Ashleigh lay awake for much of the night, her mind focussed on the man in the spare room. Just how wise had she been, admitting this stranger into her aunt's house and giving him shelter for the night? Could he be trusted to behave himself - could any man? Peter was, after all, a self-confessed salesman. His very job required him to be highly persuasive, to delude and beguile innocent customers. Was the word of a car-salesman ever to be believed? Surely honesty and sincerity ran contrary to his very nature?
Yet his daughter evidently believed in him. She trusted him - Julie, who knew Peter far better than Ashleigh did. But maybe that was how every daughter felt, having innate faith in her father's integrity. Perhaps all children believed their parents to be infallible until they themselves acquired the eventual wisdom of adulthood.
Ashleigh gave an involuntary shudder as she thought of Aunt Elsie's disapproving spirit, hovering over her bed with an invisible stick in her hand and a hard glare of reproach on her cold unsmiling face.
"How dare you, Ashleigh!" she was probably saying. "How dare you bring a man into my house, offering him food and a bed. Have you no sense, girl?"
The more Ashleigh thought about her aunt, the more the silent voice seemed to prevail, growing in intensity and sounding all the more vivid.
"Why do you suppose I never married? Because I know what men are like, that's why. They're the very devil's own temptation - selfish, untamed, brutal; not one of them fit to be trusted within a mile of this house. Yet you have the temerity, the blind stupid audacity, to invite, of all people, a salesman indoors and admit him to your own room? Don't you realise men get uncontrollable urges in bed? Do you imagine he's not lying awake, thinking of you right now, licking his lips and planning how best to get his hands on your person before you realise what's happening? You silly ignorant girl, Ashleigh. You haven't the brains you were born with, bringing a man into this house. Over my dead body!"
Well, that was one point of view - not a pleasant one, but maybe for all her faults Aunt Elsie did know a thing or two about men. Yet wouldn't Julie be pleased to know her father was in safe hands, that he had a friend kind enough to help him through his troubles? Julie seemed startled to learn of her mother's financial demands on Peter - was this an example of the child's naivety, or was Sheila playing a secretive game, concerned with no-one's welfare but her own? And was it right that young Julie should be left at home to fend for herself while her mother and prospective step-father went off in pursuit of their own selfish pleasures?
If only Ashleigh could collect reliable data from everyone concerned, as if from a series of computer files, and assess each item logically, weighing one fact against another, she might be in a position to form a fair and reasonable judgement. But her aunt hadn't encouraged her to know facts about men. Ashleigh knew the biology, of course, and she could dissect a frog if called upon to do so. But in the control and manipulation of men, where some women proved themselves so adept, twenty-nine-year-old Ashleigh remained unskilled as a new-born lamb.
Ashleigh had known sleepless nights before, nights when her aunt's blind injustice had chased her into countless imaginary court-rooms where she attempted to defend her case. She'd endured other long nights too when the logistics of a particular problem at work had driven her to such a state of restless insomnia that only an hour spent on her computer terminal at three in the morning could bring any kind of relief.
But tonight, she was there in the house, a lone defenceless woman with a fully-grown man sleeping not twenty feet from her own bedroom door.
"Nonsense," she tried telling herself, "a girl should feel comforted, knowing there's someone close at hand to protect her in the event of burglary, or to rescue her if the house caught fire. He's not there to harm you, Ashleigh - and even if he were, there's a telephone right beside your bed, the one on which you recently exchanged reassuring messages with this same man. Silly girl, Ashleigh, go to sleep."
At seven-thirty she awoke with a start as she heard a gentle knock on her door. For a second she feared she must have overslept and incurred Aunt Elsie's gross displeasure. Then she remembered Peter - a male who, on waking, might still be prey to those mysterious and unaccountable urges known only to her late aunt.
He knocked again. "May I come in?"
Ashleigh mumbled something that must have sounded welcoming. The door slowly opened and in came Peter carrying a tray of tea with slices of toast and marmalade.
"I reckon it's the least a chap can do in response for such excellent hospitality," he grinned. "Sleep well?"
Ashleigh nodded dutifully.
"Lucky girl! I was awake most of the night," he confessed, "lying there thinking, trying to decide what's best - and I should tell you, I've come to a momentous decision based on pure commonsense. It's pointless trying to hide from Sheila's demands - my only course therefore is to confront her and admit that I don't have any money. What can she do? Stop it out of my non-existent pay? Come and tear down half my oast-house? Take away my scrunched-up motor car and sell it to a scrap merchant? So this morning I wrote her a letter, outlining my position. I even went out and posted it first thing before I had time to change my mind."
"Impulsive man! But I'm glad. No good comes from running away, and it means we can avoid the needless upheaval."
"I regret only one thing," he said. "I know you set your heart on moving into the oast-house."
