Free That Man Simon by Anne Weale Page B

my parents would approve.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because my father was a businessman with a worldly view of life, and Giles thought he would wish me to marry someone with better prospects. He was quite right. My father was furious when Giles asked permission to propose to me. I was sent away to an aunt in Harrogate for several months, so that we should not meet. But eventually my mother persuaded Father to give his consent, and we were married on the fourth of March, 1918. Fifty-two years ago.’
    ‘Yes, but the world was quite different then,’ Jenny thought, as her grandmother sat staring out of the window, lost in happy reminiscence.
    ‘Everything has changed - even people’s ideas of love.’
    On Sunday, James came to lunch. When he and Jenny were alone, after Mrs. Shannon had gone up for her rest, he said, ‘What were you doing coming home with Gilchrist the other evening? I thought you detested him.’
    ‘As he’s going to be our neighbour I can’t very well have a permanent feud with him. Besides, he’s not as bad as I thought,’ she said, dodging the first part of the question.
    ‘Let’s go for a walk, shall we? Or would you rather relax?’
    James agreed on a walk, and they set out for the beech woods about a mile away, with Josh following at their heels.
    It was very peaceful in the woods, with shafts of sunlight slanting through the leaves and thick moss muffling their footsteps.
    While they were sitting on a log, sharing a bar of chocolate and watching the feverish activity on a nearby ant-hill, James said suddenly, ‘Have you been thinking about ... us, Jenny?’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ she answered, in a low voice.
    ‘So have I. In fact, I can’t think of anything else,’ he said, reaching for her hands. ‘I thought I could be patient ... take things slowly. But I find I can’t. I want to marry you now ...
    this summer. We’re right for each other, I know we are. I love you so much darling Jenny ...’
    He would have taken her in his arms, but she drew back.
    ‘Oh, James, wait. I - I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ve thought about it, but I’m still not sure. Give me a little more time - just a week or two.’
    His hands tightened until the pressure hurt. ‘Last night I lay in bed and I wanted you so much I couldn’t sleep for hours,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Not just to make love to you, but to have you near me, to talk to you. To feel you belonged to me.’

    His urgency, the passionate pleading in his voice, frightened her. She had never seen him like this before, stripped of all reserve, revealing an intensity of emotion which she had not known was in him. Suddenly, she felt that he was giving her no choice, that she was trapped. He loved her so much that she must love him in return or hurt him intolerably.
    It was only a momentary sensation, and then James let go of her hands and said more calmly, ‘All right, love, I’ll wait a bit longer. But not too long.’
    He stayed for tea, and then went off to visit his mother.
    Jenny sensed that he would have liked her to offer to go with him, but she had a deep need to be alone for a while after the stresses of the afternoon.
    In the hall, before he left, James put his arms round her and kissed her. But although she submitted to the embrace, she found that this time the touch of his lips left her unmoved.
    Fenella Waring was still in the village because, a few days before her intended return to London, she had sprained her ankle badly. Rumour had it that John Barton was in her toils again. At least he had been seen calling at the Warings’ house several times since her accident. At one time he had been very much in love with Fenella, and she had encouraged him, only to drop him suddenly.
    One evening she telephoned the Rectory to ask Jenny to come round for a chat as she was bored to tears with being unable to walk yet. Arriving at Red Gables, Jenny found the other girl reclining languidly on a sofa in an apricot caftan, with a pile of