In The Name Of Love (3 page)

She shook her head, once again amazed at the genius of his
anticipation compared to the idiocy of his aberrations with women. No wonder he
was almost unbeatable at chess, he was always many moves ahead of his
competitor.

As she slipped on her coat and left the house to walk the
mile or so to the young woman's home, she half smiled at the way he'd
anticipated her question, and knew she'd try to get him out of the
trouble—again. It was the third time in as many years, and she knew that one
day her luck would run out.

The walk had cleared her head and enabled her to plan the
conversation, but she was totally unprepared for what happened when she knocked
at the door of the young girl's home. The door opened and a tall, leggy girl
with long brown hair opened it and said, "Hello, you must be Mrs Worthington,
your husband said you may call. Come in, please."

She ushered Joyce into the sitting room saying, "Mum and Dad
are at the Beetle Drive in the Village Hall, so we won't be disturbed."

Staggered at this further proof of Cyril's anticipation of
her actions, she said, "I'll get right to the point then, if you don't mind,
Mary?"

The girl nodded and seemed quite composed.

"Did my husband molest you in the office?"

"Not at all," said Mary in a firm voice.

This was not the reply Joyce was expecting so she said,
"Mary, did my husband run his hand up your leg?"

"Mrs. Worthington, let me explain. You first ask if your
husband molested me and then if he ran his hand up my leg. Now from almost any
other man, that would be a serious case of molestation and I would have complained
most bitterly. But not from your husband."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Let me put it this way; at the office we girls in his
department think of your husband as a big old cuddly bear. Not that there's any
impropriety, of course, but we just know he means no harm. In fact, most of the
time he doesn't even seem to know that he's doing it."

"I see," said Joyce, who didn't see at all, and was quite
confused.

"We know he could never try it on, like some of the letches
in the office. He doesn't grope me, or any of the girls; he's not that way
inclined at all."

"I'm not sure that's very complimentary…"

"I don't mean to be rude about it, but we understand that
perhaps your husband doesn't have any lead in his pencil, unlike some of the
dirty old men that rub up against us whenever they can."

Joyce understood what was being said, but it was not what
she came to hear, so she decided to ignore the current conversation and ask the
pertinent question.

"If you are asked by Graham Baines, the Department Head to
confirm the complaint, what will you say?"

Without any hesitation Mary said, "I will tell him it did
not occur, because I was not abused or molested, but simply given a friendly
pat by somebody I trust."

"Thank you so much, Mary," said Joyce, getting to her feet,
"And you will not mention anything about our chat tonight, will you?"

"Of course not, I understand why you've come, and I would do
the same to protect my husband. But Mrs. Worthington, I must tell you that
there are one or two people in the department who do not understand your
husband and also do not like him. I think you should know this, because one
day…"

"I understand, Mary, and I'll speak to Cyril about it."

"She asked me about it, you know."

"Who did?"

"That Miss Bainbridge—the one your husband calls the wicked
Witch of the North."

"What did you say to her, Mary?"

"Similar to what I've told you, and suggested she was
mistaken. She became quite angry and started shouting."

"Yes, she's a bit like that."

"Told me I was to call her Councillor Bainbridge, but I
won't do that."

"I should think not. Her title is honorary, and I think it should
only be used on council business, if she has any, that is," said Joyce, with a
tight smirk.

"Oh she has specific council duties, alright."

"You surprise me, Mary, how do you know that?"

"My sister is a secretary at the town hall, and was taking
down the minutes of a meeting when the Mayor assigned her in charge of the
public lavatories!"

They both laughed aloud at that, and Joyce said, "Once
again, thank you. Good night!"

"Good night," said Mary waving to her as she walked down the
path to the road.

The walk home took longer, because her pace was slower while
she pondered over the problem of her husband's fondness of young women. It was
not uncommon of course, especially in men of his age, but usually it took the
form of an affair, or even a divorce and remarriage. Cyril was not looking for
an affair or even a sexual conquest; he just liked young women and enjoyed
touching them. She'd noticed for years how at Church Fetes or Meetings, he'd
gravitate towards the young women—married, or single—and put a hand on their
shoulder, or take them by the arm.

At first, she'd thought it was the precursor of an
adulterous affair, but a careful watch of his activities indicated nothing of
that nature. Furthermore, the decline of his sexual advances before her last
pregnancy, suggested a developing impotence.

"There must be a solution, and I'm determined to find it,"
she muttered to herself, as she pushed open her garden gate and strode
forcefully towards the front door.

Grant drove his battered Vauxhall Viva with care as he wound
his way through the back streets of Leeds, avoiding the early morning traffic
jams in the town centre. He glanced over at his wife and saw she was staring
ahead with that set look, which indicated she was upset with him once again.
They would be together for the next hour or so, until he reached Manchester,
and he couldn't bear it if she remained in her present mood, so he tried to
clear the air.

Putting his hand on her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze
he said, "These early mornings can get you down. Are you feeling tired, love?"

April turned and glared at him as she said, "Yes, I am
tired. I'm tired of the way you and my mother go on, it's embarrassing. I hate
the way she kisses you goodbye on the front step; anybody would think she's
your wife, not me!"

Grant had seen this boiling up for a few days, but there was
little he could do about it right now without ending up in another argument. He
decided to agree with her comment, and said, "I am of the same opinion, love,
but no matter how many times I ask her not to kiss me goodbye, she just ignores
me. You know what she's like."

"It's not the kiss goodbye that's the problem, especially if
you offer her your cheek, it's that you not only let her kiss you on the mouth,
but you actually return the kiss—and at great length, I might add." April
sniffled into her handkerchief, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes
before continuing with, "And you always seem to do it on the front doorstep,
where everybody can see you."

