The Tender Flame (16 page)

Danielle said: ‘Who is everybody? If you mean the people of Willowbridge, they wouldn't know. It's doubtful if they'd set eyes on her before David installed her in the cottage.'

‘Didn't Annabel come from Willowbridge? I thought she had.'

‘No. It is traditional for the bride to be married in her home town. The village didn't become involved until . . . afterwards,' she finally produced in a flat, dead little voice.

Jan remembered that the tragedy which struck on Annabel's wedding day had claimed the life of Danielle's fiancé.

‘Two people have very different memories of Annabel. David is one, I am the other.' A faint sigh escaped Danielle's lips. ‘And even our memory of her differs. One of us will always see her as a monster, taking everything, giving nothing. Cruel, destructive, even from the grave. To the other she will always be a naughty child—thoughtless, but not
intentionally
cruel. A victim, perhaps, of her own incredible beauty.'

Danielle didn't say which version was hers. She didn't have to. Hers would be the bitter one. The less caustic version would be David's, because his memory of Annabel would be tempered by love.

Jan queried: ‘I'll tell you what puzzles me. Why do you think David chose to house Annabel in Willowbridge? David didn't come from there himself. If he'd been one of their own they wouldn't have judged him so harshly. Why didn't David buy a house for Annabel in her own home town, where she would have been among people she knew?'

‘I don't know. Annabel's parents died a long time ago and she was brought up by an indifferent aunt. That doesn't really answer your question. Whatever David's motive might have been, I'm sure it was a kindly one.'

That's what Jan surmised. In default of a positive answer, she could supply a pretty good guess. She thought David had chosen Willowbridge so that Annabel could be under the kindly eye of Stephen's mother. He hadn't forgotten Louisa Grant. She had suffered a cruel blow when she lost her only son. David was not going to add to her deprivation by not allowing her the joy of seeing her granddaughter grow up.

* * *

The
day still had one more surprise for Jan tucked up its sleeve. She got off the bus at Willowbridge, and was walking along in a sort of thinking, dilatory fashion, when she saw two people whom she knew. She thought her mind must be playing tricks. It couldn't be them. She blinked and did a double-take and broke into an excited run.

‘Why didn't you let me know you were coming?' And the next moment she was in her mother's arms and her father was in the process of relieving her of her shopping bag and dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘Darlings, I'm so happy to see you both. It's just too marvellous. You have come to stay? It's not just a flying visit?' she asked anxiously.

Her parents both answered at once. ‘That's what I call a welcome,' her father said. Her mother's face was a beam of delight. ‘We have. David gave us an open invitation and carte-blanche to take it whenever we wanted. And so here we are.'

Jan checked her watch. ‘I don't have to collect Stephanie from play-school for an hour yet. There's time to go home and have a cup of tea.'

‘You're talking my language. I'd love a cup of tea,' her mother said with feeling.

‘Where have you parked the car?' Jan asked.

‘Outside the cottage. When we saw that you
were
out, we thought we'd have a little walk to stretch our legs and spy out the land. We were just sauntering along when we spotted you getting off the bus.'

On the way back to Larkspur Cottage, Jan walked between her parents, as she used to when she was a child, giving first one arm an excited squeeze, then the other.

Her mother thought the cottage was a gem in the perfect setting. ‘It's the sort of sometime-in-the-future place we've always wanted. Oh, you are lucky to live here, Jan.'

Jan's shining eyes answered, ‘Yes, I am lucky.'

She buttered some scones while the kettle was boiling and opened a packet of the ginger biscuits her father was partial to. The tea came very much secondary to the conversation, there was so much catching up to do.

Her mother followed her through to the kitchen and perched on the stool while Jan washed the few tea things up.

‘Is it all working out for you, Jan?'

‘Yes. I'm over Martin. That's what you meant, wasn't it?'

Her mother didn't look too sure that it was what she'd meant, but she nodded amiably.

