Encounters (43 page)

‘And then?’

‘And then I don’t know.’ She turned back to him and smiled, a little sadly. ‘Don’t worry about me, George. I’ll keep in touch.’

Standing high on the cliffs above the grey seas, her hair tangled by the wind, she realized fully at last that she had been right to seek her freedom. She missed George dreadfully, but she was free to make her own decisions and formulate her own plans.

‘What are you going to be when you grow up?’ They had asked her at school. Well now at long last she was about to find out the answer to their question.

M
olly drummed her fingers on the breakfast table, looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, compared it with her wristwatch, and with an impatient sigh threw her paper on the floor.

From the window she could see the garden, flattened and sodden with the endless pouring rain. The thunder had passed. It had gone with the darkness and with it some of the humidity, but the room was still airless, in spite of the slightly open windows. There was a puddle on one of the sills she noticed vaguely, where the rain was being driven in. She let it stay.

When the doorbell rang at last she jumped. The house had seemed so empty, so quiet save for the rain on the paving outside.

Bill was grinning widely. ‘Sorry I’m late, Molly. The car wouldn’t start.’ He shook himself like a dog and stepped into the porch. She could see a line of droplets running down his unruly forelock. One dropped onto his nose. She resisted the temptation to touch it with her finger.

‘I’ll fetch my bag, darling. Hold on one minute and I’ll be with you.’

‘Better bring your brolly!’ She heard his voice echoing up the stairs after her as she ran to her bedroom. She stood looking round, her heart pounding. Her handbag was downstairs on the hallstand; her case too. She had packed last night after James had gone to bed. She looked down at the two identical beds, virginal beneath their white candlewick.

James had kissed her goodbye this morning as usual, about three inches in the air somewhere above her head as she sat over her coffee, passed her
The Times
– he took the
Financial Times
to the office – and strolled, humming gently, into the hall. She heard him mutter something about the rain and rattle the walking sticks in the stand, trying to extricate his umbrella. He swore gently, very unusual for James, and then from the sudden silence she knew he had gone. He always managed to shut the front door without a sound. There was nothing else to hear but the rain dripping down onto the terrace outside the window. She had poured herself another cup of coffee, a thing she seldom did and opened the paper to the Court page as though today were just like any other day.

‘Come on, Molly, where are you?’ Bill’s voice broke through her thoughts and she jumped guiltily.

Poor James. He was going to be very upset in his own quiet way when he found she had gone. She took the envelope from her dressing table drawer and laid it gently on his pillow. Poor James.

Bill was waiting in the hall, her handbag in one hand and her umbrella in the other. He proffered them, one eyebrow slightly raised. ‘Better bring a coat. It won’t always be as hot as this.’

‘Oh, I forgot.’ She turned towards the stairs again, but he grabbed her hand.

‘Never mind, sweetheart. Come on. We’re late as it is. I’ll buy you a coat.’

She slammed the front door and followed him across the soaking gravel to his car. The morning smelt of roses and grass and wet, wet earth.

In the car he turned on the radio. Then he leaned over and kissed her. ‘Mine at last,’ he muttered, taking her hand. ‘Dearest Molly. I’ve waited so long for this moment.’

She wormed her hand out of his grasp. ‘Not here, Bill, please. Someone might see.’ She patted her hair nervously.

She should have left the note downstairs on the mantelpiece. The bed was too personal; too pointed. What if Mrs White came today instead of Friday? She would see it and guess. The wretched woman might even read it. Perhaps she ought to go back and move it – but already the car was driving away. She sat back and closed her eyes. It was too late to go back. She must stop thinking about James. It would probably be days before he even noticed that she had gone.

She opened her eyes and watched the road through the labouring windscreen wipers.

Bill glanced across at her. ‘I know how you feel, darling. It’s a big step. Are you scared now you’ve done it?’

‘If you know how I feel, why do you ask?’ She didn’t mean to snap.

Don’t look so hurt, Bill, she thought to herself. You’re supposed to be carrying me off on your charger, remember? You’re taking me away from all this to a new life. You’ve swept me off my feet, remember?

