Torn (33 page)

‘So what are we going to do with you, old boy?' she asked the cat, as she put his filled plate back on the floor with a saucer of water, not milk, as Danny had instructed. ‘You're not going to want to move, are you? You wouldn't even put up with going next door!' Just then there was a knock. It could only be Ethel Dell, the neighbour, with whom Tubs had declined to reside. Or maybe one of those men selling dusters and oven gloves. Still in her jacket, Jessica went to the door.

Chapter Twenty

Jessica immediately recognised the beaten-up Land Rover parked by the kerb, but its driver was nowhere to be seen. She stepped out onto the path to see James Warwick emerging from the side passage, staring up at the roof. He did her the courtesy of saying ‘Hello', but then walked straight past her at the front door, and began to dig a pen knife into the sitting room windowsill.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing?'

‘That guttering needs replacing. This sill is very soft. And the lean-to at the back looks positively hazardous.'

‘Look, thanks and all that, but …'

‘What's the problem?'

‘Surely the deficiencies of my house are between me and my landlord!'

‘And?'

‘Oh my God! You are my landlord, aren't you?'

‘You didn't know?'

‘Of course I bloody didn't know!'

‘I assumed –'

‘I suppose I should have guessed, but the tenancy is handled through the estate agent, and the property company is …'

‘Thornton Holdings. My … Serena was a Thornton. I never saw the need to change the name. Sorry. Must have seemed a bit strange, me poking around.'

‘Just a bit. Do you want to come in, look round the interior, make sure I haven't done anything to contravene my lease?'

He straightened, brows drawing together in a frown. ‘I didn't come over here to check up on you! I've just delivered Sash to nursery and thought I'd make a social call. And while I was here …'

Instantly ashamed of herself, Jess said, ‘Look … Come in, please? I'll make coffee.'

James Warwick ran his fingers through his hair several times. The gesture, added to his shut down expression, suggested irritation and impatience. She sat at the table opposite him. Behind her, with murmuring sighs, the kettle heated.

‘It's a long time since I've rented a place. I suppose you put me on the defensive, it made me spiky. I apologise.' Even as Jess said it she realised that her reactions to him were too often like that. ‘I'm afraid I can't help being spiky. I'm a Scorpio.'

His eyebrows hooked up quizzically. ‘Not you too? You're not into all this new age mumbo jumbo, are you? Like Sideshow Bob?'

‘Not seriously, but I like the story of the frog and the scorpion. Do you know it?'

He shook his head.

‘The scorpion wanted to cross the river and asked the frog to ferry him over. The frog said, “No. You'll sting me.” The scorpion promised he wouldn't. So the frog agreed to carry him. Halfway across the scorpion stung the frog. “Why did you do that?” the frog asked. “Now we'll both die.” The scorpion answered, “I couldn't help it, it's in my nature.”‘

James watched her as she recounted the fable, rubbing his fingers across his mouth; she found herself contemplating the set and curve of his lips.

‘I get the picture. I'd better watch out for that sting then, hadn't I? You've not told me yet how much I owe you for the party?'

‘It's just here.' She gathered up some invoices which were lying in a pile on the built-in dresser. A handwritten page of additions was on top. He couldn't disguise surprise, even shock, at the bottom line.

‘If that's what it cost, that's what it cost,' he said with a slight sigh. Again Jessica felt anger rising in her. What the hell had he expected? She'd warned him it was going to cost a lot. And given the time she'd had to prepare she'd done bloody well!

Anyway, he could patently afford it. The kind of man who bought his four-year-old daughter a pony for her birthday shouldn't quibble over the amount her party had cost. But he was already reaching into an inner pocket for his cheque book and without another murmur wrote out the full amount.

‘Let's hope it doesn't bounce,' he said, as he handed it over. Presumably this was a joke and she gave it the smile it deserved. ‘As for Stratford? Were you just being polite? Or do you still want to go?'