‘I never could keep anything from you, Mum, so I knew you must have guessed why I applied for the job in the first place. I thought I was heartbroken when Martin told me about Tara. I wasn't, of course. Broken hearts don't
mend
as easily as mine did. I had to get away because I couldn't bear the thought of seeing Martin and his new love together, as a team, the way we'd always been. But we'd never been a team in that way. Ours was a springtime love, young, fragile . . . a little foolish even. When I came home just recently, remember you and Dad were away when I landed? Well, I went out with Martin. The blossom had fallen from the bough and had drifted away. There was nothing but the sweetness of the memory left.'

‘That's your impression, obviously. Does Martin feel the same way?'

‘I don't know.' Jan frowned. ‘I tried to get it across to him that it was all over between us, but I think I might have botched it.'

‘I can tell you that you did. The message Martin got was that you were prepared to give him all the time he needed to get over the hurt Tara had inflicted, and that he could come seeking you out again, safe in the knowledge that you would be waiting for him with open arms. Which was rather conceited of him, I thought.'

It crossed Jan's mind that her mother had always tolerated Martin, without actually liking him.

‘How do you know all this?' she asked.

‘From Martin himself. He's been my most frequent visitor of late.' She pulled a face.

Jan's face wasn't exactly wreathed in smiles. ‘I was hoping he would have made it up with
Tara
by now.'

‘If she's any sense, she'll think she's had a lucky escape,' Muriel Ashton said tartly. Then, ‘What time did you say you had to collect Stephanie, dear?'

‘Now!' Jan replied, pushing aside her mother's disquieting news and views to look at the clock.

* * *

Stephanie took to her parents like a duck to water. In turn, they were thoroughly enchanted by her. Stephanie took over completely. She jumped out of bed each morning as if she couldn't wait to unwrap this new day which represented a parcel tied up with promise and addressed to her. John Ashton was her devoted companion. It was his belief that a child's enquiring mind needed feeding, and he had the patience to carry it through. Her mother commandeered the kitchen and baked gingerbread men for her with currant eyes. As an extra bonus, David took time off from work and accompanied them on a sight-seeing tour of the surrounding district.

Jan had no idea who instigated it, perhaps her father did, but Stephanie dropped into the habit of calling him Gramps. Yet it never occurred to Jan how much like a family they looked until that lovely custom of taking afternoon
tea took them into a café with mullioned windows and a strategically positioned dessert trolley temptingly loaded with all manner of cakes and gateaus. The woman at the next table leaned forward and said to Jan: ‘Your daughter is so sweet, but I bet she's quite a handful. How do you cope?'

Jan was so surprised that she hadn't the presence of mind to utter a denial.

To make matters worse the woman added: ‘I've been trying to make up my mind who she takes after, you or your husband and I've decided that she's got a look of you both.'

Muriel and John Ashton had all on to suppress their giggles. It was left to David to jump into the breach. His reply was even more disconcerting than the woman's mistaken remarks. ‘You should sympathise with me. They're both quite a handful. And I cope with extreme difficulty.'

‘David, how can you say such an outrageous thing!' Jan gasped, her hand automatically lifting to her cheek, as if it might stem the flood of colour.

‘My dear,' the woman said, misunderstanding totally. ‘Don't be put out. I know from experience that husbands are the limit. You should hear the things mine says.'

All Jan could hear was her parents amused laughter; all she could see was the devilment sparkling in David's eyes.

Despite everything, it was a wonderful day.

Back
at the cottage, Muriel Ashton said: ‘Why don't you round if off by having a night out, Jan? I've told you before that you don't make the most of having a resident babysitter.'

‘But it's your holiday, Mum. I'm content to sit with Stephanie while you and Father go out.'

‘It's been a constant round of going out for me. I'm not used to it. At home, apart from my Whist-drive on a Wednesday and my Sequence Dance night, I rarely stir. While I've enjoyed the whirl, it will be nice to get off the roundabout for a few hours and put my feet up. You talk to her David.'

