His Pretend Mistress

What Mallon had not expected was that Lee Jenkins would move in too. By then she was a blossoming fifteen-year-old, but, instead of being proud of her beautiful blonde hair and curvy burgeoning figure, Mallon had been more prone to hide her shape under baggy sweaters and to scrape her hair back in a rubber band. For never a day had seemed to go by without her stepbrother making a pass at her.

To say anything about it to her mother, after the most unhappy time she had endured, was something Mallon had found she just could not do. Though she had to admit that she’d come close that day Lee Jenkins came into her room just as she had finished dressing.

‘Get out!’ she screamed at him—a minute earlier and he would have caught her minus her blouse!

‘Don’t be like that,’ he said in what he thought was his sexy voice, but which she found revolting, and, instead of leaving her room, he came further into it and, grabbing a hold of her, tried to kiss her.

She bit him—his language was colourful, but she cared not. Once he let her go and she was free of him, she wasn’t hanging about.

She was badly shaken, and wanted to confide in her mother. But, somehow, protective of her still, Mallon could not tell her. Instead she took to propping a chair under the knob of her bedroom door at all times whenever she was in there on her own.

Then, horror of horrors, her mother had been married for only a year when her stepfather cast his lascivious glance on Mallon. At first she couldn’t believe what her eyes and instincts were telling her. That was until the day he cornered her in the drawing room and, his eyes on her breasts, remarked, ‘Little Mallon, you’re not so little any more, I see.’ Coming closer, his slack mouth all but slobbering, he demanded, ‘Got a kiss for your stepdaddy?’

She was revolted, and told him truthfully, ‘I’m going to be sick!’

She was sick, and later sat on her bed and cried, because she knew now, more than ever, that she could not tell her mother. Her parent would be destroyed.

Mallon sorely wanted to leave home. It wasn’t home any more anyway. But money, which she had never had to particularly think of before, had been tight for some while. She knew that her father had left them well provided for, but only a few days ago her mother had suggested she might like to take a Saturday job, and Mallon had asked if they were having some temporary financial problem. Her mother had replied, ‘I’m afraid it isn’t temporary, Mallon, it’s permanent,’ and had looked so dreadfully unhappy Mallon had been unable to bear it.

She knew without having to ask where all the money had gone. Ambrose Jenkins had been spending freely, too freely, the money her father had invested. Incredibly, there was little of it remaining.

Lee Jenkins was as work-shy as his father, and had to be a constant drain on what resources her mother had remaining. Determined not to be a drain on those resources herself, Mallon left school and got herself a job.

As jobs went it wasn’t much: a clerical assistant in a large and busy office. But, for her age, it didn’t pay too badly. Though it wasn’t sufficient to pay rent as well as keep her should she attempt the enormous step she wished to take and leave home.

The following two years dragged miserably by, and when she saw how badly her mother’s marriage was faring, Mallon was glad she had not left home. Her mother started to realise what a dreadful mistake she had made in marrying Ambrose Jenkins, but did not seem to have the strength to do anything about his by then quite blatant philandering ways. Mallon knew her mother was suffering. But, feeling powerless to do anything about it, Mallon wanted to be there to support her when she finally did cry Enough!

While Mallon was doing everything she could to cold-shoulder both father and son without her mother being aware—which would only make her even more wretched—it was not her stepfather’s habit of staying out nights and weekends, and coming home only to be fed and laundered, that brought things to a head. But money.

Both the Jenkins men were out that Wednesday when Mallon came home from work and found her mother in tears. ‘Oh, darling!’ Mallon cried, going over to her. ‘What’s the matter?’

Plenty, she learned in the next five minutes. Ambrose and her mother were splitting up, but that, it seemed, was not the reason for her mother’s despair. But, as she explained, because she had foolishly listened to Ambrose Jenkins eighteen months ago when as near penury as made no difference, he had told her of a business venture that would almost immediately earn them double. It would, however, mean a quite substantial investment.

