The Tender Flame (3 page)

‘Of course.' His face was a mask. ‘You're not eating.'

She looked at the toast and cakes the waitress had brought with the coffee. She was too choked to eat. ‘I'm sorry. I'm really not hungry. But thank you for your solicitude.'

He snorted. ‘Don't fool yourself. I'm thinking of myself. I don't want you to pass out on me.'

Jan's stomach fluttered. Breakfast was a meal she frequently skipped without mishap, and today she'd been too busy mulling over her problems to bother about lunch. The error of her ways showed in her white face. She suddenly felt herself keeling over.

She didn't properly blank out, it was as if a wave of weakness had washed over her, and as she would have fallen off her chair she was aware that he reached out to grab hold of her.

‘Nicely fielded,' she said with a feeble flash of humour.

An
answering smile warmed his eye for the briefest moment before it slid behind a crust of ice. ‘This is ridiculous. Looking after Stephanie is a job for a woman. What was Annabel thinking of when she engaged you? You are little more than a child yourself. Just how old are you?'

At the interview that was something Annabel hadn't asked. She hadn't bothered to ask much at all, and Jan hadn't volunteered the fact that she was twenty. Anyway, twenty wasn't all that young, but he would think it was. She decided to tag on a year or two, and ended up making it four.

‘I'm twenty-four,' she said.

His eyes flicked over her in mocking disbelief. ‘That makes it worse. A
mature
woman of twenty-four acting like an irresponsible child! Why are you shaking?' he asked abruptly. ‘Are you frightened of me?'

She was terrified of him, but she could answer truthfully: ‘I'm shaking because I'm very wet and very c-cold. I'm so wet I don't seem to be drying out.'

‘M'm, yes. Let's fetch Stephanie out of that school and get you home and into some dry clothes. What possessed you to come out wearing only a dress and sandals in this downpour?'

‘Obviously,' she said grittily, ‘it wasn't raining when I set off. It didn't even
look
like rain.'

‘Nonsense!
It's looked like rain all day. Are you going to carry on arguing in this stupid fashion and risk getting a chill, or will you be sensible and do as I say?'

His hand was already raised to alert the waitress who came hurrying over with the bill. As he handed the money over to the girl, Jan noticed he could smile quite charmingly when he chose. But when his eyes came back to her they were dark and icy again. She had a queasy notion that no way could she talk herself back into the job she so desperately wanted to keep.

Of course, he hadn't actually said he was David Spedding. She was straw-grasping again. It wasn't impossible for him to be a distant relative of Annabel's who had only just got news of her death, someone who would be equally familiar with the names and the set-up, but with her luck it was most improbable. There was little doubt in her mind that he was Annabel's errant husband.

‘You are . . . aren't you?' she said.

‘Aren't I what?'

‘Annabel's husband?'

He didn't answer, presumably because they were crossing the road to get to the long low building where play-school was held, and he was keeping his eye on the oncoming car.

He had taken her arm to guide her across, and the sensual shock of his touch stole her breath away in the most weird fashion. Her reaction was instant and hostile. She shrugged
free
of his grasp and challenged haughtily: ‘You are David Spedding, aren't you?'

They had gained the pavement, and now his prompt reply cut through the last lingering wisp of hope. ‘Yes, I'm David Spedding,' he said.

As he looked at her, Jan had the strangest feeling that he was asking for her forbearance and understanding.

But almost immediately he shattered the illusion by querying crisply: ‘What's the drill?'

‘We go in at this door and we are supposed to wait in the cloakroom. Listen! It sounds as though the class is still in session. Yes, look!' Peering through the glass partition at the teacher, book on knee, in the centre of a semicircle of entranced little faces. ‘There's Stephanie.'

‘Where? Which one?'

After that, what more was there to understand? He didn't know his own child. And there was something sadder and infinitely more bitter to swallow. Stephanie wouldn't know him.

It wrung Jan's heart to have to answer the query in the child's upturned eyes as, the moment class was dismissed, she came running up to them.

