Authors: Anne Weale
In
the first three days
following Justin’s departure, Andrea was surprised to find how empty the house seemed without him.
One morning she went shopping and was browsing in Harrods’ book department when a voice said, “Good morning, Mrs. Templar,” and she found Simon Brennan smiling down at her.
“I hear you’ve been ill. Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Good morning. Yes, I am, thank you. It was only flu. How did you know
about
it?”
“There was a line about your husband’s trip to the States in the
Standard
the other night and it said you weren’t able to go with him because of illness. I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, although I expect you still feel a bit low.”
“I do, rather,” she admitted with a smile. “I was very disappointed at missing the trip. Have you ever been to New York?”
“Yes, I made a flying visit last year. It’s a fascinating place if one can stand the pace. Everyone seems to live at fever pitch.”
After they had been chatting for some minutes, he said, “Are you busy or would you care to come for some coffee?”
“Thank you. I’d love some. I wasn’t allowed out until yesterday and I’m getting bored with my own company.”
He took her to a newly opened espresso bar nearby and they spent a pleasant half hour discussing new books he had bought just before their meeting and discovering several mutual interests. Simon was an entertaining companion, and catching sight of the clock on the opposite wall, Andrea was startled to find that it was almost lunchtime, although it seemed only a short time since they had sat down.
“Have I made you late for an appointment?” he asked, following her glance.
“Oh, no. I didn’t realize how long we’d been here,” she said, wishing she di
d
not have to go back to a solitary lunch just as she was beginning to feel cheered up. He paid the bill and they went out into the street. The sun was shining and yesterday’s unseasonably cold wind had given place to a warm breeze. The passersby looked pleased with themselves and life.
“I suppose you aren’t free this afternoon,” Simon said doubtfully.
“I hadn’t planned anything.”
He hesitated and then said, “I’ve promised to take my twin nephew and niece to the zoo this afternoon. I just wondered, if you’re really at a loose end, if you’d care to come along?”
“I’d love to—if you’re sure I won’t be in the way. Do you know, I’ve never been to the zoo. But are you quite certain they won’t mind?”
“Good heavens, no. I ought to warn you they’re rather a harum-scarum pair and it may be quite an exhausting expedition. I don’t want to tire you out when you’re still convalescent.”
“It’s having nothing to do that’s tiring me,” Andrea assured him with a glow of relief at not having to spend the rest of the day on her own. “What time are you starting?”
“They live at Esher, so I’ve arranged to meet them at Waterloo at two o’clock. Do you want to go home first or can you lunch with me and we’ll pick them up together?”
“No, I needn’t go home, although I’d better cal
l H
ubbard and tell him I won’t be in.”
“Right. There’s a booth over the road.”
After a leisurely lunch that passed as pleasantly as the coffee break had done, they took a taxi to Waterloo and met the twins, a lively but well-mannered pair of ten-year-olds whose mother was Simon’s eldest sister.
Andrea enjoyed the trip to the zoo as much as the two children, although she laughingly declined a ride on the elephant and confessed that she did not share the children’s rapture over the more sinister inhabitants of the reptile house.
“Tired?” Simon asked, as they took a bus to Piccadilly, the children having voted Lyons Corner House as the best place to have tea.
“Only my feet,” she said smiling. “I hope you’re still solvent. I feel ready for at least two portions of beans on toast.”
He grinned and then, with an odd expression said, “You really did enjoy it, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes. Didn’t you?”
“It’s not quite the same.”
“How do you mean?”
In the seat in front the children were deep in a discussion on which animals they had liked best.
Simon paused, as if considering how to explain himself. “I would have thought this kind of outing was a bit out of your line,” he said. “Most women of your type would have been bored to death.”
“That doesn’t sound very complimentary. What do you mean, ‘women of my type’?” she inquired dryly.
“Sorry, it wasn’t meant derogatorily. What I’m trying to say is that not many women who lead your kind of life would genuinely enjoy watching the bears and so forth.”
“You’re still not being very exact. What is my kind of life?”
He spread his hands. “Mayfair
...
cocktail parties
...
first nights
...
Ascot
...
dresses by Dior.”
“
You forget, these things are only part of my married life. I used to earn my living.”
“
Not in a very humdrum way, though.”
“Possibly not, but I can’t see why that should prevent me from enjoying the zoo. Unless what you really mean is that I looked spoiled and
blasé
.”
They had not noticed that the children had stopped talking, and Tina had evidently caught Andrea’s last remark, for she turned around and said, “What does
blasé
mean, Mrs. Templar?”
Simon opened his mouth to snub her, but before he could do so, Andrea said calmly. “You and Tim are looking forward to having tea at Lyons, aren’t you? But if you went there every day and could have as many cakes and ices as you wanted, it wouldn’t be a treat anymore, would it?
So if someone offered to take you there and you said you were tired of Lyons, you would be
blasé
. See?”
Tina nodded. “Though I can’t imagine ever being tired of Lyons,” she observed, dreamy-eyed at the thought of living on Welsh rarebit, meringues and chocolate sundaes.