Evelyn Jenkins was not used to working with money, she had never needed to. But, aware that something needed to be done to get them solvent once more, she had been persuaded to borrow, using their lovely home as collateral.

It had all ended in tears. The upshot being that now, eighteen months later, the business venture had folded. With no more money forthcoming, Ambrose was leaving, and even the house no longer belonged to her mother. ‘We’ve got to leave here,’ her mother wept. ‘This lovely house your father bought for us!’

Oddly then, though maybe because having reached rock bottom the only way was up, and perhaps aided by thinking of her gentleman former husband, Evelyn Jenkins seemed to gather some strength. Mallon could only guess at the inner torment her parent must have been through before she had confided in her. But the next morning, before Mallon could say she intended to take the day off work and start to look for somewhere to rent, her mother was telling her how she intended to contact a firm of lawyers that day to see if there was anything to be done.

Mallon hurried home that night to hear that John Frost, the head of the firm her father had always used, and who knew the family, had initially dealt personally with her mother. After a detailed check of all the paperwork he had passed the opinion that she had been criminally advised, had put a doubt on the fact that the money had been invested anywhere but in Ambrose Jenkins pocket, and had concluded that Evelyn Jenkins had a case for suing him.

Since, however, that man appeared to not have any money, there seemed no point whatsoever in taking that route. ‘I think I would rather divorce him,’ she decided. Mallon could only applaud her decision.

There followed months and months of upset. Ambrose wanted to behave like a single man, but didn’t want to be divorced, apparently, and so was as obstructive as he knew how to be; which was considerably.

Although divorce was not John Frost’s speciality, and he had handed the case over to someone whose subject it was, John Frost was always there to smile and encourage when her mother went to his offices to pursue the matter of the protracted proceedings.

Mallon and her mother moved into a tiny flat, the rent of which took quite a chunk out of Mallon’s salary. She was not complaining—it was a joy not to have to live under the same roof as the Jenkins duo. A joy not to have to continually be on her guard against the loose-moralled, lascivious pair.

Her mother’s divorce was finalised on Mallon’s twentieth birthday. John Frost, by now something of a friend, took them to dinner to celebrate.

Finances were extremely tight and her mother did try to support herself, but she had never had to work outside of the home, and it was all too apparent that she neither enjoyed nor was cut out to stand in a shop serving all day, or to sit in an office trying to get to grips with a computer. Mallon couldn’t bear it—her father would have been utterly distraught that life should have treated his beloved Evelyn this way.

‘You don’t have to go out to work, you know,’ Mallon insisted. ‘We can manage.’

Her mother looked uncertain. ‘I have to contribute something. It isn’t fair…’

‘You do contribute. You’re a wonderful homemaker.’

‘But…’ Evelyn Jenkins tried to argue, but Mallon could see that her heart wasn’t in it. And eventually, with Mallon using every persuasion she could think of, her mother gave in—and for about eighteen months more they limped along on Mallon’s salary.

Then suddenly everything started to improve. Mallon and her mother went out to dine with widower John Frost a few times, and invited him to their small flat in return. It didn’t take much for Mallon to see that John was keen on her mother, and Mallon liked how protective he was with her.

The next time he asked the two of them to dine with him Mallon found a convenient ‘work’ excuse at the last minute, and left it to John Frost to persuade her mother that he would be equally delighted to take her out without her daughter.

On the work front matters were looking up too. Mallon had made steady progress and was rewarded with promotion to another department. With the move came a very welcome raise in salary which meant that she and her mother could begin to renew the odd item here and there that had worn out. While not riches—they still had nothing in the bank—her pay rise made life just that little bit easier.

With her move to a new department Mallon met two people she would be working with. Natasha Wallace, a pleasant if plain girl of about her own almost twenty-two years, and Keith Morgan who was three years older.

Mallon became friends with both of them. And, with John Frost and her mother seeing just a little more of each other—John taking care not to rush Evelyn—Mallon started to go out and about with Natasha; sometimes Keith would go with them.