This was a question she'd asked herself. Would going out with James only add complications to her life? Did she like him enough? At least half the time in his company he made her cross. And what about Danny? Wouldn't it hurt him to witness her going out with his boss? Underline his place in the world? He forever the loser and people like James the winners? But then that was life – something he would have to get used to. Anyway, was protecting Danny's feelings her responsibility?

‘Yes, of course I'd like to go. As I said, I've never been to Stratford. It will be … an experience.'

‘If nothing else? Well, let's hope I can make it a pleasurable experience,' he replied with a slight lift of the brows. ‘I've already made enquiries. I can probably get tickets for
A Comedy of Errors
. It's not my favourite but it's a new production, opening in a week or so. The word is it's going to be good. Do you have any preference for dates … days of the week? I can probably get tickets for late April. And of course Gilda will have Rory to stay. What do you think?'

‘Whatever. I've nothing booked. Any time. I'll make myself free.' She stood up to make the coffee.

‘Good. Saves to-ing and fro-ing on the telephone.'

As she poured the hot water and stirred the cafetière, Jess wondered why making a coffee for this man had impelled her to go to this extra trouble. Anyone else could like or lump instant coffee. Even his mother. He was looking down at the table now, smoothing his hands across its scored surface.

‘Jessica.'

‘James.' They spoke simultaneously.

‘I was just going to ask how Sasha is getting on with the pony,' she said, with a smile, following his ‘after you' gesture.

‘So far a great success. She's named it Violet. Don't know why. Keeps badgering Sideshow Bob to give her lessons. You know he helped me choose her? Far more knowledgeable about horses than I am. I can lead Sash round on the pony, but he's a better rider than I'll ever be. Trouble is I've plenty of other, more urgent jobs he could be doing.'

‘Is he well again?'

James sighed. ‘I wouldn't make him work if he wasn't well. Sideshow is fine, though he's about as cheerful as a wet weekend.'

‘I wish you wouldn't call Danny Sideshow Bob all the time. He might not be educated, but he's not stupid. He knows when he's being dissed.'

‘Dissed?'

‘Disrespected. He works bloody hard for you and deserves some credit.'

‘I know. I do give him credit for the work he does. But at the same time I can't pussy-foot around his over-developed sensitivities. He'd get far worse, believe me, in an environment with a lot of other workmates.'

‘Perhaps.'

‘And anyway, the real Sideshow Bob, if you can call him real, is a rather refined character.'

‘Apart from being a homicidal maniac with puce dreadlocks. While Danny has short fair hair and wouldn't deliberately hurt a fly,' she added, with a smile.

‘Did you know him before he had the dreadlocks cut off?'

‘Before you made him have them cut? Just. I met him before Christmas.'

James gazed at her intently for longer than was comfortable. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to say … about Dan … and you.'

‘You underestimate him,' she said, pre-empting him.

James' eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps I do. You apparently know him better than I suspected.' Jessica felt herself blush. ‘I don't know what's been going on between you … don't say anything. Don't think I want to know. Um, I just thought I ought to point out …' Whatever he was trying to say was proving difficult. Should she affect surprise, Jess wondered, if he told her Danny was illiterate? Admit she already knew? Tell him her flirtation with the lad was over? Tell him to mind his own bloody business!

‘He's not your equal, Jess.'

The leaflet which landed on her mat was headed ‘Your Say on Local Development Plans'. It was a very long tick-box survey about the by-pass, housing, retail, and industrial development, as well as local employment in the locality. There was space given for a few lines of individual comment on the multitude of sections and subsections. In her eyes, it wasn't the referendum as had been promised; it was too long and complex for any but the most dedicated resident to fill in. Even she left it on the dresser, scarcely able to face reading through it and seriously considering the options proposed.

From initially favouring a by-pass she now wanted to put large black crosses in virtually all of the boxes. No to route X. No to route Y. No to new housing. No to industry. No to change of any kind. But eventually she had to read it if only to see where it would be safest to look for a house to buy – if she was intending to stay in the area.

‘I'm sure they've made it deliberately complicated. To put people off,' she said to Sheila, who'd come round for supper. ‘I hate even thinking about it.'

