"He's got a high standard," Stella interposed. "And an invalid mother who's very demanding."
"Then his uncle should help him. If he and his precious son weren't so crazy about sailing they'd have tune to think about Charles. After all, until Anne has a son, he's second in line to the title."
"He doesn't think about that," Stella smiled. "His uncle and cousin will probably outlive him. Anyway, Anne says she wants a dozen children!"
Mrs. Percy looked pained. "It's not a joking matter. I'm worried about you and Charles. You've known each other for years and neither of you are getting any younger."
"He's only thirty. That's not old."
"Not for a man perhaps, but what about you? You're twenty-five, Stella, and you ought to be married."
"If only I'd had the sense to learn shorthand and typing," Stella ran her hands impatiently through her fine blonde hair. "It's not too late even now."
"You'd hate working in an office."
"I hate being idle!"
"You take care of the flat," her mother protested, "and you do all the cooking and shopping. No housewife does more."
"Not unless she has children," Stella said dryly, and suddenly threw her arms wide. "I’m bored, Mother. Bored to death!"
"Boredom is a state of mind." Mrs. Percy went over to the mirror and patted a dyed brown curl into place. "At least you’ve got my figure. You'll never have to worry about getting fat." She moved to the door. "By the way, I won't be in for dinner — I'm playing bridge with Betty Sands. What are you doing?"
"Dining with Charles."
"Give him my love. That's all I can afford!"
The door closed behind her and Stella moved across to the mirror. Although her mother had not meant it, the reference to her age had hurt. In another few years Charles might not find her attractive. But that was ridiculous, Charles loved her, and if he had enough money would marry her tomorrow. She sighed and irrationally thought of Matthew Armstrong. How different the two men were; Where one was forthright the other was diplomatic; where Armstrong was determined and matter-of-fact, Charles was vacillating and punctilious. Both men revealed their characters in their speech and mannerisms, Charles's voice correct and well modulated, Armstrong's rough and broad. What a pity Charles did not have Matthew's money, or Matthew Charles's polish!
Promptly at seven o'clock Charles Heyward arrived, and as she led him into the living-room she felt she had enacted this scene many times before.
"Hullo, Stella dear. Pleasant day?"
"The usual. And you?"
"Not too bad."
"There's some sherry in the cabinet," she volunteered. "Help yourself and pour me one."
Meticulously he placed two glasses on the salver on the sideboard, poured out the sherry and handed her one. "Good health."
She had the glass to her lips when the door-bell pealed. "Who on earth can that be? Mother's gat her key."
"I'll go." Charles put down his glass and went out
A moment later he returned, Matthew Armstrong following hard on his heels with the largest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen.
“I’m unexpected, but I hope not unwelcome." He held out the flowers. "Here, you'd better have these, I feel silly with them."
"They're lovely," Stella murmured, avoiding Charles's eyes. "Thank you so much."
Matthew looked from her to Charles. "I hope I'm not intruding?"
"Not at all,", she said politely, and introduced them.
Matthew shook Charles's hand heartily. "Any friend of Stella's is a friend of mine!" He turned to her. "I hope you don't .mind me calling you Stella? Up in Leeds I couldn't think of you any other way."
"I don't mind, Mr. Armstrong," she said stiffly.
There was an uncomfortable pause, then Charles went to the sideboard. "Would you care for a drink?"
"A whiskey, please."
"There's only sherry, I'm afraid."
"That'll be grand."
Matthew accepted the glass and eyed Heyward speculatively. The man was obviously used to playing host here. Tall and slim, with a sallow complexion and dark, straight hair, he was the sort of person he had expected Stella to know, his appearance as correct as his manner, his polite aloofness identical to hers.
"Are you in London for long?" Charles enquired.
"That depends. I haven't had a holiday for a couple of years, and I can do with a change."
"Why didn't you go to Blackpool?" Stella said lightly. "It's so much nearer."
