Peacock's Walk (11 page)

ON the day of the proposed visit to the Pavilion, Jenny found herself hoping with an almost frantic fervour that Mark would find some excuse to absent himself from the tour. Relations between herself and Dilys had markedly improved since their confrontation a day or so before, and Jenny was anxious to keep this state of affairs in being. She had managed to avoid the previous evening's dinner date, on a perfectly valid excuse that even Mark could not fault, because Dodie's daughter had arrived on a month's visit from Australia. Having a lot of visits to make during the time allotted, she had wanted to show off her new son, not only to her mother but to all her old friends at Peacock's Walk, and this included Jenny.

When Dodie insisted on Jenny spending an evening with them, to meet not only her first grandchild but the father too, whom Dodie's daughter had met while on holiday in Sydney, and subsequently married, Jenny could not turn the invitation down, even if she had wanted to, and she had accepted the invitation with an eagerness that bordered on relief.

However, there was nothing in Dilys's expression the following morning when they started out on their way to the Pavilion to suggest that she had managed to get Mark on her own, and Jenny suspected that he had found some excuse for absenting himself soon after the meal was over. This was shortly borne out by Dilys's peeved remark as they parked the Bentley in the parking space allotted for visitors to the Pavilion.

`Well, at least you got all your paperwork over with last night,' she said to Mark, as if warning him that they were going to make a day of it, and no excuse of work would serve to spoil the day.

As she accepted Silas's helping hand out of the car, Jenny sighed inwardly. Her ploy of giving Dilys a free evening with Mark had not apparently worked, and she had a nasty feeling that her plan for staying close to Silas, leaving Dilys and Mark to entertain each other, would receive the same fate, and this proved to be the case.

On entering the Pavilion, however, she saw a glimmer of hope, for she had forgotten how the visitors were shepherded along lines of fixed barriers in the form of ropes to prevent anyone wandering off course. It was just possible to walk two abreast, and that was all, so there would be no possible chance of anyone pushing ahead and rearranging matters to suit their convenience, something that Jenny suspected Mark might try if Dilys persisted in clinging on to his arm as she was now doing.

In a remarkably short time she found that

she had slightly underestimated Mark's ingenuity where matters of self-preservation were concerned, for having diverted Silas's attention to a remarkably fine Chinese-style wall painting, he had somehow manoeuvred to change positions with him and now stood next to Jenny, leaving Dilys and her uncle to bring up the rear.

By the look Dilys sent her, anyone would have thought it was Jenny's fault, but apart from directing a glare at Mark there was nothing Jenny could do about it. Although she had one or two attempts at trying the same tactics on Mark by staying overlong admiring a gilded ceiling or the beautiful chandelier that hung from a silver dragon sitting in the branches of a painted palm tree in the Banqueting Room, she could not shake Mark off, and had to resign herself to his company in spite of Dilys's querulous call of, 'Wait for us!' when she found that she and her uncle were now following an elderly couple, who seemed more intent on doing the tour in the shortest possible time rather than taking in the wondrous decor.

By the time they had reached the Music Room, with its domed ceiling of gilded scallop-shells, Jenny had ceased to worry about Dilys or Mark, but was lost in a world of her own. The Regency period had always captured her imagination, and as she gazed at the beautiful wall paintings with their red, yellow, and gold brush strokes of Eastern origin, she was transported back to the days of grace, when women wore the high-waisted flimsy gowns with plunging necklines, and quaint poke bonnets from

under which ringlets would peep. Of gentlemen dressed in the fashion of the day, as dictated by Beau Brummel, for there was a different meaning attached to the title of 'Dandy' in those days.

At the thought of dress, Jenny found herself comparing Mark's informal wear of pale blue shirt, navy blazer and navy slacks, to the tight-fitting velvet, short-waisted coat with pointed tails, and long skin-tight breeches that depicted the Dandy of those days. To her consternation she found that he would present a fine figure of a man, and her wilful thoughts ran on unheeding as the name 'Prince Charming' automatically came to mind, and she was jerked out of her reverie with a jolt. He was not her Prince Charming, or anybody's—not even poor Dilys's!

