That Man Simon by Anne Weale Read Free Book Online

her go, he was pale under his tan, and breathing hard.
    ‘I’m sorry, but - oh, Jenny, I love you,’ he said hoarsely.
    ‘You will marry me, won’t you, darling?’
    ‘Oh, James ... I don’t know.’
    He looked as shocked as if she had slapped him. ‘Don’t you love me?’ he said blankly.
    She looked out of the windscreen, her fingers nervously pleating her cotton skirt. ‘I don’t know, James,’ she said again.
    He was touching her now, but she felt him tense. ‘Is it because of my leg and my face?’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Of course not!’ she said vehemently.
    ‘I’ve always taken for granted that you didn’t mind about this,’ he said in a low voice, his hand going up to his cheek.
    ‘You know I don’t.’
    Horrified that he should even consider such a possibility, she put out her hand and gently stroked the place with her fingertips.
    He caught hold of her wrist and pressed his mouth against her palm. ‘What is the reason, then?’ he asked, in a muffled voice.
    She hesitated. ‘I suppose it’s just that I’ve never really thought about marriage - except as something in the future.’

    ‘But you must know whether you love me or not.’
    ‘I’m not sure,’ she said unhappily. ‘It’s hard to explain. I do love you ... in a way. But I don’t know if I’m in love with you. I’ve always been terribly fond of you.’
    ‘You liked it when I kissed you, didn’t you?’ he asked huskily.
    ‘Yes, I did,’ she agreed frankly. ‘But people can like kissing without being in love, can’t they? I’ve never kissed anyone else, so I’ve no ... basis for comparison.’
    James grinned suddenly. ‘Oh, Jenny, you’re so sweet and funny. A basis for comparison, indeed! I should hope you haven’t.’
    ‘Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious. I honestly don’t know what I feel,’ she said worriedly.
    ‘Well, think about it, will you?’ he said gently. ‘I must admit I didn’t quite realize it myself until a couple of weeks ago. It ... sort of hit me one day. It was funny, really. I was looking out of the surgery window and Margaret and Bob Jones went past with that darn great flashy pram of theirs.
    Suddenly I wished I had a wife and a kid like Bob. And when I thought about having a wife, I thought of you.’
    ‘Oh, James!’ Jenny’s throat was tight. She had an impulse to fling her arms round his neck and say, ‘I do love you - of course I do.’
    But something held her back, a tiny niggling doubt in the back of her mind.
    ‘So you’ll think about it?’ James asked again.
    She nodded, and slipped quickly out of the car.
    He blew her a kiss through the window. 'Don’t take too long, darling. Good night.’
    Jenny thought of nothing else for several days, but the more she thought, the more uncertain she became. Now it was she who scarcely tasted the food she ate, and who was still wide awake long after midnight.
    One morning, Fenella telephoned. ‘We’re having a little buffet party this evening. Would you like to come?’ she asked.
    Jenny hesitated before accepting. Fenella’s mother was the self-appointed leader of Farthing Green ‘society’
    - if such a term could be applied to the small clique of women who took turns in holding coffee mornings, bridge teas and cocktail parties; and who vied with each other in acquiring the latest status symbols. Jenny had been to a score of Mrs. Waring’s parties, and had never much enjoyed herself at them. But at least the food was always good, and it would be a chance to wear a blue dress she had made in January but never yet worn.
    She said, ‘Yes, I would like to come. Thank you, Fenella.
    What time?’
    ‘Seven-ish. Don’t bother to dress up. It will be very informal. See you this evening, then.’
    As Fenella rang off, Jenny smiled to herself. ‘Very informal’ meant that Mrs. Waring and her daughter would be dressed up to the nines, but did not expect their guests to compete with them.
    After lunch she washed her hair and dried it