‘That you should care so passionately about the place proves you've already put down roots. But it's not like it's the most scenic area roundabout. You should go and look at the Duntisbournes, Miserden, the Slaughters, the Slad valley; there'll still be plenty of beauty spots left.'

‘But that's not the point, is it? Every time a scheme is approved it provides a precedent for the next.'

‘So what happens if you prevent all new development? Incomers like you can still afford a pretty cottage in a sought-after village, but what about first-time buyers? There's a need for low-cost housing to keep the rural economy going. Apart from the slump in agriculture, locals are being driven away. Even if they can find work, they can't afford the house prices. People like your friend Danny. How is he ever going to afford to buy a place on a farm worker's wage?'

Don't talk about Danny, Jessica silently implored. The thought of him lay on her conscience like an unhealed sore; it only hurt when she was reminded. She knew how to divert Sheila.

‘Guess what? I'm going to Stratford-upon-Avon with James Warwick, at the end of the month.'

The ploy worked. Sheila looked flabbergasted, disgusted by this news. ‘You're not! Why? I mean, what are you going for? A day trip or the theatre?'

‘As far as I know it's only the theatre. But who knows?'

‘When was this arranged?'

‘He first mentioned it the morning after the party.'

‘You didn't tell me.'

Why should I? Jessica wondered. ‘It wasn't a firm date then, it firmed up later.'

‘Oh! So it
is
a date? I'm sorry, but I think you're mad. The man's a pig!'

‘Sheila, all men are pigs in your estimation. What is so much worse about James?'

‘I've never been able to forgive him. Serena –'

‘You knew her quite well, didn't you?'

Sheila looked down at her hands and began to twist her rings. ‘I met her shortly after they moved here. She was one of those women who've never thought about her role in life. Never questioned herself. Being beautiful, doing a job which traded on her beauty, getting and keeping the man in her life, was all that had been important to her. The change in circumstances, the pregnancy, the farm, was offering another route to self-fulfilment. But would it have been any more satisfying? I helped her to think about things she'd never thought about before. Empowerment through personal liberation. Freedom and independence. The rejection of male domination. She became very fired up, very enthusiastic, had all sorts of plans, then … all at once she was gone. It was unbelievable.' Sheila sounded choked; she sniffed and cleared her throat. ‘You see, that's what happens when you allow men to rule your life.'

‘But she was doing what she wanted to do when the accident happened.'

‘She had to fight him every inch. James didn't want her to follow her own star. He wanted to submerge her, hide her, keep her for himself.'

‘In what way did he dominate her?'

‘He tried to crush her faith in herself. He stood in her way. He undermined her.'

To Jessica, who'd lived with a man who stole from her and grew increasingly violent, all this sounded pretty nebulous stuff.

‘I'll just have to be on my guard then, won't I, for any signs of undermining.'

The discussion was left there, and the rest of the evening passed companionably enough as they finished off a second bottle of wine. It was only when Sheila was about to leave to walk the quarter of a mile home, that the subject was returned to. Sheila pulled on her jacket and wrapped a woollen scarf around her neck.

‘About James Warwick …' A twang of discord reverberated in Jessica. ‘You're not … not planning to sleep with him, are you?'

Jess sighed. ‘I'm not planning anything! Neither is he, as far as I can tell. He asked me to Stratford. I said, “Yes please, that would be nice.” I didn't add, “By the way, how about a night of rogering, after?” Neither did I spot any hint in the subtext that it's part of the deal. But who knows how the mood will take us?' The last remark she'd added as a tease, but then regretted, when she saw the distress in Sheila's face.

‘For Christ's sake, Jess!'

‘Look, an intimate relationship with James Warwick, of all people, is not on my agenda just at the moment. And I'm fairly sure it's not on his. He has far too much emotional baggage left over from Serena's death to contemplate anything like that. And I've too much other stuff to deal with as well. I suspect he has no close friends locally. Perhaps he really does just want some intelligent company, someone to talk to, to spar with?' Jessica shrugged. ‘I'll let you know.'