The Tender Night Page 8

  ‘Nothing that would interest you.’

  ‘No? No?’ Hands caught her face, lips burned against hers, but she fought the now familiar—and frightening—rising tide of desire and tried to tear his hands away. They would not move. The lips grew more sure, more possessive, the hands more persuasive and confident. She struggled with all the strength at her command to escape from his tormenting touch, clawing at his hands with her fingers, then, in desperation, with her nails.

  He jumped away. ‘You vicious little devil!’ There was no mistaking the anger with which he contemplated the scratches, oozing blood, down the back of his hands.

  ‘I’m—I’m very sorry, Craig,’ she breathed, ‘but—but it was your fault. I told you before,’ she lied, ‘you leave me cold. No man’s going to touch me—or move me to passion ever again.’

  ‘My God,’ disgustedly, ‘what man would try? He’d need a suit of armour to protect himself when he got near you!’ Timidly, a little frightened, and hating to see the blood she had drawn from his flesh, she proffered her handkerchief.

  ‘Keep it,’ he said tersely. ‘You might have soaked it in a toxic substance. I’m too young to die.’

  His sarcasm, coming after long hours of friendliness, hit her like a slap on the face. He buttoned his shirt, stood up and pulled his trousers over his swimming briefs, zipping the front. Then, without a word, he wandered down to the water’s edge. Sadly, because the gold had gone out of the day, Shelley dressed. She was combing her hair when he strolled back. He watched her for a few moments, his expression blank. ‘Ready?’ he asked tonelessly.

  Shelley nodded. They climbed the path back to the car, but not once did Craig, in spite of the steepness of the slope, offer her a hand. The journey home was silent. Janine gave Craig a rapturous welcome. She flung her arms round his neck and he bent his head and kissed her.

  Shelley turned away, unable to stand the sight.

  ‘Take me out now,’ Janine urged.

  The bright cheerfulness of the girl who was clinging to him seemed to restore his good humour. ‘Where to, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘A walk, a pub, anywhere as long as you take me.’

  ‘Such devotion!’ Craig said, uncoupling himself and looking sardonically at Shelley. ‘And how different from my companion of the beach.’

  ‘Why, what did Shelley do, Craig?’

  ‘She froze me out, sweetie, and now I’m shivering with cold. If I take you out, will you warm me up?’

  The arms were round him again. ‘Like this, Craig,’ Janine said, pulling him down and pressing her cheek against his, ‘like this.’

  ‘A man,’ said Craig dryly, looking over her head into Shelley’s heavy eyes, ‘couldn’t ask for more.’

  As they left, Shelley said, ‘Thanks, Craig, for the outing. I enjoyed it.’

  ‘You could have fooled me.’ Shelley watched them go, her feelings dead. Michael Townley had trampled on her heart. Now, only a few months later, Craig Allard was trampling on her dreams.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For the remainder of the Easter vacation, Mrs. Allard made a commendable effort to catch up with administrative matters, which meant that Shelley had to make herself available for work every day, and sometimes in the evenings.

  She looked upon the few hours she had spent on the beach with Craig—until the moment of their quarrel—as her holiday.

  There were a few pages still remaining to be typed of the four chapters Craig had written. After that, he told her, he would not require her services again until he had finished the book.

  One evening—the last on which she would be working for him for some time—Shelley was alone in his apartment. She paused in her typing and stared out of the window. Where was Craig? she wondered. Out with Jan, probably. Janine did not always tell her where and with whom she spent her evenings.

  The school was empty and silent, as if relaxing in advance of the onslaught which would disrupt its tranquillity the next day but one when the boys returned from their Easter break.

  Shelley replaced her spectacles and sighed, flipping through the remaining notes. There were three closely written pages. It was late. She was tired. Should she carry on or postpone finishing the work until the following evening? No, she decided, that would mean another hour spent in Craig Allard’s rooms, and that was something to be avoided. She typed on.

