Stolen Summer

Jennifer Chater was wearing a strappy sun-dress, which exposed the warm-brown skin of her arms and throat. Her hair was dark, a curly halo around her head, and although she was not tall, she was nicely proportioned, with vivacious features, narrow hips, and small high breasts. But most of all, she looked young, and Shelley breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing could point the differences between them more than to compare the wrap-around décolletage and narrow sleeves of her sophisticated—no, mature—gown with Jennifer’s candy-striped cotton. Shelley looked elegant, but Jennifer looked fresh and youthful, the veneer of girlish innocence not yet tarnished by experience. And she was evidently in love with Ben, unable to prevent herself from clinging to his arm as they circled the car and came into the house. Lucky girl, thought Shelley tautly, as she moved back into the room. But not before noticing that Ben lifted his eyes to her windows, as he passed beneath, and her ragged nerves reacted anew to the possibility that he might have seen her.

She had to go down. She knew it. But that didn’t make it any easier. Marsha had said they would eat at seven-thirty, and that Ben and Jennifer would arrive a little earlier, so they could all have a drink beforehand. It was almost twenty-five past seven now. She couldn’t delay any longer. They would think she had planned to make an entrance.

A final check that her tights were smooth, and that the hem of her dress was not too short for a woman of almost thirty-one, Shelley left her room and went down the stairs. Her perfume, a delicate fragrance by Yves Saint Laurent, encircled her in its aura, and she drew a little comfort from the fact that she looked, and smelt, like a successful female executive. It was ridiculous to allow a young man of Ben Seton’s age to upset her, she thought impatiently. Obviously, her precarious mental state had produced other complications. Tonight, she would prove she was definitely on the mend.

She heard the sound of voices coming from the library, and steeling herself for that initial entry, she walked across the hall with her head held high. The door was open, making it easier for her to step inside unnoticed, she thought, but Marsha would not let it happen.

‘Shelley!’ she exclaimed, immediately drawing the attention of the other three occupants of the room, and now Shelley saw there was another man present. Tall and dark and distinguished, with flecks of grey marking the line of his temples, the newcomer was regarding her with evident approval, and Marsha was not unaware of this as she moved to greet her friend. ‘Don’t you look lovely!’ she exclaimed generously, dismissing Shelley’s admiration of her own silk blouse and velvet skirt without enthusiasm. ‘Come along. Jennifer and Charles are dying to meet you. I told you Charles was joining us, didn’t I? Charles Brandeth, our local G.P.?’

‘You know you didn’t, Marsha,’ responded Shelley, in a low voice, and Marsha’s eyes danced.

‘Oh, well—come and meet him now,’ she invited incorrigibly. ‘He’s a widower, actually. His wife died several years ago. He has no family, and he’s awfully nice.’

‘Marsha!’ murmured Shelley warningly, but she had no choice than to go and be introduced, first to Ben’s fiancée, and then to the village doctor.

Conscious that Ben’s eyes had been on her from the moment she came into the room, Shelley was careful to look only at Jennifer as they were introduced. She was a pretty little thing, Shelley conceded, aware that her opinion would not bear closer scrutiny, and she would probably make Ben an ideal wife. Being a veterinary’s daughter, she already knew the odd hours he would have to work, and no doubt she was prepared for the demands his job would make on their lives.

‘I believe you and Ben’s mother are old friends,’ she said now, after they had shaken hands, and Shelley immediately felt her age. ‘How long are you staying? Don’t you find Craygill rather boring after the exciting life you must have in London?’

‘Oh, Jennifer, don’t say that!’ exclaimed Marsha, making light of the girl’s rather tactless comments. ‘I’m hoping Shelley will stay all summer. If you start reminding her of what she’s missing in London, I shan’t stand a chance!’

‘I’m sure Miss Hoyt is appreciating the benefit of our rustic charms, Marsha,’ Charles Brandeth intervened smoothly. ‘How are you this evening, Miss Hoyt? I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.’

‘Thank you.’