"To be honest, Peter, it seemed a sensible escape route out of this horrid place - but I'm not so sure now. Up until six weeks ago, my life ran on rails like a locomotive. I went wherever the points were set, obeying my aunt's dictates or following the path laid down by my job. But now ... I guess the rest will fall into place once I've seen Mr. Caplin. Did you give Sheila our address here?"
"No, just the oast-house. I haven't involved you though, except to say that some kind lady came along to buy the oast-house, and I'm her temporary lodger until I can find permanent accommodation. I didn't say where you lived and I certainly didn't mention your name."
"Ah! Julie knows my name though. I suggested she might write to me at the oast-house. I said it only to support our other story, but she may well take up the offer. In fact, I rather hope she does - Julie may need someone she can turn to."
"Then I'd better slip back home for a while. There are several jobs I need to do. For a start, if I'm to spend any more nights away, I'd like to leave a few lights on time-switches to keep the moths amused. Can you give me a lift?"
"I could do more than that, Peter. I can lend you a car if you want independence - whichever one you prefer."
"Then I'll opt for the mini, if that's all right with you. I'd hate anything to happen to that Volvo. Besides, I used to drive a mini in my teens. It'll be like renewing a love-affair with an old friend."
"Fine, Peter, but listen. Your letter won't reach Sheila till tomorrow. Do you want to risk meeting her before then?"
"I see some body-language telling me you'd prefer it if I stayed here."
"I just wondered if you were interested in starting work on the front room, that's all."
Half an hour later, Ashleigh left Peter painting the skirting board while she drove to the oast-house to collect mail and install time-switches. There was only one letter lying on the mat, and it was addressed simply to Auntie Ashley. She knew at once who had sent it.
"Dear Auntie Ashley," it said, "sorry I don't know what else to call you. I think you might know where Dad is, and I don't need you to tell me but it's important I talk to him soon, privately. Please can you ask him to phone here - and if anyone else answers, don't say I wrote asking. Love, Julie."
Ashleigh smiled to herself, tucked her letter into her bag, and phoned Peter to relay his daughter's message.
"By the way," he asked, "just out of curiosity - do you happen to know anyone called Clive?"
"Yes," she said, "in fact I'm on my way to see him right now. Why?"
"Nothing. I just came across the name here, that's all."
After attaching a time-switch to Peter's bedside lamp, and installing two more in the kitchen and living-room, Ashleigh made a final check that all was well, then locked up and drove into Ashford to keep her appointment.
Clive Caplin greeted her with the warmth of an old family friend, and asked how she was coping with the loss of her aunt's companionship. He knew the kind of relationship that had existed between them, and chuckled as Ashleigh assured him she was coping remarkably well.
"Then I won't keep you in further suspense," he said, taking her into his private office and closing the door. "Let's get down to the sordid business of who owns what after Aunt Elsie's death. I wish I could tell you it was all coming your way, my dear, but I'm afraid that isn't the case. Your aunt had a number of charities she was keen to support, and she expressed her wish that a large chunk of the estate should be divided among them. Some, I'm sure you'll agree, are deserving causes - the church restoration fund, the National Trust, the Samaritans, and so on. The sad part is, my love - I'm afraid you'll eventually have to move out of that house. I'm sorry, but we're legally bound to honour her intentions, and there won't be sufficient funds without the sale of that property. If you were a close dependent relative we might perhaps contest the will - but Elsie wasn't related to you in any way. She was simply your legal guardian, nothing more."
Ashleigh nodded. Much of this was already known to her, but the question still remained. How much would she herself inherit? She noticed how Mr. Caplin mood's suddenly changed.
"Elsie Challon did name you in her will," he said formally, "and she chose to leave you precisely one hundred pounds." He reached out a hand of comfort at once. "I'm desperately sorry, Ashleigh. I know it's a monstrous way of rewarding you for all your hard work in looking after her, but it seems she wanted you to stand on your own feet - that was her wish. Her exact words are that you already have sufficient means for your independence. The bulk of the estate is to go to various named charities, though some of them aren't as clear-cut as we would like. For a start, she's listed a few that don't seem to exist at all - mostly to do with conserving the environment. However, my partner and I agree you should have full rights to all personal effects in the house - we'll leave it to you to decide what you want as keepsakes. And there's no reason to suppose the car wasn't already given to you a year ago, so I suggest you notify Swansea of the change of ownership and we'll cross that off our inventory."
"I don't suppose there's anything left that might enable me to buy an old oast-house and use it as a home?"
"I doubt it, Ashleigh - is that what you were hoping for? I'm sorry, my love, but as I say, there are a number of issues Miss Challon hasn't made very clear. Let's leave it like this for the moment. Half the estate has to go to named beneficiaries - that's definite, including your hundred pounds - and again I am sorry about that. I did my best to reason with the old girl, but we both know the difficulties of dealing with someone as cantankerous as Elsie Challon. Her will was drawn up in the last few months of her life - and I guess we just happened to catch her on a bad day as far as you're concerned. Of course, if this puts you in an untenable position, we could contest it. Meanwhile I suggest you think about the situation and come back to us if it presents you with too many hardships, and I'll see what more I can do for you."