‘Look who's here, Stephanie. It's your daddy.'

Swallowing roughly, almost blinded by a sudden rush of tears, Jan was on tenterhooks
as
she waited to hear what the little girl would say.

The simplicity of a child's acceptance is a wonderful thing.

‘Have you brought me any sweeties?' Stephanie asked.

‘I just might have some in my suitcase,' he replied after a long pause.

Jan frowned at the look of struggle on his face. At the same time her throat filled as she witnessed his tender regard of the little girl. How could she equate this obviously caring man with the black villain who had deserted his wife and daughter, and had not bothered to get here for his wife's funeral?

She shook her head, but the muzziness wouldn't clear. As though from along way off she heard David say: ‘My car is parked in the square.'

His hand on her elbow commanded her feet to walk. This time instead of wriggling free of his hold, she was grateful for the strength it provided.

‘Are you all right, Miss Ashton?'

What a ridiculous question to ask. Of course she wasn't all right. She wished she'd taken notice of him and eaten something in the café. She wished she'd eaten some lunch. She wished she didn't feel so cold and shivery. She hoped she wasn't going down with a chill.

‘I'm fine, thank you,' she said, clamping down on the strange little stirring of warmth
that
he should care enough about her wellbeing to ask, before he effectively did it for her.

As before, it was not solicitude that had motivated his enquiry. With disconcerting coolness he said: ‘Then will you please pay attention. I've asked you twice to get in the car, and then we can be on our way.'

‘Sorry.'

She scrambled in beside Stephanie who was already installed on the ample front seat. The little girl, who was beaming happily, had taken to David with a naturalness that was mind-boggling. Yet why Jan should be surprised by this, she didn't know. She had been preparing Stephanie to expect her father ever since Ralph, the solicitor, had dropped the word in her ear.

‘There! Quite comfortable? Not too squashed?'

She stretched her legs out under the bonnet in a demonstrative way. ‘I've plenty of room, thank you.'

David had spoken to her as though she were Stephanie's age, which wouldn't have been too bad if he'd chosen to look at her the way he looked at Stephanie.

And where did that alien thought spring from? She disliked David Spedding and all the cruel, callous things he stood for. If her hatred of him had lost its kick it was because she was feeling under the weather. She couldn't expect
her
thoughts to maintain their strength when she felt so weak. If she'd been on top form she wouldn't have been taken in by that perplexed yet tender little smile that played about his mouth when he looked at Stephanie. It was probably no more than conscience qualms. But that was odd in itself, because she hadn't credited him with having a conscience. The feeling she'd had of being in sympathy with him had no proper substance, and if ever it returned she'd do well to blow it right out of her head again.

If she was ever in danger of softening, it wouldn't hurt to remember that by his own actions David Spedding had presented a cast-iron case for resentment. A cunning person can tender up a bad look to make it look like a good look, but actions aren't prone to camouflage and speak for themselves.

There was something else, of a more basic nature, that she should have remembered but didn't.

David slid the key in the ignition, but paused before switching on. ‘Just a thought. There is food in the house?'

Jan's look of dismay served as answer.

‘I thought as much.'

‘I can rustle up plenty of eggs for an omelet and there's . . .'

‘I want a meal, not a snack. I won't be long.'

He got out of the car and marched across the road to the string of shops. He returned, in
due
time, with two carrier bags which he placed on the back seat.

‘The natives were curious, and friendly. It could be,' he said with a mischievous, mocking glint in his eye, ‘that they were friendly because I didn't feed their curiosity. I didn't introduce myself.' He then asked in a gravely speculative voice: ‘Am I right in thinking that if I'd told them who I was, I would have got a very different reaction?'

Jan was taken aback. Could he be serious? ‘Do you need to ask that?'

‘Not any more,' he said soberly. ‘Your face has supplied the answer. So everybody shares your unfavourable opinion of me. It's only what I expected.'

