The Tender Flame (2 page)

Ralph Goodall, Willowbridge's only solicitor and the man in charge of Annabel's affairs, had instructed Jan to put the outstanding bills to one side until he could
contact
the husband. This he had done and David Spedding was presumably on his way home, unfortunately too late to attend Annabel's funeral which had taken place two weeks ago. It made Jan realise that her earlier sympathies had been misplaced. What sort of person must he be? She couldn't go on making excuses for a man who hadn't made the effort to be at his wife's funeral to pay his last respects. Apart from the common decency angle, he should have wanted to be there for Stephanie's sake. Stephanie had needed a father's comfort.

Jan's own determination had strengthened. Come what may, she wasn't going to add to Stephanie's heartbreak by walking out on her, even though staying on presented difficulties.

Annabel had been dilatory in all respects where money was concerned. Jan hadn't received remuneration for several weeks. She didn't like to ask the solicitor for her back-wages, but without money she couldn't buy food. She supposed she could have copied Annabel and run up a bill, but she felt there were enough of these to present to David Spedding as it was, without adding more.

She had made quite searching enquiries about getting a job locally. Something part-time because Stephanie mustn't feel that she was being neglected, which brought in just enough ready cash to tide them over until Stephanie's errant father put in an
appearance.
Everyone was sympathetic, but there was nothing suitable to be had. Of course, she hadn't made her financial difficulties known, and it was thought she was suffering from a time-on-her-hands malaise.

The grandmother clock chimed a reminder that it was nearing the hour to collect Stephanie from play-school. If she wasn't among the first three to be collected, she created. Since her mother's death she needed constant reassurance that someone was always on hand. Even with all Jan's vigilance she had gone back to the babyish habit of sucking her thumb.

Sighing on feelings of helplessness and frustration—because what more could she do?—Jan dusted a powder-puff over her nose, smoothed a coral-pink lipstick across her mouth, which was about the most attention her face ever got. Her complexion had the quality of fine porcelain. Her nose was slightly pert, her chin small but determined. Unspectacular she thought. As though by token of apology, nature had endowed her with memorably large hazel eyes which were colour-linked to her mood. Predominantly green when she was in a good mood, lightening to gold when she was predisposed to laughter, but darkening to stormy brown at the first hint of temper. Her hair, inherited from Grandmother Ashton who had the reputation of being a firebrand, was a rich chestnut brown veering to red. Her
crowning
glory had earned her the nickname of Copper Knob at school. Grandmother Ashton was a flamboyant enough character to carry her distinctive hair colouring, Jan felt that she wasn't.

She was barely a quarter way down the hill when a splash of rain on her nose drew her attention to the glowering sky. It was black, in a daytime way, and it would have been sensible to go back for protective clothing, but optimistically she hoped it would blow over. It didn't. By the time she got to the square where the market traders were hastily packing up, she was squelching with every step she took.

Most of the refugees from the storm had packed into the Coffee Bean. It was the only place offering shelter that would give Jan a clear view of the play-school building, so she reluctantly followed suit. In her present financial straits she begrudged paying out for a cup of coffee; on the other hand she couldn't afford to stay out in the downpour and risk catching a chill. As it was there was a tickle in her nose that erupted ominously into a sneeze.

The Coffee Bean was always well attended on market days, but today it was bulging at the seams. Jan made her way towards the only vacant chair and sat down at a table already occupied by a man with dark hair, nicely cut, and a slightly averted face. Her profile impression of him was of a good strong nose and chin, offset by high cheekbones and a
mouth
that was too sensitive to be permanently clamped in such an awesomely straight line.

Jan had a tendency to reverse the proper order of things. It was typical of her to sit down first, and then ask permission to do so.

‘Excuse me, but is it all right for me to sit here?'

‘Yes, please do,' he said, vaguely waving her down before he'd properly turned to look at her. ‘Ah! I see that you are already seated.'

