It was always there that vague disquieting
shadow of another woman
every time she was in his arms
Your Other Love
Three part serial by Florence Jane Soman
Illustrated by Fancett
Can a man ever love twice? Can the second wife be sure she is loved completely
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| continued on page 25 |
SUCH a little thing, Julie was to think later, to have started up the feeling of fear and emptiness inside her by a small, foolish thing. But significant oh, dear heavens, yes. It had started in the baker's.
She had gone in, as usual, after closing her own shop for the day, to buy some cake to finish her supper. Mrs. Haskell, the proprietress, had glanced at her with a surprised look.
"Hallo, Julie," she said. "Is it half-past already? I didn't-know it was so late."
Julie’s eyes had gone to the clock. She always locked up the shop at five thirty and it took three minutes exactly to get to the baker’s so of course the clock said five thrity-three. as it always did when she greeted. Mrs. Haskell; but she didn’t give it a thought.
It was Wednesday, and on Wednesday Mrs. Haskell: always bake a special chocolate loaf cake which she sold by the pound.
Julie looked at the top of the glass case and there it was, almost at the end, the walnuts stuck in rows into the thick icing. She had a childlike feeling of pleasure.
Mrs Haskell took down the cake without Julia saying anything, reached for the cake knife and sliced the usual slice.
"Now aren’t you a lucky girl tonight?" she as she cut." All the nuts came out on your piece."
They chatted for a few moments and then Julie left with the small cake box under her arm. As she walked up High Street and then turned into South Street, she suddenly felt inexplicably happy as if something wonderful had just happened.
What was it she wondered, as she climbed the steep street with its narrow pavement. And then it came to her that she was happy because she had the slice of cake with the extra walnuts on the top.
Abruptly she stood motionless, seeing nothing.
Oh heavens, she thought swallowing,what has happened to my life? How narrow had it become, how devoid of substance, that an incident as inconsequential as this Could" give her a feeling of richness?
Tired old people lonely and set in their ways,could be fooled like this; they could extract their own kind of thin pleasure from the little things that other people took for granted a piece of iced cake, a dying plant that suddenly produced a new leaf, a wanted book appearing unexpectedly on the library shelf.
To those- whose lives held little else, these were the things that dominated and became the pattern itself; but in the normal life they were simply tiny threads woven into the background, that was all.
It was then that the wave of emptiness and fear washed over her, so deep and powerful that she closed her eyes. I am too young, 'she thought; I'm only twenty-five.
And quickly, as if to reassure her self, she opened her eyes again and looked at her reflection in a plate glass window.
In the dusk her face was a blur, but she could see it from memory the soft, serious eyes, the warm mouth, the look of health and vitality.
A tall girl good looking, everybody said. “You're like your father” they told her. So few remembered her mother. She had come from the West Country to Belwick, and died shortly after Julie was born.
Now Julie turned her head with a frantic motion am looked up and down the street, as if to find something there that might instantly fill the emptiness, restore some kind of balance inside her. I must do things, she thought; I must meet new and interesting people.
But what was there to do in a place like this, what people were there to meet that she had never met before?
Belwick was a small midland town whose inhabitants, in the main, made a living from one another.
There were a few small factories on the outskirts but they never seemed to expand, and as there was no local feature of interest or attractive scenery to draw visitors, Belwick remained completely self-contained.
Its atmosphere was ultra respect able and terribly drab.
Julia straightened, took a deep breath and began to walk on again. I must do something different tonight, she thought; I mustn't just read a book again. There was the path that led to danger, doing the same things at the same time every day, getting set in her ways long before her time.
She must see. more people. It was through people that you exchanged ideas, loosened the pattern, broadened your horizons.
She frowned. She could visit the Doland girls after supper, but heaven knows they couldn't broaden the horizon of a field mouse. They could spend a whole evening discussing a dream of them had. had. or a film they'd seen.
Then there was old Mrs. Hamill, who was fun, with her tiny black eyes and her store of racy reminiscences, but who was getting so old that she kept dozing off every ,few minutes so that you were left alone in her hot, over crowed room with nothing to do but gaze at the knicknacks.
