Roberta Leigh - And Then Came Love

by Roberta Leigh

  He stood up and knocked his pipe out against the mantelpiece. "I'll have a word with Jess and see what she says. But I don't want to go over her head." He sat down again. "Now come over here — I haven't seen much of you the last few days."

  She brushed this, aside. "What do you mean, go over Jess's head? You told me I could alter anything

  I didn't like. It's not as if I'm suggesting increasing your sister's work — far from it — it would give her more spare time."

  He smiled. "What would Jess be doing with spare time? I know you want everything to be nice, but try to be tactful where she's concerned. She's rather sensitive, you know."

  "Sensitive is a word I'd never apply to her!"

  "You can't go by appearances, Stella — you should know that by now. Jess has worked very hard —"

  "That's just my point, Matthew — too hard when there's been no need for it I could understand if she wanted to save money, but she can have as much help as she wanted. The fact that she hasn't, is because she's mean!"

  "If you've come up the hard way like we have, you don't throw your money around," he said quietly.

  "But you're not mean, Matthew, and you're the one who works for the money!"

  "Women often find it more difficult to change their habits." .

  "I only want to improve the way we live." Stella forced herself to speak quietly. "You work extremely hard and your life could be made easier and pleasanter."

  "My life's just the way I like it — or almost."

  The implication did not go unnoticed, and she accepted the challenge. "Perhaps I've no right to alter things here. I'm not your wife in the real sense and —"

  "I wasn't meaning that! You've every right to alter things. The house could do with improving, and there's no reason why Jess shouldn't take it easy. But let me tell her in my own way."

  "Don't let her talk you out of it"

  "There's no fear of that I can be obstinate tool Now come close. It's the first time we've been alone for weeks."

  "I didn’t think you'd noticed."

  "You’ll be surprised what I notice. I'm not as insensitive as you —"

  "Don't!" she pleaded. "Can't you forget what I said that night?"

  "I'm doing my best," he said quietly.

  She caught his hand and pressed it to her face. "Oh Matthew… be patient with me."

  "As patient as I can. But I love you so much that sometimes it's difficult not to… Well, no more of this talk. Let's switch to politics. It'll be safer!"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FEBRUARY gave way to March, but the weather did not improve, and the icy cold was driven into the house by fierce winds from the moors.

  To Stella's dismay Matthew said nothing to Jess about the running of the house, and she was forced to conclude he was afraid of upsetting his sister. But what about upsetting his wife? How did he expect them to establish a relationship when he made no effort to help her feel she-belonged to his home?

  Everything was run the way Jess dictated. And what a dictator she was. Deliberately she went out of her way to make Stella feel an intruder. Fires were never lit till mid-afternoon, hot water was kept at a low temperature until Matthew was due home, and many of the meals comprised food which she knew Stella did not like, turning up again cold at the next day's lunch table.

  Even on a limited budget in London, Stella had managed a more varied economy, and fruit and prime cuts of meat had never been as rare in the Kensington flat as they were at Grey Walls.

  With nothing to do all day, time dragged. Playing the piano did not occupy her for long, and she would wander from room to room visualizing how she would improve them if she were given a free hand. But at least foliage did not cost money when there was a large garden from which'to pick it, and one morning she asked Jess for some vases.

  "What do you want them for?"

  "To put some leaves in."

  "Bit expensive to buy greenery this tune of year. Expecting visitors?"

  "I don't buy flowers to impress visitors. As it so happens, I thought we'd use what's in the garden."

  Jess granted. "No point cluttering the house with mucky leaves."

  "I’d still like some vases. If you'll tell me where they are…"

  "Don't bother," Jess said grudgingly. "I'll get 'em for you."

  Stella walked out of the house with a sigh of relief. It would be ironical if she could riot find anything to pick after all! But the garden was full of foliage and she was surprised at the growth beginning to unfold in the cold winter air. Large bunches of flowering cherry raised frail white wands to the sky, and she had picked several budding sprays before she became aware of a wizened old man watching her.

  She smiled at him. "You must be the gardener. I'm Mrs. Armstrong."

  "I know. I've seen you walking around. You picked nothing, though."

  "I'd like something now. The house needs brightening."

  "It’s time my work was appreciated," he said heavily. "Tell me what you want and I'll pick it."

  "I’ll leave it to you. But enough for several vases." Smiling her thanks she wandered slowly back and, wiping the mud off her shoes, went into the kitchen to find her sister-in-law rolling some pastry. "Vases are in the scullery," she said brusquely, "and Albert's left flowers there too. Enough to sink a ship."

