Chapter 9

I should have guessed, I suppose, that the only daughter of a Baronet would not be poor. I don’t suppose there are many poor solicitors anyway. Once we were married, Jessica explained that she hadn’t wanted to influence my decisions, either way, as our relationship grew, but that she was in fact quite a wealthy woman. She’s right, in fact; strange though it may seem, I would, well, might, have been frightened off. As it was, I didn’t really think about it – obviously I was aware she was a skilled and well-paid professional and was not short, as they say, of a bob or two – but at least I could claim not to have known anything about her family. I was influenced by her clear acceptance of me despite my relative poverty. And I was totally captivated by her personality as well as carried away by our shared interests and preferences ... not to mention bowled over by her attractiveness.

Anyway; to get back to our story; we lived initially mostly at her flat, but set in train the purchase of a house at the Ferry, which was completed in early January. Jenni had thrown herself headlong into life at the College. Her tutors, seeing her ability and motivation, encouraged her to take her G.C.S.E. exams in her first year, rather than taking two years over the course. Of course, she’d had the background education, but she’d been out of the system for two years. She achieved “A”s in Mathematics and English Lit., and “B”s in English, French and Spanish and a “C” in Physics. Quite an achievement! But I’m getting well ahead of myself, here.

During the autumn term, obviously, she was living with us in Jessica’s flat. Despite the academic pressure she had forced on herself, she joined in with the social scene at college, if not as enthusiastically as some of the students she was working with; so usually on a Friday or Saturday (rarely both) she would be out with friends. Increasingly, she accompanied Jessica and myself to services at St. Andrew’s on a Sunday morning.

I was making my way to customers in Felixstowe by motorbike, of course, but increasingly I was getting work in the Ipswich area. A wedding ring on my left hand diverted the attention I had been receiving from certain of my female clientèle...

The New Year brought a development in the form of a young man driving Jenni home from College. She had insisted on travelling by train (there is a single-track passenger service between Ipswich and Felixstowe) and then walking if Jessica or I were not available to pick her up, the nearly two miles between the station and the Ferry. He lived in Felixstowe also; was quiet, studious, with a sense of humour, and, quite obviously, was enamoured of Jenni. She almost dragged him in to see me in February; Jessica was working and would not be home for some time.

“Dave, this is Martin. We share some classes; he’s been helping me with the maths. Marty, this is Dave, he’s sort of my honorary father.”

“I’m pleased to meet you sir,” he said. He was obviously a little uncomfortable, but his voice was steady, and he met my eyes without flinching.

“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Martin – or do you prefer Marty?”

“Marty is fine, sir.”

“Then, call me Dave, rather than sir ... it makes me feel old!”

Martin Peters became a regular caller. However, it was noticeable that Jenni always sat with him in the family areas. I don’t think I once saw them use her room, and most of the time they were working either together or separately.

One day in April, he asked if he could have a word with me; I agreed, curious, and as he wanted a private talk, I suggested a walk along the sea wall, and dug out my fleece, and one for him too as he didn’t bother with a coat because of his car.

He was obviously very nervous, but with encouragement, began;

“I really like Jenni ... but I don’t know what to do about it.” He explained how he’d always been a bookworm and had never taken an interest in girls until Jenni had begun asking him to explain things in the mathematics course – he was a final year “A” level maths student, but had started taking some French and Spanish at G.C.S.E.

“Well ... I’m probably the last person to be giving advice on dating. But I do know Jenni. Now, then, she obviously likes you a lot, or she wouldn’t have brought you home, or asked you to help her with her maths. Do you go for coffee together, that sort of thing?”

“Oh, yes. Most days, really.”

“Ever take her for lunch? Pizza Hut, that sort of thing?”

“Er, no.”

“There you are, then. First step, ask her if she’d like Pizza, or something at lunchtime and treat her. If she agrees, next time, ask her if she’d like dinner, maybe, or a film. She likes food, and she likes music, that I know. Go gently and don’t be afraid of her. Go as far as she’ll let you, and stop when she says no or stop. Marty, I think Jenni likes you, as I said. You seem a decent sort of lad and I approve of what I’ve seen of you. But Jenni’s had a pretty tough life, and If you are really interested in her, you’re going to have to be sensitive and caring, ok? Oh, and one other thing. I’m very, very fond of Jenni. My wife and I think of her as our daughter. The world isn’t big enough to hide anyone who hurts her in any way. Do you hear me?”

I looked at him; he stiffened, looked me in the eye, and said, “I would never want to hurt Jenni, sir.”

“OK, I believe you. Just be careful with her, right?”

He nodded, and we retraced our steps to the house. Jenni met us and wanted to know what we’d been doing. I smiled and told her, “Oh, just talking you know, this and that, life, the universe and everything.”

“And the answer’s forty two?” she giggled, “all right, I’ll believe you this time. But I want to go over that algebra, Marty.”

I left them to it. In due course, Marty plucked up his courage, and they were soon dating on a fairly regular basis. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was happy that Jenni was integrating herself into a somewhat normal life for a teenager and the longer matters went on, the less comfortable I was with the idea of making love to the young woman who had become so important to me. Besides, I was completely besotted with my new wife.

Jenni’s birthday came round. Marty came to tea, but the party was put off until after the examinations; her birthday was celebrated with their noses in mathematics text-books.

One weekend just before the end of the exams, Jessica demanded a day out. In keeping with our lives to that point, the day out consisted of a motor-bike ride to Dunwich, a few miles up the coast, and a fish-and-chip lunch in the well-known fish restaurant there, followed by a trudge along the shingle beach.

“Now, Dave, my love, I want a serious talk with you...”

Ever had one of those sinking feelings in your gut?

“Just tell me if I’ve done something wrong, sweetheart...” I sighed.

“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you haven’t done. Yet.”

Or perhaps that feeling there’s a lump of lead in your gut?

“Go on...”

“I’ve been talking to Jenni. For her birthday, never mind presents, what she wants is for you to take her out on a date, properly, and make love to her, properly. I’ve told both of you I don’t mind; I understand and respect your position, but ... I think you should. She says it’s something she needs to do, as she put it, to ‘defuse’ her history. She’s really struggling to develop her relationship with Marty. He’s being really careful and sweet, she says, but she’s frightened. If you do, though, you’re going to have to be whole-hearted about it. If you’re reluctant, or try to be detached, it’ll do more harm than good. Understand?”