Shelley managed a small smile, and as Jennifer turned away to speak to Marsha, Ben took her place. His hand beneath her elbow sent tremors of apprehension up her arm, and his voice was disruptively intimate as he said: ‘Come and get a drink. I want to talk to you.’

‘I—can’t.’ Shelley’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at him. The message in his eyes was quite unmistakable, and although for the past two days she had been trying to convince herself that the compliment he had paid her when he was leaving the other morning had been objective, she could no longer delude herself that this was so. ‘Ben—please——’

‘Are you getting Shelley a drink, Dickon?’ enquired his mother behind them, and Jennifer started to laugh at something Charles had said. With a feeling of relief, Shelley moved so that Ben was forced to release her, and the situation resumed perspective as she restored a sense of balance.

‘You’ll never believe it, darling,’ exclaimed Jennifer, unaware that she did not have her fiancé’s undivided attention, ‘but Charles has just been telling me that Mrs Simmons called him out to look at Arthur! Arthur is Mrs Simmons’ cat,’ she added, for their guest’s benefit. ‘Isn’t it priceless! She behaves as if that cat was human!’

‘She’s a lonely old woman,’ responded Ben tersely, responding to his mother’s frantic gestures, and crossing the room to where a tray of drinks was waiting. ‘What will you have, Shelley? I think we’ve got most things here.’

‘A—glass of white wine would be lovely,’ replied Shelley nervously, linking her hands together. Then, finding his fiancée’s eyes upon her, she added quickly: ‘What do you do—er—Jennifer? Do you work with Ben and your father?’

‘No.’ Jennifer shook her head. ‘I work in a solicitor’s office actually. But I expect I’ll give that up after we’re married. Ben will need someone to answer his calls and take messages. Both Daddy and Uncle Bill are near to retirement, and when they do, Ben will be the senior partner in the practice.’

‘I see.’

Shelley was nodding as Ben joined them with her drink, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her the glass. His hands were cool and hard, but they burned Shelley’s flesh, and she wondered if he was as aware as she was of the electricity flowing between them.

‘I was just telling Shelley that when Daddy and Uncle Bill retire, you’ll be taking on a junior partner,’ said Jennifer, taking hold of his arm, as if she couldn’t bear not to be in contact with him. ‘We’re getting married in October. You must come to the wedding.’

‘Oh—I—that’s very nice of you, but——’

‘It’s not a definite date,’ said Ben flatly, as Shelley struggled to find words to excuse herself. ‘It really depends on Jennifer’s father. You do want him to be at the wedding, don’t you?’ he added, as the girl clinging to his arm started to protest.

‘Well, of course I do, but——’

‘Dickon, don’t be so aggressive!’ Marsha came to soothe Jennifer’s ruffled feelings. ‘Honestly, these two!’ she exclaimed, to no one in particular. ‘They can’t even agree on a date for their own wedding!’

‘Personally, I have a great respect for elopements,’ put in Charles Brandeth provokingly. ‘No guests; no fuss; no——’

‘—thanks!’ declared Marsha, putting an end to his pronouncement. ‘You wouldn’t want to cheat me out of my part in my only son’s nuptials, would you? I want to see Dickon in a morning suit, Charles, walking down the aisle of the church in Low Burton. And Jennifer, of course. My dear, you’ll look delightful in white with your dark hair.’

‘Mummy’s already seen a dress she thinks would suit me,’ put in Jennifer eagerly. ‘It’s in Harrogate. Maybe you’d like to come with us one day to see it, Mrs Seton. I know Mummy would appreciate your opinion.’

Shelley sipped her wine as the conversation ebbed and flowed around her. She took little part in it, and she was glad to withdraw inside herself and assimilate her position. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice that Ben spoke seldom also, and she was half afraid someone else would notice the intentness of his eyes when they rested upon her. She was imagining things, she told herself. She had to be. But the fact remained that he disturbed her in a way she found quite intolerable.

