Hemingway’s Chair

I asked you about Martin,’ said Marshall quietly.
Then he moved in. With one controlled, continuous movement, he leaned forward,
palms flat on the table, neck extended effortlessly forward until the strong,
straight line of his nose and the smooth curve of his fine chin fixed her like
gun-sights.
    ‘I’m
not a fool, Elaine. I was aware right from the word go that you and Martin
regarded that post office as your own private little empire. You saw a nice
little earner for Rudge and Sproale, protectors of the past, guardians of the
ancient rights of the customer. Well, it’s not easy for an outsider coming into
a family business, you know.’
    Elaine
made to speak, but Marshall held up his hand.
    ‘Unfortunately
I’m not the sort to sit and file my nails waiting for the next customer. I saw
another future for Theston. I saw a wider picture than wedding bells and baby
socks and cosy Christmas dinners.’
    Elaine’s
jaw set. She could hardly bear to look at him, but he wouldn’t let her look
away.
    ‘I
saw the business that paid for all these little dreams slipping quietly back
into the Stone Age. I saw it waving goodbye to E-Mail and fibre-optics and
video telephones. I saw Telecom and Mercury and anyone else with money and nous
knocking Postman Pat off his bicycle and making off with his jolly old sack of
letters.’
    Nick
Marshall kept his eyes on Elaine. She began to feel like she used to at school
when the headmaster had her in. She had to remind herself that this man was
younger than she was. Then Nick Marshall suddenly smiled.
    ‘You’re
aggressive, Elaine. I like that. I am too. But don’t fight me. Fight
them. Fight everyone out there who wants to keep the Post Office small and cosy
and cuddly.’ His face came, almost imperceptibly, closer to hers. ‘The business
is changing. The only way to preserve what we’ve got, Elaine, is to go forward.
And by the way, Geraldine and I don’t live together.’ He suddenly stood up.
‘Shall we go?’
    Elaine
looked around. She was too shaken to move. When she found her voice it sounded
thin and unconvincing. ‘Go where?’ she asked.
    Nick
Marshall leaned down and took her elbow. ‘For dinner. I’ve booked us a table in
the restaurant.’
     
    Elaine
had no gloves or scarf with her as she left the Market Hotel that night, but
she was only two streets away from home and warmth. She walked briskly along
the High Street then slowed and stopped. She turned down towards the sea, then
changed her mind and walked back in the direction of the church. The skies had
cleared during the evening and a cold north wind gripped the town tight. With
Elaine it had been the reverse. She had gone into the evening cool and clear
and she had come out of it hot and confused. She stopped outside Mountjoy’s
Fashions and stared in at the vacant faces of the mannequins. Down one side of
the lighted display was an enfilade of plaster bosoms. Some were black and some
were white. At least half a dozen were quite badly chipped. The brassieres they
carried were all different but the busts were the same. That’s wrong for a
start, she thought. No two busts are the same. She looked at them more closely
and tried to imagine what it was men saw in busts, what it was that made them
want to stare and touch and fondle. Jack Blyth had once told her that she had
perfect breasts, and when she asked him how he was so sure he told her it was
because he’d seen a great many.
    Suddenly
she missed Martin. She missed his moodiness. She missed his uncertainty and his
indecision and the pain in his expression as he tried to work out what was for
the best. She realised that whatever they had or hadn’t done together, she felt
she knew him better than any man she’d ever met.
    She
walked on a few steps until she could see the church clock. It stood out clear
and sharp tonight. It was fifteen minutes to ten.
    Without
any more debate she walked home, took a scarf and a pair of gloves from the
basket inside the hall, took her car keys down from the hook and, shouting as
nonchalantly as possible that she was going for a drive, she left the house
again and climbed into her car.
    She
had been repelled by Nick Marshall. Repelled by his mocking, self-regarding
arrogance. His presumption that she would want to do whatever he suggested made
her breathless with indignation. She switched on the car radio. A lonely man
was phoning in. She switched it off. There was frost about and she had to keep
clearing a space