Stolen Summer. Anne Mather
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‘Thank you.’
Shelley managed a small smile, and as Jennifer turned away to speak to Marsha, Ben took her place. His hand beneath her elbow sent tremors of apprehension up her arm, and his voice was disruptively intimate as he said: ‘Come and get a drink. I want to talk to you.’
‘I—can’t.’ Shelley’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at him. The message in his eyes was quite unmistakable, and although for the past two days she had been trying to convince herself that the compliment he had paid her when he was leaving the other morning had been objective, she could no longer delude herself that this was so. ‘Ben—please——’
‘Are you getting Shelley a drink, Dickon?’ enquired his mother behind them, and Jennifer started to laugh at something Charles had said. With a feeling of relief, Shelley moved so that Ben was forced to release her, and the situation resumed perspective as she restored a sense of balance.
‘You’ll never believe it, darling,’ exclaimed Jennifer, unaware that she did not have her fiancé’s undivided attention, ‘but Charles has just been telling me that Mrs Simmons called him out to look at Arthur! Arthur is Mrs Simmons’ cat,’ she added, for their guest’s benefit. ‘Isn’t it priceless! She behaves as if that cat was human!’
‘She’s a lonely old woman,’ responded Ben tersely, responding to his mother’s frantic gestures, and crossing the room to where a tray of drinks was waiting. ‘What will you have, Shelley? I think we’ve got most things here.’
‘A—glass of white wine would be lovely,’ replied Shelley nervously, linking her hands together. Then, finding his fiancée’s eyes upon her, she added quickly: ‘What do you do—er—Jennifer? Do you work with Ben and your father?’
‘No.’ Jennifer shook her head. ‘I work in a solicitor’s office actually. But I expect I’ll give that up after we’re married. Ben will need someone to answer his calls and take messages. Both Daddy and Uncle Bill are near to retirement, and when they do, Ben will be the senior partner in the practice.’
‘I see.’
Shelley was nodding as Ben joined them with her drink, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her the glass. His hands were cool and hard, but they burned Shelley’s flesh, and she wondered if he was as aware as she was of the electricity flowing between them.
‘I was just telling Shelley that when Daddy and Uncle Bill retire, you’ll be taking on a junior partner,’ said Jennifer, taking hold of his arm, as if she couldn’t bear not to be in contact with him. ‘We’re getting married in October. You must come to the wedding.’
‘Oh—I—that’s very nice of you, but——’
‘It’s not a definite date,’ said Ben flatly, as Shelley struggled to find words to excuse herself. ‘It really depends on Jennifer’s father. You do want him to be at the wedding, don’t you?’ he added, as the girl clinging to his arm started to protest.
‘Well, of course I do, but——’
‘Dickon, don’t be so aggressive!’ Marsha came to soothe Jennifer’s ruffled feelings. ‘Honestly, these two!’ she exclaimed, to no one in particular. ‘They can’t even agree on a date for their own wedding!’
‘Personally, I have a great respect for elopements,’ put in Charles Brandeth provokingly. ‘No guests; no fuss; no——’
‘—thanks!’ declared Marsha, putting an end to his pronouncement. ‘You wouldn’t want to cheat me out of my part in my only son’s nuptials, would you? I want to see Dickon in a morning suit, Charles, walking down the aisle of the church in Low Burton. And Jennifer, of course. My dear, you’ll look delightful in white with your dark hair.’
‘Mummy’s already seen a dress she thinks would suit me,’ put in Jennifer eagerly. ‘It’s in Harrogate. Maybe you’d like to come with us one day to see it, Mrs Seton. I know Mummy would appreciate your opinion.’
Shelley sipped her wine as the conversation ebbed and flowed around her. She took little part in it, and she was glad to withdraw inside herself and assimilate her position. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice that Ben spoke seldom also, and she was half afraid someone else would notice the intentness of his eyes when they rested upon her. She was imagining things, she told herself. She had to be. But the fact remained that he disturbed her in a way she found quite intolerable.
Sarah’s appearance, to announce that dinner was served, interrupted her troubled speculations, and Ben’s mother was not slow to notice that the maid’s eyes lingered longest on her son. ‘Shall we go in?’ she suggested, touching Shelley’s sleeve and drawing her with her. ‘Really, that girl!’ she added, in an undertone. ‘It doesn’t seem to occur to her that I might object!’
‘Object?’ Shelley moistened her lips. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Sarah,’ hissed Marsha impatiently. ‘Haven’t you noticed the covetous glances she keeps directing at Dickon? I keep telling myself she’s only seventeen and doesn’t know any better, but she’s beginning to annoy me.’
‘Oh.’ Shelley felt a chill run down her spine. ‘I see.’
‘I blame Dickon partly,’ Marsha added, as they entered the dining room. ‘I mean—he teases the girl and she takes him seriously. But he is engaged now, and Sarah should realise he’s not interested in her!’
‘Yes.’
Shelley absorbed what the other woman was saying with a distinctly hollow feeling. She wondered if Marsha would be confiding in her if she suspected Shelley’s own involvement. Unwilling, perhaps, but none the less fundamental because of that.
Struggling with her conscience, Shelley tried to pay attention to her surroundings. The dining table looked lovely. Mrs Carr had arranged the place settings on Venetian lace mats, and the china and cutlery was reflected in the table’s polished surface. Scarlet napkins tucked into crystal goblets marked every place, and a centrepiece of roses and carnations seemed to oscillate in the glow of two tall candles.
‘It’s really not dark enough to need the candles, but I thought they looked pretty,’ remarked Marsha, directing everyone to their seats. ‘Shelley—you sit here beside me, with Charles next to you, and Jennifer, you sit opposite Shelley.’ She smiled up at her son. ‘I’m sure you can find your own place, darling.’
With Marsha occupying the principal position at the head of the table, Shelley found herself almost opposite Ben as he took his place beside his fiancée. Marsha had arranged it so that as Charles had no one else beside him, he was obliged to talk to Shelley, and throughout the start of the meal, she seemed to spend her time answering his questions.
‘It must be very interesting, working in the media,’ he eventually commented predictably, and Shelley, who was used to this kind of query, gave a practised smile.
‘I like it,’ she said, though without the enthusiasm she had once possessed. ‘Any kind of communication is important in a society that seems to spend its time withdrawing from human contact.’
‘Is that what we do?’ Charles arched his rather heavily marked brows. ‘What makes you think so?’
‘Oh——’ Shelley was loath to get involved in dogma. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Every aim of Western civilisation seems designed to discommunicate man from his neighbour. The age of the computer signalled the start of increasing isolation.’
‘Do go on.’ Charles was intrigued, but Shelley was reluctant. A gap had occurred in the conversation Marsha had been having with Jennifer, and now everyone’s attention was focused on her.
‘I’m sure you don’t want to hear my views,’ she averred, in some embarrassment, endeavouring to swallow a piece of asparagus that seemed to have lodged in her throat. She took a mouthful of her wine, wishing she had made some non-committal comment,