Duplicity Read online

  In another ten minutes, back at work, he couldn’t get her pretty face out of his mind, nor her soft voice out of his ears. He was definitely attracted to her, he couldn’t deny that, yet there was something missing, though he couldn’t pinpoint it.

  Their one date per week soon became two. She was good company, she could make him laugh, but the vital spark wasn’t there. He couldn’t always tell what she was thinking, whereas he and his twin had thought in duplicate, really. He felt ashamed that he wasn’t the boyfriend Pattie clearly expected him to be, though they had many likes in common. Although he hadn’t been interested in art much before, he accompanied her willingly to any of the art galleries she wanted to visit, large or small, and listened carefully to all she told him. His knowledge of modern and ancient artists thus gradually increased from zero until he could talk fluently about what he saw, and was happy when Pattie looked pleased.

  Their evenings were not always confined to the arts, however. They visited Coney Island one Sunday, when she had been given the whole day off. They had fun such as neither of them had ever had before. They went on the rides and howled with excited fear as they were whizzed from one height, down to ground level and up to another terrifying altitude. They tried them all, the Waltzers, the Chair-o-planes, then the Dodgems, which were less hair-raising. They giggled, they grabbed each other without realising what they were doing and then moved away sheepishly. They had hot dogs at one point, ice cream some time later - both of which they rather regretted when their innards protested during a particularly stomach-churning journey through the air.

  It was all very strange, and enjoyable, to them, and they talked and laughed about their experiences as they made their way back to the Schueylers’ home. They stopped just before they came in sight of the imposing entrance, embarrassed and shy with each other now. Unfamiliar emotions were coursing through Roddy -should he take Pattie in his arms and kiss her properly, or should he give her the usual light peck on the cheek? At least they were past the formal shaking of hands as a farewell.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she whispered, ‘but stop thinking and just do it.’

  He held her gently, he kissed her lips tentatively, but his passion had been kindled during the highly exciting day. It was some time, and many searching kisses, before she drew away. ‘It’s late, Roddy, I have to go in. See you Tuesday.’

  In a way, he was glad. If the kissing had gone on for much longer, he’d have found it impossible not to go further, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she wouldn’t have stopped him if he had tried. He did care for her, quite deeply, but he didn’t love her - or was his body telling him differently? Walking back to his lodgings, he relived their day. So much had happened, exciting, unusual things. Their emotions had been heightened, building up and building up on a day-long journey that could have had a very different ending.

  He had showered and was in bed before he thought of Dilly, and that made him feel more ashamed of himself than ever. He had done what he had never believed he would or could do, yet really, reasoning it out properly, it was what he should do. He could have no future with Dilly, and a future with Pattie was a pleasant thought - most pleasurable, in fact. He settled down to sleep, looking forward to their next date.

  Alas for planning ahead. When he reached their meeting place on Tuesday, Pattie was already there, looking so forlorn that he knew something was wrong. She took hold of his arm and led him to the nearest bench.

  ‘What is it, Pattie?’ he asked, a horrible feeling of impending doom at the pit of his stomach. ‘What’s wrong?’ She burst into tears, making him more worried than ever. ‘Tell me, Pattie, please.’

  ‘We’re leaving for Florida in the morning.’

  ‘We? What d’you mean?’

  ‘All of us. Mr Schueyler’s been promoted, and he’s taking over his firm’s head office next Monday. They’re taking me with them.’ Her tears began again.

  ‘Couldn’t you find another job? American women love having English nannies.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t understand, Roddy.’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’ He felt hurt now. ‘If you liked me you’d want to stay here.’

  ‘I do like you, but this is why I took on the nanny’s job in the first place; to see more of the world. Mrs Schueyler told me at the interview that there was a strong chance of them being moved around - even as far as Europe.’

  The penny had dropped. ‘So this is goodbye? For good?’

  Her eyes dropped guiltily. ‘I’m sorry, Roddy, but I thought you’d understand.’

