That Man Simon by Anne Weale Read Free Book Online Page B

confidence to wear the dashing extremes of fashion.
    As they went downstairs, the doorbell chimed. Fenella opened it, and greeted the group of guests arriving at the same time. Jenny, glancing through the hall window, was shaken to see Simon Gilchrist strolling up the drive. How had he come to be invited? she wondered in consternation.
    Then she remembered Elsie’s reference to ‘the new boy-friend’, and something her grandmother had said about it not being long before he was drawn into the Warings’
    social net.
    Jenny did not see Fenella greet him because, before he reached the door, she retreated to the lounge and joined in a conversation with two of her grandfather’s parishioners.
    But she did see Fenella bring him into the room and present him to her parents, and it was clear from her sparkling manner that she was out to make a conquest.
    The Warings’ lounge always reminded Jenny of a display in the window of the county town’s most expensive furniture store. It was opulently appointed with brocaded sofas and wing chairs, a wall-to-wall pale grey Wilton overlaid with Persian rugs, and expensive silk- shaded table lamps. But it had a curiously lifeless air, perhaps because all the furnishings had been selected in accordance with Mrs.

    Waring’s conception of gracious living, rather than to give comfort and visual pleasure.
    The reproduction Canalettos on the walls were there to demonstrate good taste, not because their owners delighted in scenes of old Venice. If Mr. Waring had smoked a pipe, he would never have been permitted to keep a collection of them in a pewter pint pot on the table by his favourite chair, as the Rector did. No knitting was ever tucked under the Warings’ cushions, no books or newspapers left lying about. The current issues of the glossy magazines were arranged on a side table beside a cut glass vase containing a stylized arrangement of flowers. But otherwise the lounge was as impersonal as part of a suite in an expensive hotel.
    With thirty people congregated in it - most of them smoking cigarettes and becoming increasingly animated as Elsie circulated with trays of drinks - the room soon became hot and stuffy. Jenny found her head beginning to ache, and it was difficult to concentrate on small talk when part of her mind was on James. Also, she was trying to keep out of the sight of Simon Gilchrist.
    Luckily this was not too difficult because, as he was half a head taller than any of the other men present, it was easy to keep a wary eye on him, and to move discreetly away if he seemed to be heading in her direction.
    The buffet supper was laid out in the dining-room across the hall. Jenny went in with the owner of the local garage and his wife. Then, as people crowded round the table, she became separated from them, and seized the opportunity to slip through the heavy velvet curtains and unlatch the glass door which led to a small conservatory.
    It was probably very impolite, she thought guiltily. But no one was likely to miss her, and she felt she had to get away from the babble of voices for ten minutes.
    The spring moon, shining through the glass roof, pro-vided ample light in which to eat the savouries she had chosen. Relaxing in a wicker chair, she bit into a crisp vol-au-vent filled with some delicious creamy shrimp mixture.
    But she had not been in her retreat for more than a few minutes when the curtains parted, giving a momentary glimpse of the crowded dining-room, and someone else stepped into the conservatory.
    ‘Good evening. May I join you, or did you come out here because you’re feeling anti-social?’ asked Simon Gilchrist, when he had closed the glass door behind him.
    ‘I was too hot,’ said Jenny stiffly.
    ‘Yes, it is very close in there.’ He sat down in the chair next to hers and crossed his long legs. He had brought a drink with him, but no food.
    Resenting his intrusion, and wondering why he had followed her - he must have seen her slipping between the