At this point they reached their stop and Simon had no chance to refute Andrea’s suggestion, although he was plainly anxious to do so. After tea they took the children back to the station, and as soon as the train had pulled out he swung around and said, “You know I didn’t mean that.”
Andrea raised her eyebrows. “Mean what?” she asked coolly.
But his half exasperated, half worried expression was too much for her. She began to laugh, and a moment later he was laughing, too.
In the station yard he hailed a taxi, but it was not until they stopped outside the Odeon in Leicester Square that she realized he was not taking her home.
As he got out of the cab and turned to assist her, she hesitated and said doubtfully, “I think I ought to go home now. They’ll be expecting me for dinner.”
“Must you? This will do you far more good than an evening with an improving book. Can’t you call again?” His smile was very persuasive.
“Well
... oh, yes, I will,” she decided after another moment of uncertainty.
The film was a hilarious American comedy accompanied by a cartoon feature and a Mediterranean travelogue. They came out into the soft spring twilight, still smiling at the recollection of a particularly crazy piece of slapstick.
Simon looked about for another taxi, but Andrea said quickly, “Can’t we walk? It’s such a lovely evening.”
“Have your feet recovered from this afternoon’s marathon?” He glanced down at her neat black shoes.
“It did me good. I was in danger of losing the use of them,” she said smilingly.
They strolled toward Piccadilly Circus at a leisurely pace, discussing the merits of British, American and Continental movies.
“Did you ever consider a screen career?” Simon asked as they turned up Regent Street.
Andrea laughed and shook her head.
“No, I’m serious,” he said. “If you’d worked in America you’d have been bound to have several offers. I believe half the women stars are former models or cover girls.”
“I was never screen-struck,”
“What were you like in your teens? I can’t picture you as a gawky schoolgirl with grubby hands and a giggle.”
“I don’t think I had a giggle, but I was certainly gawky,” she said dryly, remembering her painful thinness accentuated by the cheap skinny dresses she had had to wear.
“What were you like? Rather studious, I imagine, and probably a bit grandiloquent about the rights and wrongs of life.”
“How did you guess?” His eyes twinkled. “As a matter of fact I started my journalistic career by writing burning articles on social evils, none of which was ever published, of course. I used to paste the rejection slips in a scrapbook and dream of the day when editors would be outbidding each other for my stuff. A golden prospect that is still unrealized, I fear.”
“There must be quite a few budding journalists who think how marvelous it would be to be you,” she sug
g
e
st
e
d.
“Perhaps. But far more little girls who imagine themselves following your lead. It’s a pity you weren’t dragged up in some East End tenement. It would make a first-rate Cinderella story.”
She shot a swift glance at him. “How do you know I wasn’t?” she said.
He smiled. “It would be possible, I suppose, but extremely unlikely.”
They had reached the corner of Syon Place and he halted, looking down at her with a quizzical expression.
“The beautiful Mrs. Justin Templar, who started life as little Annie Scroggins of Shoreditch,” he said slowly. “No, it just doesn’t ring true.”
She had a momentary impulse to tell him that it was true—although she had at least been spared a name like Annie Scroggins. But instead she said casually, “Why not? Isn’t fact supposed to be stranger than fiction?”
“So they say.” There was an odd glint in his eyes, but she was not looking at him and his tone did not give him away.
When they had reached the house, he said, “Look, if you’re not busy tomorrow I wonder if you’d care for a day in the country. I’m calling on some friends in Berkshire. They’re an amusing couple. Guy is a writer and his wife paints. I know they’d like to meet you, and it would do you good to get out of town after your bout of flu.”
“
But I can’t just arrive without an invitation,” she said, although it sounded much more agreeable than going for a solitary drive as she had intended.
“Of course you can. They’re always having unexpected visitors. Anyway I can call Nina up tonight and ask her to lay an extra place. How about it?”
“Are you
sure
they won’t mind?”
“Certain. That’s settled, then. I’ll call for you about ten,” he said, while she was still hesitating.
As
Simon had promised,
Guy and Nina Lacey were an amusing couple, and their gay company, the peacefulness of the country and an excellent lunch did do Andrea good. They
spent the afternoon taking the dogs for a walk in the pine woods surrounding the isolated cottage where the Laceys lived. Nina was expecting her first baby in September and was one of those women to whom pregnancy lends a special radiance. As they wandered along the woodland paths, with the men some distance ahead,
Andrea thought of the society women she knew to whom the waiting mo
nt
hs were a tiresome affliction that interfered with their normal pursuits. But Nina evidently rejoiced in her fertility. It was plain that Guy Lacey shared her eagerness for the birth of their child, and Andrea found herself oddly moved by the glances of tender happiness that she had seen them exchanging from time to time during the day.
W
hen Simon said it was time for them to return to London, the young couple were obviously sincere in their hope that she would come again.
“What did you think of her?” Nina asked her husband when the car had gone.
“I was pleasantly surprised. With a face like that, one might expect her to be pretty dumb.”
“I wonder what her husband is like? I got an impression that she wasn’t terribly happy,” Nina said thoughtfully.