  ‘All I understand is that you think more of the Schueylers than you do of me.’

  ‘Think what you like, then.’ She leapt up and ran off.

  As deflated as a burst balloon, Roddy remained sitting for another hour before he rose and made his way out of the park. It served him right. He hadn’t been completely honest with her, and he was being punished for that now.

  When he arrived back at his lodgings, he ran upstairs and flung himself on his bed. This was a new experience for him. He had never been dumped before and it was not at all pleasant. A vague memory suddenly stirred, making him give a rather lopsided smile. He had been dumped once before, although he had actually planned to do the dumping, so it hadn’t bothered him much. What was her name again? Tracy, that was it. Tracy Little. Little madam, she had been, after all the boys in their class, plus some in fourth, even as young as third, years.

  This thought dredged up a far more unpleasant recollection. Tracy had thrown him over for that vile Malcolm Finnie - a name he would never forget.- the creep who had tried it on with Dilly in the girls’ toilets. Thank God she’d had the sense to bite his tongue.

  His thoughts jumped again. Had Dilly fallen in love with somebody by this time? Although it did give him a pang in his heart, he honestly hoped that she had. He knew that she had been as upset as he was when he jumped on the train in Aberdeen, what seemed like a decade ago,

  but it was the only thing he could have done - for both their sakes.

  The trouble was, why was doing the decent thing, the right thing, so bloody difficult to live with?

  Chapter Ten

  Although Carousel was a stage show, it was, as Neville Richardson had assured Dyllis, as good as the film, if not better. He had taken her to a small restaurant for something to eat before they went to the theatre, and had bought her a big box of chocolates, all of which made her feel like a pampered socialite. Despite this, she was rather apprehensive of what would come later. Would he keep his promise and not take advantage of her at the hotel? Would he leave her at the door or see her up to her room?

  She need not have worried. At the reception desk, he made sure that she was given the correct key and accompanied her up to the third floor. Finding her room, he waited until she opened the door. ‘I really enjoyed your company tonight, Dyllis,’ he said, then added, ‘I hope you sleep well, my dear,’ before kissing her hand and walking back to the lift.

  She locked the door and sat down on the bed feeling that something was missing. She had thanked him for everything when he was driving her here, but she had expected him to kiss her properly, though probably it was best that he hadn’t. Passion could rise quickly, she knew that, and he was a perfect gentleman, who wouldn’t presume to kiss on a first date. A first date? She was the one who had presumed; he had only taken her out to use up a theatre ticket - there wouldn’t be a second time.

  After undressing and washing off her make-up, she lay down to think about the show she had seen, but the excitement of the whole evening proved too much for her, and within minutes she was fast asleep.

  She awoke at her usual time in the morning, delighted that there was an en suite bathroom where she could take as much time over her shower as she wanted, and thirty minutes later she made her way down to the dining room. The elderly lady sitting smoking by the window
had obviously finished eating, and rose as Dilly sat down at the other side of the room.

  ‘I didn’t realise someone else was here last night,’ she said as she passed. ‘I don’t usually smoke in the dining room. I hope the smell won’t put you off your breakfast.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Dilly smilingly assured her. ‘I’ve the constitution of a horse, or so my mother keeps telling me. Nothing keeps me off my food.’

  ‘Good. I’ll probably see you at dinner - how long are you staying?’

  ‘Oh, just the one night.’ The change in the woman’s expression as she went out made Dilly realise that one night had a sleazy ring about it. Wasn’t that what prostitutes did? One night with a client and that was it? But what did she know about prostitutes? Smiling to herself, she tucked in hungrily to the bowl of cornflakes, followed by a large plate of what the menu described as an English breakfast - several slices of bacon, two eggs, mushrooms, black pudding, tomato, accompanied by toast and coffee.

