That Man Simon Read Online Free PDF Page B

I’m sure it’s much easier to sink into the domestic rut if one has been around and met people, and generally made the most of life.’
    ‘I’m not sure about that. It could make it more difficult.’
    Susan changed tack, and began to paint an alluring picture of the pleasures in store for her on the Spanish island. From her point of view, working in Belinda’s boutique was a chore made worthwhile by the seven-nights-a-week round of patio parties, and the chance to sunbathe, skin-dive and water-ski during the long Spanish lunch break. To Jenny, it was the boutique which was most tempting. It revived all her early ambitions.
    ‘Think it over,’ said Susan, as they parted, although she had little hope that the other girl would consider it. She would have been surprised to know that, for the first time, she had succeeded in piercing her friend’s resistance. All the way home to Farthing Green, Jenny did ponder the proposition.
    At the village, she got off the bus at the Market Cross and saw James's car parked in the yard next to his surgery.
    Again, she debased whether to pop in and see him. It seemed foolish to be shy because he had kissed her good night. But after some moments of indecision, she crossed the green and walked home.
    As she approached the gap in the hedge she heard the rhythmic blows of an axe from the building site, and was appalled to see that one of the lovely old beeches was being felled. Already all the branches had been lopped. Now a workman was hacking out a v-shaped incision at the base of the massive grey trunk.
    For a minute, she could hardly believe her eyes. In fascinated horror she watched the man swinging the axe, each blow driving deeper into the heartwood. Then a fury of white-hot anger boiled up inside her. That insufferable man! This was his doing. It was vandalism – sheer ruthless vandalism. That beech was more than a hundred years old; one of the loveliest trees in the grounds. And now it was being destroyed at the order of Simon Gilchrist.
    As she stood there, the woodman stepped back and called out something to the other men on the site who had left their own work to watch. Then he walked round the riven trunk and began to assault the other side.
    In a moment, she realized sickly, the great tree would start to totter.
    She could not bear to see it. Turning away from the gap, she hurried along the road and up the Rectory drive. In all her life she had never felt such fierce impotent rage.
    ‘Granny?’ she called, from the hall.
    There was a murmur of voices in the sitting-room, and the clink of china.
    Casting her parcels on to the hall chest, Jenny burst into the room, white-faced and shaking.
    ‘Oh, Granny, have you seen what they’re doing? That hateful man! I told you ... but you wouldn’t listen.’
    Mrs. Shannon was pouring tea from her treasured Georgian silver teapot. The round table was laid with a lace-edged Madeira cloth, and the cups and saucers were the translucent Crown Derby ones, too fine to be used every day. It was clearly a special occasion.
    ‘Jenny! - What in the world is the matter?’ her grandmother exclaimed in astonishment. ‘What man? What are you talking about?’
    ‘I imagine your granddaughter is referring to me, Mrs.
    Shannon,’ said a negligent voice from the other end of the room.
    Jenny whirled, chin out, eyes sparkling.

    In front of the bookcase stood the Rector, with a rare first edition in his hands. Beside him was Simon Gilchrist.
    ‘Yes, I am!’ she blazed at him furiously. ‘I think you’re ...
    utterly contemptible!’
    ‘You forget yourself, Jennifer,’ her grandfather inter-vened sternly. ‘Mr. Gilchrist is our guest. I—’
    From outside the house a thunderous crash made the sash windows rattle in their frames. Mrs. Shannon gave a little cry, and the Rector jumped and nearly dropped his book.
    Jenny saw her grandmother’s alarm, and moved swiftly to comfort her. ‘It’s all right, Granny. Don’t be