Ashleigh drove back to her aunt's house, bitter at this final snub, yet determined not to let it cloud her judgement. If the old girl wanted her to have no more money than she had love, then it simply reinforced their mutual dislike of one another. At least the Volvo was legally hers now - and that was some consolation. As for the house - she hated it all the more as she parked on the drive and let herself in.
"Peter?" she called.
"Here!" said a friendly voice. "Front room. How does this look?"
The transformation was remarkable. The menacing paintwork was gone, replaced by a light and friendly blush cream. Peter stood proudly beside his work, anticipating Ashleigh's delight and gratitude.
But Ashleigh, overcome by other events, simply burst into tears. Peter threw down his brush and rushed over at once, putting his arms around her, full of concern. "Darling, what's wrong?"
Amid sobs, Ashleigh told him of her aunt's final derisive gesture.
Peter was furious. "The callous ungrateful cow. I only hope she turns in her grave over what I've done to this room. Never mind, my love. Forget her for a moment while I tell you about my conversation with Julie. She stayed home from school today, hoping I'd call, and we had a long chat at Aunt Elsie's expense. She's convinced that Sheila's working towards a second marriage, but Julie's none too keen on her prospective step-father, so she's angling towards the idea of coming to live with me - if I can cope."
"Peter, that's wonderful!"
"Ah, but there's a snag, my dear, and I'm not sure how to tell you."
"Try giving me the facts."
"The facts are that Julie's somehow latched onto the notion that you and I have a far closer relationship than we really do. I mean, I accept we're good friends and I admit I'm quite fond of you - but I have to stop Julie from rushing down a path that's paved with misconceptions. If I'm to be granted custody, two things have got to happen. One - Julie and Fauntleroy have to agree that living under the same roof would never work out."
"No indeed. Who the devil's Fauntleroy?"
"Little Lord Fauntleroy, alias the oily James. The other event, which is most unlikely, is a dramatic improvement in my life-style. Right now I don't look at all favourable - a single unemployed parent facing the prospect of bankruptcy. I need a job, I need a home I can afford, and I need to be able to look after a teenage daughter."
"We know that, Peter. Why are you telling me this again?"
"Because, daft, you're the only friend I can talk to. I'm not so naive as to imagine you'll ever want to marry me. I simply need to mull over my various options with the aid of that clear logical head of yours."
"You've picked a bad day," said Ashleigh. "It's not easy to be logical when you're stewed up about other things, but I'll do my best. First and foremost, wherever she lives, Julie deserves a secure, loving environment. There's no doubt she adores you, Peter - it shows in her eyes every time she talks about her Daddy. I guess it's what you call body-language. We can't leave her stuck in a house with a step-father she despises. Okay - things may change - she and James may eventually establish a perfectly wonderful rapport when they get to know one another better, but I suspect that by that time Julie will be a grandmother. Peter, listen - there's nothing worse than living, day after day, with a tyrant you can't stand, a guardian who won't even listen. I've been there, and I couldn't bear to think of Julie enduring the same ordeal that I did."
Peter was shaking his head. "But the law may decide otherwise, and at present the law's on their side. Did you mention my plight to your friend?"
"Sorry, Peter, I was too choked up to remember anything else, and besides you didn't seem too keen. But if we can find an amicable solution, it's better than involving courts, legal custody battles, or financial settlements. Aunt Elsie received nothing for looking after me, and I'm to get precious little in return for looking after her. Maybe that's why she treated me as a skivvy, making me earn my right to exist under her roof. But whatever her motives, I'll tell you this - if Julie were ever sent to live with me, I'd give her all the love in the world, if only to show that miserly old crow on Cloud Nine just how it ought to be done."
"Bravo! Ashleigh, my love, you're talking straight from my heart. But what's the next move? You haven't been left the wealth you hoped for, so there's no way you can help me fund the oast-house. I can't go through another prolonged battle with Sheila and Fauntleroy or I'll only get further muck hurled in my face. I love Julie, and Julie loves me, and I'll probably end up falling in love with you also unless I'm damned careful - but we're up against supreme opposition here. I've told you before - don't underestimate Sheila."
Despite going to bed early for the third night in succession, Ashleigh still couldn't sleep. At three o'clock she got up, made herself a cup of tea and took it into the front room, expecting to be alone with her thoughts.
Instead she gave a cry and her heart missed a beat. There, sitting in total darkness on the settee, was Peter.
"God!" she cried. "You made me jump. Please don't ever do that again."
"Sorry," he said. "I tried not to make a sound in case I woke you."