"And cooler," Matthew smiled. "No one in their senses goes to Blackpool in the winter." He turned to Charles. "Were you and Stella on the way out?"
"As a matter of fact we were, but don't hurry over your sherry."
Matthew drained his glass. "It's my own fault — I should have telephoned to say I was coming."
Stella put her glass on the sideboard. "I'm surprised you managed to get away from your factory."
"Nothing's impossible if you want it enough."
There was a short pause, then Stella went to the door. “I’ll get my wrap, Charles. I'm sure you'll fop-give us, Mr. Armstrong…"
"That's all right. Going to the theatre?"
"No, as a matter of fact —"
"If it's just for dinner what about the two of you being my guests?"
"I'm afraid we can't," she said quickly. "We've already arranged our evening."
She returned with her coat to find him still standing in the middle of the room. When on earth would he take the hint and go?
"Charles dear, we really must leave."
Matthew set his glass on the mantlepiece. "Can I give you a lift? I've a cab outside."
Charles shook his head. "Thanks, but I've got a car."
"In that case I'm overstaying my welcome."
Pointedly Stella said nothing, and Matthew went to the door and opened it. As she came abreast of him he caught her arm. "Aren't you going to put the flowers in water?"
"I haven't time, I’ll do it when I get back."
Sitting over an indifferent meal Stella began to feel ashamed of her rudeness, her conscience in no way appeased by Charles's comment on the subject
"Don't you think you were hard on Armstrong, darling? After all, he came .all the way from Leeds to see you."
"I didn't ask him to come. Anyway, he's so thick-skinned he probably didn't notice." Charles's silence made her anger flare. "Anyway, why should you care? Or don't you mind my having another suitor!"
"Of course I mind. But that's got nothing to do with your being polite."
"Next time I’ll kiss him hello!" She retorted.
"No you won't." Unexpectedly he leaned over and caught her hand. "If only we could afford to get married." His grip tightened. "Why don't we? Lots of couples marry on far less."
"You never thought so last week," she reminded him. "Or have you suddenly lowered your standards?"
He coloured. "Sometimes one can be too cautious. Maybe that's my. trouble. What about it, Stella?"
"What about your mother?" she countered. "I wouldn't want to start our marriage living with another woman."
"We'd have to. 1 couldn't afford to set her up on her own."
"You could, if she'd lower her standards. Must she live in Mayfair?"
"She refuses to move. I've tried to reason with her but it's hopeless. Or maybe I'm not strong enough."
Stella did not refute his remark.
"Perhaps I should have gone into business," he went on. "Like your Yorkshire friend."
"You'd have hated it. You're not competitive enough. Stick to your dusty old documents."
They finished their coffee in silence and drove straight back to the flat. Charles refused to come up for his usual nightcap and bade-her such a cool goodnight that she knew he was still hurt by her remark.
Darn Matthew, she thought crossly, he had no business to come without warning. It had made her rude to him and quarrel with Charles. She walked into the drawing-room and stared resentfully at the bouquet still lying on the pi
ano. The man must have bought the florist's shop! Impatiently she picked up the flowers and carried them into the kitchen, dumping them .unceremoniously into a sink full of water. What a waste of money!
Against her will she smiled. How ridiculous he had looked behind the huge bunch of flowers — like an old-fashioned suitor calling on his lady-love!
But the following morning the incident did not seem quite as amusing. The poor man had meant well: if she was contemptuous because he was uncouth and self-made he. had every right to despise her for being a useless parasite. There was some excuse for his bad manners, none for hers, and on an impulse she dialled the Savoy.
On the line his voice was brusque and businesslike. "Armstrong here."
"It's Stella Percy," she said quickly. "I’m ringing up to apologize for last night. I'm afraid I was rather rude."
"Rude?"
"Yes." Bother the man. Couldn't he make it easier for her? "I'm sorry I had to rush off when you'd only just arrived."
"Never mind, it was my own fault for expecting you to be free at such short notice. Next time I'll write."