The side view of him had given the impression of strength and power. It hadn't prepared her for the dynamic effect of being the subject of his amused scrutiny. ‘M'm. You're very wet.'

She agreed that she was, and her hands did something completely out of character. They lifted fussily to her hair, as if her fingers could magic the flattened, sorry little strands into some semblance of order.

He was attractive enough to be familiar with this kind of feminine response. The salacious twinkle in his eye confirmed this. But it was the quirk softening of his mouth that told Jan this same reaction in a damp mouse took him by surprise. He seemed to like damp mice.

‘The waitress doesn't appear to be coming to take your order,' he observed kindly.

‘No,' Jan agreed, thankful for once she wasn't the type to inspire quick service. With a bit of luck the waitress wouldn't spot her
before
it was time to walk across the road to collect Stephanie, and she could have a warm through and a dry out without it having to cost her anything.

He snapped his fingers above her head, and wouldn't you just know it, a waitress came at the double.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting. What was it?'

‘Coffee, please,' Jan said resignedly.

‘A cup or a pot?'

‘A pot,' Awesome Mouth who was soon to be renicknamed Busybody answered for her. ‘And some hot buttered toast and a selection of cakes.'

‘Really!' Jan said when the waitress had gone. ‘I'm capable of answering for myself. You shouldn't have ordered the toast and cakes because I'm not hungry.'

‘Then it's morally wrong of you to go about looking as though you could do to wrap yourself round a huge steak.'

‘You could add all the trimmings and a mountain of chips and I'd still look like this. Can I help it if I'm naturally skinny?'

‘Slender sounds nicer,' he admonished. ‘If you haven't been dieting, and I'll take your word for it that you haven't, then it must be the other. He's not worth it, you know.'

‘Who isn't?' she queried, looking perplexed.

‘The man who walked out on you.'

‘I got over him months ago,' she said ingenuously and with belated regret, because
she
didn't have to advertise the fact that Martin had walked out on her. ‘This man didn't walk out on
me
.'

That slipped out without thinking. She had had David Spedding in mind when she said it, but the last thing she intended to do was gossip about him to a stranger.

‘The inference being that he walked out on someone?' he said with uncanny perception.

This time Jan thought before she replied. For the last few moments she had been trying to work out who he might be. Strangers weren't uncommon in Willowbridge, which was pretty enough to attract tourists. But tourists came in youthful-looking twosomes kitted out in jeans with haversacks on their backs, or they tumbled out of cars in family groups, Mum, Dad, offspring, sometimes Gran and Grandfather, and quite often with the family pet in tow. A man on his own might be here for market day, but he would definitely be of farming stock, and Awesome Mouth had a citified look about him. Two other possibilities still remained. Mrs. Grant,
the
Mrs. Grant of the Manor House, was reputedly interested in selling some valuable porcelain and an oriental painting in ink on silk, and it was said she had invited a dealer over to appraise them and give her a price. Awesome Mouth might be the dealer. The remaining possibility was quite balking. He could be David Spedding.

Afterwards, if someone had asked Jan why
she
did it she would have had to admit she didn't know. There was a feeling of revenge in gossiping about David Spedding to a stranger. She could hit back at him for Annabel, safe in the knowledge that the parties concerned meant nothing to him and the talk wouldn't stay in his mind to be repeated all over Willowbridge, as it would have been if she'd aired her views to one of its inmates. Indeed, in a few hours he would have departed, probably for ever. On the other hand, if the stranger turned out to be David Spedding, never would she have a better opportunity of telling him a few home truths than this moment while she was still unaware of his identity.

She took a deep breath and said: ‘He walked out on his wife and child, would you believe?'

He replied unperturbably, with just a cynical lift of one eyebrow: ‘Quite easily. There are some despicable characters in this world.'

On reflection, Jan wasn't certain whether the eyebrow action was cynical, or if he was teasing her naïveté. If this latter was his intent, it served its purpose. It goaded her to further indiscretion.