Or the Robertsons, Ann and Harry were a nice young married couple, good company, but unless you were invited, you didn't like to break in on them. Perhaps Harry was tired after his day as manager at the factory; perhaps they had something they wanted to talk about privately .
That left Sam.
Julie walked faster, feeling her breath come in short jerks. No, she thought; no, no, I won't spend the evening with Sam!
Her mind almost screamed the words and, a little startled, her step slowed and she felt sheepish. He was , so nice, really so pleasant, a fine young man from a good family. With his father he ran the town’s one big general store.
But he was so unutterably dull. He told the same stories over and over again; he had a strangled kind of laugh that rasped at her nerves.
Oh she didn't even want to think about Sam.
When she reached the red brick house in Walnut Street, she went in by the side door which led to the second floor and let herself in with her key, thankful for the thousandth time that she had separate entrance to the three small rooms and didn’t have to greet the garrulous Mrs King every time she came and went.
She cooked her supper in the tiny kitchen and ate it slowly, trying to shorten the long evening that stretched ahead. Afterwards she settled herself in the big chair with a book. The thought of Sam came to her mind.
One of these days, she thought, he'll ask me to marry him.
She felt a sharp clutch of fear. Suppose she grew so desperate that she finally said yes? Abruptly she jumped up and switched on the radio.
THREE days later Ann Robertson telephoned to invite Julie to supper. When she arrived at the Robertson’s house, lights blazed from every window but no one answered the bell. And then she noticed a note stuck in the letter box.
"Door open, walk in," it said. " I had to run to the shops for some thing."
Julie smiled as she herself in.
What. trusting souls we are, she thought. She hung up her coat and walked into the sitting room. It had a waiting look, the chair cushions piled high, lamps
glowing.
There was a mirror above the fireplace and she walked over to it. She glanced idly at her reflection and then leaned very close with sudden absorption, gazing into her own eyes.
That's me, she thought, Julie Holmes. My brain is inside that head. That's the body I live inside. If I want to move eyebrow only I can do it.
Very slowly she twitch her right eyebrow and tilted her head to one side. Someone coughed behind her.
She wheeled round. A man was sitting to the ft of the door, and now he rose slowly, a faint smile on his mouth.
"That's a very dangerous occupation " he said. "Looking too long into your own. eyes, I mean."
Julie stared, feeling the colour flame in her face. "I didn't know anyone was here," she stammered.
"I know. Spying is a mean trick and I apologize. " His smile deepened " But there was something very interesting about the way you were examining yourself. You looked a little frightened, "
Julie swallowed. "Well, I was," she said. "What's more frightening than looking at yourself?''
"Sometimes," he said drily, "looking at other people."
No one would mind looking at him, Julie thought, with that lean, tanned face, the dark hair and eyes, the slightly ironic smile.
"My name is John Trynor" he said." I was invited for supper, too. I walked in a minute before you did. "
"I'm Julie Holmes," Julie said.
A DOOR banged and Ann Robertson plump and fair haired, entered the room as if she had been blown in by a hurricane.
" I'm so sorry!" she cried breathlessly. She smiled at John Trynor. "Hallo, Mr. Trynor. It's nice to see you again." She turned a flushed face to Julie. "Mr. Trynor is an accountant from London. He’s been called in by Mr Whitehead, Harry's boss, to give them advice on a new system of accounting."
She chattered for a few moments then disappeared into the kitchen.
Julie sat down. John Trynor opposite her. She struggled to overcome the shyness she always felt with strangers.
" Are you staying in Belwick long, Mr. Trynor?" she said, and then she blushed because it sounded so eager. She looked down at her lap. He's probably married, she thought, and has four children.
"I'm not sure, he said, as, he looked up again. "I came two days ago. It may be two or three weeks, even longer. It depends on how long it takes me to assemble the facts."
He leaned back and said abruptly: "Have you lived here all your life? "
"All my life. "
"You're not married? "
"No."
"How is that ? And then he caught himself and smiled. I’m terribly sorry. I didn't mean to sound so inquisitive."
