Free That Man Simon by Anne Weale Page A

you any animals?’
    ‘No, at present I live in a flat in the centre of the city. I shall probably get a dog when I move to the house.’
    A few minutes later they reached the Rectory, but Simon refused her invitation to come in and see her grandparents.
    ‘Well, thank you for a lovely tea and for bringing me all the way home,’ she said warmly.
    ‘It was my pleasure. I shall be in London most of next week, so I won’t see you again for a bit. Good night, Jenny.’
    He shook hands, then climbed back into the car and drove away.
    ‘How very nice of him,’ said Mrs. Shannon, when she had heard all about the delicious tea at the hotel.
    ‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ Jenny ran upstairs to change, humming a tune.
    When she came down again, still humming, Mrs.
    Shannon put down the sock she was knitting for her husband, and said, ‘How old do you think Mr. Gilchrist is, dear?’
    Something in her grandmother’s tone made Jenny stiffen slightly. ‘Oh, about thirty, I would think, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘I fancy he must be more than that. I believe it takes five years to qualify as an architect, and he must have spent some time in one of the Services, and he appears to be well established in his profession. I should say he must be at least thirty-three or four.’
    ‘Perhaps he is,’ Jenny agreed. ‘Why are you so interested in his exact age, Granny?’
    Mrs. Shannon took off her spectacles and polished the lenses with her handkerchief. Then she held them up to the light and replaced them. ‘Because I think you have suddenly become interested in Mr. Gilchrist,’ she said gently. ‘I wouldn’t like you to be hurt, dear.’
    ‘Hurt? Why on earth should I be hurt? What do you mean?’ Jenny asked, rather sharply.
    ‘Now don’t be cross, dear, I know you’re very sensible and level-headed, and of course you’re quite grown-up now and must make your own decision. In some ways I think it might have been better if you had gone to live in that flat in London with Alison Grant.’
    ‘Why? What is all this, Granny? What are you getting at?’
    ‘Well, I feel sometimes that, although you have always seemed contented, you have had rather a quiet life for a girl of your age,’ explained Mrs. Shannon. ‘It’s possible that you might become a little carried away by a taste of some of the things you’ve never experienced, and by people who are different from those in your own small circle.’
    Jenny was silent for some moments. Then she said briefly, ‘You hope that I’ll marry James Langdon, don’t you, Granny?’
    ‘I hope that you will be happy, dear. Has James proposed to you?’
    ‘Yes. Oh, Granny, I don’t know ... I simply don’t know whether I love him or not,’ Jenny exclaimed, feeling a sudden urge to unburden herself. ‘It’s so difficult to be sure.
    I’ve known James for so long. He’s almost like an elder brother to me. How can I tell if I love him ... or if I’m just terribly fond of him ... used to him?’
    ‘I always think “falling in love” is such a misleading expression,’ Mrs. Shannon said thoughtfully. ‘It sounds as if it must be something which happens suddenly and unexpectedly. I think “growing into love” would be much more accurate. One may fall into a state of infatuation, and have great difficulty in recovering one’s balance. But true love is something very different, and it usually comes about quite slowly, almost without one being aware of what is happening.’
    ‘Was that how it was with you and Grandpa?’ Jenny asked.
    She always found it hard to imagine her grandparents ever being young. As far as she could remember, they had been as they were now; silver-haired and wrinkled, Grandpa thin and rather stooped, his eyes the colour of periwinkles under bristly white eyebrows, and Granny plump and cosy and short-sighted.
    ‘Yes, Giles was the curate at our church for five years before he asked me to marry him, but of course he was very shy in those days and he didn’t think