  This was the life! No shower to clean, no bed to make, no dishes to wash, just plain wall-to-wall luxury. Debating on whether or not to put the last slice of toast out of its lonely existence, she decided that it would be wiser not to, picked up the small bag with her pyjamas, toothbrush and paste and left a pound coin as a tip to the cheery little waitress. She had never tipped anyone before and hoped that a pound was enough.

  It was quite a bright day, she had plenty of time, so she didn’t bother to wait for a bus. This part of Great Western Road had lots of ‘Bed & Breakfast’ signs up, with one or two small hotels, but it soon became a proper city street lined with all kinds of shops to interest her. Holburn Junction, then down Union Street, granite buildings sparkling in the sunshine. This was one of the main routes out of Aberdeen, or into it, depending on which way you were going. She wasn’t acquainted with this end of it, but she didn’t have far to go now to reach her place of work.

  She crossed to the other side, admiring the pillars fronting the Music Hall, into Golden Square, its well-kept grass core ringed by dozens of marked spaces for cars, the inner statue adding to the grandeur of the surrounding offices, all originally houses of wealthy Aberdonians. Every morning, she was glad that the office was in such a beautiful area.

  ‘You look like the cat that’s got at the cream.’ Aimee was in the cloakroom when she went in, looking at her with eyebrows raised. ‘What were you up to last night?’

  Panicking for a second, Dilly realised that her friend was only joking. Aimee knew nothing of what she had been up to; not that she had been doing anything wrong anyway.

  She was on the verge of admitting that she had been to the theatre when it came to her that Mr Richardson, Neville, might mention that he had seen Carousel last night and two and two would be put together to make more than five. ‘I was out with a lad I was at school with,’ she was saying, when Tracy came in.

  ‘Which lad? Not Malcolm Finnie, surely?’

  ‘God, no! Not him!’ Dilly had almost forgotten the episode in the school toilet, and her brain had to work double time to dredge up a name that would be feasible, someone who didn’t live in Cruden Bay so that Tracy couldn’t ask him about it. ‘It was Gary McIvor, actually.’

  ‘You never said anything about meeting him again,’ Tracey accused.

  ‘I ran into him in Peterhead on Saturday afternoon with my mum.’

  ‘He asked you out in front of your mum?’

  Dilly was struggling now; another tangled web she was weaving, or still part of the same one? ‘No, Mum went into a butcher for something.’

  Tracey was clearly not satisfied. ‘He never struck me as a fast worker.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Trace! He said his dad gave him two complimentary tickets for His Majesty’s Theatre and would I like to go with him. I’d never been to the theatre before, so I jumped at the chance.’

  ‘You never said anything yesterday about it.’

  Dilly shook her head as the offended Tracy stamped out, and Aimee said, ‘Never mind her. She’s likely jealous. Is he good-looking, this Gary?’

  ‘Not bad, but there’s nothing going on. Honestly.’ She was angry at herself for mentioning the theatre at all. The whole truth could easily come out now.

  Her fears gradually lessened as the day passed. Neville Richardson paid no visits to the despatch office, and she felt that in a few days, she could stop worrying.

  On the way home with her father that evening, she decided that she shouldn’t be worrying at all. Good gracious, she was old enough to please herself what she did, and so was Neville. She could think of him now as Neville, and if he asked her out again, she would tell her parents the truth and anyone else she wanted to. Plus, she would let him know that, as well, and if he wasn’t pleased, she would never go out with him again.

  Maybe that was going a bit too far, though; cutting off her nose to spite her face. He would be a real catch, had a good job, and he wasn’t a sex maniac. Of course, maybe he just wasn’t interested in sex, which wasn’t really what she wanted. She wasn’t in love with him and probably never would be, not in the same way as she loved Roddy, but he was good company and a proper gentleman, and life with him would be pretty easy.

  Good grief! What on earth was she doing, letting her imagination run away with her like that? Neville Richardson probably had an ‘important other’ in his life, as they called it in the glossy magazines, either hidden away somewhere, or already married. He must be in his late thirties, early forties, and there must be somebody.