Julie leaned forward, feeling a faint excitement. "I don't mind answering," she said. " It’s because, in a small place like this, there is no one, well, hardly anyone to marry."
There was a silence. He was still looking into her eyes, almost frowning. "I see. Do you live with your family?"
" I have no family. My mother died when I was a baby and my father about five years ago."
"It must be very lonely for you."
"I have a little shop."
She started to summon a brightness to her voice; gay phrases formed in her mind.
She would tell him that the shop kept her busy and interested, that she had lots of friends, that the summers were wonderful.
But his dark eyes were meeting hers steadily, and the words thinned and died in her mind. When she spoke there was desperation in her voice.
"Sometimes I'm so lonely I could die"
A clock ticked loudly in the comer. He cleared his throat. "There's no reason for you to live in a small place like this, you know. You're free. You could live anywhere. London, for instance. It isn't so far away."
Julie looked down into her lap again. Too far for me. she thought. She was too quiet, too indrawn for her own good, too afraid of too many things.
Belwick represented the known, the safe and familiar; she wouldn't have the courage to leave it, even though so much of her reached out in eagerness and longing for something else.
The front door banged again and Harry came in, smiling, voluble with apologies as he greeted Julie and shook John Trynor’s hand.
Looking at the two men standing so close together. Julie was struck by the differences between them, Harry so stocky, pink-faced, exuding an air of easygoing good humour; the other man so tall and with almost a gauntness in his dark eyed face.
She excused herself to the two men and went into the kitchen.
JULIE found Ann bending over the oven, taking out the joint.
" Ann," she said, almost crossly, " why didn't you tell me someone else was coming? "
Ann straightened. . " I didn't know myself that he was coming until late this afternoon. I looked in at Harry's office for a minute and he was there so I asked him to come."
She looked at Julie, her face suddenly eager. " Isn't he stunning, Julie? "
She turned towards the refrigerator. " He lives outside London, in Surrey somewhere, that's all Harry knows about him. He doesn't even know if he's married."
A dreamy look was in her eyes as she turned to Julie again. . .
" Julie, wouldn't it be wonderful if he weren't married and he fell in love with you? It--"
" Oh please." Julie broke in, colouring. " London is full of beautiful and sophisticated women. I probably look like a country bumpkin to him."
"You do not," Ann said indignantly. "Why, you're lovely, Julie! " She sighed in exasperation. " You're always underestimating yourself; you make me angry. Why there are plenty of girls no better looking than you who ended up by being film stars."
" Remind me to book my ticket to Hollywood next week," Julie retorted. " What do you want me to take in? "
" The soup," Ann said. But she sounded absentminded, and now she stood still. " Julie, doesn't it strike you that there is something a little sad looking about Mr. Trynor? Some thing in his face."
" Well, yes." It was a closed face, Julie thought, a secret face. I told him so much about myself in such a little time, but he didn't give away anything about himself.
" He looks," Ann said, "as if he's been through a lot. Perhaps some
trouble. As if," She hesitated, groping for the words. "Mrs. Hungerford looked like that for years after her little girl died."
"You've been seeing too many films," Julie said with a laugh, but as she went through the door with the soup her eyes went to the sitting-room.
She looked at John Trynor. Yes, there was something about his face, a faint stamp of pain, of weariness in the dark eyes and round the mouth.
He has a wonderful face, she thought. He's different from any other man I've ever met.
Ann called the men and they sat down to supper. It was a good meal and only Julie noticed that she and Ann and Harry were doing most of the talking. It was when they were having coffee that Ann suddenly turned to John Trynor.
"Have you got any children?" she asked.
To Julie, the sudden silence seemed almost shocking. She found that her coffee cup, raised to her lips, had stilled and that her whole body was waiting for his answer. .
"I have a little boy of seven."
There was another short silence.
"How nice!" Ann said, her face bright. "Does he take after you or his mother?" "After me, they tell me. His mother is fair."