She could think of nothing to say and there was an awkward pause. .
"Are you still there?" he asked.
"Yes, but if you're busy I'll —"
"No, don't go. I want to talk to you. I’d an idea you were angry at my turning up the way I did. I don't suppose you're free tonight, are you? I'm not going back to Leeds till the end of the week and I'd like to see you again."
She floundered, unable to think of an excuse. "Well, I — actually, as a matter of fact, I am free."
"That’s great! We can go to a show. Is there anything you'd like to see?"
“I’ll leave it to you."
"Right. I’ll call for you at six-thirty," -'The receiver went dead in her hand. Well, that was that. He had accepted her apology with an ease which had made it seem superfluous, and she was unaccountably piqued.
Mrs. Percy made no comment when Stella told her she was going out with a man she had met at the Tauntons' cocktail party, but her surprise was patent when she opened the door to Matthew that evening.
"Hullo, Mrs. Percy, I'd have known you were Stella's mother anywhere! You're an older edition of your daughter."
"Oh! I'm afraid I didn't get your name."
"Matthew Armstrong." He followed her into the drawing-room.
"Do sit down, Mr. Armstrong, Stella won't be long."
"I hope not. The curtain goes up at seven-thirty and I don't want to miss the beginning. Some of these modern plays are hard enough to understand as it is without coming slap in the middle!"
"I suppose so. But then young women are rarely punctual."
"Most of the girls I know are. They can't afford not to be. If they don't clock in at eight, out they go."
"You can hardly be expected to clock in at a theatre."
"More's the pity." He stood up as Stella came into the room, his eyes warm as they travelled over her. "You look wonderful, lass! You should always wear red. It gives you a bit of colour." He caught her arm. "I was just telling your mother that I like my women to be punctual."
"It's a commendable trait," she said, and avoiding her mother's eyes, hurriedly led him out.
The play Matthew had chosen was a serious drama and she was surprised at the intelligence of his criticism. In evening dress he looked almost distinguished, his tanned face and powerful shoulders exuding a masculine strength that far exceeded Charles's. But he had none of the younger man's polish, and though polite, it was with a take-it-or-leave-it air that held none of the deference- to which she was accustomed.
Later, dancing at a restaurant, she was equally surprised at his competence on the floor, for though her high heels made her slightly the taller, he was so broad that she was not conscious of her height. Returning to the table, she was amused when he ordered a second portion of vegetables, and somewhat taken aback when he remarked on her own small appetite.
"You had a better meal the other night at the Savoy. Are you ill?"
"I'm not hungry."
"What did you do with yourself all day?"
"I did some shopping and then had tea with a girl friend." She shrugged. "I'm sure it wasn't as exciting as your day." .
"You can say that again! I'm not surprised you're fed up with the life you lead. You should get married and have children. You'd have no time to get bored then!"
"I'm not particularly maternal."
"No woman is till she's had 'em!"
She smiled. "Men always seem to think they know what's best for us."
"I don't profess to know what's good for women in general, but I do think I know what'd be best for you."
She averted her eyes from his intent gaze. "This is rather a nice band, isn't it? Do they have places like this in Leeds?"
"No. There's always the hotels and the golf club, of course, but one gets tired of seeing the same faces."
"Why do you stay there, then?"
“I was born and bred in Yorkshire and I shall die there."
"If everyone said that, what would happen to the pioneer spirit?"
"It doesn't take much pioneer. spirit to move to London, but I’ll not argue with you."
"I thought you'd love an argument," she smiled. "You strike me as being —" she floundered, and he finished the sentence for her.
"Obstinate eh? I suppose I am. Still it's made me a millionaire, so I'm not complaining. If I'd been soft I'd still be earning two pounds a week. To get to the top, you've got to fight."
"Not everyone knows what to fight for."
"Everyone has something they want," he insisted. "I know I have."
"I'd have thought you already had everything you wanted;"
Matthew studied her pale triangular face and the fall of soft blonde hair that swung against her cheekbones. "I still need one thing," he said softly.
