Free The Tender Flame by Anne Saunders

overture back in her face, and besides which she was wondering if she’d misjudged her about the other. Sylvia was so sweetly eager to prolong the meeting that it hardly seemed possible that she had informed her about Martin and Tara out of malice. Or if she had, perhaps she’d had second thoughts and was sorry and dearly wanted to make amends.
    â€˜All right,’ Jan said, smiling. ‘Only I’m flush so the treat’s on me.’
    â€˜Had a premium bond up or something?’
    â€˜No. I’ve just been paid up.’
    â€˜Oh? It’s not a holiday break then? Have you had the push?’
    Jan wished she hadn’t been quite so forthcoming. Sylvia was hardly the best confidante in the world. ‘Not really. My employer has quite recently died and my work commitment came to a natural end.’
    â€˜Oh!’ Sylvia was momentarily nonplussed, although doubtless she would think of some searching questions to ask later.
    Over coffee and Danish pastries in the chrome-plated elegance of the adjacent coffee bar (not a patch of the aromatic cosiness of the Coffee Bean at Willowbridge) Sylvia said thoughtfully: ‘You look peaky. Have you been pining for Martin?’
    Martin had long since been relegated in her mind as a dear and valued friend. They’d lived within a stone’s throw of each other and his mother had been ‘Aunt’ Dora to her, as hers had been ‘Aunt’ Muriel to him. If Tara hadn’t come along, and she hadn’t subsequently met David, perhaps they might have drifted into marriage without ever knowing there was a deeper love than the fondness they felt for each other, a love as tender as an early summer breeze, as scorching as a rim of fire.
    With the genuine affection she would always feel for Martin, Jan fastened eagerly on to his name. ‘How is Martin?’
    â€˜He’ll be better now that you’re back, I shouldn’t wonder.’
    â€˜Has he been ill?’
    Sylvia’s round brown eyes went rounder with glee. She had always relished telling a tale. ‘You don’t know!’ she squealed. ‘Of course, it’s all happened quite recently, but I thought Martin would have written to tell you, or better still, telephoned.’
    â€˜About what?’
    Sylvia sat back, taking a ghoulish delight in keeping Jan in suspense. ‘About his break-up with Tara. Everybody but them knew it couldn’t last. I suppose really their temperaments are too much alike. Tara couldn’t manage him as beautiful as you did, Jan. She made it plain from the beginning that she wasn’t going to follow your lead and pamper him out of his moods. I’m not saying that you were weak to let Martin walk all over you the way he did. I accept that it’s some people’s nature to do anything for a quiet life, and very nice too if you can square it with yourself to be like that. I wish I could. The world would be a more tranquil place to live in if there were more people like you.’
    No, Sylvia hadn’t changed. She still possessed the knack of getting under the skin. But Jan felt a niggle of sympathy for her. A reasonably clear picture was emerging. Sylvia had always chased Martin. Martin would be feeling low, and perhaps Sylvia had made a bid for him, but he was too wise to be susceptible to flattery and too wary to be caught on the rebound.
    All the same, Jan couldn’t resist having a little scratch back. ‘Some people think tranquillity is a euphemism for dullness.’
    She thought it odd how you could be different things to different people. For example, tranquillity was something David would not associate with her.
    â€˜You’re not dull. Such a thought never entered my mind.’ She looked at her watch and said disbelievingly: ‘If little Sylvia doesn’t get her skates on she’s going to be late again. I’ve already been ticked off twice this week for being late back from lunch.