Harry started to talk about the schools near them. Julie lowered her coffee cup carefully and stared down at it. But of course you knew he was married, she thought; and even if he weren't, you wouldn't have had a chance. What could you offer a man like that?
She looked down into her empty cup as the conversation flowed smoothly round her. No, she wouldn't have had a chance.
JOHN took her home at ten thirty. The wind had died and it was a cool, starry night; their footsteps were loud in the silence.
"I would like to see your shop," he said suddenly. "Is it far from here? "
"Only a little way," Julie said. She looked up at him. "But it isn't much to see."
"I'd like to see it anyway."
When they were on South Street, they walked a few yards and then Julie stopped on the dark, deserted street.
"Here we are," she said. "Julie Holmes. Stationery, fancy goods, greeting cards and circulating library." She made a sweeping gesture with her hands. " Rare jewel department to the rear." Her hand dropped and something died in her voice. "It isn't very grand."
He looked from the small window to her face. "It's a great deal," he said. "A young girl running a business all by herself. It's a fine little shop."
"Oh, please," Julie Said. She felt a tightness in her throat. "I'm a very -honest person. You needn't make any nice speeches about the shop. I know just how it must all seem to you."
"Do you?" He was looking into her eyes. For a few seconds he didn't say anything. And then he drew in his breath. "You're a strange mixture, Julie."
"Strange? "
"Yes. You have the insight and the honesty to see the drabness round you and yet you're quick to justify it in your mind. You have a kind of mental chip on your shoulder about Belwick as if you're daring anyone to tell the truth about it so that you can jump to its defence."
She stared at him, a little taken aback.
Finally she said: "I suppose you're right. You see, ugly or beautiful, it’s my town; my roots are here. People know me; I'm somebody, even if it isn't anybody much."
He started to say something, then changed his mind. Silently he took her arm and led her down the street.
He didn't speak all the way home. When Julie stole a look at his profile in the darkness, he seemed to be frowning.
She stopped in front of her house.
"This is where I live," she said, turning to him. "I have three rooms upstairs. Thank you for bringing me home."
He faced her. Abruptly he said: "I'd like to see you again. It's going to be lonely for me here."
She looked up at him. He was married; he had a child. Everything in her upbringing rose in a wall of protest inside her. But she felt a surge of longing, too.
She looked down at the pavement, struggling for poise. "I'm afraid I couldn't," she said. "You're a married man."
JOHN stared at her, and suddenly he threw back his head and laughed.
"I'm sorry," he said when he had composed his face. "You sounded like Outraged Virtue personified. The truth is, I'm not married any more. My wife and I were divorced four years ago. She lives in London with the boy."
"I see," she said faintly.
"Perhaps you have scruples about seeing a divorced man."
"Oh, no, no." Her face, turned up to him, was open and artless. " I'd love to see you again."
"Well, that's fine," he said, still in that grave voice.
"Good night, Julie." "Good night." 'And then she added hurriedly: "I suppose you think I'm terribly naive.
" He smiled at her. "I think you're wonderful." He turned and was gone.
Julie turned, too, and went indoors. Her head was lifted and she was smiling a little. She did 'not feel her legs moving beneath her.
EVERYTHING seemed different next day, even the inside of her little shop in South Street.
Why, he might walk in any minute, Julie thought. She had worn her best blouse and skirt, and often while stamping a library book, dust ing the things on the shelves, selling a birthday card, the single phrase
"I think you're wonderful," would flare in her mind and she would see him there in front of her house, looking down at her in the darkness, smiling quietly.
Would he come to the shop today? Would he telephone? The thought gave her a bubbling, expectant feel ing all day.
The hours passed, and although she look up quickly each time the door opened, it was always someone else. .
That night in her flat she waited for the telephone to ring, but it never did. She went to sleep thinking: tomorrow.
Three more days passed and the feeling of faint excitement died. When Julie went home on the third night she felt unbelievably tired. Her limbs seemed like lead weights.
After supper she settled down with a new book. Perhaps he had already gone back to London, she thought; finished his work quickly and left. But he had said two or three weeks, perhaps more.