Mallon had been well and truly put off men by the behaviour of Ambrose and Lee Jenkins, and while it did not particularly bother her she just could not see herself entering into any kind of a relationship with any man.

Which was why it came as something of a surprise to her that, four months into her friendship with Natasha and Keith, she began to realise that she had some quite warm feelings for Keith. Feelings which, to her further surprise and pleasure, she discovered were returned.

They did not always go out as a threesome. When Natasha started to put in some extra practice for a violin exam she was about to take, Keith and Mallon went out more and more as a twosome.

Even now as she lay wide awake in Harris Quillian’s bed Mallon felt sick in her stomach as she recalled how, only three months ago, their feelings for each other starting to take over, she had been on the brink of committing herself to a very intimate relationship with Keith Morgan.

It had started on a Saturday when Natasha had been busy with her music and Mallon and Keith had been to the cinema. Keith had been kissing Mallon goodnight when he’d suddenly begged her to go away with him. ‘I want to go to bed with you—you must want the same,’ he urged. Oh, help—it was such a big step! ‘You know you want me as much as I want you.’

She said no, but week after week for the next two months he again and again urged her to go away with him. Then one Saturday he told her he loved her. It was what she needed to hear.

She agreed, albeit, it was with a rather shaky ‘Y-yes,’ that she answered.

Keith didn’t waste any time and told her on Monday that he had arranged their romantic tryst for the coming weekend, and would pick her up from her home on Saturday morning.

Why couldn’t she tell her mother? Her mother had met both Keith and Natasha and would have understood. Mallon later wondered—could it be that at heart she had known that something was not quite right? But just then she managed to convince herself that, after the dreadful years her mother had endured, and with everything going so right for her just now—she seemed to be spending more and more time with John Frost—she did not want to give her parent the smallest cause to worry about her.

Mallon made her way home from work on Friday and made up her mind to tell her mother that night. For heaven’s sake, Keith would be calling for her in the morning!

Her mother wasn’t in but had left a note saying that John had phoned and had particularly wanted to discuss something with her, so could she meet him later that afternoon? She didn’t think she would be late back.

Mallon hoped not. She was on edge, and knew that feeling wouldn’t go away until she had told her mother her plans. When each hour ticked away and her mother didn’t appear, Mallon guessed that John had taken her mother to dinner.

Which proved correct when, just after ten, John Frost brought her mother home. ‘Um—we’ve got something to tell you,’ Evelyn Jenkins said, but didn’t have to—Mallon could see the joy they shared with each other.

‘We’re going to be married,’ John could hardly wait to tell her. ‘Is that all right with you, Mallon?’

She hadn’t seen her mother looking so happy in years. ‘You know it is!’ Mallon beamed, and forgot all about Keith Morgan when she went over and the threesome embraced.

John had brought some champagne in with him and they talked for an age as the newly engaged couple shared with Mallon that they had steadily got to know each other over the years, and saw not one single reason to wait. They would marry next month and Mallon would give up the flat.

‘Give up the flat?’

‘Your mother will be moving into my home, Mallon,’ John answered. ‘It’s my wish that you move into my home too.’

‘Thank you,’ she answered, not wanting to blight this happy time for them. But she somehow knew, much as she liked John and much as she would miss her mother dreadfully, that her place was not in her mother’s new home. This, after all she’d been through, was a special time for her mother.

‘That’s settled, then.’ John smiled, and went on to outline how he’d telephoned his married daughter in Scotland and she was flying down tomorrow for a family celebration dinner.

‘Oh!’ Mallon exclaimed. Oh, grief, she had forgotten all about Keith Morgan!

‘Don’t say you can’t make it, darling. Did you have some other arrangement?’

‘Keith—er…’

‘I’m sure he’ll understand. This is a family occasion, after all.’ Evelyn Jenkins beamed.

‘Of course. I’ll give him a ring,’ Mallon said with a smile and realised, perhaps because of her mother’s lovely news, that she didn’t feel unduly upset that her weekend with Keith was off.

