That Man Simon (15 page)

He was wearing a dinner jacket and, as she gave him a covert glance as they went along, her heart turned over.

For an instant her resolve weakened, but she looked quickly away and steeled herself to keep to her carefully planned tactics.

The Warings’ dining-room had been cleared for dancing, but the first arrivals were congregated in the garden at the back of the house. Chinese lanterns and fairy-lights had been hung among the trees and shrubs, and a brick barbecue oven had been set up.

Fenella must have been looking out for Simon. The moment he and Jenny walked out through the glass doors of the dining-room, she left some other guests and came swiftly towards them, unable to hide her amazement at the sight of Jenny looking as if she had stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

Fenella herself was wearing a dress of lime chiffon with sprays of pearl and crystal embroidery all over the skirt. It was a lovely dress, but it was really too elaborate and formal for the occasion. Jenny silently blessed Alison’s generosity. For the first time in her life, she experienced the subtle feminine delight of wearing something with so much understated chic that it made Fenella’s frock seem fussy and overdressed.

As she anticipated, the older girl quickly introduced her into a group of guests, and swept Simon off to meet some other people. With sardonic amusement, Jenny observed that all the girls who had come without escorts, were either unattractive or badly dressed. Clearly, Fenella intended to be the belle of her party.

‘You look jolly smart tonight, Jenny,’ John Barton said, when she saw him standing by himself, and went over to talk to him.

‘Thank you, John. Come and dance with me. I don’t know many of the people here.’ She slipped her hand through his arm and drew him towards the dining room.

She hated to see him looking so glum, following Fenella about with his eyes, waiting for her to toss him a smile or a word in passing.

She danced twice with John and then he explained that he was in charge of the barbecue and had better go and see if Fenella wanted him to start cooking yet.

As he left her, a man she didn’t know came over and introduced himself and asked her to dance. He danced much better than John, and flirted with her too. Knowing Simon was also dancing, Jenny smiled and let him draw her close and murmur outrageous flatteries in her ear.

It was dusk, and the Chinese lanterns glowed crimson and yellow and emerald among the leaves, when the dancing stopped for the supper break.

Jenny sat in a deck chair with a man called Clive something leaning on the back of it, and another man called Toby sitting on a rug beside her, and another man whose name she had not caught plying her with frankfurters and kebabs. Her pale hair gleamed in the lantern-light, her eyes sparkled, and she laughed and chattered and sipped a Vodkatini, as if she were quite accustomed to being surrounded by admiring males.

It was simple, she discovered. A slinky dress ... some French scent ... a vivacious manner ... and it was as easy as batting one’s eyelashes. Not that any of the three men had the smallest attraction for her. But that wasn’t the point of the exercise.

‘May I have a dance with you, Jenny?’

She looked up into Simon’s eyes, pretending she had not seen him coming, pretending she had forgotten he was present.

‘Oh ... Simon. Yes, of course.’ She gave her glass to Toby, with a smile for Clive and the other man. ‘Excuse me.’

It was not until they were in the dining-room that she recognized the record on the radiogram. It was the one Simon had given her. Nat King Cole singing Wild Is Love.

Simon slipped his arm round her waist. His left hand closed over hers. She knew he was looking down at her.

She had been prepared to dance with him - but not to this special song. Every nerve in her body responded to his nearness, and she longed for him to hold her closer.

‘Heavenly party, isn’t it?’ she said in a gay, brittle voice.

Simon did not answer, and she forced herself to tilt her head and smile at him. ‘Aren’t you enjoying yourself, Simon?’

‘I want to talk to you - alone.’ As they passed the door to the hall, he suddenly stopped dancing and propelled her through it.

There were lights on in the Warings’ lounge, but no one in there. Simon shut the door and stood with his back to it.

His expression was unreadable.

Someone had left a full cocktail glass on the coffee table.

Jenny picked it up and ate the cherry in it.

‘May I have a cigarette?’ she asked nonchalantly.

‘You don’t smoke, and you’ve had quite enough to drink tonight.’

Three paces brought him beside her. He took the glass from her hand and tipped the contents into a flower vase.

‘Is gin good for flowers, do you think?’ she said, turning away to a looking glass.

Yes, he could be forgiven for thinking she had had too many Vodkatinis. Her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks flushed. He would never believe that she had had only one drink since she arrived, and had tipped three more discreetly into a bird bath.

