No Gentle Possession

Karen hesitated. ‘Ian Halliday hasn’t got it, has he?’ Halliday was her father’s assistant.

‘No. I could almost wish he had.’

Karen sighed. ‘Then who has got it?’ She couldn’t think of anyone else with the qualifications.

‘Only that playboy son of Howard Whitney’s, who’s always getting his name into the papers for one fool thing after another!’

Karen felt some of the colour draining out of her cheeks, and hastily covered them with her palms, her elbows resting on her knees. She didn’t want her parents to notice her sudden sense of shock. ‘Not – not Alexis Whitney?’ she murmured, controlling the tremor in her voice.

But fortunately no one noticed her. ‘Yes, that’s the chap,’ said her father bitterly. ‘What in God’s name he wants to come to a place like this for I’ll never know! The life he’s been leading these past few years, I shouldn’t have thought Wakeley would be big enough to hold him!’

Laura Sinclair put a calming hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Stop getting yourself so angry about it, Dan!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, so you might as well try and make the best of it. If, as you say, he’s not the type to take to discipline, then no doubt he won’t stick it long.’

Daniel thrust his pipe into the pocket of his cardigan. ‘What I can’t understand is why he should be coming here in the first place. Oh, I know there’s been all that gossip in the press about him and some company director’s wife recently, but Howard Whitney should know better than to send him here.’

‘But they used to live here,’ said Laura mildly.

‘Yes, years ago. Before Howard made his pile. D’you think they’d live here now? No, by God! We’d not be good enough for them.’ He shook his head. ‘But sending that spoiled brat here to be manager, to take over from old Jeff, to even take over his house! Well, it’s downright disgraceful!’

‘He’s hardly a brat any longer, Dan,’ remarked Laura dryly. ‘He must be almost thirty.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Her husband brought out his pipe again and put it between his teeth. ‘What does he know about the job? What does he know about wool! Bloody layabout!’

While her parents went on and on arguing about the new appointment, Karen sat as though frozen in her chair. And she was frozen, mentally at least. Two or three weeks ago, before the school trip to Grüssmatte, this news would have caused her a momentary pang, and then been forgotten. What was past was past, and she would have got on with her life without too much soul-searching.

But ten days ago she had come face to face with a ghost from the past, a ghost she realized had haunted her for years, and she had known that far from being forgotten, he had merely been hidden behind the veils of memory she had deliberately allowed to fall.

Alexis Whitney! She shivered. How much more angry her father would be about this appointment if he knew how closely Alexis Whitney had come to ruining his own daughter’s life. Her lips twisted. Had she changed so much as to be unrecognizable? Or had there been so many in his life that her face paled to insignificance beside others more beautiful?

Her parents’ conversation was breaking up. Her father was leaning down to switch on the television, and her mother was going out to dish up their evening meal in the kitchen. Karen got rather jerkily to her feet, and turning her attention to her father she said, in what she hoped were casual tones: ‘And when does the prodigal arrive?’

Daniel had taken his seat before the television and was concentrating on the programme so that she had to repeat herself before he answered shortly: ‘What? Oh, tomorrow, so I hear. He was in with Jim Summerton this afternoon.’

Karen stifled a gasp. ‘You mean he’s here in Wakeley already?’

Her father looked up, clearly not happy about being distracted. ‘That’s what I said. What’s the matter with you, girl? It won’t affect you, will it? Whether he’s here or not.’

Karen flushed then. ‘Of course not. I was merely showing interest, that’s all.’

‘Well, you keep your interests occupied elsewhere. I wouldn’t have any daughter of mine involved with a rake like him.’ Daniel surveyed her critically. ‘Hmm, I’ve no doubt he’d find you to his taste! Trendy clothes, all that loose hair! Don’t the education authorities care that their staff should look more mature than the pupils? My God, in my day, teachers were teachers, not bits of girls in clothes designed to attract trouble!’

Karen managed to smile at this. ‘Oh, Pop, don’t be so silly. Nobody cares about things like that nowadays. It’s what the pupils absorb that matters, not what they see.’

