CHAPTER THREE

While she was ill, a temporary truce had been called. Now that she was better, it was war again. He went back to being Awesome Mouth, an implacable stranger who wouldn’t listen to her appeal to be allowed to stay for Stephanie’s sake, and took every opportunity to treat her like a child. If, sometimes, the mask slipped and he looked at her as though she were a woman, he soon got it back in place again. Her own awareness of him as a man was dealt with just as efficiently.

She had always prided herself on being a resolute person of firm character with a set pattern of beliefs to subscribe to. There was an inseparable link between loving and liking. She couldn’t like someone as domineering and as unreasonable as David. She couldn’t love someone she didn’t like. So where was the problem?

She told herself she was infatuated with the novelty of him. She had never met a man like him before, and she’d never meet the likes of him again, she thought wistfully. She was at it again, cluttering up the issue with her petty feelings, when it was Stephanie who mattered.

‘You’re not going to let me stay, are you?’

‘No.’

‘When I’ve gone, who’s going to look after Stephanie?’

‘I am.’

‘Don’t you have a job to follow?’

‘I do. I also have a considerable amount of leave due to me. I’m taking it now. When the time comes for me to resume work, I should have got Stephanie sorted out, and I shall leave her in the care of a sensible, mature woman. Right now, she needs a man’s hand. You’ve ruined her.’

No other accusation could have locked her tongue so effectively. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t ruined Stephanie. It was Annabel’s spoiling that had made Stephanie the unmanageable child she was. But who could blame Annabel for doting on the little girl and cramming a lifetime of spoiling into four years?

She glared at him, as if she could compel him to her way of thinking by force of will.

He laughed. ‘I’ll allow no female to be my master. My mistress, perhaps.’

‘I’m not applying for that job.’

‘You’d get short shrift if you were. Take my advice. Go home to your mother, little girl, and do some growing up.’

* * *

He backed his advice with a rail ticket. She took Stephanie to play-school one morning, and knew she couldn’t be there to fetch her home. She would be—if David didn’t change his mind, and he didn’t, and so she was—on a train glancing the miles away.

As she neared home, familiar landmarks came into view. One particular landmark which she always looked out for was a huge hoarding advertising a popular brand of paint. Whenever she saw it, she knew she was home. She saw it now, but without exultation. The warm surge of pleasure she would have felt a few weeks ago was completely lacking.

Mr. Hymes, the friendly ticket collector, was the first of many to recognise her and greet her warmly. ‘Hello, Jan. Good to see you again.’ As she replied she hoped the moistness in her eyes would be put down to homecoming nostalgia. It would be a joy to see her parents. She hadn’t phoned to tell them she was coming, because up to the last minute she had hoped that David would change his mind. Anyway, you don’t have to be formal with parents. What a surprise they would get.

The surprise was on her. The first clue was the quietness of the house as she let herself in. Her mother always worked with the radio on. She had even been known to take her small transistor into the garden with her to help along her unfavourite task of weeding. Thinking her mother had stepped out to the shops, Jan put the kettle on and went to raid the fridge. No milk. Odd.

Perhaps her mother had realised she was out of milk and had gone to get some. But this thought didn’t seem to have a lot of weight to it. In contrast the feeling she had was heavy enough to merit investigation. Upstairs, a count of suitcases told her the worst. One was missing. The medium sized one used for weekending and visits of up to a week’s duration.

She went to bed with only the creakings of the old house for company.

Next day was no better. Without a mother in it, the house she had known since childhood wasn’t a home. Home was a Yorkshire village, two hundred miles away. Was Stephanie missing her? Had she kicked up a fuss when Jan hadn’t been there to meet her yesterday tea-time?

She tried not to think about Stephanie and considered her own plight. She ought to think about getting a job. Because of David’s generosity, he’d paid her up to date and added a most handsome bonus because he said her devoted care of Annabel had been over and above the line of duty, it wasn’t what you might call a vital issue.