She jumped up and began to move about the room. No, he was still here, somewhere close by. What had happened was that he had forgotten her. She sat down again and picked up her book but she could not get interested in the story.
The telephone rang and her head lifted. It might be Ann ringing her. She mustn't hope too much. She held her breath.
" Hallo, Julie, This is John Trynor. How are you?"
She felt a sharp happiness inside her. "I'm fine. How are you?" she said.
"A little tired. Are you, by any chance, free tonight?"
She grinned at the wall.
"It just happens that I am. I washed my hair last night and tidied all my drawers the night before, so I imagine that leaves me free."
There was a silence over the wire and then a low chuckle. "I must say you're unique. I haven't had an answer as honest as that from a woman since I was ten years old. I'll be round in about half an hour."
"All right. I'll see you in half an hour."
After she had rung off she was in a fever of activity, changing her dress, combing her hair, applying lipstick. When the bell rang she had to force herself to walk slowly to the door.
AFTER they had greeted each other he began to wander round the room, looking at the low bookshelves, the lamps she had made from glass containers, the deep chairs covered with coral linen.
It's a very nice room," he said finally. "Did you furnish it yourself?"
"Yes, I did."
It was exciting to see him there among her own things, so tall and dark, "with his young-old face. It seemed to change everything.
"There's something fresh about it," he said. "The colours you've used and the way you've put things."
" Please sit down," Julie said, suddenly shy.
He sat down. "Where would you" like to go?"
Julie sat opposite him. "Well, we might go and see the new film at the Regal or go to a lecture on modern art at the town hall, or see the new film the Regal, or go to a lecture. . . ."
"I tell you what," he said. "Let's see the new film at the Regal."
"That's a wonderful idea."
"Only don't let's go yet."
"All right." She leaned back. "I'm sorry I haven't a drink to offer you."
Suddenly she laughed. "I can just see Arthur Henderson’s face if I walked into his shop and asked for a bottle of gin. Within an hour, the whole town would be whispering that Julie Holmes was drinking in secret.
"Is it as bad as that?"
Her smile faded. "I'm afraid it is. There are so few people, so few things to talk about, you see."
"But that's a frightening thing, having your every move watched like that."
"Yes." She swallowed. "It's frightening."She leaned forward. "Where you live it isn't anything like this, is it? ..
"No. I live in Northbury, about fifteen miles from London, and travel up to town every day. But it can be frightening, too, in its way."
"But how could that be?"
His face changed. She saw again the pull of bitterness round his mouth, a faint mark of pain in his eyes. She thought in a flash of insight: Someone in the past has hurt him badly. Was it his wife? "Tongues," he said, "can wag just as industriously in Northbury."
"Have you lived there long?"
" All my life, except for the years in the army. And my father lived in the house before me, and his father before him,"
He smiled, and his face became young again.
"Tell me about you," he said.
She coloured a little, looking down at her lap. "Oh there's nothing to tell. Just school, living at home until my father died, and then the shop. That's the story of my life." She looked up. "Fraught. with drama and adventure.
He leaned forward. "Julie, get away from here."
She stared at him, then shook her head. "I couldn't live alone. You don't know what. a coward I am."
"But it takes more courage to live here, with nothing to look forward to."
"I’m safe here." Something caught at her throat; she looked down at her lap again, silent.
He jumped abruptly and walked to the window, standing with his back towards her.
"I once knew a fellow in the army," he said. "He had always been afraid of a lot of things, he told me, before he joined up. But one day, when we were under fire, he was called upon to do a very brave thing and he did it."
He turned round and looked at Julie. "He said later that it was like climbing a very high wall. Once he was on the other side, everything looked different; everything was different. He was never afraid again."
"A high wall," Julie said softly. "Yes, that's what it's like. Only I can never seem to get over."
"Some day you will." There was a silence. And then he drew in his breath and' smiled. "Let's go and see that film."
THE next day, if anyone had asked her what the picture was about, she could not have told him. She remembered only her sharp awareness of John Trynor sitting beside her in the darkness of the cinema, she remembered everything they had said over coffee afterwards.