"Same here," she grinned. "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"No, thanks. I guess you can't sleep any more than I can. Somehow I've got to convince Sheila that Julie would be better off with me, which means somehow I've got to find another job. Should I carry on trying to sell cars, or use my wiles in some new field? And what am I any good at? Making bold, rash decisions and ending up with egg on my face - I've done it scores of times, so I must be an expert by now. My troubles all stem from Sheila's pregnancy."
"You shouldn't ever say that, Peter, not in front of Julie. No girl likes to think she entered the world unwanted. At least I had the comfort of knowing I was loved and wanted, till fate snatched everything away. I was due to have had a baby brother - my Mum was seven months pregnant - something I learned incidentally from Rev. Allison at church. I doubt if Aunt Elsie even knew what a pregnancy was. Perhaps that's why I feel such affinity for Julie. Did you really think of me as another Julie when you called me by her name?"
"Ashleigh, love, I told you my brain wasn't in full working order then. Who knows what I was thinking?"
"But if I were your daughter, would you love me as much as you love Julie?"
"Ashleigh, that's a tough question, since I've never come across anyone with a daughter only six years younger than himself. I often say age doesn't matter, though. It's not the mileage on the clock, it's the way you feel inside."
"Right now, I feel gutted inside. Imagine being told you're worth only a hundred pounds, and not an ounce of love to go with it."
"Is that what's keeping you awake?"
"Who knows? Anger mainly - the wily old girl still manages to score against me, even after she's gone. It's not the money - I couldn't care less about the money. It's knowing that I'm not even worth a final gesture of gratitude - love, if you like - knowing that she'd rather leave her rotten cash to a cat sanctuary than to me. I tried so hard to be a good daughter, even though it often broke my heart. Oh, Peter, I needed love so desperately, and I still do - just someone, anyone who'll put his arms around me and tell me I'm his little treasure. That was Daddy's pet name for me. I was always his little treasure. I know he loved me, but it was so long ago, and I've grown so cold without it. I don't know if I can ever give my heart to anyone now. It hurts too much when the loving has to stop."
"I know, my darling. But sometimes we just can't help loving someone, in spite of all the risks. We all have that irrational need to be kind and gentle, to care for someone who's sad. That's why God placed love into this world, for couples to feed on, to help one another. I love Julie with all my heart, and when she isn't here, someone else is welcome to take her place. I'm sure if your Daddy were still alive he'd love you, Ashleigh, just as I love Julie."
"I know, Peter. But then I start thinking of those other kinds of love that still bother me. I'm quite content to be loved in the way that babies love a cuddly toy. I've actually got several cuddly toys upstairs, and without them I think I'd die. But that other kind of love, the messy business of two adults rolling around in bed, rubbing themselves together as if they're trying to light a fire, I'm sorry - I presume that's what happened when you sired baby Julie, but it always strikes me as obscene."
"Perhaps it is if you just stand and watch. Lots of parents bring up children to regard anything like that as dirty. But when you're with the right person, when it's what you both want, it's a wonderful way to express the truest form of love. It's a giving, sharing process, Ashleigh. The fact that it's also pleasurable doesn't mean it's wrong. It is wrong when done without any love or commitment, but it remains the ultimate gift that two loving persons can ever share with one another. Not that I'm much of an expert, of course."
"I'm sure you're right. But I just feel I'm not ready yet, and I have this awful fear I never will be."
"That's all right, my love. I expect Julie feels much the same way - I hope she does. I was a fool at her age. I'm wiser now, though wisdom doesn't seem to have done me much good. Ashleigh, my sweet, we're a couple of nocturnal wrecks - but I do love being with you."
"I love being with you too. Poor Aunt Elsie - why could she never love anyone?"
"I don't know, and I frankly don't care. It's you I'm concerned for. Promise me you don't really want to be like her. She played a rotten trick on you today, so try using that anger to break free. Show Aunt Elsie how different you are by letting yourself melt in my arms. Trust me, darling. Just let everything go while I'm here to protect you. I'm here to look after you, and we both need to love one another."
"I know," she whispered dreamily. "And do you know something? I don't give a damn for Aunt Elsie. I just want to be loved. I've wanted love all my life. Love, and warmth, and kindness."
As Ashleigh closed her eyes, Peter held her close. He lifted her gently into his arms and carried upstairs to her room. He laid her carefully on her bed, made her comfortable, then knelt beside her as if to say prayers.
"Ashleigh, my darling," he whispered. "I'll give you all the love in my heart just as soon as you're ready. You're a good girl, and right now you deserve sleep. We'll talk some more in the morning. Sleep tight, my precious. Dream of me if you want to, I shan't mind - in fact, I'd be honoured."
Then he stood up, smiled at the sleeping form, turned off her light, and tiptoed quietly away to the loneliness of the spare room.
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