Thoughts of Annabel had resurrected her ghost in her mind. Not a spooky ghost, but a ghost with a bright, devil-may-care, admonishing smile. ‘Shame on you,’ it chided. Annabel wouldn’t have moped. She would have taken a long, self-indulgent look at the situation and said with a defiant and spirited lift of her chin, ‘But this isn’t helping me.’ Proud and self-willed, impetuous and fearless to the point of recklessness, she had maintained an envious way of looking at things. Of her own predicament she had said, ‘Yesterday wasn’t too good. Today will be better.’

David might have walked out on her, but he hadn’t found anybody with enough sparkle to replace her.

It was as if Annabel had put a finger to her chin and made her look at the situation squarely. It was all a bit mixed up in her mind, but her thoughts seemed to be following a direction that was not of her pointing, and certainly not to her liking. How could David find comfort or excitement or anything with her, after Annabel?

She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand, rather as a child might have done. The smile that nobody was there to see was a bit wobbly as she turned her attention to practical things. Her mother kept a well-stocked freezer, but if she wanted fresh milk, cheese, eggs and fruit, she would have to make a trip to the supermarket.

Walking down the wide aisles, between the regimented shelves to the blare of canned music, Jan compared it unfavourably with excursions to Alice Spink’s general store where the potatoes were scooped up from a sack, and the yellow country butter was cut from a huge slab. And you weren’t fed entertainment from a speaker, you supplied your own. The shop was the focal point of gossip and gossip was the chief source of entertainment. She remembered how she had been taken in by the apparently slower pace, and had even wondered if the transition from a bustling town to this sleepy village atmosphere would be too great. Until it had dawned on her that it was a fallacy and there was more below-the-surface activity than first met the eye. In the early days she had found the ways of the country people strange, touching, artful and sometimes baffling. They would argue like fury amongst themselves, but they were fiercely loyal to their own and Jan had taken it as a compliment when they opened their ranks to her. All she’d had to do then was battle with the mysteries of the local dialect, and once that was mastered she was home and dry. And not averse to picking up the latest bit of gossip with her order!

‘Jan! Jan Ashton,’ the voice repeated her name insistently. ‘I heard you’d returned to civilisation.’

‘Hello, Sylvia,’ Jan greeted the tall, brown-haired girl coming towards her. She had rounded features, a snub nose, a mouth of generous proportions, and a figure to match. Jan thought it a great pity that her nature wasn’t as pretty as she was, and immediately felt guilty for her lack of charity.

‘I see the rustic scene hasn’t killed you off. Of course, nobody actually dies of boredom. I bet you’re glad to be back.’

Jan fought off her attack of nostalgia for Willowbridge and said: ‘It’s always nice to be home.’

Nothing had altered between them. Although Sylvia’s smile beamed on her, it had neither the warmth nor the naturalness of the sun. It was artificial and met no easy response in Jan. And it wasn’t just the forced nature of her smile, Jan found it difficult not to recall that it was Sylvia who had told her about Martin’s interest in another girl.

‘Have you much more to get?’ Sylvia asked, inspecting the box of eggs and the pack of cheese in Jan’s wire basket.

‘Just some apples and milk,’ Jan replied.

‘I won’t be long either. Wait for me beyond the checkout and I’ll treat you to a coffee and a Danish.’

She couldn’t throw Sylvia’s friendly overture back in her face, and besides which she was wondering if she’d misjudged her about the other. Sylvia was so sweetly eager to prolong the meeting that it hardly seemed possible that she had informed her about Martin and Tara out of malice. Or if she had, perhaps she’d had second thoughts and was sorry and dearly wanted to make amends.

‘All right,’ Jan said, smiling. ‘Only I’m flush so the treat’s on me.’

‘Had a premium bond up or something?’

‘No. I’ve just been paid up.’

‘Oh? It’s not a holiday break then? Have you had the push?’

Jan wished she hadn’t been quite so forthcoming. Sylvia was hardly the best confidante in the world. ‘Not really. My employer has quite recently died and my work commitment came to a natural end.’

‘Oh!’ Sylvia was momentarily nonplussed, although doubtless she would think of some searching questions to ask later.

Over coffee and Danish pastries in the chrome-plated elegance of the adjacent coffee bar (not a patch of the aromatic cosiness of the Coffee Bean at Willowbridge) Sylvia said thoughtfully: ‘You look peaky. Have you been pining for Martin?’