‘And they see plenty, if you ask me!’ muttered her father grimly. ‘How old are those boys you teach? Fifteen, sixteen? I don’t know how you get them to take any notice of you.’

‘I manage,’ remarked Karen, and escaped to the kitchen to help her mother dish up the dinner.

‘Is Ray coming round tonight?’ Laura asked, as she added butter to the potatoes.’

Karen shrugged, her appetite depleted by her father’s attitude. ‘I expect so,’ she agreed, lifting the lid of the casserole and allowing a rich odour of chicken and herbs to pervade the atmosphere. ‘He had to go and see about the new instruments. Apparently there’s been some holdup or something.’

‘He’s a very conscientious young man,’ observed her mother approvingly. ‘Everyone said at Christmas how much the choir’s improved since he took it over.’

‘Yes.’ Karen spoke absently, moving about the room lifting a piece of cutlery here, a dish there, generally annoying her mother until Laura said sharply:

‘What’s the matter with you? You’re not worrying about your father, are you?’

Karen looked up guiltily. Her father had been far from her thoughts just then. ‘Why – no! Of course not.’

‘That’s good, because I don’t think I could cope with two of you! For heaven’s sake, somebody had to get Jeff Pierce’s job. It could quite easily have been young Ian Halliday. After all, your father’s only got a few years to go to retirement, whereas Ian’s only in his thirties.’

Karen shrugged. ‘But Pop said he would rather it had been Ian!’

‘Don’t you believe it. If Ian Halliday had got the job, there’d have been some hard words said, believe you me.’

‘So he’d have been just as angry whoever got it?’

‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Your father’s never really cared for Howard Whitney being so successful. They were boys together here in Wakeley, and while Howard’s father owned a mill even in those days, he never made a lot of money. It took Howard’s brain and know-how to make Whitney Textiles what it is today.’

‘I see.’ Karen digested this slowly. ‘Does Pop know Howard Whitney, then?’

‘Of course he does. He visits Wakeley occasionally—’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant – did he know him well?’

Laura shrugged, lifting hot plates from under the grill. ‘Well, when they were younger they knew one another. And even after Howard got married, they used to occasionally have a drink together, that sort of thing. But then the business developed, Howard was away a lot, and eventually they moved to London. Of course, Howard’s first wife is dead now, and he’s married again. Some ex-fashion model, or something. I remember reading about it seven or eight years ago. Your father was disgusted about that, too, I remember. Howard’s wife had been dead scarcely a year at the time.’

Karen listened with interest, wishing her mother would go on. But Laura was going through to the dining-room now, putting plates and dishes on the table, and Karen had, perforce, to help her. Then, her father was called through to join them, and to her mother’s obvious relief the conversation turned to more general topics.

It was Wednesday, and Karen’s parents usually went to play bridge at the home of some friends on Wednesday evenings, so after they had gone Karen decided to wash her hair. It was snowing quite heavily now, and she didn’t think Ray would come round after all.

However, just as she was finishing rinsing her hair, the doorbell rang. Hastily wrapping a towel turban-wise round her head, she pulled on her navy quilted dressing-gown and ran downstairs. She pulled open the door to a flurry of snow, and then smiled as Ray Nichols stepped swiftly inside.

Closing the door, she exclaimed: ‘I thought you weren’t coming. Do you realize it’s after nine o’clock!’

Ray raised his dark eyebrows at her towel-swathed hair. ‘What a greeting!’ he commented, ‘although …’ He surveyed her more thoroughly, noticing the dark blue gown with approval. ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed.’

Karen pointed to the living-room. ‘Wait in there while I put some clothes on,’ she said, and Ray bent to kiss her lips before complying.

His kiss was warm and gentle, and Karen responded without effort. He was an attractive young man, a little above medium build with square muscular shoulders and dark curly hair.

‘Why bother?’ he asked, when he lifted his head. ‘I like you the way you are.’

Karen tugged the securing towel off her head, and her hair fell in wet coiling strands to her shoulders, black, and as silky soft as a raven’s wing. ‘And what do you think my father would say if he came back and found me like this?’ she demanded.

Ray shrugged. ‘Who cares? Sooner or later, he’ll have to accept it, won’t he?’

‘What do you mean?’