He did not understand when she rang him. Instead, he was furious. ‘I’ve booked the hotel!’ he protested angrily. ‘Your mother’s been married before—what’s so special now?’ If he couldn’t see, Mallon wasn’t about to try and explain.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

The celebratory dinner went wonderfully well. John’s daughter, Isobel, was as thrilled as Mallon that the two had finally decided to marry.

By Monday, feeling uncomfortable that she had let Keith down, Mallon went to seek him out to apologise again and to try and make him see how important it had been to her mother that she had been there.

‘Keith,’ she began, going over to his desk.

‘Mallon, I…’ he said at the same time, for no reason she could think of, looking almost sheepish.

“Morning, Keith!’ They both turned to see Natasha standing there, looking more animated than Mallon had ever seen her. Natasha grinned at them both but addressed Keith when she said, ‘I thought you’d like to know I didn’t get into trouble when I got in last night.’

Mallon stared at her, and then smiled. What was more natural? She had let Keith down and Natasha was an old chum. ‘You were out with Keith last night?’ she commented, still feeling a touch uncomfortable, but glad that Keith hadn’t had a totally dull weekend. Though…Suddenly some instinct in Mallon started to quiver. She knew she was feeling uncomfortable, but what the Dickens was Keith looking so uncomfortable about? ‘You’ve been out with Keith on a Sunday before,’ Mallon commented slowly. ‘What was so different about last night?’

Keith found his shoes worthy of inspection, while Natasha answered, ‘Only the fact that I didn’t go home at all on Saturday night.’

Something inside Mallon froze. ‘Now that is different.’ Somehow she managed to make her tone light. ‘You went away with Keith?’ she asked, a very personal question she knew, but she needed some answers here.

Natasha’s eyes sparkled. ‘It was wonderful, wasn’t it, Keith?’ He didn’t answer.

There was only one other question which, in normal times, Mallon would not have dreamed of asking. ‘Did you sleep together?’ she asked, her light tone gone.

Natasha looked a shade put out but, possibly because of their past friendship, answered honestly, if a shade coolly, ‘We did. That was rather the whole point of going.’

Mallon looked at Keith. He did not deny it. ‘We’d better get on with some work.’ She left them and went to her desk. She was deaf to Keith Morgan’s entreaties when he explained he had been so very angry with her for letting him down, but that it was her, Mallon, that he loved.

Mallon knew then that she was at a crossroads in her life. She no longer wanted to work in the same department with Keith and Natasha. She felt deeply, instinctively, that she should not live with her mother and John Frost when they married, but knew if she insisted on staying on in the flat alone that her mother would be upset. And she had endured more than enough upset already.

Over the next few days Mallon figured it out. She still wasn’t any happier working with Natasha and Keith—but no one was going to know it. What she needed, Mallon decided, was a clean break, a new job, a…

Suddenly she had it. The only excuse her mother was likely to accept for her not moving in with her and John would be if she said she had applied for a job in another area.

Mallon looked at the state of her finances. She wanted to treat her mother to a really lovely outfit to be married in. More genius arrived. How about if she found a live-in job? Brilliant! She could then spend her final month’s salary on something really gorgeous for her mother. And living in, board and lodgings obviously taken care of, she could limp along quite well on any money left over until pay day.

Mallon got out of Harris Quillian’s bed, musing how she had thought everything through. Then, opting for the job advertised for housekeeper, clerical background an advantage, in preference to one for a hotel receptionist because of her lack of training in that area, she had acted. Had she made a mistake! She had still been feeling very much let down by Keith Morgan’s behaviour when, on top of it, she had met that reptile Roland Phillips. Grief, was she ever off men—permanently!

Mallon went to one of the bedroom windows and stared out. The rain had stopped, thank goodness. If it stayed dry perhaps the roofers could come and take a look at…Harris Quillian had been kind, she suddenly found herself thinking. When she came to think about it, more than kind. Her mother would have been overwrought had Harris given her a lift to her mother’s new home.