She groped in her handbag for cigarettes and then remembered she had given them up. How strange. She hadn’t made that mistake for weeks now. James had made her do it. ‘I can’t bear to hear you coughing like that, Moll,’ he had said. ‘Please darling, for your own sake.’ He had taken her hands and looked into her eyes with such tenderness.

She shook her head angrily. Why did she keep remembering the good things about him?’

‘Have you got a ciggy, Bill?’

‘’Course.’ He changed gear expertly. ‘In my left hand pocket.’ He raised his elbow so she could reach.

Didn’t he care about her health then? She lit one and took a long draw on it. It left her convulsed with coughing and she stubbed it out angrily.

‘Let’s stop for coffee somewhere, Bill, please.’ Her voice was more urgent than she had intended and he looked at her, quickly anxious.

‘Can you wait five minutes? There’s a roadhouse about four miles further on. A good place.’

A roadhouse! James always took her to the best hotels for coffee so she could use the powder rooms in comfort. She wondered suddenly whether Bill would expect her to use public lavatories on their long drive north and she shuddered.

The roadhouse was red brick, impersonal and crowded. A coach had just discharged its occupants outside the door and Bill and Molly had to wait half an hour before they were served with their coffee. Then at last they were on the road again.

Bill sensed he had made a mistake. ‘I’ve planned a really good stop for lunch, Molly, in Grantham. Then I thought we’d stay tonight in a pub about ten miles further on. We don’t want to drive all day on our first day; or be too tired on our first night, do we?’ He felt for her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘I’m sorry about that last place. I’ve never seen it crowded before.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She smiled at him. She must make some effort. Poor Bill.

Lunch was good. The restaurant was small and intimate and the food delicious. Molly relaxed at last, gazing into Bill’s eyes across the brandy he had insisted on buying her.

‘I shall fall asleep drinking like this in the middle of the day,’ she murmured. He had lovely eyes. They were what had first attracted her. An intense blue of the kind that usually faded in middle age, surrounded by thick black lashes.

‘Your ancestors must have been Irish,’ she had said to him once, but he had laughed.

‘As far as I know none of them have ever been further west than Hertfordshire,’ he had teased her. And she didn’t ask any further.

She wondered briefly why she had never wanted to know about Bill’s family or his past. She should be curious about everything to do with the man she loved. Was it that she was afraid of what she might discover? Not that he was bad, but that he was good; too good. She wanted to imagine without being sure that there was something disreputable about Bill. It was not such fun being carried off by a respectable man. James was a respectable man.

Bill had started well. He had brought her flowers and chocolates and a tiny filigree pendant and stolen her glove and her hanky. He had carried her to the summer house at the Barnabys, that first time they had made love, gently ignoring her half-hearted protests and he had stopped her conscience with kisses. He had phoned her and written and played games of hide and seek to meet her in London when she went up with James, giving her an orchid as her prize when she had found him.

But now?

He had suddenly become diffident. Nervous. Almost half-hearted. Now that she was here with him she could sense all was not as it had been. He was not dashing any more.

She glanced at his profile. ‘Let’s do something foolish, Bill. I want to be mad this afternoon.’ She put her hand on his knee, willing him to smile and mock and change his sober Rover into a rearing, bit-champing white stallion.

‘Careful, Molly. You’ll distract me while I’m driving. Wait till we get there.’ He was frowning through the windscreen. The rain hadn’t stopped.

She slumped back in her seat, disappointed.

They were registered as Mr and Mrs at the inn. It was a pretty room with pink chintz curtains and a wide bed. The ashtray on the dressing table had been emptied but not washed. Molly wrinkled her nose at the black film on the china. She threw herself down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Bill came to her and kissed her tenderly. Then he brushed her hair back from her forehead. There was something slightly possessive about the gesture which she resented. He smelt of garlic from the lunch.

‘I want to run naked in the rain,’ she whispered to him, testing. ‘When it’s dark I’m going to explore the garden.’ She giggled.

But he looked serious and kissed her again. ‘Silly Molly. You can’t possibly do such a thing. When it gets dark we’ll be here together.’ His deep blue eyes were close to hers. They were pleading and unsure.

