Her Hand in Marriage

‘I went out with him last night,’ Cindy said in another rush, and, while a sick feeling invaded Romillie’s insides, ‘I—um—wouldn’t want to—um—you know, if…’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Romillie answered, somehow managing to maintain her quiet air. ‘I have been out with him. But that’s finished now.’

Cindy beamed at her. ‘You didn’t mind me asking?’

‘Not at all,’ Romillie replied, and even found a smile.

She carried on with her work, but all the while thoughts of the fickleness of men bombarded her. Her father was a prime example, and now the man she had been out with enough times to have begun to think of him as her boyfriend was another.

But, as she had told Cindy Wilson, that was now finished. If he thought she was going to the cinema with him that night did he have another think coming! All that remained was for her to tell him that.

Romillie went home at lunchtime, hid from her mother that she had received a pretty nasty jolt that morning, and ate the sandwiches her mother had prepared. She returned to work with a certainty that nothing would alter, that while she and Jeff Davidson might have been an item yesterday, they most assuredly were not an item today. Nor would they ever be.

She did not get the chance to tell him so until she went to make a cup of tea and he came to find her. ‘What time tonight?’ he began.

While the fear silently haunted her that she might have inherited some of her father’s weaknesses, Romillie, with her years of experience of his dishonesty in his relationship with her mother, just knew without having to think about it that there would be no such dishonesty or underhandedness in any relationship she had.

‘You went out with Cindy Wilson last night,’ she said bluntly.

That caught him off-guard, but after a second or two he recovered. ‘I didn’t know I was yours exclusively,’ he replied.

Romillie stared at him, her brown eyes wide and serious. Then suddenly she smiled. It was a phoney smile. She might be hurting but he would never know it. ‘You’re not,’ she said. And, in case he had not yet got the message, ‘Enjoy the film,’ she bade him, picked up her tea, and walked away.

Romillie was still feeling churned up inside about Jeff Davidson when she drove home that night, and she blamed herself—when her father was a fine example of a two-timing man; in her father’s case more than two timing—that she had believed that she and Jeff Davidson were exclusive to each other.

It made her angry that she had been such a fool. Once bitten twice shy, she vowed. And with her knowledge of her father’s faithlessness, and now her supposed boyfriend proving to be little better, Romillie knew it would be a very long time before she trusted any man again.

She hid her hurt and disenchantment when she arrived home, and went in search of her mother. She found her in the kitchen.

‘I saw you coming. I’ve got the kettle on,’ Eleanor Fairfax announced, and seemed equally bright as she had at the start of the day, so that Romillie felt able to bring up the subject of her taking her sketchpad outside.

‘Did you manage…?’ It was as far as she got. For, guessing the question, her mother picked up the sketchpad from behind her.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, showing a small sketch of a corner of the garden.

‘Mum, it’s wonderful!’ Romillie enthused, meaning it on both fronts. It was wonderful that her parent was showing an interest again, and her talent as an artist was truly wonderful too. Her attention to detail never ceased to amaze Romillie.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,’ Eleanor protested. ‘I might try painting it later, but I’m so rusty. I…’ She left the rest unsaid, but was smiling happily as she revealed, ‘I had a blast from the past this afternoon.’ And when Romillie looked at her quickly, fearing the worst, ‘No, not your father. Though no doubt Archer Fairfax will show his face again as soon as he wants something. No, I was absorbed in what I was doing when I suddenly felt someone’s eyes on me. I looked up, and there in next-door’s garden was Lewis Selby.’

‘Lewis Selby?’

‘You won’t know him. I wouldn’t have known him myself—I hadn’t seen him in over forty years. He’s a cousin of Sarah Daniels.’ Sarah Daniels lived next door, but had closed the house up some months previously to go on an extended stay in Australia. ‘Lewis and his family used to visit quite often when he was a boy—he’d have been about twelve the last time I saw him. I must have been five or six,’ Eleanor broke off to explain, ‘and I heard them having such fun in the garden next door that it seems I toddled off round there to join in. Lewis was delegated to take hold of my hand and bring me back.’

‘You remember the incident?’

‘Oh, I do. He was such a kind boy. Apparently I would look out of the window every day for him, but I didn’t see him again.’

‘Until today?’