Martin had long since been relegated in her mind as a dear and valued friend. They’d lived within a stone’s throw of each other and his mother had been ‘Aunt’ Dora to her, as hers had been ‘Aunt’ Muriel to him. If Tara hadn’t come along, and she hadn’t subsequently met David, perhaps they might have drifted into marriage without ever knowing there was a deeper love than the fondness they felt for each other, a love as tender as an early summer breeze, as scorching as a rim of fire.

With the genuine affection she would always feel for Martin, Jan fastened eagerly on to his name. ‘How is Martin?’

‘He’ll be better now that you’re back, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Has he been ill?’

Sylvia’s round brown eyes went rounder with glee. She had always relished telling a tale. ‘You don’t know!’ she squealed. ‘Of course, it’s all happened quite recently, but I thought Martin would have written to tell you, or better still, telephoned.’

‘About what?’

Sylvia sat back, taking a ghoulish delight in keeping Jan in suspense. ‘About his break-up with Tara. Everybody but them knew it couldn’t last. I suppose really their temperaments are too much alike. Tara couldn’t manage him as beautiful as you did, Jan. She made it plain from the beginning that she wasn’t going to follow your lead and pamper him out of his moods. I’m not saying that you were weak to let Martin walk all over you the way he did. I accept that it’s some people’s nature to do anything for a quiet life, and very nice too if you can square it with yourself to be like that. I wish I could. The world would be a more tranquil place to live in if there were more people like you.’

No, Sylvia hadn’t changed. She still possessed the knack of getting under the skin. But Jan felt a niggle of sympathy for her. A reasonably clear picture was emerging. Sylvia had always chased Martin. Martin would be feeling low, and perhaps Sylvia had made a bid for him, but he was too wise to be susceptible to flattery and too wary to be caught on the rebound.

All the same, Jan couldn’t resist having a little scratch back. ‘Some people think tranquillity is a euphemism for dullness.’

She thought it odd how you could be different things to different people. For example, tranquillity was something David would not associate with her.

‘You’re not dull. Such a thought never entered my mind.’ She looked at her watch and said disbelievingly: ‘If little Sylvia doesn’t get her skates on she’s going to be late again. I’ve already been ticked off twice this week for being late back from lunch. Work is such a bind. I’ve still a million things to tell you, and I want to know everything that’s happened to you while you’ve been away. I can’t promise for definite, but I might see my way to popping round to your house this evening, if that’s all right?’

‘I’m not sure. I might be going out,’ Jan replied, as offputting as she dare.

‘That won’t matter. If I come and you’re out that will be my hard luck. The walk will do me good.’

* * *

That evening, Jan waited until she was sure Martin would be home from work and then she lifted the telephone and dialled his number.

‘Hello, Martin,’ she said recognising his voice immediately. ‘It’s me, Jan.’

‘How marvellous! Where are you phoning from, you gorgeous psychic creature? You must have known I needed cheering up.’

‘I’m at home.’

‘Better and better. When can I see you? Now? If you haven’t eaten, perhaps we could grab a bite to eat somewhere. Please say yes, Jan, for old times’ sake.’

She didn’t want to start anything up again with Martin, but because of the way he’d worded the invitation it would seem churlish of her to refuse. ‘Yes, then.’

‘Great. Where would you like to go?’

Not sure what he had in mind, a proper meal or a bar snack, she replied: ‘I’m not fussy.’

‘Neither am I, so long as the steak is good.’

‘How about the Horse and Hounds?’ She named a venue that had never been one of their special places, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t think she was retreading memories in the hope of reawakening the romantic interest between them. She had slipped up.

‘Anywhere but there, Jan.’ His voice sounded pained. ‘It was Tara’s favourite place.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be tactless.’

‘That’s all right. I realise you couldn’t have known.’

‘You haven’t got over her yet?’

‘You’ve got to be joking. She turned out to be a right bitch. You’ve no idea how she treated me,’ he said in a hurt little voice.

Her inside gave a big sigh of despair. She knew from past experience that Martin in a sorry-for-himself mood was not the happiest of fortunes.