She turned her head away. ‘It’s not working, Bill, is it?’ Her voice was so soft she wondered if she had spoken aloud at all.

‘You haven’t let yourself make the break, sweetheart, that’s all.’ He stood up and walked away from her, hiding his face. ‘It’s not too late to go back, Molly. If that’s what you want.’

She felt a tear roll down her face and brushed at it in surprise. She had not realized she was crying.

‘I think I do, Bill. I’m sorry.’

He was looking out of the window, the chintz curtain partly obscuring his shoulder and his face. He turned and looked at her, his expression carefully impassive.

‘Think about it, Molly darling.’ He blinked several times, quickly like a child trying not to cry and she felt a wrench of love and pity. ‘If you want to get back before James finds your note we ought to leave pretty soon.’ He glanced at his watch although she knew he couldn’t see it. ‘I’ll be downstairs having a drink.’

She sat for a while after he had gone, gazing at the pink and orange floral pattern on the carpet. Then suddenly she stood up.

Bill was in the lounge looking at a paper. ‘I’ve squared the hotel,’ he said without looking up, his voice dull and subdued. ‘We can leave now.’

‘You knew, didn’t you, Bill?’ She stood before him. ‘Is that why you booked in here; why we didn’t go all the way?’

‘I had a feeling I might be driving you back, sweetheart.’ He threw down the paper and stood up. ‘You’re not the type to run out on your husband. I knew it before you did. I was resigned.’ He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

‘And you don’t mind?’

‘Hell! Of course I mind.’ He kicked savagely at some ash on the carpet. ‘If I could I would throw you over my shoulder and take you away and keep you locked up somewhere safe, just for me … But I can’t do that, Molly. You know it and I know it. You belong to James, I thought perhaps you could break away; I hoped you could, but …’ he broke off shrugging his shoulders and turned away.

She followed him out to the car and climbed silently in beside him. He started the engine and then turned to her suddenly, the familiar grin once more playing round his eyes. ‘Cheer up, Molly love. I don’t like drama scenes. We’ve had a lot of fun, you and I.’ He took her hand and kissed it gently. ‘We didn’t know when to stop, that’s all. No harm done.’

He drove back very fast, retracing the journey of the morning. The rain had stopped at last and the afternoon sun turned the road into a ribbon of glass as the wet tarmac stretched before them. Trees, telegraph wires and fence posts were strung with diamond droplets.

Molly was thinking of the house. Supposing it was too late. Supposing James had come home and found the note. Supposing Mrs White had been in and seen it? She found her hands were shaking in her lap. Bill was gazing ahead. Glancing across at him she saw his jaw set in a hard line.

The house looked strangely empty when the car at last drew up by the gate. Bill didn’t move, so she opened the car door and slipped out herself, reaching over for her case.

‘Will I see you again?’ Her voice sounded timid, uncertain. She saw him swallow. Then he turned and smiled.

‘If you want to, Molly; I’ll be there. See how it goes, darling.’ He raised his hand and then he had gone.

She went into the house quickly. She knew in her heart she wouldn’t meet him again. It was over.

She put down her case in the hall and ran up to the bedroom. The envelope still lay on the pillow where she had left it. Clasping it to her thankfully she tore it slowly into a hundred tiny pieces, letting each bit drift into the waste paper basket.

She was still in the bedroom when she heard James’s key in the lock. Her heart gave a little extra bump and she glanced in the mirror anxiously, patting her hair, then she ran downstairs. He was standing in the hall, looking blankly at her case.

‘Oh James,’ she held out her hands to him. ‘James, darling.’

‘Hello Molly.’ He opened his arms as she ran to him and gently he kissed her hair.

‘Oh James, I nearly did a silly thing today.’ She buried her face in the breast of his pin-striped suit.

He held her away from him and gazed into her eyes. Then he smiled and kissed her again. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t, Molly. So very glad.’ He stopped and handed her her case. ‘Unpack, Molly. Then come and have a drink with me. I’m going to open some champagne.’