‘I thought you wanted to dance with me, Simon?’ she said, as he came to stand behind her.

‘Why are you putting on this act? What are you playing at, Jenny?’ he said curtly.

‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply enjoying myself. That’s what parties are for, isn’t it?’ She smoothed back a loosened tendril of hair, and smiled at him through the mirror. ‘Being a clergyman’s granddaughter doesn’t debar me from having a good time, you know.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Is all this for my benefit?’

Jenny’s smile faded. ‘What an extraordinary idea! I didn’t even know you were going to be here.’

‘Didn’t you?’ He took her by the shoulders and turned her round. ‘I’m willing to bet you were pretty sure I would be.’

She stood very still beneath his hands. He was less than a foot away from her.

‘My dear Simon, are you under the impression that your advent in the village has set all the girls agog? We did dress up for parties before you arrived, you know. This may be the country, but it’s not the back of beyond. May I go back to the others now?’

‘No, you may not, you little idiot.’ He spoke through set teeth, and his dark eyes were suddenly fierce. ‘Where’s your bag? I’m taking you home right away.’

‘Indeed you are not. The party won’t finish for hours,’

she said indignantly. ‘And I’m going home with Toby or Clive. Let me go, Simon.’

‘And if I won’t?’ he asked silkily, his fingers tightening.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said icily. ‘I want to go back into the garden.’

‘If you can’t cope with me, how are you going to manage Toby or Clive when they’re three parts tight and bent on making a pass at you?’

A tremor went through her, and she made a futile attempt to shrug off his lean brown hands. ‘I’d trust them a great deal further than I would you,’ she said, in a goaded voice.

The moment the words were out, she knew she had gone too far. But, before she could stammer a retraction, he jerked her against him and kissed her.

It was an embrace which left her pale and breathless and shocked. Shocked - not by the way he had kissed her - but by her own uncontrollable response. She had not even attempted to resist him. If he had not known how she felt before, he must surely know now. The moment he let go of her, she was appalled. Trembling with mortification, she stepped back and gave him a stinging slap.

There was a moment of ghastly silence. Then, with the imprint of her hand still reddening his cheek, Simon said, ‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice was low and controlled, but the contempt in his eyes made her cringe.

Before she could say anything, he turned and strode out of the room. She heard him leave the house, and a few moments later, drive away.

John Barton took her home and when they passed Flint House the garage was open and there was no car inside. It was after one o’clock when she heard a car slow down in the road and knew it must be Simon returning from wherever he had been since eleven. With the scarlet dress lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the silver ring glinting in the moonlight, Jenny buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

A week dragged by, and she longed for school to start again so that she would have less time to think what a mess she had made of her life. There was a notice on the door of James’s surgery giving the address and telephone number of the nearest veterinary surgeon during his absence. He had taken his mother for a quiet holiday on the south coast. A locum was replacing Doctor Mason while he and his family were in Wales. Other people were away, too; and many of the women and older village children were bean-picking or lifting potatoes.

In the second week after Fenella’s party Jenny met Mrs.

Rose outside the ironmonger’s. She would have said ‘Good morning’ and hurried past, but the older woman stopped for a chat.

‘You haven’t been round to see us lately, Miss Shannon.’

‘No. I - I’ve been rather busy,’ Jenny said lamely. ‘How’s Polly?’

‘She doesn’t seem to have picked up after her cold,’ the housekeeper said, shaking her head. ‘I’m quite anxious about her. She’s lost her appetite, and she seems to be fretting about something. I wish you could spare the time to pop in and see her, Miss Shannon. You might be able to cheer her up. She’s missed you this past fortnight.’

Jenny did not know what to say. She could not possibly go to Simon’s house now, nor did she feel she could invite Polly round to the Rectory. Yet the abrupt cessation of her friendship with the child weighed heavily on her conscience.

‘We see plenty of that Miss Waring these days,’ the housekeeper went on, pursing her mouth. ‘If she’s not on the doorstep, she’s on the telephone. I don’t take to her myself, and neither does Polly. It’s plain what she’s after.’

Some drops of rain gave Jenny a pretext to escape, but Mrs. Rose said she had finished her shopping and would walk home with her.

‘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.