‘Until today,’ her mother agreed with a smile. ‘He knew from Sarah that I’d become an artist—was an artist,’ she corrected. ‘He didn’t recognise me either, but came to the hedge when he saw me to make himself known.’

Romillie laughed. It was a joy to see her mother so ‘up’. ‘What a pity he didn’t know that Mrs Daniels was away. Had he come far?’

‘He lives in London and he knew Sarah was out of the country. She has been in touch, it seems, and guess what?’ Romillie had no idea. ‘Apparently Sarah, horse-mad Sarah, has met a man in the Outback—and won’t be coming home.’

Romillie’s eyes went wide in surprise. ‘She’s getting married?’ she asked. Sarah Daniels, closer to sixty than fifty had, when widowed young, moved back to her family home.

Eleanor nodded. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she exclaimed, seeming oblivious to the fact that marriage, as in her own case, was very often a disaster.

‘Er—yes,’ Romillie agreed, holding back from saying that now, and probably even before Jeff Davidson’s careless treatment of what she had started to think was a little more than a casual association between them, she viewed the prospect of men and marriage through much less rose-tinted glasses. ‘Um—so why did this—er—Lewis Selby visit if he knew she wouldn’t be here?’

‘Apparently Lewis is thinking of semi-retirement and Sarah contacted him with the idea of putting his semi-retirement to good use.’

‘She’s selling the house?’ Romillie guessed.

‘Not straight away,’ her mother corrected. ‘It seems that she and her Australian are mutually besotted and he’s afraid that if she comes home she won’t go back again. So to prove her love she has said that she will stay.’

‘This Lewis Selby told you all about it over the hedge?’ Romillie enquired.

‘He started to,’ Eleanor replied. ‘But then I realised that all the services in Sarah’s house must be disconnected. So, as I already knew him, albeit from around forty-four or so years ago, I asked him if he’d like to come round for a cup of tea.’

Romillie was little short of amazed—yet at the same time delighted. Her mother had not shown an interest in anything remotely social for at least five years! However, since the last thing she wanted was for her to retreat back into her shell, she hid her amazement and asked instead, ‘So, the house isn’t being sold just yet?’

‘Sarah has a few very special pieces. Some she wants sold, others she wants shipped out. Lewis has a list, and was here today checking through and sorting out prior to contacting the valuers. Now, how about you? Are you going out with Jeff tonight and do you need an early dinner?’

It was good to hear her mother think about cooking a meal when for so long she had not been remotely interested in food. ‘We can eat late if you like,’ Romillie answered, pondering whether to say more but, with her mother so ‘up’, risking it. ‘Other than work, I won’t be seeing Jeff again.’

‘You’ve split up!’ Eleanor exclaimed, searching her daughter’s face for signs of hurt, her own expression troubled.

‘It was a mutual kind of thing,’ Romillie answered lightly. ‘I don’t—um—fancy him any more,’ she added, and knew as she said it that it was true.

She knew as lay in bed that night that it was probably because of her father chasing anything the slightest feminine that she had grown up being a little cautious where men were concerned. She had certainly been very circumspect with whom she went out with—which made Jeff Davidson so special that she’d gone out with him more than a few times. But, having dated him often enough to believe that they were sole boyfriend and girlfriend to each other, today’s revelations had struck at the heart of her—and had killed stone-dead any feeling she might have thought she had for him.

Which, from his point of view the next morning, was rather unfortunate. Because no sooner had she arrived at her place of work than he was there, meeting her in the firm’s parking area.

‘Romillie.’ He waylaid her. ‘I was a fool. I’m sorry.’

She stared at him. Then she smiled—her phoney smile. ‘Why, what have you done?’

‘You’ve forgiven me?’

‘Of course,’ she said, still smiling, and would have walked on. But he caught hold of her arm, halting her.

‘Prove it. Come out with me tonight. Let me show…’

Romillie looked pointedly down at his hand on her arm, and pulled out of his grasp. ‘I think you must be confusing me with someone else,’ she informed him coolly—and left him standing there.

The trouble was, she discovered over the next few days, that men were all casual and careless of your feelings when they thought you were interested, but once you had shown them that you were not remotely interested they just wouldn’t leave you alone. Tough! She was not there to be picked up and put down again at the whim of Jeff Davidson, or anyone else for that matter.