That unlikely beginning preceded an evening that turned up more than one surprising twist. She had thought there might be some constraint or awkwardness between them, but no, they picked up from where they had left off. Which was in itself a thought to ponder over. They had never been lovers, only the warmest of friends. She had been the naïve one to think the little-girl affection she felt was a sufficiently strong feeling to take them into the intimacy of marriage.

Martin had a cultured appearance that did justice to his well-cut lounge suit, and yet had he been wearing casual sweater and jeans, Jan knew he would have looked just as immaculate. He was incredibly good looking. Perhaps his features were too refined for a man, and his light brown hair was too fine and silky and could have done with more bounce. But it was his boyish face that accounted for a high percentage of his charm.

He awarded Jan a devastatingly ponderous look as he declared: ‘You have lost a little weight and done a lot of growing up.’

‘I should hope so,’ she said, deliberately ignoring the slight twinge of regret in his voice. ‘Not about the weight, about the other. I couldn’t stay the wide-eyed ingenue for ever.’

‘Why not? I liked her. She was honest and straightforward and a man knew where he was with her.’

Poor Martin. Didn’t he realise that if they’d fallen in love it couldn’t have been like that? Despite his seniority, she suddenly felt older and wiser than he was. She knew that being honest and straightforward and knowing exactly where you stand with each other is what friendship is all about. Love, especially the vulnerable early stages of falling into it, is a much more complex relationship. For her own protection a girl has to throw up so many smokescreens that it’s a wonder the man ever manages to pierce the murk and find her.

‘Oh, Martin,’ she said, and on impulse she reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

Instead of squeezing her hand back and letting go, he held on to it and carried it up to his lips. Her index finger was selected for his kiss, then very meaningfully he placed the favoured finger against her cheek in the manner of transferring the kiss there.

Her pulse acknowledged that it was a very sensual thing to do.

His eyes fixed on hers in a full-beamed hold. They were gently provocative. ‘That’s all I wanted to know. Your manner has been putting up “Don’t touch” signs. Wouldn’t you say that’s just torn them down? You’re not indifferent to me, after all.’

‘I responded to a trick. It was a new experience . . .’ She wavered to a stop.

‘And who says old friends can’t share new experiences?’

She shook her head. Her voice was gentle. ‘Count this old friend out, Martin. For us it would be too dangerous. We like each other too much. It would be fatally easy to mistake our feelings for something else.’

She wondered how bad a beating he had taken from Tara. When Sylvia told her they had split up, she had assumed it was by mutual consent. Now, if she was reading Martin right, it would appear that Tara had been the one to call it a day. Martin was bruised. She hoped his ego had taken the worst of it. She could put balm on his ego without being false to herself, but she couldn’t heal his heart. That finger-tip trick had been an effective pulse-raiser. She would have had to be made of stone not to respond, but it had been pure sensualism that had left her heart untouched.

‘I’m not suggesting we rush anything, Jan. The treatment Tara gave me would be enough to put some men off women for life. At the other extreme, I know it would be very easy, and comforting, to turn to someone on the rebound. I won’t let it be you. I value our friendship too much to put it in jeopardy by making false claims. The fact that I find you a very exciting and attractive lady is not a false claim. It is also true to say that I’ve barely thought about Tara this evening, and I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more. Do you know, I haven’t felt this relaxed and as happy since we stopped going around together. So . . . all I’m saying is, let’s not be too hasty. Can we be friends . . . and see what happens?’

‘We are friends. Nothing has altered that.’

‘Don’t look so frightened, Jan. I’ve learnt my lesson. I won’t hurt you again.’

‘I’m not thinking of myself. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I’ve got to impress on you that friendship is all that’s on offer.’

He was neither perturbed, nor put off. ‘You seem to forget, Jan, that I’ve always liked a challenge.’

She consoled herself with the thought that she had tried to get through to him.

On the short drive home, the mood reverted back to the easy Martin-and-Jan camaraderie.

At her door it came naturally to say: ‘Coming in for a cup of coffee?’

‘Yes please.’

In the old days, many an enjoyable evening had been wound up in the cosy atmosphere of her mother’s kitchen. Although she had sophisticatedly asked him in for coffee, her hand reached out automatically for the cocoa tin. As he had done countless times before, Martin raided the pantry and pounced on the green and cream cake tin which had never let him down in the past, and didn’t fail him now.

