by Paul Halter
2
The marriage was set for the end of September. Paula was to join her betrothed in London three days beforehand. She and Patrick decided to have a farewell evening together the evening before her departure.
They dined in a cosy restaurant in Newquay where, well lubricated with champagne, they were noticeable by their exuberance and irrepressible hilarity, unaffected by reproachful looks from some of the other diners.
It was a warm night, considering it was nearly autumn, and the stars shone brilliantly against the velvet background of the sky. And so it was that, in the taxi on the way back to Padstow, they decided to visit their little cove one last time.
They climbed to the top of the cliffs in silence, where they looked out over the sea, calm and powerful as it sparkled under the stars. As they suddenly became conscious of the majesty of the scene before them, their madcap evening seemed to dwindle into insignificance. Paula was the first to react.
‘What an evening!’ she observed, as they descended the path down to the cove in a leisurely manner.
‘You haven’t been altogether reasonable, madam,’ declared Patrick, in mock seriousness.
‘And whose fault is that?’ whispered the young woman. ‘Frankly, Patrick, if I didn’t know better, I might believe your intentions weren’t entirely honourable.’
‘I forced you to drink? It was you who profited from my sadness—yes, I admit I’m sorry to see you go—to top up my glass whenever my back was turned.’
Paula didn’t reply right away. Once they were on the beach, she took off her shoes and said, with a smile:
‘So, you’re sad to see me go?’
Patrick smiled back:
‘A little, yes.’
‘Well, you certainly hid it well. You were paying the fool the entire evening—a pretty strange way to express sadness.’
‘And you, who were the star attraction of the evening with your endless stream of jokes, are obviously filled with joy at the prospect of leaving.’
Paula placed her hands on her hips in a gesture of defiance:
‘And whose fault was that, may I ask?’
Patrick looked thoughtful.
‘Come to think of it, if Francis had seen the way you were carrying on, I very much doubt he would have approved.’
‘What he would approve of even less is to see you and me together on this beach at this hour of the night.’
‘Good point.’
They both burst out laughing as they ran towards the sea. Waves lapped their feet as Paula looked up to the sky.
‘The moon is fascinating. I can feel its influence on me. It’s as if a magical force is taking me away. Magical, yes, and even evil.’
‘There she goes again,’ chuckled Patrick.
‘Oh, Moon, Queen of the Night, put a curse on this unfortunate mortal grovelling at my feet and hopelessly in love….’
‘Just talk, my sweet,’ exclaimed Patrick, ‘and as for taste—.’
‘Let’s go for a swim.’
Patrick was stunned.
‘A swim?’
‘Yes. It’s almost midnight, and it seems to be the done thing.’
‘If I remember correctly,’ replied Patrick, feigning detachment, ‘that sort of activity is performed… without clothes.’
‘Precisely,’ said Paula. She suddenly ran her hand through his hair, laughing. ‘If you could see yourself. You look like a hedgehog. In any case, rest assured I shan’t allow you to feast your eyes on my divine form,’ she added, closing her eyes and shaking her head. ‘It’s much too dangerous.’
‘Your wish is my command, my beautiful friend. So, how to proceed?’
‘You turn round and count to a hundred. Then you call to me and I wait for you with my back turned.’
Patrick let out a deep sigh.
‘My sweet, I’ve always know you had a perverse side, reserved exclusively for me. Since we’ve known each other, you’ve never stopped provoking me, directly or indirectly. But I shall submit to this last test just as stoically as the others.’
Paula raised a little finger.
‘My dear friend, I deduce from what you’ve just said that you’ve always, deep down, had a secret desire for me.’
‘Exactly, my divine beauty. And that’s why, in an ultimate act of perversion, I pushed you into the arms of another.’
The midnight swim was punctuated by numerous accusations and protestations, each suspecting the other of cheating with sly sidelong glances.
When they finally ended up side by side, their playful banter continued until Paula ended up pushing Patrick’s head under water.
When they finally got back to the beach, regaining their clothes proved just as delicate an operation as removing them. As they lay side by side on the sand again, Paula observed:
‘If my parents catch me coming back with my hair all wet and covered in sand, I’m going to be in trouble.’
‘Just tell them I drank a little too much and pushed you in the water.’ The tone of his voice suddenly changed. ‘You know, you’re not bad at all.’
‘Well, that’s quite a discovery. What exactly do you mean?’
‘I’m talking about… your anatomy.’
‘Wretch! I knew you weren’t playing the game.’
‘Not at all, I just said that to embarrass you. But I do admit I was sorely tempted to steal a glance.’
‘Your frankness honours you and should be rewarded.’
Patrick sighed. ‘What’s she up to now?’
‘Close your eyes and count to ten,’ replied Paula, in a tone far too polite to be sincere.
‘All right, but now I’m suspicious.’
When he opened his eyes again, Patrick’s first reaction was surprise in not having been a victim of one of his companion’s pranks. His second surprise was to see her sitting on the sand in exactly the same position as before.
‘About this rewar—.’
