jenny slipped an arm round her. A few minutes later, Polly was fast asleep.

  ‘She’s exhausted,’ Jenny said softly. ‘With any luck we can pop her straight into bed and she’ll sleep like a log till the morning.’

  Simon glanced down at the child, his dark eyes troubled.

  ‘Thank God she hadn’t enough money for the fare to York. If she had, it’s possible she might have got a ticket without anyone thinking twice about her. Have you any idea why she did it, Jenny?’

  She had, but she shook her head. ‘I expect she’ll pour it all out in the morning. It probably won’t make much sense.

  Children are strange little creatures. They often get some weird ideas. Don’t worry, Simon. I’m sure she’ll never do it again. And it does show she’s got a lot of pluck, you know.’

  Back at the house, he carried Polly to her room, and Jenny took off the child’s raincoat and button-through dress, and tucked her into bed in her underclothes. The child stirred and muttered, but she did not wake up.

  ‘I should leave your door open tonight, Simon. She might have a bad dream later,’ Jenny said quietly, as they left the room.

  ‘Yes, I will. Yo
u must be tired yourself after all this.

  Would you like a drink?’

  Now that the emergency was over, self-consciousness returned. ‘No, thank you, I’d better go home. Granny and Grandpa will want to know what happened,’ she said hastily - for the Shannons had returned to the Rectory, and Mrs. Rose was busy in the kitchen. ‘Good night, Simon.’

  ‘Jenny—’ He made a movement towards her, then changed his mind. ‘Good night,’ he said, after a pause.

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  About eleven o’clock the following morning, Jenny picked some beans in the kitchen garden. When she returned to the kitchen, her grandmother said, ‘Mr.

  Gilchrist is here, dear. He’s in the study with your grandfather. He told me Polly had had a good night, and then he asked to see Giles. I thought he looked rather worried. I wonder what has happened now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Jenny said perplexedly. She sat down at the table, and began to string and slice the young beans, her expression troubled and speculative.

  When she had finished them, her grandmother said, ‘I’ll pop in to see Miss Wiltshire while I’m in the village. Could you cut a bunch of flowers while I’m getting ready, dear?’

  Jenny went into the garden again. But, when she came back, by way of the hall, the study door was still closed.

  ‘I expect they would like some coffee,’ Mrs. Shannon suggested on her way out.

  Jenny made coffee, and opened a new packet of her grandfather’s favourite whole meal biscuits. She could hear Simon’s voice as she tapped on the study door. Then her grandfather called, ‘Come in.’

  ‘Elevenses, Grandpa. Good morning,’ - to Simon. She gave him a nervous smile as he rose from his chair at her entrance.

  ‘Not for me, I’m afraid. I’m late for an appointment already. But you’ll have something, won’t you, Gilchrist?’

  The Rector collected together some papers, patted his pockets to make sure he had his pipe on him, and checked the time by his old-fashioned pocket watch. ‘Dear me, nearly half past eleven. I must be off.’

  ‘How is Polly this morning?’ Jenny asked, when he had left them.