With her abrupt curtailment of any more wishful thinking in this direction, Jenny was totally unprepared for a repeat performance from Mark on precisely the same spot on which he had chosen to propose to her two years ago. In the circumstances, she might have been forgiven for thinking she had imagined the low, 'Marry me, Jenny,' but her partially shocked senses knew very well she was not dreaming it; the firm -pressure of his hand on her arm assured her of this.

As the words were said for her
ears alone, it was the one crum
of comfort for
Jenny that Dilys could not hav
e heard them. She shook her head in a motion that clearly showed her blind unacceptance of his proposal, whereupon the pressure on her arm increased to almost unbearable tension, and she

understood the silent message he was giving her. He had meant what he had said, and was not taking no for an answer.

The rest of the tour passed in a kind of daze for Jenny, as once before she had been made to come out of her reveries of the past by a few simple words that had transported her back to the twentieth century in the space of a second. But now, unlike before, the sensation was not a pleasant one and she could have cried for Mark's insensibility in reawakening the only pleasant memories she had left of their past association.

He must have been in dire straits indeed to have thrown away his independence, although Jenny had said 'yes' before, hadn't she? and was jilted for her trouble, she thought bitterly, and if he thought she would be prepared to enter into a make-believe engagement just to throw Dilys off the scent, he had better think again!

There would not, she thought grimly, be any more chances given to Mark to bully her into acting the part he had assigned her, for she was determined to get out, here and now, and found herself almost running towards the car when they left the Pavilion. The minute they got back to Peacock's Walk, she would pack. Mark was big enough to look after himself, and if he couldn't, that was just too bad. He had gone down in her estimation; no longer would she see him as a strong character, but a weak-kneed refugee from the altar. She wished Dilys joy of him. If that was the kind of man she wanted, then she was welcome to him.

On the way back to the hotel Dilys, as Jenny had expected, suggested they make a day of it, and asked Jenny to suggest some other place they might visit, preferably somewhere with gardens—or, they could have a picnic on the beach, couldn't they? It was such a lovely day, it was a pity to waste it.

Jenny had no intention of accompanying the party anywhere once they had got back to the hotel, but thought a picnic would be a nice idea—for them that was, as she had work to do and went on to give directions as to where the more secluded beaches were to be found.

Her advice, not to mention her decision to bow out of the party, pleased Dilys who shot her an approving look, and gave her uncle an appealing one. If he were to also bow out, it would give her the solo date with Mark she had been angling for since she had arrived.

That Mark made no objection to her plan for absenting herself from their company caused Jenny some puzzlement, for apart from a swift almost calculating look he shot at her as she made her excuses, he did not override her decision—yet Jenny was well aware that if it had not suited his purpose he would not have let her get away with it. Two and two were beginning to add up to five, and Jenny did not like it, but she had to be satisfied with her small success in doing exactly what she wanted to do—something she hadn't known since Mark had made a reappearance in her life.

Her anger at being subjected to what she would describe as an encore to a very bad play had evapor-

ated by the time they had got back to Peacock's Walk, and although still determined to get out as soon as possible, Jenny lost the urge to rush up to her rooms and start packing straight away. She had told Tony they would go when they were ready, and there was no sense making an undignified exit from the scene. First, Tony must be consulted, and given time to gather his possessions together, also to find alternative lodgings for them until they worked something out. They would probably stay with Dodie, who had ample room in her four-bedroomed terraced house a few miles away from the hotel. To leave without telling Tony would be like giving him a slap in the face, and she couldn't do it. There was also the possibility of an out-and-out row between Tony and Mark, and Jenny would rather see things through to the bitter end than cause such a happening—especially as Tony had shown that he, like her, was not averse to staying. Peacock's Walk was just as much home to him as it was to her.