  All the evenings she had worked for him she had dreaded hearing his footsteps sprinting up the stairs. It was not so much a dread, she decided, trying to rationalise her feelings, as a fear—of his coming near, standing over her and watching her type as he sometimes did if he lingered before going out. But usually those footsteps did not come.

  This time they did. Craig was home. But there was another set of footsteps besides his, quicker, lighter, another voice, excited and laughing. It was not Janine’s voice, but one which was more mature, more cultivated, more—much more affected. The door burst open and Shelley, startled, stared across the room.

  The woman who entered seemed as surprised as she was. ‘Oh, so sorry.’ Her eyes—large and brown, Shelley noted—sought Craig’s. ‘Darling, you didn’t warn me you had company.’

  ‘Miss Jenner,’ came Craig’s clipped reply, ‘is not company, Sylva. She’s typing my book. Haven’t you two met? She’s my mother’s secretary. Sylva, Shelley Jenner. Miss Jenner, Sylva Wallasey-Browne, a friend of mine.’

  ‘Darling,’ her palms rested against his chest, ‘an old friend, once a close friend.’ She turned from him and her hand touched Shelley’s outstretched one, then she murmured, patting her hair, ‘Darling, where’s your bathroom? I simply must repair my make-up.’ She felt her lips. ‘I do believe you’ve kissed all my lipstick off!’

  Craig directed her and she went in search of a mirror. There was a moment’s silence, then Craig wandered across the room and hitched himself on to the desk.

  ‘Well, Miss Shelley Jenner, do you like my taste in women? Your attractive young sister, and the beautiful Sylva? You wouldn’t like to add your name to my list?’ He drew out his diary. ‘How should I describe you? The blackhaired, dark-eyed, straitlaced dragon of a woman called Shelley Jenner. Shape, delectable; expression, fearsome; eyes flashing and full of hate. Temper, short; personality, dull; character beyond reproach and likewise dull...’

  With amusement he slid his diary back into his pocket. Shelley tore the paper from the typewriter, took up her coat and belongings—and felt his hand grip her arm. ‘If you don’t like the truth, then tackle the trouble at the source—yourself.’ He reached out and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. ‘If you must wear those things, at least let them perch in the right place.’

  ‘Will you leave me alone?’ she breathed, conscious of the fact that his guest might return at any moment. ‘How can I stay here while you entertain?’

  ‘Have you much more to do?’

  ‘Two pages.’

  ‘Then finish them. It would leave your evenings free again, wouldn’t it, to go out with your rather neglected boyfriend.’ He regarded her reflectively, tormentingly, exhibiting for her inspection the backs of his hands. ‘Every time he touches you do you draw back primly and say,’ he mimicked her voice, ‘ “Don’t do that”? And if he ignores the warning, do you tear him to shreds? You see,’ he indicated his hands, ‘you’ve left your mark on me.’

  Shelley bit her lip, seeing the scars she had caused and feeling with her own body the hurt she had inflicted on him. She started to apologise again, but Sylva returned.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, ‘I’m dying for a drink.’ She looked round. ‘If your secretary’s in here, where do we go? Your bedroom?’ Her smile was deep and inviting, but her host seemed not to notice. Shelley thought bitterly, if I weren’t here he wouldn’t hesitate. He probably doesn’t want an audience, even one who could only listen in on their togetherness.

  But it appeared as the evening progressed that Craig did not object in the least to having an audience. He poured a drink for himself a
s well as his guest, pointedly ignoring Shelley. He shared the settee with his lady friend and when she rested her head against his shoulder, his arm found its way round her waist.

  Shelley kept her face averted, but she could not close her ears. They were reminiscing. It seemed by the number of their ‘Do you remembers’ that they had, during the course of their friendship, thought themselves to be in love. What had occurred to make them change their minds, Shelley could not gather, but it was plain from the trend of the conversation that Sylva Wallasey-Browne was not averse to taking up her friendship with Craig Allard where, not so very long ago, it had ceased.