  Ignoring this pleasantry, Stella set to work, filling vases and carrying them one by one into the hall, drawing-room and dining-room. At least the rooms would not look so bare when they had guests.

  In front of outsiders Jess assumed an air of friendliness towards her sister-in-law, and Stella was aware that she was considered extremely lucky to have such a capable person to manage the house for her. She also suspected that she was the subject of much discussion, and felt that whatever criticisms were made would not fall en deaf ears, for Jess's Mends seemed to regard her with mistrust.

  Matthew was well liked and they received many invitations to dinner or card evenings, which Stella found extremely tedious. She had never learned Bridge or Canasta and had such a poor card sense that although she accepted Matthew's offer to teach her, it was obviously such a penance that he gave it up.

  Matthew's closest friends, Milly and Ned Barrett; were abroad when Stella arrived at Grey Walls, but as soon as they returned Milly telephoned, and Stella immediately liked the warm voice which welcomed her to Yorkshire, and invited her and Matthew to dine. Certain the party would not be a fashionable one, she took care not to overdress, and went down to join Matthew feeling that in her simple olive green dress she would not be accused of trying to create an impression.

  To her surprise Jess was elaborately coiffeured and gowned: her hair a mass of tight waves, her ungainly figure encased in black velvet whose lustre highlighted every bulge.

  "You didn't bother much, did you?" Jess commented as Stella reached the hall.

  Biting back a sharp reply, Stella glanced at Matthew, but he looked at her blandly and she knew his sister's rudeness had gone unnoticed. Or perhaps he did not see it as rode! Angrily she followed him to the car.

  "We shan't be long getting there," he said, letting in the clutch. "It's only a couple of miles."

  "What sort of house have they got?"

  "About the same size as ours. Different style, though."

  Jess sniffed. "Milly gota decorator from London — her and her fancy ideas!"

  Stella smiled in the darkness, and a few minutes later they turned up at a pair of white gates and drew op outside-an imposing front door.

  The two women were shown to the principal bedroom to take off their coats, and Stella glanced with interest at the muted decor of beige and white.

  "Never heard of using such colours," Jess muttered, rubbing the edge of her shoe along the oyster coloured carpet. "This'll be at the cleaners more than it'll be in the room!"

  "It's probably nylon," Stella said. "They're easier to keep clean."

  "Not my idea of taste. I like something more cheerful."

  Stella did no
t reply and went down to where Matthew was waiting at the door of the lounge. He put his hand under her elbow and propelled her towards a middle-aged woman in the centre of the room.

  "Matthew dear, how grand to see you again! And this is Stella." Stella's hand was taken in a friendly clasp and warm brown .eyes appraised her.' "I'm so pleased to meet Mail's wife at last! His friends have waited a long tune for him to marry. Now come and meet Ned."

  Milly-led them to a bar where a dapper man of about fifty was pouring cocktails. His creased face lit with pleasure as he saw them. "Matt, you old so-and-so! What do you mean by doing us out of a wedding celebration?" He thumped bin on the back. "The best of luck to you both. Do I get a kiss from the bride?"

  Under Matthew's smiling gaze he kissed Stella heartily on the cheek, then turned to the centre of the room and raised his voice. "Folks, what about a welcome for Matt and his wife?"

  He began to sing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow’ in a cracked falsetto, and gradually all the guests took the refrain until the room rang with singing. In the confusion of noise Stella realized she must look anything but bridal in her plain dress. Indeed, as soon as she had entered the room she bad been aware that most of the women looked far more fashionable titan she did.

  The chorus died away and Matthew bent forward and kissed her full on the mouth. She drew back quickly, and with a fixed smile acknowledged the congratulations that followed, wishing with all her heart that the evening was over instead of beginning.

  At dinner she was seated next to her host, with Matthew at the other end of the table, and Ned anxiously watched her pretence of eating.

  "What's the matter?" he asked kindly. "You've hardly eaten a thing."

  "I'm a bit nervous," she confessed.

  "It must be a strain meeting so many people all at once."

  "From the way Matthew spoke I thought there would only be a few people here tonight I never expected a party." She looked at her dress. "I feel out of place wearing this."

  "You look fine. But Matt should have warned you. Not that he'd think this a big party. He likes people, does Matt — and everyone likes him.",

  "I know." She smiled slightly. "He doesn't realise I'm shy."