‘Your mother must have known I was coming. She’s baked my favourite fruit cake.’

‘Don’t be so conceited!’ Her smile softened the rebuke. ‘It’s a good keeping cake and she probably made it so that she’d have some sweet stuff in for when they return.’

‘I didn’t know they were away,’ he said, taking up the kitchen knife and cutting generously. ‘Your mother won’t begrudge me a piece. Where have they gone?’

‘I was going to ask you if you knew.’

‘Your mother can certainly cook. She’s going to make some man a wonderful mother-in-law. I don’t know where they’ve gone because I haven’t been in touch with your parents very much lately. But that’s an omission I intend to rectify. This is comfortable, Jan.’

Too comfortable. The kitchen was at the back of the house and private from prying eyes. Jan jumped up briskly and led the way through into the lounge, making the excuse of wanting to put a record on. Deliberately she did not close the curtains.

She chose a single player which they both liked, and when the little arm clicked back to base she said: ‘It’s late. Finish your cocoa and go home.’

‘You’re very obvious, Jan. Do you honestly think leaving the curtains open is going to put me off? Anyway, I like giving nosey passers-by something to talk about.’

Jan sat rooted in her chair, holding the cocoa mug in front of her as though it would afford protection. The cocoa mug was taken from her and placed on a side table. Martin picked her up out of the chair, moulded her to his body in the closest hug she’d ever known, and proceeded to kiss her.

He had always kissed her goodnight when they’d spent an evening together, but never like this. His mouth was hard and passionate and bruised her lips. It was the searing flame, without the qualifying tenderness. And these rough, exploring hands in no way related to the gentleness she had come to expect from Martin. At first she thought he had lost control, but then she realised he was avenging himself for the wrong that Tara had done to him. It was something, an excitable fury, he needed to get out of his system, and Jan knew instinctively that if she put up a struggle it would take longer for it to burn out.

He let her go so abruptly that she almost keeled over. Yet as she saw the stricken look come to his eye, her determination to stand by him and help him was staunch. The years of their friendship rallied to her aid and she lifted her hand to touch his cheek. ‘Don’t say a word. I understand.’

‘Dearest Jan,’ he said brokenly. ‘I wish I did.’

For the second time that evening he touched his lips to her hand. But this time it was not a trick to inflame her senses, but a gesture of abject apology. The contrasting gentleness after his recent brutality brought the tears to her eyes.

‘Goodnight, Martin,’ she said.

She leaned limply against the door she had closed behind him, listened for the sound of his car driving off, and then shot home the bolt.

Feeling emotionally spent, she started up the stairs. Her trembly legs had only taken her half way, when she heard the knock on the door. What had brought Martin back? She couldn’t face him again this evening. It was asking too much of her.

The knock sounded again. Martin knew she was in. Of course she must answer the door to him.

But when she drew back the bolt and opened the door, it wasn’t Martin she faced. It was, incredibly, David glowering down at her.

‘May I come in?’ he enquired with a sardonic lift of one dark eyebrow when it became apparent she wasn’t going to do the niceties without being prompted.

‘Of course. Please do.’ She stood aside to let him enter and then guided him into the lounge, flicking on light switches as she went.

The heavy velvet curtains were still undrawn.

‘With your permission, I’ll close these.’ Without waiting for the former, he did the latter. ‘Much better. I hate to feel that someone out there could be looking in.’

Jan met his eyes squarely, but it was still only a tentative thought in her mind that David had looked in on her and Martin. She could tell nothing from his expression.

‘This letter arrived for you shortly after you left.’

She looked down at the envelope which he had taken from his pocket and placed in her hand. She recognised her mother’s handwriting.

‘You didn’t come all this way to play postman,’ she said, trying to shake her brain free of its stultifying numbness.

‘No. I had another reason.’

Whatever that might be, he had travelled a fair distance and her curiosity must wait until certain formalities were got out of the way.

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea. And something to eat. You must be hungry after your journey.’

‘Thank you, that’s most thoughtful, but unnecessary. I arrived quite a bit earlier. You weren’t in, so I thought I might as well kill a bit of time by going out for a meal.’