‘Your mother's right, Jan. It will be a marvellous opportunity for you to have a night out.'

‘But I don't want a night out,' she said, feeling a little annoyed that everyone was trying to manipulate her. ‘In any case,' she said playing her trump card, ‘I've no one to go out with.'

‘I've thought about that one,' David said smoothly. ‘Would you care to come out with me? We could have a meal somewhere.'

‘I've got to prepare a meal for my mother and father,' she said stubbornly.

Muriel Ashton chipped in, addressing David first: ‘I see she's still as argumentative as ever.' David's reply was a resigned lift of his eyebrows. Then she said to Jan: ‘I am quite capable, you know. I've been married to your
father
for . . .' Jan found that she was holding her breath. When David had asked her age she had added four years to the twenty she could rightly claim. If her mother said she had been married to her father for twenty-three years, something wasn't going to add up. ‘. . . a considerable time.' Jan let her breath out slowly. ‘And I haven't let him starve yet. Believe it or not, I have even had experience of putting a little girl to bed. So you can go out with David with a contended mind and leave Stephanie and your father to me.'

The one was not synonymous with the other. David's eyes met and held hers. There was a bright metallic twinkle in his that scratched her senses in some kind of electric warning. If she went out with David, contentment was the last thing she would know.

‘Where would you like to go, Jan?' the man himself asked, taking the matter as settled. ‘The choice is yours.'

‘Danielle's Den,' she said decisively.

‘Suits me. And this time I promise not to drag you on to the dance floor by brute force. You shall only dance if you want to.' As if realising that this teasing, flirtatious banter was being enjoyed by a third party, and Muriel Ashton was certainly looking on with a most intrigued expression on her face, he said: ‘I promise it wasn't as bad as it sounds.'

‘How disappointing!' was the prompt retort.
‘Men,
these days, underestimate the cave-man tactics.'

Fearful of what her mother might say next, and feeling that she knew what it was like to be ganged up against by someone in league with the devil, Jan made a hasty exit on the pretext of having to get ready.

* * *

This time Jan knew what to expect of Danielle's Den, but she still felt a prickle of excitement as she descended the stairs into the cellar-like atmosphere. The feeling of electric awareness could have had something to do with the tall man by her side whose hand securely clasped her elbow.

As they were shown to a table, Danielle, this time a slender sprite in midnight blue, waved to them from the piano, and changed songs practically in mid note. What mischief, Jan wondered, made her break into a song about a couple hovering on the brink of admitting their love? Her appealing, husky voice sang of the exquisite pain of love, the enchantment and misgivings of love.

It wasn't until David said: ‘Does it have to be like that?' that Jan realised he'd been listening to the words as avidly as she had.

‘In what way do you mean?' she asked, playing for time.

‘Heights and depths. Surely one taste of the
bitter
enchantment is enough? Next time round isn't it better to play safe and settle for a more temperate relationship rather than wait for a fever-pitch romance that might never happen again?'

Was he saying that he'd loved at fever pitch with Annabel, and rather than waiting around on the unlikely chance of this rare occurrence happening again, he was willing to put up with second best?

‘I wouldn't know,' she said lamely. ‘I'm not an authority on the subject.'

‘I didn't think you were. But what about Martin?'

He couldn't possibly think that she and Martin had loved at fever pitch and that anything that came along for her now would be second best? No, no, it was too absurd. He must be referring to himself.

‘What about Martin?'

‘According to your friend, Sylvia, you applied for a job at Willowbridge to forget him.'

‘I thought only women gossiped,' she said, stung that Sylvia had been so forthcoming. ‘As I remember it, you didn't much care for it when I opened up about your private affairs.'

‘No, I didn't. But I haven't been playing tit-for-tat. I didn't gossip about yours.'

‘You're splitting hairs. You
listened
.'

‘So I did. Are you hinting I should have shut her up?'

‘It
would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.'

‘It never occurred to me.'