Sarah’s appearance, to announce that dinner was served, interrupted her troubled speculations, and Ben’s mother was not slow to notice that the maid’s eyes lingered longest on her son. ‘Shall we go in?’ she suggested, touching Shelley’s sleeve and drawing her with her. ‘Really, that girl!’ she added, in an undertone. ‘It doesn’t seem to occur to her that I might object!’

‘Object?’ Shelley moistened her lips. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Sarah,’ hissed Marsha impatiently. ‘Haven’t you noticed the covetous glances she keeps directing at Dickon? I keep telling myself she’s only seventeen and doesn’t know any better, but she’s beginning to annoy me.’

‘Oh.’ Shelley felt a chill run down her spine. ‘I see.’

‘I blame Dickon partly,’ Marsha added, as they entered the dining room. ‘I mean—he teases the girl and she takes him seriously. But he is engaged now, and Sarah should realise he’s not interested in her!’

‘Yes.’

Shelley absorbed what the other woman was saying with a distinctly hollow feeling. She wondered if Marsha would be confiding in her if she suspected Shelley’s own involvement. Unwilling, perhaps, but none the less fundamental because of that.

Struggling with her conscience, Shelley tried to pay attention to her surroundings. The dining table looked lovely. Mrs Carr had arranged the place settings on Venetian lace mats, and the china and cutlery was reflected in the table’s polished surface. Scarlet napkins tucked into crystal goblets marked every place, and a centrepiece of roses and carnations seemed to oscillate in the glow of two tall candles.

‘It’s really not dark enough to need the candles, but I thought they looked pretty,’ remarked Marsha, directing everyone to their seats. ‘Shelley—you sit here beside me, with Charles next to you, and Jennifer, you sit opposite Shelley.’ She smiled up at her son. ‘I’m sure you can find your own place, darling.’

With Marsha occupying the principal position at the head of the table, Shelley found herself almost opposite Ben as he took his place beside his fiancée. Marsha had arranged it so that as Charles had no one else beside him, he was obliged to talk to Shelley, and throughout the start of the meal, she seemed to spend her time answering his questions.

‘It must be very interesting, working in the media,’ he eventually commented predictably, and Shelley, who was used to this kind of query, gave a practised smile.

‘I like it,’ she said, though without the enthusiasm she had once possessed. ‘Any kind of communication is important in a society that seems to spend its time withdrawing from human contact.’

‘Is that what we do?’ Charles arched his rather heavily marked brows. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘Oh——’ Shelley was loath to get involved in dogma. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Every aim of Western civilisation seems designed to discommunicate man from his neighbour. The age of the computer signalled the start of increasing isolation.’

‘Do go on.’ Charles was intrigued, but Shelley was reluctant. A gap had occurred in the conversation Marsha had been having with Jennifer, and now everyone’s attention was focused on her.

‘I’m sure you don’t want to hear my views,’ she averred, in some embarrassment, endeavouring to swallow a piece of asparagus that seemed to have lodged in her throat. She took a mouthful of her wine, wishing she had made some non-committal comment, and then was immeasurably grateful when Ben intervened.

‘I think what Shelley means is that computers are set to make a drastic change in our lifestyle,’ he remarked. ‘Right now, we are barely scraping the surface of what they can do for us. I was reading the other day, that by the turn of the century computers will handle a household budget, re-ordering any commodity as its needed from another computer at a store. They’re even talking of computers that can diagnose simple illnesses, to save doctors making house calls. You’d better watch out, Charles. You could be out of a job.’

‘Not me.’ Charles grimaced. ‘By that time, I’ll have retired, thank God!’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a frightening thought though, isn’t it? No need to go shopping; no need to visit your doctor. I guess it all began when the cinemas started to close.’

‘For which we can thank television,’ said Ben drily, and Shelley, who had disposed of the asparagus at last and was beginning to relax again, caught her breath. ‘You can’t avoid the fact that television has a lot to answer for,’ he added, holding her gaze with lazy irony. ‘Wasn’t it the medium that started this lack of communication? I seem to remember it being accused of killing the art of conversation.’