“All women can’t be as lucky as you, my love.” He dodged the cushion which she flung at his head. “It’s a good thing we haven’t any neighbors to see how you treat me.”
Nina made a face at him, but her mind was still with their recently departed guests.
“Did Simon mention how he got to know her?” she inquired.
“Through a mutual friend, I gather. Hope he doesn’t burn his fingers.”
“What do you mean?”
Guy shrugged. “He’s bound to fall for someone eventually, and Mrs. Templar seems to have everything a woman needs to make a man forget he meant to stay fancy-free.”
“She also has a husband,” Nina observed, a slight frown between her pretty eyebrows.
“Then he’d be wiser not to leave her on her own while he jaunts off to America,” Guy said dryly.
“Oh, nonsense. She isn’t the flighty type and you can tell Simon is just a friend to her.”
“Ah, but what is she to him, my poppet? I agree that it’s only a casual friendship on her part, but I rather fancy that Simon is on the brink of something more complicated. I caught him giving her some very lingering looks today.”
“Why not? She’s well worth looking at,” said Nina. “All the same, I’m afraid you may be right. I do hope not.
I would hate him to be hurt. Anyway, her husband isn’t away for long and then she won’t need anyone to keep her company.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, it doesn’t take long to fall in love. Let’s hope her husband gets back before Simon loses his balance,” Guy replied dryly.
Meanwhile, the subjects of his discussion were driving back to town in companionable silence. Andrea was thinking about the Laceys and how carefree they seemed in spite of having a rather precarious means of livelihood, and Simon was reflecting, not for the first time, that it would be pleasant to have a proper home to return to between overseas assignments.
Guy was close to the mark in his surmise that Simon was in danger of falling in love with Andrea. He did not know it yet, for it was not his habit to analyze his emotions and he had always been at pains to avoid any serious entanglements. In the past his relationships with women had been confined to casual affairs that had petered out by mutual consent after a few weeks. In Simon’s view marriage was incompatible with his present job and would have to wait until he was tired of roving or was offered a tempting executive post. Although he had met several attractive girls since returning to London this time—girls who had made it clear that they found him equally agreeable—he had been disinclined to cultivate any of them. He had also felt a certain dissatisfaction with his service apartment, which was comfortable enough in its way but lacked the welcoming atmosphere of a permanent home. However, he had dismissed both these feelings as passing moods and had certainly never connected them with his friendship with Andrea.
Simon had always regarded flirtations with married women as courting disaster, and although at first he had concluded that Andrea had married for money, their closer acquaintance inclined him to revise this cynical view. But whatever her motive for marrying Justin Templar, she was not the kind of woman to indulge in covert affairs, of that he was sure.
When they reached Syon Place, she invited him in for coffee. Hubbard answered the library bell.
“Mr. Justin telephoned from New York about an hour ago, madam,” he said when Andrea had asked for coffee and sandwiches. “I explained you were spending the day in Berkshire with friends of Mr. Brennan and he asked me to inform you that he would be flying home on Tuesday and expected to arrive about eight o’clock in the evening. He also asked after your health and I said you were quite recovered.”
“Thank you, Hubbard. Did he say how he was?”
“I gather he was in a hurry, madam. He was only on the line for a few moments.”
“I’m sorry I missed him, but it was so pleasant in the country that we were quite reluctant to come back,” Andrea said.
“If I may say so, madam, I think it has done you good.
You look greatly refreshed.
’
When he had gone, Andrea asked Simon to excuse her while she opened some letters that had arrived by the afternoon mail. One was a note from Aunt Laura announcing that she was coming to town the following day and would enjoy lunching with Andrea if she were free.
She glanced through the rest of the mail, unaware that Simon was watching her face and wondering about her. If she had not married Templar for his money, she must care for him.
Yet she did not look like a woman in love, or at least not like a woman whose love is returned. Was it possible that Templar did not care for her? Surely no man could be immune to that astounding loveliness, especially when it was allied to so much intelligence and charm. On the other hand, Templar had the reputation of being a hard nut to
crack, and perhaps like many big businessmen he was too concerned with high finance to take more than a cursory interest in his wife’s well-being.
When Simon left the house about an hour later he had made no arrangement to meet Andrea again, but as he drove home he wondered if she would like to go to the ballet the night after next. He had been given two complimentary tickets and it seemed a pity to waste one. Even then he did not see the abyss yawning at his feet.
As it turned out Andrea could not go the ballet because Aunt Laura had decided to stay in London for a night or two and they had made other plans. But, thinking that the old lady would enjoy meeting him, she suggested that he lunch with them the following day. Afterward Simon bitterly regretted accepting the invitation, for it was during that lunch, when Andrea was laughing at some remark he had made, that in a moment of appalled enlightenment he knew he was head over heels in love with her.
She did not notice that he was unusually quiet and withdrawn during the rest of the meal, but Aunt Laura had glimpsed the expression in his eyes at the moment of discovery.
“I like that young man. He should go far,” she said when he had taken his leave. She did not add that she knew his secret and pitied him.