The Tender Flame (7 page)

‘No, I
don't
know,' she shouted back at him.

He put his finger under her chin, and it stayed there until she obeyed its command and looked into his eyes. ‘But you are a proper Jan Pry. You're going to ferret and probe until you find out, aren't you, my inquisitive little friend?'

‘Not out of morbid curiosity. I only want what is best for Stephanie.'

‘Will you believe that so do I? You mean well, but you could unwittingly harm Stephanie. I can't let you. You've got to go, Jan. I daren't risk the consequences of your staying.'

‘I won't go,' she said stupidly, recklessly.

‘Don't be silly. If I say you're going, you'll go.'

‘Not of my own free will. Not while Stephanie needs me. You'll have to evict me by force.'

‘That sort of talk won't get you anywhere with me. I don't give in to emotional blackmail and tantrums are best left to children who don't know any better.' His fingers once again reached out to secure her chin. ‘How old did you say you were?'

When he'd first asked her that she'd added a few years on to impress him she was mature enough for the task of looking after Stephanie.
She'd
forgotten just how many. ‘Twenty-four,' she said not very convincingly.

His face came closer. ‘Old enough,' he said. His eyes flicked away from hers and feasted themselves on the slender but gently curved womanliness of her body. Slowly, slumbrously almost, his gloating, mocking, wicked gaze returned to her face. His eyes were dark brown seduction, so near that she had no leeway to shore up her collapsing defences.

‘Little Jan. You say you are a woman, but you have the guileless look of a child. And a temper that is childlike. Temper is but a passionate outburst. The child stamps her foot; the woman has better uses for her passions. Let us find out if you are the woman you claim to be.'

Even as her heart lurched at the look in his eye, it didn't occur to her to resist the arms closing round her. Her neck curved back in a gesture of abandon as her body complied in melting obedience to his will.

His kiss was the pure flame. The fierce brutal heat, the flicker of tenderness in its molten core. It carried her along with its irresistible force, and it lit something in her heart that would never die.

He whispered huskily: ‘It has been demonstrably proved that you are a woman.' He stroked her cheek. ‘Warm, desirable. You could be a lot of fun.'

Fun! Her breath caught between surprise
and
outrage. When she looked at him she saw that his head was back and he was laughing.

‘Has it got through to you now, my fanciable little peach, that I could chase you out faster than if you had a whirlwind at your heels.'

It wasn't the whirlwind at her heels that bothered her, but the fire in her breast. Her head tilted in magnificent defiance, and he must never know at what cost.

‘That was a vile trick to play. You are detestable, despicable and utterly contemptible. A sadist without morals or human caring. I was right about you first time. You're a monster, cruel, heartless . . .' And on it went. She ran out of breath and words simultaneously, and then her eyes more than made up for the incapacity of her tongue.

She felt degraded and humiliated. No matter what tender act he put on in the future, she would never trust him again.

‘I'm going to my room now. You can go to the devil.'

‘That will probably be my fate.'

The laughter quietened in his eyes. Was this another bit of diabolical trickery, a continuation of the drive-Jan-out campaign, or did he really feel as bemused as he looked? He seemed to have forgotten the name of the game, as if, for a brief moment, control of the situation had slipped out of his masterful grip.

‘Sleep well,' he said quite kindly. ‘You're perfectly safe.'

‘I
never thought otherwise,' she tossed back at him haughtily. ‘While I'm under your roof, I'm under your protection.'

The gleam was back in evidence. ‘In that case, I can only hope your faith in me is justified,' he taunted darkly.

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.