"Can't you have a word with your mother? I think it might be
best coming from you."

"You know I can't say anything, she'll only think I'm
jealous or something. We've had all this out before, and it's up to you to sort
it out."

"Well, with a bit of luck you'll find us a place in
Stockport today, or somewhere close, and then we can move." He glanced at her,
hoping the change of subject would ease the tension, because if it went on like
this the rest of the way, it also spoil his day at work.

"I have found plenty of really nice houses we can rent, but
you always say they're too high. That one we went to see on Monday was lovely."

"Yes, I agree, it was nice, and if the meeting with the directors
at the garment factory in Oldham goes alright this afternoon, we'll probably
take it."

"Oh Grant, that will be fantastic. Do you think there's a
good chance of getting the order? I do hope so," she said, her eyes shining
with delight, and the bad mood wiped away.

"Well, they don't have a company pension yet and the
director I spoke to on the phone was all in favour of the meeting today. I'm
pretty sure I'll get it," he said, glancing at her reaction. In truth, however,
he was far from sure, because he was yet to sell a pension policy.

He'd been
working as an insurance agent for Granite Insurance since leaving school, and
was promoted to Area Manager in the Beeston Hill district of Leeds two years
ago. He soon became the leading manager for the division, and when the company
started a special pension division for businesses, he was given the opportunity
of starting a new pensions division.

The rest of the journey into Manchester was calmer and full
of small talk, with April very excited about moving to Stockport, which she
loved, and away from her mother.

-o-

His long day of cold calling for prospects was without much
success, so he finished early and then drove into Manchester to meet with his
wife. Their favourite spot was the café on the fifth floor of John Lewis's
department store. He had no difficulty in parking his car in a side road and
walked the short distance to the store, enjoying the late summer sunshine.

When he entered the café, he saw it was quite busy and after
a walk around be saw a vacant table over in the far corner. Before he could
reach it however, an elderly couple laden with shopping bags sat there, so he
stopped to look around. He felt somebody tugging his sleeve, and turned to see
a well dressed, middle aged woman in a green suit and matching hat smiling at
him.

"Hello Grant, don't you remember me? It's Joyce Worthington;
I was a friend of your mother's," said the woman with a broad smile.

"Yes, of course I do. Hello Mrs. Worthington, how are you."

"I'm fine, and I've just ordered some tea. Why don't you
join me?"

"Thank you, I think I will. It's very busy here this
afternoon." He took a seat next to her and glancing at his watch he said, "I'm
expecting my wife to meet me here, but not for thirty minutes or so."

"Congratulations, Grant. How long have you been married?"

"Oh, let's see; it will be three years next spring."

The waitress delivered a pot of tea and a plate of delicious
looking cakes. Joyce said, "Can we have another cup and saucer, please?"
Turning to Grant she said, "Where are you living now; I heard that soon after
the family moved to Leeds you lost both your parents? That was such a terrible
blow for you, and they were so young, too."

The mention of his parents brought back the memory of his
headmaster at Manchester Grammar School telling him that his parents had been
killed in a car accident, and how hard be fought to keep back the tears, when
his Aunt Violet and Uncle Ronald came to collect him.

He took his time sipping
on the cup of tea that she had poured him and then looked up at her and said,
"Yes, that's right, Mrs. Worthington, I went to live with relatives for a year,
but as soon as I was 20-years old, I left them to live alone. They were nice
enough, but didn't really want the problems or work of a young man, not having
children of their own, so it was an amicable parting. Gosh, that was nine-years
ago!"

"Yes, time does fly," she said, reaching over and placing a
hand over his, "But, Grant, please call me Joyce, you've know me since you
learned to walk and Mrs. Worthington is far too formal. In fact, now I think
about it, you used often used to call me Joyce, so don't change now."

He blushed as the memory of their previous meetings gushed
through his head, but he smiled at her, and patted her hand with his other hand,
saying, "Okay, Joyce, but we really ought to let go hands, or my wife may get
the wrong idea, if she arrives early!"

They chuckled, and he was disturbed to feel her give his
hand a squeeze before letting go. In an effort to ease the moment, he said, "And
how is your husband these days, Joyce, is he still with the Inland Revenue?"

"Yes, Cyril is doing very well and since 1961 he is the
manager of a new department dealing with business tax returns. It is growing
rapidly, and while his responsibilities grow daily, it is not reflected in his
annual income. That's the problem with the Civil Service, or one of them,
anyway. Cyril is always going on about them, and sometimes I wonder why he ever
started there."

Listening to her prattle on, he remembered how she never
seemed to stop talking, and how his mother used to fume about it, when she came
home from a shopping trip with her. He finished off his second cake and said,
"My work is somewhat similar in that I'm in a new department with Granite
Insurance, introducing company pension schemes. They're becoming very popular
and you'd be surprised how many companies don't have one."

"And how's it working out, Grant?" said Joyce, who was
looking bored by the topic.

Grant decided to change the subject so he said, "Oh not bad
at all, April is busy looking for a house for us to rent in Stockport, but
she's not having much luck."

"That's a lovely name—April. And I expect she's your little
angel, too. I'm not at all surprised she's finding it hard, there are not many
people willing to lease their home, and when one does become available, they
can be pretty expensive. I will look around for you, and let you know if I find
one. There was a lovely small cottage for rent in King's Road, which is just
around the corner from our place in Gorsey Road, but I rather think that is was
snapped up, but I can check for you. They are all so popular now, I'm afraid."

"That would be great, with you living in the town for so
long and knowing it well." He took out his wallet, and found a business card to
give her. "This has my office number in Leeds, but on the back is my home
number. Well, actually it's April's mother's home, and we're living there until
we can find a place of our own."