Chapter Ten

 

It was round about the time in the late summer of 1946, when the shrubbery was at its greenest and the flowers had just past their prime, that I met Montague Blythe-Summers. He was a merchant banker in the City and had visited Aunt Martha on some business connected with her War bonds and City shares, of which she had many. Apparently he was quite a frequent visitor to the Manse, but I had never met him, or even heard of him before. He was a man of mature years, looking if anything, younger than forty-three, with black hair, heavily streaked with grey and with almost snow-white sideburns, which contrasted against his deeply, tanned face. I thought he might be of Spanish or Italian origin when I first saw him, but his name suggested nothing but pure English aristocracy... or so it seemed. I’d never heard the name before and I hated double-barrel names anyway. His dress was conservative and very, very elegant, with his silk tie and hankie to match, in the upper pocket of his immaculate pin stripe suit. His shirt cuffs were two inches below his sleeve at the wrist and I imagined he had planned it just that way. He spoke with an impeccable command of the English language as he shifted, with contrived swaying movements on the carpet, emphasizing his footwear, which shone in two colours of leather. In short, Aunt Martha obviously regarded this gentleman as the bee’s knees the perfect English gentleman... and she was disappointed that he should show any interest in me, but she need not have worried... for I was not in the least interested in her friend at all. Oh, he was nice enough, but equally old enough to be my father and he made it quite clear that he would have liked to get to know me better. I wondered why he hadn’t got married earlier in his life.

I came into the library at the Manse one afternoon to transfer some books there from Rowan Trees. Daddy and Emily had a similar taste in literature and we had so many duplicate books at the old house in the country. It was on one of those occasions when Blythe-Summers was making his visit to advise Aunt Martha on her financial affairs and I found him standing by the fireplace in the library reading Emily Bronte’s ‘Wuthering Heights’. (I found it open on the mantelpiece after he had gone) He turned round with a start, to face me as I came into the room, laden with my burden of literary ‘knowledge’ and came forward immediately to help me carry the load to the centre table.

“You must be Miss Greenwood’s niece … am I right?” he said with a broad smile. I hadn’t noticed his moustache before and I wasn’t going to explain that my relationship to Aunt Martha was simply through the marriage of her sister to my father. I nodded... thinking that if he had known Aunt Martha for such a long time, he must have realized that she had no niece, but it didn’t seem to mean much anyway and I think he was trying to make small talk and any introduction would have sufficed.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before... Miss … er... Miss “

“Barrington-Smythe,” I answered and immediately thought how unnecessary it was to use the double barrel name, especially now that daddy had gone and as I said, I never really like it. I decided in that instant to change it as soon as I could.

“How nice to see you at last, Miss Barrington-Smythe. Your aunt has told me a lot about you.”

I smiled... thinking was it good or bad, but he made no further comment on that score.

“My name is Blythe-Summers... please call me Monty....” he stopped and a smile played around his lips. “My name is Montague, but my friends call me Monty.”

I moved towards the ladder with some books in my hands, but he got there first.

“Please allow me,” he said and rolled the ladder in the direction in which I was walking. We settled the books in catalogue order and I made the entries in the file near the latticed window at the far end of the library. When I had done that, I thanked him for his kindness and made towards the library door, as his over powering attention was beginning to embarrass me, but he moved in front of me and stood there where I was unable to pass.

. “Would you consider it impulsive of me if I should ask you to have dinner with me this evening?” he said, but I made an excuse and told him that I wouldn’t be free for at least two weeks, due to the pressure of work at Rowan Trees, but I didn’t give him my address.

“Perhaps I could telephone you sometime... to make arrangements... Miss....”

I sighed and knew he would not desist.

“My name is Francesca... and my friends …” I stopped speaking at that point, but he reached out to touch my hand.

“What a beautiful name,” he remarked... as I expected he would... It was common chat-up in the army and not in the least original. “And friends …they call you …”

I was sorry I had spoken as I had done and his dark eyes appeared dull for a second in comparison to the way he looked when we first met. I glanced down at his hand,which was by now touching my arm and I pulled it away.

“Frannie,” I said with reluctance and looked to the floor.

“It has been a pleasure meeting you Francesca. May I be your friend and call you Frannie?”

I raised my eyebrows and manoeuvred past him to leave the room.

“Sunday... next Sunday perhaps,” he called after me, “ Nobody ever works on a Sunday.”

I wondered how I could get out of that one as I turned to face him again. There was a simple, trusting, little-boy-lost look in his eyes as he stood there and against my better judgement, because I wasn’t sure if I liked this man, or not... I agreed... after all, it was only a dinner. He smiled broadly.

“I shall call for you then... around 6.30 pm on Sunday, if that is agreeable?”

I said that would be fine and left him still standing with some books in his hand and made my way back to Rowan Trees, resolving that I would be at the Manse on that Sunday for 6.30 so that he could pick me up there. I didn’t want my life at Rowan Trees interrupted by anything or anyone. Besides, there were more places for dining out to choose from in London than there were in Banbury.

 

***

 

I didn’t have any plans for that date anyway, but I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the proposed meeting with Montague Blythe-Summers. I think... in fact, I am sure that I still had Darius on my mind and he ruined any other thought I had of romance, if there was any. Aunt Martha wasn’t at all pleased when she heard my news but Jeremy was delighted and called it a ‘hoot’ to my disgust. I felt as though I was being escorted to dinner by a circus clown or some other prize nut.

“Such an old fuddy-duddy Frannie, dahling, “Jeremy said cynically, “but he’s loaded with the old spondulux an’ he’ll give you a whale of a time.”

I began to worry even more about what I was letting myself in for. There was something about Mr. Blythe-Summers that I couldn’t quite fathom... but then, I told myself again and again... it was only a dinner date and I had plenty of time before that meeting to find out all I wanted to know about the... dear Monty. Time would tell and I had an abundance of that on my hands.