He didn’t finish the sentence. His gaze fell first on the pretty pink blouse which lay on the sand next to some lingerie. He looked up slowly to see the most ravishing of sirens. The illusion was perfect. Paula’s legs, slightly bent, were moulded by the soft tissue of her skirt. And the ringlets of her hair, draped over her graceful shoulders, barely concealed the delicious curves beneath.
‘P-Paula,’ he stammered in wondrous bewilderment.
Several seconds of flustered silence followed, after which the young woman picked up her clothes and put them back on.
‘That will be my last act of madness tonight,’ she smiled.
‘I’m speechless… What a souvenir to remember!’
‘And to think I had to reveal part of my charms for you to finally appreciate my beauty!’
‘I plead guilty. Guilty of being totally blind… until the very last day.’
Paula gave a tinkling laugh.
‘My dear Patrick, to hear you one would almost think you’ll be sorry to see me go.’
He approached her and gave her a strange look.
‘How long have we known each other, Paula?’
‘Almost eight years.’
‘And during all those eight years—I can tell you this now—I never thought about kissing you… except once.’
‘Well, that’s news to me. And when was that?’
‘When we went for that walk in St. Ives, two years ago. We got caught in a shower and took shelter under porch. We stood there a long time without speaking, do you remember?’
‘Yes, and I can tell you now what a twirp you were for not taking advantage. Why the reticence?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe because we’d always been friends.’
It was Paula’s turn to fall silent. They were very close to each other now and Patrick looked into the young woman’s beautiful blue eyes as if he were seeing them for the first time. The little gleam of mischief was still there, but now there was something new which he didn’t recognise.
It must be said in his defence that he was so disoriented by her ex
pression that he couldn’t think what to do next. Afterwards, he realised there was nothing new in her expression that sweet September night, but that he had finally recognised something that had been engraved deep in his being since she had first asked him which day Queen Victoria had been born.
The young man’s lips slowly approached those of his companion.
Paula offered no resistance.
The moon bathed the silent beach in its silver light. A convenient cloud blocked its light for a short moment and seemed to smile when the pink blouse dropped on to the sand for the third time that night….
The next morning, Patrick accompanied Paula to the station. The young woman’s parents were also present. They would be taking the same train two days later to meet up with her in London. The young man didn’t hear their parting words, but he did see Paula smiling at him tenderly through the compartment window. Through the softness of her blue eyes he relived the epilogue to their nocturnal idyll.
‘My Goodness, Patrick, what have we done?’
‘One last act of madness,’ he had sighed. ‘Any regrets?’
Paula, a half-smile on her lips, had shaken her head slowly.
‘Nor I, Paula, I—.’
‘Call me darling. You still have the right for a few minutes more.’
‘I… I’ll never forget this night.’
‘Which will forever remain a dear, sweet secret.’
‘Our secret, my darling.’
They had stopped at the top of the cliffs to exchange a long kiss, which they had sworn would be their last and that their adventure would stop there and then. But they had broken that promise several more times so that, even though the distance from the cove to their respective homes was short, it was three o’clock in the morning when they had called each other darling for the last time.
A whistle blew and the train started. With a curious sentiment he didn’t try to define, Patrick watched it leave.
When it was out of sight, Mrs. Lyle asked:
‘Are you two going to stay there? I’ll go and buy the tickets. No sense in leaving it to the last minute.
Arthur Lyle made a sign of agreement and turned to the young man:
‘Now the women have left, we can talk seriously. I know you were a large influence in Paula’s marriage.’
Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but the other cut him off:
‘Paula was very hesitant. Heaven only knows why. My long experience told me that Francis was a good man in every respect. But women…,’ he said, raising his eyes to the heavens. ‘You always have to point them in the right direction.’
He put his arm around Patrick and continued:
‘You know, my boy, it’s not always easy for a father to talk to his daughter, particularly if she needs convincing about something. Paula told me it was you who convinced her.’ He looked Patrick straight in the eye, with respect. ‘I know you’ve always been a true friend to Paula, a loyal, honest friend. So, as her father, let me thank you for all you have done for her.’
Patrick whistled a tune as he arrived home, in order to maintain an air of composure. But the vicious kick he aimed at an innocent dustbin gave the lie to his apparent good humour.
3
The marriage of Francis Hilton and Paula Lyle took place on the appointed day, and Sarah, Francis’s sister, wed Harris Thorne two months later. At this point, the narration skips directly to the following spring, to the St. John’s Wood area of London, and the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Howard Hilton, the parents of Francis and Sarah.
Looking worried, Howard Hilton watched mechanically as his wife poured him a cup of tea. Dorothy, slightly built and with nondescript features, attracted attention only for the lack of expression in her pale blue eyes. Anyone who knew them well would not have failed to notice how much Howard Hilton had changed in recent months. He still retained the simple dignity and frank and friendly regard which came naturally to him, but his gestures betrayed a suppressed nervousness totally out of character. He’d just lost his job with the small manufacturer of wooden toys where he’d worked all his life and was one of the best employees. It had changed hands following the death of the owner and there was no more place for him. Despite being out of work at fifty-five, the prospect of finding a new job wasn’t what was worrying him, nor was his financial situation, which wasn’t exactly brilliant. His daughter’s wedding hadn’t cost him a penny—his son-in-law had dismissed his offer of a contribution with a wave of his hand—but it was nevertheless there that the source of his worry lay.