‘You can say that again! This one didn't even come back to attend his wife's funeral.'

He was Awesome Mouth again with a vengeance. He said bitingly: ‘Perhaps he had a reason.'

Funnily
enough, this is what Jan had said in his defence in the face of local condemnation. It was a relief to voice the disapproval she'd had to keep bottled up. ‘I've tried to be charitable about this, but I can't. There isn't a reason that will stand up to his nonappearance on that day.' And now she wasn't hitting back in revenge any more, she was having a reaction. She'd had to be brave for Stephanie's sake, but the truth was she'd never dwelt at such close quarters with death before. Her beloved grandmother had been very ill once, and near to death, but unlike Annabel she had recovered.

Jan had been with Annabel, looked after her, had barely let go of her hand during her last hours. At the same time she'd had to keep a bright face for Stephanie's sake. In Stephanie's eyes she represented grown-up calmness and authority. But she didn't feel grown-up or calm. She felt very young, very insecure; she needed someone to come along and take command of the whole horrible situation. She wanted to object to the role that had been forced upon her. She wanted to scream and shout. She wanted strong arms to hold her, and a strong shoulder upon which to sob out her fear and frustration. She needed to lash out at the man who hadn't been there to shoulder his responsibility.

‘He's callous and heartless,' she said with deep feeling that verged on hate.

She
heard the stranger's sharp intake of breath, but she was too incensed to react to it. ‘I know the crash wasn't his fault in that his hand wasn't on the steering wheel, but if Annabel hadn't married him in the first place she wouldn't have been in the car at that particular moment, so that makes him indirectly responsible for her terrible injuries which chained her to a wheelchair.' She had said
his
fault, but she might as well have said
your
fault, because she knew he was David Spedding.

He said: ‘Go on.' Something she had every intention of doing because she had vaulted the barriers of commonsense and was past heeding the tone of his voice.

In the circumstances it was silly of her to say: ‘You can't know—' Of course he knew—‘and I shouldn't be telling you all this—' That was rich, hysterically rich—‘but as a result of the crash which happened as they were on their way from the church to the wedding reception, Annabel was severely crippled. Not that I ever heard her utter one word of blame against him.' She couldn't resist getting that dig in. ‘She was marvellous. Brave right up to the end, which was two weeks ago. And he—' Her voice choked on emotion—‘that husband of hers didn't think enough about her to come to her funeral. You would have thought he'd come, wouldn't you, if only to comfort his little girl?'

‘You
are right about one thing.' And now Awesome Mouth awesomely surpassed the name she had given him. ‘You shouldn't be telling me all this. Do you always gossip so indiscriminately to strangers, Miss Ashton?'

She could have tossed back her head and retorted, ‘But you aren't a stranger, are you?' Instead she feigned surprise, because of course Annabel's husband would know the name of the person who was looking after his child. ‘How do you know my name?'

Before he could answer, the waitress arrived with the coffee tray.

‘Allow me,' he said, reaching for the coffee pot.

She was glad he took the task upon himself because her shaking fingers would have disgraced her. She thought that she was lucky he didn't pour the coffee over her head. She could no longer hope that by some miracle he would turn out to be the dealer here to see Mrs. Grant about the sale of her possessions. The dealer would have no cause to know her name.

What had she done? How could she have been so foolish? If only she had stopped to think exactly where her folly would lead. She had deliberately antagonised the man she hoped to soft-talk into letting her stay to look after Stephanie.

‘I've just come from Ralph's office. He said that Annabel had engaged the services of a
young
woman who would fit your description. He said if I hung around I'd be likely to meet up with you as it was your time to fetch Stephanie from school.' He broke off to ask: ‘Isn't she a little on the young side to be going to school?'

‘It's play-school, not proper school with lessons and things. It's good for her to mix with other children, and while her mother was ill it was a godsend to have her out of the house for a few hours each day.'