"I suppose you mean a wife?"
"Yes." Ruefully he ran a hand over his hair. "Or do I strike you as too old?"
"Of course not." She pushed back her chair. "Can we dance again?"
He led her on to the floor and with a sense of , relief she gave her mind to the music.
Matthew guided her firmly, wishing he had the courage to tell her what was in his mind. Her reception of him last night had been disconcerting, to say the least, and if he had not appreciated the effort it must have cost her to telephone and apologize he would not have seen her again.
During his weeks up North he had wondered if she was as attractive as he had imagined, or if he had been particularly susceptible at the Tauntons' boring party? He had known far lovelier girls than this one — why should she hold his interest more than any of the others? Yet his desire to see her again had compelled him to come back when common sense had told him it might end in disaster, and his delight in meeting her again had confirmed his fears: he was in love with her.
"Are you free tomorrow night?" he asked abruptly. "I only came down to see you."
"That makes it very difficult for me to say I'm busy."
"I want to make it difficult. Will you see me?"
"Yes, but—"
"No buts. If's all settled."
CHAPTER THREE
FOR THE rest of that week and the beginning of the next Matthew remained in London, bluffly overriding Stella's objection at seeing him too frequently. To begin with Mrs. Percy regarded him as a joke, but as the days went by she grew concerned.
"Don't you think you're seeing too much of Mr. Armstrong, Stella?"
"Don't worry, Mother, he's going back to Leeds in a few days."
They were in Stella's bedroom, a narrow box of a room which, in better days, had served as one of the servants' sitting-rooms. But Stella liked it because it overlooked a belt of trees, and when the wind blew the rustle of the leaves coming through the high window made a melancholy accompaniment to her thoughts.
"Even so, why give a man like that any encouragement?" Her mother persisted. "He's just the kind to get ideas from a fe
w casual evenings."
"He isn't a schoolboy."
"And he isn't the sort of man to indulge in platonic friendship either! You've gone out with him every night this week."
"I don't know why you're making such a fuss! You've never worried about whom I've gone out with before."
"Because I've never known you to go out six nights in succession with the same man. And he's not even your type!"
“He's different and amusing."
"He's certainly different," Mrs. Percy sniffed.
"Don't look so worried, Mother. I'm not planning on marrying him."
"I should hope not! He's the last man I'd want as a son-in-law. Anyway, what about Charles? You've always spoken as if you'd marry him if you had the chance."
"I suppose I would," Stella said moodily. "Though sometimes I think he'd bore me to death! At least Matthew makes me laugh."
"It's ridiculous to compare Charles with him. I grant you Mr. Armstrong may be more masculine, but he's such a boor." Mrs. Percy went to the door. "Don't forget that men like Charles are reserved. This man's kisses may be more exciting, but —"
"Matthew's never kissed me," Stella interrupted.
"Oh." Her mother was momentarily floored. "Well, that's something to' be thankful for. At least when you're with Charles I know you're safe!"
The door closed behind her and Stella smiled. Safe! That was the trouble. She was always so safe with him she might as well go out with her1 brother! She was still young enough to want a good time, to want excitement and the thrill of the chase, and with Charles she had neither.
If Matthew kissed her he would not bother to be restrained, and sometimes coming home with him in the taxi she wondered if he was going to take her in his arms. But he never attempted to touch her except when they were dancing, and she was half ashamed of a secret desire that he should do so.
Although her mother had expressed surprise that she should find it amusing to go out with Matthew, Stella genuinely enjoyed her evenings with him for he had a sense of humour and a quick mind. He told her of his years in the tool factory near Armley where he was born, and though he made light of his years of work, she guessed they had been hard and" admired his strength in forging such a successful career for himself.
She stood up and went to the wardrobe, but her sparse collection of dresses afforded little choice. It would have to be the black one again.
Roberta Leigh - And Then Came Love Page 2