  ‘You’re very quiet tonight. Did something go wrong last night?’

  She had nearly forgotten she was sitting beside her father. ‘No, it was a great show, Dad. Outstanding. Wonderful. You know, I think I could get addicted to the theatre.’

  ‘I meant, how did things go with Aimee’s folk?’

  What was wrong with her? Of course that was what he and Mum would want to know first. ‘They’re really nice. It’s quite a big house in Mannofield, and they made me feel really at home.’

  ‘That’s good. Your mum’ll be pleased about that.’

  When she was told, her mother was pleased, but what she said next unsettled Dilly again. ‘We’ll have to ask Aimee here some time.’

  It was two weeks before things for the young woman moved ahead. Neville Richardson sent a memo to her one afternoon, asking for some out-of-date paperwork he needed. In a state of anticipation, it took her some time to find everything, but eventually she tapped at his door, hoping that her face wasn’t streaked with dust.

  ‘Ah, thank you, Dyllis.’ Leaning back in the large leather chair, he smiled his slightly crooked smile. ‘I could have asked anybody to get these, but I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Richardson?’

  ‘What happened to Neville?’

  ‘I thought you said not to call you that in the office.’

  ‘Only if anybody else can hear. However, to be honest, I wouldn’t care if they all got to know about our friendship.’

  Friendship? It was a start, anyway. ‘Why did you want to talk to me, sir - Neville?’

  He grinned now, a boyish grin that made his eyes twinkle. ‘I am lonely, Dyllis. The night we had at the theatre made me realise just how lonely I am. So I am asking you, begging you, to come out with me again. Please! To the theatre if you wish, or anywhere else you fancy, your wish is my command. Please, Dyllis.’

  She couldn’t help laughing at him with his hands together as if in prayer. ‘You don’t need to beg, Neville. I’d love to go out with you again. Anywhere you want.’

  ‘Tomorrow night? I will book the same room for you.’

  ‘All right, thank you. Tomorrow it is, but where …?’

  ‘Let me keep it secret? It will be something I am sure you will enjoy.’

  She was smiling as she returned to the despatch o
ffice, and was so involved in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the knowing looks Aimee and Tracy exchanged.

  At dinner that night, she made her announcement. ‘I’ll be staying out tomorrow night.’

  Her mother looked up with a smile. ‘Aimee and you going somewhere again?’

  Gripping her resolve so that it wouldn’t peter out, Dilly said, ‘No, not Aimee.’

  Roselle’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Not Aimee? Tracy, then?’

  ‘Not Tracy, either.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s Mr Richardson.’

  ‘The manager? Oh, but Dilly—’

  ‘That’s good,’ Brian cut it. ‘As long as he isn’t sixty years old with a passion for young girls.’

  She had to laugh. ‘He’s in his thirties, I’d say, and quite good-looking. I don’t think he’s got a passion for young girls.’

  ‘You’re a young girl,’ Roselle accused.

  ‘I am not. I’m a young lady, and I can tell a fine man from a rotter. He’s never asked any of the others out, I know that.’

  ‘You’re sure he’s not married?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, stop trying to pour cold water all over it. I’m going out with him, I’ll be staying overnight in a hotel, and before you say anything, he will not be sharing my bed.’

  ‘That’s what you think, but …’ her mother began, but Brian held up his hand.

  ‘Look, Ros dear, she has to make her own way in life. Let her make her own mistakes. Not that I’m saying you’re making a mistake,’ he added hastily to his daughter, ‘but you never know.’

  Unable to tell them that she had proof of Neville’s integrity, Dilly wisely said nothing.

  The following evening proved a huge success. Neville had opted for truth with no holds barred and took the young woman to his home in Milltimber. He had also invited two other guests to partake of the wonderful meal his housekeeper had prepared. At first, Dilly was disappointed on one hand that they weren’t alone, but on the other hand it was strangely something of a relief.