How else could Jan take that but as an admission of his guilt and negligence? Conscious of Stephanie sitting between them, nothing more was said on the subject. Jan doubted that anything more would have been said even if Stephanie hadn't been there.

His forethought meant that she was able to serve up a deliciously cooked meal of steak, button mushrooms, buttered new potatoes and salad. Followed by a chocolate pudding that was Stephanie's particular favourite, and always went down well with adults as well.

She had taken extra pains with the meal, hoping to prove that she was not the featherbrain he imagined her to be. She had always loved cooking, and had been an apt pupil,
progressing
from the guidance her mother was equipped to give her to more adventurous book recipes, and last year she had attended an advanced cookery class at nightschool. Not quite sure about David's taste she had opted for simplicity and perfection.

‘At least you can cook,' he said.

This praise, negative though it was, was gratefully received. Jan's own appreciation did not match up. She was developing a sore, scratchy throat and the steak, though tender enough, was difficult to swallow.

‘Do you mind waiting for your coffee until I've put Stephanie to bed? It's later than her normal bedtime.'

‘I'm pleased to hear that. I was beginning to wonder.'

She knew she must not let him goad her, so swallowing on that unjust criticism she said stoically: ‘She was granted an extension tonight because you are here.' And then—this was more in the nature of an enquiry—‘I have a room to prepare for you.'

‘If you are asking if I intend to stay, the answer is yes. I know there are adequate rooms. And it is my home, Miss Ashton.'

‘Of course.'

‘By all means see to Stephanie first, Jan,' he said falling into automatic use of her first name. ‘Then, you realise we must talk?'

‘Yes, Da—Mr. Spedding,' Jan replied heavily, feeling that she knew just what course
that
talk would take. It was annoying but natural for her to trip up and almost call him David. Annabel had always referred to him so, and it was the name she thought of him by.

‘David will do very nicely.' He didn't add, ‘for the short length of time you will be here,' but he might as well have done.

Stephanie went up the stairs docilely enough, but she was too wide awake for Jan's liking. The meal had been too rich an indulgence for a little girl. The chocolate pudding, just before going to bed, had been a mistake. She had been showing off, trying to impress him what a good cook she was. She hoped her pride wasn't going to be taught a sharp lesson in humility. But Stephanie had been so delighted to have her daddy home that Jan hadn't had the heart to give her an earlier nursery supper and pack her off to bed.

‘I've got a tummy ache,' Stephanie announced.

‘Lay quite still, darling, and it will go off.'

Stephanie didn't want to lay quite still. She wanted to sit up, hug her knees and talk. Then she wanted a story. In sympathy with Stephanie over the loss of her mother, ‘No' was a word that Jan hadn't been able to bring herself to use very often. As she succumbed to the ‘Just one more story' plea, Jan realised she had a spoilt child on her hands.

When, eventually, she did manage to sneak back downstairs, it was to find that David had
washed
the dishes and made the coffee. She gratefully accepted her cup, too weary to say, ‘You shouldn't have bothered. You should have left it to me.'

‘It's no good closing your lashes on me,' he rebuked sternly, as though she was feigning weariness to get out of that proposed, and dreaded, talk.

She jerked awake. Not lacking in courage, she decided to attack in a bold and direct manner. ‘You're going to fire me, aren't you?'

There was something insulting in the quantity of lazy amusement in his voice. ‘I must. Now that I'm here, there is nothing to keep you. There is not a single reason why you shouldn't leave in the morning.'

She gasped. Her chin lifted in defiance. ‘So soon? It will break Stephanie's heart.'

It was silly of her to appeal to his better nature. He hadn't got one!

‘Melodramatic nonsense! Hearts don't break that easily.'

How she managed to restrain herself she would never know. It was on the tip of her impetuous tongue to say, ‘You speak from experience, of course.' As it was she said angrily: ‘You're not being fair.'

‘I am being practical,' he corrected emphatically. ‘You are not old enough for the responsibilities of the job. It's obvious, even on short acquaintance, that Stephanie would be a handful for a worldlier, more experienced
woman.'