Yes, her mind had been quick and gay then, she had made him laugh.
But the walk home afterwards through the deserted streets had been filled with silence. In front of her house he had taken her hand, and even through her glove she had felt a little throbbing current at his touch.
"Good night, Julie," he had said.
"I'll see you again."
And he had turned in his abrupt way and was gone, but she remembered everything, everything that had happened.
I'VE fallen in love, she thought, and she stood motionless, filled with wonderment.
The next day, just as she was getting ready to close the shop, the door opened and there he was.
"Hallo, Julie," he said.
"Hallo."
"I just dropped in for a minute. I wanted to see you again."
"I wanted to see you."
His smile deepened. "There's no guile in you at all. You don’t know how startling that is to me." He cleared his throat. "I wish I could see you tonight, but I have urgent work that won't wait. Perhaps tomorrow night? "
"Perhaps· tomorrow," She felt warm and happy.
"I'll let you know, then." His hand dropped lightly to her shoulder and he stood looking down into her face. "I wish it could be tonight."
His nearness, the touch of his hand on her body made her heart beat faster. "I wish it could, too."
They stood for a few seconds like that, looking into each other's eyes, smiling a little. And then he turned; the door closed and he was gone.
Julie turned and gazed unseeingly at a display of birthday cards.
Now I have something to remember, she thought.
They began seeing each other often. Since he was not certain when he would be free, he dropped in or telephoned at odd hours; she never knew when she was going to see him next or hear his voice.
It gave the minutes that passed a new, exciting flavour, so that all her senses were constantly alert; she felt flushed and marvellously alive. They went for long walks, dropped in at the Robertsons', went to a film once or twice.
Now there was a wonderful awareness between them; they talked a great deal, but the brushing of his shoulder against hers as they walked, the accidental touch of his hand would be enough to send them both into a sudden, profound silence.
I love him, Julie would think then; ho, I love him so much I could die.
There were whispers in the town, curious, sidelong glances. Julie saw them, heard them, but it was from an immense distance; the people who passed her in the street and who came into the shop seemed misty and unreal.
Only he was in bright, sharp focus, crowding out everything else, and when she got into bed at night she often lay for hours, wide-eyed in the darkness, as she relived every moment of the evening behind her.
But sometimes, just as she was falling asleep, the unwelcome thought would intrude: What was she like, his wife? Why were they divorced? She would, feel a strange twist of jealousy.
One night, coming home from a walk, he turned to her suddenly.
"Julie," he said, "my work here is almost finished. I'm going home on Saturday."
She stood still, staring up at him, feeling everything inside her still, too, as if a pulse had stopped beating. Now with his words all the warmth, the beauty, the sweetness within her trickled away, leaving her empty and cold.
Looking up at him, her lips moved stiffly. She whispered: "I don't want you to go."
He stood without moving, meeting her eyes. A wind, coming from nowhere, sent a sudden gust of dust and paper swirling around them. Then it died away.
His hand went out to her and he was smiling a little.
"I want you to come with me," he said.
LONG afterwards Julie was to remember the following week as a sort of kaleidoscope in which bright scenes shifted and changed with such breathless rapidity that she: could hardly catch them to hold in her memory.
Only as the plans for the quiet little wedding took form, as her shop was sold to Alice and Agnes poland, who had always had their eye on it, did the pieces begin to faIl into a believable whole.
It was real, it was happening.
JOHN cabled the news of the forthcoming wedding to his father, who was on a business trip in South Africa. His mother had long since died. As for his friends, his relatives, they would learn about the marriage just before he took Julie back with him to Northbury. .
"I suppose it will give everybody quite a jolt," he told her, grinning. "The golf club will certainly get a shock."
"Golf club?" Julie felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension as she looked at him. They were in her sitting-room and it was two nights before the Wedding. "Do you belong to a golf club?"
"My dear girl," John said drily, "you might as well live in a house without a bathroom as live in Northbury without belonging to the golf club. It's a very famous one." He shook his head. "I'm afraid Northbury's a pretty snobbish place, Julie. You'll affect it like a nice cool breeze entering a hothouse."