His brusque manner was beginning to set her teeth on edge. ‘I’m sorry you had a tedious wait.’

The sarcastic inflection in her voice did not go unnoticed and was acknowledged in the supercilious lift of an eyebrow. ‘Did I give that impression? I have spent a most delightful and diverting evening in the company of a young lady of your acquaintance. She was on the doorstep when I got here. Apparently she was there at your invitation. An amazingly tolerant and good-natured girl, I thought. I wouldn’t have been so nice if I’d been ditched because a more attractive proposition cropped up.’

A girl would have a hard task to find a more attractive proposition than this cool, arrogant, unfairly handsome man. But that wasn’t the issue.

‘Someone waiting here, you say? Now who could that be?’

‘Did you stand up more than one person?’

‘I didn’t stand anybody up.’ Why did he always put her in the wrong? ‘If you mean Sylvia Friers, I didn’t ask her round, she invited herself.’

‘And so you felt justified in being out when she came. Weren’t you just a little concerned that she was trailing all that way for nothing?’

‘But it wasn’t for nothing, was it?’ Jan said obstreperously. ‘She got you.’ And if she knew Sylvia, she thought bitterly, she would make the most of it. ‘You two should have got along famously. You are so alike.’

‘Knowing your opinion of me, that is hardly complimentary to your friend. Shame on you, Jan. She spoke glowingly of you.’

Jan hissed sharply: ‘She would.’ It was infuriating and laughable, but in this man’s presence her temper was set permanently at flash-point. The moment he entered the room she was in, her sweet and placid nature flew out of the window and she said all manner of nasty uncharitable things that were completely out of character.

With immaculate calm he said: ‘If you mutilate that letter much more, you won’t be able to read it.’

‘It’s from my mother,’ she said.

‘Oh lord. I’d forgotten you had parents.’ His lovely calm had received a sharp jolt. His eyes swept up to the ceiling. ‘I can understand your not being in a great hurry to read it because you’ll have caught up with all the news. I am urgently reminded of the fact that at any moment an irate father could burst in, demanding an explanation.’

‘An explanation? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well, we have been kicking up a bit of a rumpus, so he might come down initially to complain about the noise. Then he will take one look at you, and as fathers of daughters are said to be biased, he’ll link your raging temper with your dishevelled appearance and arrive at the natural conclusion that you put up a fight. And from what I saw, you weren’t objecting. If you had been, I would have moved in pretty quickly and taken it out of his hide.’

So he had seen. Trust him to arrive at the crucial moment. His reaction was startling. Would he really have come to her defence? His interpretation of the scene was less pleasing, but predictable. She had let Martin paw her for the most praiseworthy of reasons. But to an onlooker it would have seemed grubby and sordid.

‘It wasn’t as it looked, David.’

‘I’m not questioning your boyfriend’s right to take liberties. I’m merely saying . . .’

‘He’s not my boyfriend, at least he was but he isn’t any more. And he wasn’t taking liberties, at least he was, but it wasn’t . . . Oh, what’s the use! I can’t explain and even if I could you wouldn’t understand because you know nothing about standing by people when they’ve been knocked to the ground, and friendship and loyalties, and understanding them when they go off course.’

‘I wasn’t going to lecture you. I haven’t the right to. I was attempting to point out that your father is going to look at you, and I’m going to get the blame. In which case,’ he said sadly, ‘his opinion of me would just about coincide with yours.’

She regretted being so brutal to him. It would have helped if he’d lashed a few angry words back at her . . . instead of looking at her with eyes of hurt.

She gulped and challenged: ‘Have you ever given me cause to have a better opinion of you?’

‘I reckon not.’

‘And you’re not about to rectify that?’

‘You ask an awful lot of questions, Jan. May I ask one?’

‘What is it?’

‘Do you think that anything I could say would reform your opinion of me?’

‘According to Linda, yes.’

‘But at the back of your mind you think Linda is biased, don’t you? I mean you, what do you think?’

‘I don’t know.’