  When Sylva’s arms found their way round Craig’s neck and Craig’s lips were pulled down on to hers, Shelley rebelled. She would not sit there, helplessly, hopelessly, watching a near seduction—of whom, by whom, she did not bother to discover.

  She stood noisily, bringing Craig’s head round. He disentangled himself from his guest’s twining arms and strolled to Shelley’s side. ‘Finished?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I would prefer to complete the last pages in the morning at my own desk before working hours.’ Her voice sounded prim, but her feelings were in a turmoil, a fact she had to hide from the man at her side at all costs. So she fixed her face with a stiff, disgusted expression. Let him think her priggish and shocked, she didn’t care!

  Craig said quietly, ‘I should like the notes finished tonight.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to my own desk now and finish them there.’ Her lips quivered. ‘I’m not staying here.’

  He shrugged. ‘As you wish. But I’d be obliged if you could bring them up to me tonight.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  His eyebrows rose at her belligerence. Tm afraid it is.’

  ‘Darling,’ came the seductive voice, ‘when you’ve finished your altercation with your rather rebellious secretary, I’d love a drink.’

  Craig did not respond to the request.

  ‘I’m tired, Mr. Allard,’ Shelley persisted.

  Craig’s lips tightened. His hand rested on her shoulder and pressed her down to the seat. ‘It would solve all the problems if you finished them here and now. I’ll pay you double time if that’s what’s biting you.’

  Shelley’s eyes blazed. ‘You know it’s not. How could you—’

  ‘Dar—ling, I wish you’d stop playing the heavy employer and think about me. Let the girl go. Can’t you see she’s straining at the leash? Besides,’ a persuasive hand reached out towards him, ‘with her gone we can be so much more—unrestrained.’

  Shelley, provoked beyond words, swept her eyes up to Craig’s and engaged in a battle of wills. After that, she would not stay another second...

  The eyes into which she was staring narrowed slightly and held hers without a flicker. It was Shelley who was finally forced to admit defeat. She removed the typewriter cover and resumed her typing. Thirty minutes later she was on her way home. But she walked past the lodge and turned into the quiet country lane. She could not face Janine with tears streaming down her face.

  To say that she was humiliated would have been an understatement. There was a gnawing pain inside her because of the terrible truth that had hit her with the force of a meteor falling from the sky, leaving a crater where her heart should be. And that truth was that for the whole of that terrible evening, she had suffered the most excruciating pangs of jealousy. That there was only one basic cause of such a destructive emotion she was painfully aware.

  It had happened to her again, for the second time in her life. Against her will and entirely against her better judgment she was in love, devastatingly in love, with a man who looked on her with contempt, and who could never take her—or any woman—seriously, even if his life depended on it. And the love she felt this time made her feelings for Michael seem about as warm as a midwinter’s day.

  After Easter, Muriel Allard went away. Shelley was left in charge again.

  With Parents’ Day approaching, the extra responsibilities thrust upon her by a headmistress with incurable wanderlust nagged at Shelley’s mind like someone driving a car knowing that the brakes were faulty. The pace of work was speeding up and dragging her with it. She began to doubt whether it was within her power to halt the momentum and avoid destruction.

  Parents’ Day was an annual function, looked upon as important both socially and educationally. Mrs. Allard maintained that it enhanced the school’s reputation, thus leading, she asserted hopefully, to an increase in pupil numbers and consequently fees received.

  This was the first time, Shelley was informed by members of staff, that Mrs. Allard had vanished from the scene at the run up to Parents’ Day. She had, however, promised to return to finalise arrangements. What that promise might mean, Shelley did not even begin to wonder, mainly because she simply had not the time to do so.

  Craig kept his distance and this Shelley found to be an even greater strain than her increased responsibilities. He continued to take Janine out, and sometimes Shelley would see him in his car with Sylva beside him.