Jenny sighed as the realisation came to her that she would have to see things through. Dilys could not stay in the U.K. for ever—at least, she presumed not. She did not appear to have a job, and if she had, it must be with some organisation connected with her uncle that gave her unlimited leave. Although here Jenny had to concede that she might be taking her vacation early on in the year, since it was the beginning of May, and weatherwise not really an ideal time to pick for a holiday in England's unsettled weather, although the sunlight streaming in through her office window belied this thought.

The sunlight turned her thoughts to Mark and Dilys, now presumably sitting in some sheltered spot on Devil's Dyke overlooking the valleys of the Sussex coast, and beyond that to the sea, that on such a day would be gleaming with silver glints as the sun caught the water. She couldn't help wondering if Mark remembered the time he had taken her there, as he had so obviously remembered the exact spot he had proposed to her in the Pavilion. Would he pull Dilys close to him, as he had done her? Kiss her with the same fierce intensity? A ragged sob came into her throat at the memory, memories she had forced into oblivion under the pain of the reawakening out of the fairyland Mark had taken her to.

With an effort she pulled her thoughts away from the past. As Dilys had said, it was her turn now, and it was no time to remember that she could have got Mark back by showing him the letter Malcolm had left for her. On this thought she pulled herself out of her brooding misery that bordered on self-pity, something that Jenny normally abhorred, and reminded herself sharply of why she had not even tried to exonerate herself from his charges.

The reason, she told, herself firmly, still held good, she had not really believed that she could hold. Mark's love, and later events had proved this theory to her eventual cost. In the silence of the empty office she could at last admit that she did love him, would always love him, but would never trust herself to reveal that love. When all was said and done, she supposed she was a coward, too afraid to venture

out into the wonderland again, too afraid of getting hurt again.

Dilys, now, would have no such qualms—how could she have? She had not been hurt—at least, not as Jenny had been hurt, although unrequited love hurt, and in that Dilys had her entire sympathy. No matter how fickle Mark might be, he would not have proposed again to Jenny, and then place himself at the mercy of the determined Dilys, making no attempt to wriggle out of the proposed picnic, even though he knew full well that Silas would accede to Dilys's unspoken plea and find some excuse for not accompanying them. He would not do this without some good reason, and Jenny wondered what that reason was, although she half suspected what it might be, and if she were right, then Dilys might well be heading home sooner than planned.

Mark and Dilys returned just before five, and Jenny, who had gone down to reception to collect her evening paper, was just in time to witness Dilys's wild rush for the stairs in a way that suggested that her previous suppositions regarding the reason why Mark had allowed himself to be coerced into a solo date with her had proved correct. At the grim expression on Mark's face, she also surmised that it had not been a pleasant task. As he had not seen her as he swept into the entrance of the hotel, Jenny kept out of his vicinity by going in the other direction.

A visit by Dodie later that evening to Jenny gave her further confirmation of what had taken place between Dilys and Mark that afternoon. Dodie had

always kept an eye on the comings and goings of the guests, purely in an effort to ensure the smooth running of the hotel, and to make certain the guests were provided with good service.

'Just might be a storm in a teacup, as you might say,' said Dodie, 'but according to Rose, she was in a

- rare taking when she came in earlier. She didn't come down to dinner, so I sent a tray up to her, but she wouldn't even open her door for Kathy to take it in. Kathy says she shouted at her to go away.' She looked at Jenny. 'Anyway, I thought I'd better tell you. Happen her uncle knows. She usually sits with him at dinner, doesn't she? and he's having dinner with Mr Chanter.

Jenny smiled at her. 'Thanks for telling me, Dodie. I'll pop along to see her in a minute. She's probably got a headache or something. I'll take along -some aspirin, in case she needs them.' She glanced at her wrist watch. 'It's time you went,' she scolded her affectionately.