She had a lot to thank him for, Mallon knew. Not least his generosity in giving her all that money. Salary, he’d called it. But he had trusted her not to do a flit at the first opportunity. Though, from his point of view, he could afford to trust her not to run off with the family silver. She turned to look back into the uncarpeted room, and found she was smiling—there was hardly anything worth pinching.

Mallon decided to investigate the water heating system. She had been weary enough last night and had endured sufficient water on her body from her drenching to think it wouldn’t matter if she went to bed without first showering. But it wouldn’t surprise her to find that brand-new shower in the bathroom was not yet functional.

It was functional, she discovered, and she had a lovely time standing under the warm-to-hot spray. Harris Quillian thought she had a beautiful face and a superb figure, she found herself idly musing—and abruptly stepped out from the shower. For goodness’ sake—as if she cared!

Not that there had been anything ‘personal’ in his remarks. She put his comments from her—she was sure he’d had a heavy date last night. No doubt with some luscious sophisticate. He certainly wasn’t the least bit personally interested in the likes of one Mallon Braithwaite. He couldn’t have made it plainer that he wanted the place to himself at weekends. Which, she sighed, unsmiling, couldn’t suit her better.

She had unlocked the front and rear doors and was investigating the refrigerator, glad to see that Faye Phillips had stocked her brother up with cartons and cartons of the sort of milk that kept for months, when Mallon heard the first of the builders arrive.

Shortly afterwards there was a knock at the kitchen door. ‘Miss Braithwaite? It’s my firm that’s doing the rebuilding. I’m Bob Miller,’ he introduced himself. ‘Mr Quillian’s been on to us. We had a bit of rain yesterday, didn’t we?’ he understated.

She took to Bob Miller, a muscly sort of man of about fifty. He didn’t seem to question who she was or why she was there, but just accepted it. ‘You could say that,’ she agreed.

‘All right if I come in and take a look at the ceiling that came down yesterday?’

‘Of course. Er…’ She remembered Harris’s remark yesterday about keeping an army of builders supplied with tea and coffee. ‘Shall I make some tea?’

Bob gave her a wide grin. ‘Now that’s the way to start the week,’ he accepted.

It was a busy week too. Had she at any time wondered what she would do all day, then she had no difficulty in filling those hours. Throughout the week she met Cyril, the carpenter, who as well as doing his other work fitted locks on two bedroom doors and put security catches on all bedroom windows. She also met Charlie, Dean, Baz and Ron, who were excellent with plumbing stonework, and electrics. And Ken, who was something of an intellectual, and who liked working out in the open air. There was Del too, who had a lovely tenor voice, and who sang throughout most of the day. And lastly Kevin, the ‘gofer’.

It was Kevin who gave her a lift in ‘the van’ when he had to visit the building suppliers in town. ‘Take as long as you like,’ he offered cheerfully as he dropped her off at the supermarket. ‘I’ll be ages.’

Mallon purchased fresh fruit and vegetables and other provisions, and also bought a newspaper, plus stationery and postage stamps. She studied the situations vacant column when she got back, but there was little there of interest to her. Still, Harris had suggested that the builders would be there for three months, so there was no particular hurry. And anyway, this time, she didn’t want to rush into the first likely job she saw.

Apart from the bed Harris had promised, several other items of furniture arrived that week. Mallon directed the sofa and one of the padded chairs to the drawing room, which was, as yet, like the bedrooms uncurtained and uncarpeted. The wardrobe, desk and another padded chair were carried up to her room, and, since she more or less lived in the kitchen, she had another easy chair put in there.

She found that as well as thinking frequently of her mother and John Frost, and trying not to think of the likes of Keith Morgan and Roland Phillips, she thought a good deal of Harris Quillian too.

Contrary to his comment about her incubating pneumonia, she had not so much as sneezed. In fact, given that she was still having the most ghastly dreams, and had once or twice had to leave her bed to go and sit in the safe haven of the kitchen until she was more at peace, she had never felt better.

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