  Occasionally Shelley would take an evening off and go out with Emery. Her attitude towards him had altered a little. She did not hold him at arms’ length any more. This he was quick to note and took full advantage of the lowered barriers, stepping over them delicately at first as if they might contain a hidden electrical charge. Shelley was aware of what she was doing. She was attempting to prove to herself that Craig Allard was wrong, that she was not the dull, frigid woman he had accused her of being, that she could attract a man if she chose to do so. Was she also, a whisper said, imagining, as Emery kissed her, that it was Craig’s arms she was caught up in and not Emery’s at all?

  Craig called for Janine one evening as Shelley was leaving the lodge to walk back to the school to put in an hour or two of work. Through the car window he looked at her critically for a few moments and she became conscious, as she always did when Craig was inspecting her, of her appearance. Her glasses were already in place, a hood was tied round her drawn-back hair to keep off the spots of rain which were falling.

  Craig called her over to the car, but Shelley objected to his peremptory tone and pretended that she had not heard him. He opened the car door and as she passed, caught her arm, pulling her back.

  ‘I know damned well you heard me, so you can drop the “deaf” act. You look tired. What’s wrong?’

  In answer Shelley tried to free herself, but he slid out of the car and put himself in front of her, blocking her way. ‘Where are you going?’

  She answered sullenly, ‘To the school.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To work, why else?’

  Janine came running out. ‘Oh, don’t worry about her, Craig,’ she said. ‘Shelley lives and dies for her work. She’s there most evenings, that is, when she’s not going out with Emery.’

  ‘And how often is she out with Emery?’

  ‘Once or twice a week at the most,’ Janine told him.

  ‘Why do you find it necessary,’ he asked Shelley, ‘to work in the evenings? Can’t you get through it during the day?’

  ‘It’s Parents’ Day that’s worrying her,’ Janine supplied cheerfully. ‘All the arrangements.’

  ‘You’re not organising the whole affair yourself?’

  ‘She is,’ said Janine. ‘I keep telling her she’s silly and she ought to write to your mother and tell her she can’t manage alone.’

  ‘And have you taken your sister’s sensible advice?’

  Shelley paused before replying. How could she phrase her answer tactfully? ‘I’ve written three or four times on business matters. I—I haven’t had any replies yet.’

  He gave a short, exasperated sigh, looked at his watch and came to a decision. He lifted Janine’s hand. ‘Sorry to have to let you down, sweetie. We’ll go out another night. Not now. It seems I have urgent business to attend to.’

  ‘But, Craig...’ Janine wailed.

  Shelley said stiffly, ‘Don’t let it worry you, Mr. Allard. I’m qui
te capable of managing the business you regard as urgent. I’ve managed up to now—’

  ‘And judging by the look of you, had some sleepless nights as a result. Get in the car, Shelley.’ He leaned forward and kissed Janine on her pouting Ups. ‘Always another day, Jan,’ he comforted, as if speaking to a child.

  ‘If you think I’m staying in,’ Janine said sulkily, ‘then you’re wrong. I’m going to the tennis club. It’s raining, so we can’t play, but we’ll drink coffee and socialise instead.’

  Craig sighed again, long-sufferingly. ‘Get in the car with your sister. I’ll run you there.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Janine said, and flounced away, but Craig pulled her back and bundled her into the back. ‘Between them, the Jenner sisters will drive me slowly but surely round the bend.’

  ‘There’s no need to play the martyr,’ Shelley muttered.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering,’ Janine snapped.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Craig asked the rain-spattered windscreen.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was seated at his mother’s desk turning page after page of letters, forms and lists. ‘It beats me,’ he muttered to Shelley, who sat at his side, ‘how you thought you could deal with this lot unaided. Bad enough coping with the everyday administrative duties, but to have a happy but entirely unnecessary event like Parents’ Day thrown in on top of it...’ He shook his head. ‘Come on, tell me what’s been happening to keep you awake at nights.’