and her green eyes shone.
“That reporter again!” he exclaimed.
“What?” Melissa had been in full flow about the benefits of her business.
“Maggie, over there, with that reporter from the
“Well, you’re here with me.” Melissa threw him a flirtatious look.
“Excuse me.” Fell threw down his napkin and walked over to Maggie’s table. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.
“I’m having dinner with a friend – just like you,” said Maggie defensively.
“Your only interest in her is getting another story out of her,” Fell accused Peter.
Peter smiled easily. “It may not have dawned on you, but your fiancee is worth any fellow’s time. You ain’t married yet.”
Fell stared at him.
“We’ll talk later,” said Maggie hurriedly. “Do go back to your dinner, Fell.”
Fell looked at her in baffled fury. Then he became aware that the other diners were looking at him curiously. He flushed with embarrassment and went back to Melissa.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
“You didn’t strike me as the jealous type,” teased Melissa.
“I am not jealous. I don’t care what Maggie does!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t marry her.”
Fell opened his mouth to say he had no intention of marrying Maggie, but then he was struck with an awful thought. Maggie was drinking quite a lot. What if she told Peter about his, Fell’s, parentage!
“So to get back to business,” Melissa was saying.
The first little hair crack appeared on the lacquer of Fell’s obsession. Just a little flash of irritation. Until he had seen Maggie, he had been finding Melissa’s description of how she wanted to start aromatherapy treatment fascinating. He had been lost in a warm dream of her gently stroking scented oils over his body. Now he wanted her to worry with him about what on earth Maggie was talking about. The reporter couldn’t fancy her, could he? Not Maggie.
Melissa was privately thinking that Maggie had set up the whole thing to make Fell jealous. It was just what she would have done herself. The little frump was positively glowing. If Fell wasn’t careful, she’d be off with that reporter. Melissa suddenly smiled. And that would leave the field clear.
She had shrewdly noticed that little flash of irritation that had crossed Fell’s eyes and she put a hand over his and looked deep into his eyes, and said, “Let’s cut this evening short. No pudding. No coffee. You can’t really listen to me properly until you get this business of Maggie and the reporter off your mind. If you don’t mind me saying so, Fell, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Maggie struck me as being a bit naive and probably thinks that reporter really fancies her.”
“I’m worried about what she’s telling him,” said Fell.
“Forget it. You go home and deal with it and we’ll meet again. I can’t say I’m enjoying this evening much.” Melissa signalled for the bill. Fell was immediately conscience-stricken and now consumed with the fear that he had bored her, that he was losing her.
“I am so sorry,” he babbled. “Look, I am really keen to invest in your business. Can we meet soon?”
“Let’s leave it a week,” said Melissa briskly, thinking, let him stew for a bit.
Maggie watched them go. Fell walked past her table after Melissa without stopping to speak.
Outside the restaurant, Fell said, “Please let me see you home.”
“Another time. It’s a fine night.” Melissa strode off. He stood with his hands hanging at his side, watching her go. Maggie’s laugh rang out through the open window.
Fell was consumed with fury. Maggie would have to go. She had ruined his evening.
He walked quickly home and sat in the living room, waiting and waiting.
At last, about midnight, he heard their voices outside. What had they been doing? The restaurant closed at eleven.
The front door opened and Maggie came in. She looked radiant because Peter had kissed her when they had been strolling along the river after dinner, and she had enjoyed it because she had imagined he was Fell.
“Just what the hell do you think you have been doing?” shouted Fell.
“I was out on a date, just like you,” said Maggie defensively.
“What did you tell him, you bitch? Did you tell him I was a bastard?”
“Of course not! He likes me. He thinks I’m pretty.”
“You!” said Fell with contempt.
“I’ll go and pack,” said Maggie quietly.
“Do that!”
Maggie was beyond tears. Slowly she went up to her room. She packed a suitcase and lugged it downstairs. “I’ll come tomorrow for the rest of my stuff,” she said.
Fell was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. He did not look up.
¦
When Fell awoke the next morning, the memory of what had happened the night before came rushing into his head. He turned his face into the pillow. He had not had much to drink, and yet he felt he must have been drunk. He remembered Maggie saying that Peter thought her pretty and heard again his own contemptuous voice saying, “You!”
He would need to apologize to her.
He washed and dressed and went downstairs. It didn’t look like a home any more. There was no Maggie making coffee in the kitchen. He walked from room to room. The sitting room stood empty, all the furniture and knick-knacks having been transported to Aunt Agnes in Wales. He walked back into the living room. It was wrong. The white walls looked stark and the new three-piece suite – well – suburban. The kitchen looked warm and inviting, but then, most of that refurbishment had been Maggie’s idea. He knew the living-room furnishings were wrong, but could not think what he could do to change them. Perhaps his taste was locked for life into the working class. Melissa would know what to do.
He looked at the clock. He had slept late. It was nine-thirty. He would phone Melissa at the shop and ask her to come round and give him her advice. Eager to hear the sound of her voice, he dialled the shop number. But Melissa, who had decided that the idea of giving him time to himself was the best idea, said she was too busy. “Ask Maggie,” she suggested.
“Maggie’s left,” said Fell heavily.
“Oh, well, I’m not surprised,” said Melissa cheerfully, now feeling very sure of him. “Tell you what, I’ll ring you next week. Oh, got to go. Got a customer. Byee!”
Fell slowly replaced the receiver. He felt abandoned. He could not put it off any longer. He would need to apologize to Maggie or his conscience would not give him a quiet moment.
He first had to go to the hotel to find her home address. Then he walked through the airless day, hoping he would find Maggie alone and that he would not have to meet her mother.
Maggie’s home lay in a terrace of houses much like his own, but obviously containing younger people, judging from the children playing in the street. He hesitated outside the house and then went up and rang the bell. Children screamed, a car roared down the street behind him blasting heavy metal out of every open window, and an enormously fat woman looked at him over the hedge which separated Maggie’s home from the neighbour’s on the left.
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone at home,” said Fell.
“She’s out looking for work.”
“Mrs. Partlett?”
“No, Maggie.”
“Where did she go?”
“Saw her this morning. Said she wanted work, told her to try Katy’s Kitchen, that caff down Garret Lane.”
“Thanks.” Fell walked off down the hot street. She had only left last night. How had she managed to get a job so quickly?