And then she did something totally unexpected. She raised up on tiptoe and with total deliberation and absorption, she kissed him on the mouth. His arms started to come up and for a moment she thought he was going to return her tender impulse, but he must have changed his mind because his arms returned to his sides. Feeling rebuffed, her chin dropped in acute embarrassment. Apparently, her mother’s letter had fallen from her hand and she saw it looking up at her from the carpet. She swooped down to retrieve it and, glad for something to do, tore open the envelope and tried to bring into focus her mother’s large script which blurred before the silly moistness in her eyes. Even though she was inwardly quaking, her fingers were remarkably steady and didn’t give her away.

She hoped, if David thought anything, that he would think she was a slow reader.

At length she said with what she hoped would pass for a laugh, ‘My parents have gone to stay with some friends. Listen to this bit of irony. In her letter my mother says that when they get back at the end of this week, she hopes I might find the time to pay a visit home.’

‘You mean they’re not in bed?’

‘No. I’m here by myself.’

‘Nice to know that somebody’s on my side in something. I’m glad I don’t have to face your father. At least not just at this moment. How long will it take you to pack your suitcase?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t be so exasperating. You must know I’ve come to fetch you back.’

‘That’s a bit cheeky. After that demonstration of absurd male reasoning. How am I supposed to know?’

‘Because it’s obvious. You surely didn’t think I came all this way for the dubious pleasure of quarrelling with you?’

‘Why?’ she said, and saw his expression flicker to disbelief then back to irritation. ‘I don’t mean why is it obvious,’ she said with a touch of irritation of her own, ‘I’ve decided to let that one pass. I mean why have you come to fetch me?’

His expression now inclined to sheepishness. His voice was wry. ‘I’ll grant you the last laugh. I hadn’t reckoned with Stephanie, had I? I must hand it to your sex. At a very early age you discover the importance of sticking together. When she discovered that you’d gone, she started to scream her head off. She won’t eat. When she’s not screaming she’s crying. When she’s not screaming or crying, she’s asleep.’

‘Oh, my poor little pet. Where is she now? Who have you left her with?’

‘I dumped her on Linda and Hugh. Hopefully she’s tucked up and fast asleep in the spare bedroom. But knowing Stephanie, I can’t guarantee that. Your poor little pet is one horribly spoilt brat.’

‘According to you, I am responsible for spoiling her. If I’m so unsuitable, why come to take me back? We both know this tantrum of hers can only last so long. You’ve only to stand firm, and she would come round to the new order of things.’

‘You don’t take prisoners, do you? So you were right. I acted too hastily when I dismissed you. It was too soon after losing her mother and yes, she was clinging to you as some sort of safe anchor. I still think children need authority to make them feel safe. All spoiling does is give them a false set of values and a feeling of insecurity. She’ll come round to me. But right at this moment it’s you she wants. How’s that for grovelling? Does that satisfy you, or do you want me to go down on my knees and beg you to come back with me?’

‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll get my things together.’

‘No.’ He touched her arm. ‘On second thoughts, the morning will do. You look all in. Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll make a start straight after breakfast in the morning.’

Oh no! Please don’t go tender on me, she thought. If you do, I’ll cry, and we should both hate that.

‘What about you? Where will you sleep?’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll book into a hotel.’

‘At this time of night? I’ll make the bed up in the spare room.’

His smile was unaccustomedly boyish. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. Oh, and . . . er . . . I’m sorry if I was a bit frosty earlier on.’

Perhaps he’d been hanging about outside longer than she’d imagined. He could have been sitting in one of the parked cars. When you are waiting for someone, five minutes can seem like an hour.

‘That’s all right,’ she said generously. ‘I can understand why.’

What could she possibly have said wrong in that? she wondered as she saw the frost forming again.

‘Good grief! You can’t believe that. That’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard. I couldn’t care less.’

‘That’s splendid. I don’t know what you’re going on about. I was expressing sympathy in case you’d had a long wait. And now I’ll go and see about your bed.’

While she was about it, she hunted out a pair of her father’s pyjamas.

She flung them at him. ‘As my father is about six inches smaller than you are, they’ll look a bit ludicrous. You can take them or leave them.’

‘I’ll leave them, thank you.’ A renegade twinkle came to his eye. ‘Remember to knock when you bring in my early morning tea.’