Sipping his tea, he looked around the room he’d known for twenty years. While not luxurious, the lounge was comfortable and the two large windows overlooking the garden on which he had lavished so much care provided plenty of light.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Howard: you’re upset at the idea of leaving here. But what choice do we have? And, to tell you the truth, the idea of going to live in a manor doesn’t displease me at all. You don’t seem to realise that we’ll no longer need to count every penny as we’ve had to do all our lives. And the children will be close to us. We’re very blessed to have a son-in-law like Harris.’
Harris. Harris Thorne. Howard didn’t seem able to get that name out of his head, for several reasons. First, he’d married his daughter. Second, he was rich, very rich… too rich. His parents had left him a comfortable inheritance and, at thirty-eight years of age, he was at the head of a successful bicycle manufacturing firm in Coventry, which he directed with competence and authority. His powerful voice, thunderous outbursts of laughter and generosity gained sympathy from all who knew him. Despite his tendency to impose his views, it never seemed to occur to anyone to contradict him, at least openly.
His brother Brian, discreet and silent, didn’t resemble him at all. He lived as a recluse, with a couple of servants, in a manor not far from Cheltenham. He spent most of his time shut up in his room, only leaving it for the occasional country walk, where he wandered aimlessly with his head down and a faraway look in his eye. Naturally, the upkeep of the property fell to Harris, the only one capable of assuming the expense. Since the beginning of the year, the manor had undergone extensive renovation: Harris had decided to make it his principal residence and had invited Francis and Paula and their parents to move in with Sarah and himself. Paula, who had failed to adapt to the hectic rhythm of London, jumped at the idea of a rural life. Francis, who, thanks to his generous brother-in-law had an interesting job with good prospects of advancement, was just as enthusiastic.
As for Howard Hilton, it was, paradoxically, just such a prospect which tormented him. In addition, Harris had made it clear to his parents-in-law that they would be able to lead a peaceful existence, without worries of any sort. And, as a balm to their dignity, he’d asked if they’d help him supervise the staff—in exchange for a decent remuneration, of course.
‘You’re right, of course,’ Howard Hilton said to his wife in a mournful voice. ‘Harris is an irreproachable fellow.’
‘I don’t understand you, Howard, I really don’t. Our situation leaves us no choice. Why hesitate?’
‘I could say it’s because we’d no longer have our peaceful home or our independence, but that’s not it.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Sarah came to see us the other day. How did you find her?’
‘Well, she did seem a bit… But you know as well as I do, she’s always been a very nervous child.’
‘I know, but I’ve never seen her so tense. Didn’t she say anything to you? I saw you in the garden and you seemed to be talking about a serious matter….’
Mrs. Hilton put down the piece of cake which she’d been nibbling.
‘Yes and no. She told me she hadn’t been feeling well recently and that Harris… Well, you know she has a difficult character and the first months of marriage aren’t always plain sailing. She talked to me about Harris, the long hours he puts in, his habits and his temperament… They’ve had a few stormy rows. But nothing to get unduly alarmed about: perhaps you’ve
forgotten about the time you stamped on mama’s hat because you were furious about—.’
‘That’s not the point. I have a feeling that Sarah has absolutely no desire to live an isolated life in the Cotswolds with, by way of company, Harris’s brother who doesn’t seem quite right in the head.’
‘How can you say that? You’ve only seen him once, at her marriage.’
‘That’s quite enough to form an impression. The two brothers are nothing like each other. In appearance, at least. There are a few points in common. Harris is also capable of—.’
‘Howard!’ protested Mrs. Hilton. ‘How can you talk like that? I’d like you to explain once and for all what you’ve got against him. Incidentally, when Sarah first introduced us, I noticed you didn’t seem very enthusiastic.’
Mr. Hilton hesitated.
‘Listen, Dorothy, I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not the age difference, in any case. Even though fifteen years… No. Incompatible personalities, perhaps. Sarah’s not in the habit of allowing herself to be walked on, and obviously neither is he. He’s more likely to crush other people.’ A mischievous gleam appeared in his eye. ‘While we’re on the subject, my dear, why don’t you tell me what you’ve got against Paula, that sweet young thing? You’ve never said anything, but I know there’s something about her you absolutely can’t stand. Isn’t it true?’
‘What an idea, Howard… No, I’ve nothing at all against her, even though… At times she gives the impression of being—how to put it?—light-headed? Frivolous?’
‘Light-headed or frivolous?’ exclaimed Howard. ‘Paula? Good grief, Dorothy, you’re full of surprises. She just likes a good laugh, that’s all. I’ve always suspected you’d consider any wife of your son, whoever she may be, as some sort of thief.’
‘Which just goes to show how little you know me,’ sniffed Mrs. Hilton, in the tone of an outraged queen.
Howard Hilton picked up the newspaper, then threw it down in frustration and lit a cigarette.
‘I don’t feel happy about the situation,’ he sighed. ‘A family united all together under the same roof, in an old manor, with a generous and very rich man. If this were a novel, it would end in tragedy.’