She gave him a wavering smile.
"Perhaps they'll all think of me more as an ill wind."
"They'll love you." He took his pipe from his pocket. Where would you like to go for a honeymoon? I can only spare a week at the moment, . but perhaps we can have a real one in the autumn."
She would like to have said London. But she remembered that his wife and son lived in London.
"How about Edinburgh? she said. "I've never been to Edinburgh."
" Edinburgh it is. I'll telephone for reservations tomorrow."
She leaned forward suddenly.
"John, you've spoken so little about the past. I know so little about some things. I want you to tell me" she wet her lips "about your marriage and divorce. Your little boy."
He opened his mouth, closed it again. The tightness that made his face suddenly .old was there in .his mouth, the planes of his cheeks.
"Yes," he said." I suppose you have a right to know."
He rose 'abruptly and began to walk round the room:
"I was married when I was twenty five. She was a girl I had known all my life. We were married in the last months of the war, I was demobbed immediately afterwards and went back into my father's office straight away. Peter was born a couple of years later."
JULIE felt a nameless twisting inside her. He had deliberately made the story so bald.
"What was her name?" He turned round.
"Was? Is, you mean." He smiled faintly. "She isn't dead, you know; she's very much alive. Lives in Chelsea, an artist; she's given a couple of one-man shows but the critics weren't too kind. I haven't seen her for three years. It's four years since the divorce."
He cleared his throat. "Her name is Claire. It was Claire Owens, and that's her professional name, but of course she's still Mrs. Claire Trynor in private life. She never married again."
Julie thought: There will be two of us, two Mrs. Trynors.
She looked down at her lap and saw that her hands were clasped tightly together.
"Why were you divorced?"
"Technically it was desertion. But, I suppose it was really what the Americans call incompatibility." His mouth twisted.
"I don't know when it began or whose fault it was; I just knew that suddenly it went sour." His voice was tired and heavy and when he spoke again the words came like a weary echo.
"I don't blame Claire for what happened yet it wasn't my fault either. Perhaps I should have expected it from the beginning."
Looking up at him, she thought: It was his wife who hurt him so badly, whose memory can make him look like that. She wet her lips and stared hard at the floor.
"You're not still in love with her, are you?"
He stared at her, and then his face cleared. He moved towards her abruptly and pulled her roughly to her feet. "In love with her? I' he Said. "Of course not. I love you, Julie; you know that."
He was holding her so close that she could hardly breathe; there was almost a fierceness in the strength of his fingers gripping her shoulders.
"You're so different in every way; everything's simple and right and good when I'm with you." Suddenly he let her go; he dropped his arms and looked into her eyes.
"We won't talk about this any more, Julie. It's all water under the bridge; it's dead and forgotten; it doesn't concern us. I won't have us constantly raking it over, do you hear?"
And then the intensity left his face. Forgive me, Julie. It's just that I hate the subject."
"I understand."
But she didn't. Dead and forgotten, he had said. But when something was dead and forgotten, you weren't so intense about it.
He was smiling now. "Peter is seven years old. He spends his summer holidays with me. You'll like him, Julie"
" I hope he likes me."
"Of course he will. So will my father."
His father. As he was abroad at the present time, she'd almost forgotten that Mr. Trynor senior, made his home with his son. Well, she certainly didn't mind.
She was more nervous about the invalid aunt, even though John assured her she would not even know the poor woman was in the house. She had her own suite of rooms on the top floor and never left them. There was a nurse in attendance on her.
Now she said: "Your father, is he like you?"
" Sometimes I think yes, sometimes no. You'll like him."
SUDDENLY, he looked a little impatient. "Julie, I ·know this change in your life will be a big one, but there's nothing in Northbury to be. afraid of."
"I , know she said quickly. I'm not afraid; what made you think I was?" She looked away as she spoke.
Suppose she told him what she was really afraid of, she thought. She had a feeling of shame. A grown woman, afraid of a shadow.
NEXT WEEK: Julie's fears are, confirmed when she meets Claire
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