  The man on the other side of Stella joined in the conversation. "You'll stop better once you make friends. Folk are much warmer here than they are down south."

  "I don't think so," she answered. "They seem much more taciturn. It might be the accent of course," she added hastily.

  "You mean you don't understand us?"

  "Something like that."

  He laughed and leaned across the table. "Hey, Matt, how d'you manage to talk to your wife? She's just said she doesn't understand our lingo!"

  "We get on all right," Matt replied.

  "Some things you don't need a language for!" another man broke .in.

  Everyone laughed and Stella blushed furiously, con-scions of Ned regarding her with sympathy. "Don't mind Bob. He was never one for tact Our humour's broader here, y'know — but you'll get used to it" !

  As they left the table Matthew came up and put his arm through hers. "Try not to look so miserable. Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

  "I didn't expect so many people."

  "I told you it was a dinner-party."

  "But not that it was a big one. I’d have worn something different if I'd known."

  He looked at her steadily. "You wouldn't have worn that green dress for the smallest party in London. Why did you think it was good enough here?"

  "I wasn't able to —" she stopped short and went swiftly ahead of him to the lounge.

  Most of the people present were in their late forties and she and Matthew were the youngest couple there until Milly's daughter, a pretty girl of twenty, came in with a crowd of friends. They had been dancing at the golf club and were in high spirits, laughing and joking among themselves. Milly drew the girl aside and introduced her to Stella.

  "Welcome to Leeds, Mrs. Armstrong!" Brenda Barrett perched on the arm of her chair. "Sorry I wasn't here to dinner, but I find it such a bore being with older —" She stopped, blushing furiously. "Lord, now I’ve said the wrong thing! I hope I haven't offended you?"

  "Not at all," Stella laughed. "In another ten years I might take that sort of remark personally, but right now, I don't feel much older than you.",

  "You aren't, are you? I mean you're much younger than Matt."

  Stella hid a smile. "He isn't Methusula, you know."

  Brenda, coloured again. "He always seems older than his age. That's the penalty of success, I suppose. You have the responsibility and worry!" The girl glanced at Matthew who was in the far corner. "He's a darling, though. I had a crush on him for years but it didn't do me any good!" With a flurry of skirts she stood up. "I must be off now. We're going to the music room to dance. Try and pop in later on."

  As the evening wore on Stella would have welcomed a chance to accept Brenda's invitation, for Matthew was deep in conversation with a group of men and she was left to talk to the women. The gossip centred on domestic problems, children and grandchildren, and by the time the party broke up she was exhausted with the effort of simulating interest in strangers' lives.

  Outside the front door the night ah1 revived her, revived too her irritation with Matthew for leaving her alone the whole evening. The women had been kind enough but she had been conscious of their appraisal, and could imagine them thinking that Matthew had made a fool of himself by marrying someone so stiff and dull.

  But Matthew hummed cheerfully all the way home, increasing her irritation to such' a degree that she was trembling with nerves as he drove the car into the garage.

  Silently she followed Jess into the house, wishing her a brusque goodnight in the hall before going upstairs to her bedroom.

  She was taking off her ear-rings .when Matthew knocked at the door and came in, untying his tie.

  "About that dress you were wearing tonight," he began without preamble. "I owe you an apology."

  "For what?"

  "For not making arrangements about an allowance for you. You cant buy pretty clothes without money."

  Face flaming, she lowered her eyes. "I don't think my appearance has let you down."

  "I didn't mean that! Your clothes are fine — what there are of them! But you need more. I'll open an account for you in the morning. Will two hundred pounds a month be enough?"

  She gasped. "I couldn't… it's out of the question."

  "For a wife to accept money from her husband? .Don't be silly, lass, I can afford it. Now don't let's talk about it any more. It's settled." He came closer. "What did you think of Milly and Ned?"

  "They were very nice."

  "I knew you'd like 'em. It was a good party, too."

  "I didn't enjoy it much." She slipped off her shoes and put on her slippers. "Everyone there was much older than me. Talking about other people's children all evening isn't exactly stimulating."

  He grinned. "Wait until you've got a couple of your own."

  She sat at the dressing-table and began to comb her hair, but Matthew came up behind her and pulled her back against him.

  "When you've a couple o' kids,." he repeated, "you'll find plenty to talk about with the other women." His voice was husky. "Stella dearest, I love you so much! Can't you love me a little ia return?"

  "Oh Matthew, give me time. You promised."

  "I know I did. But that party tonight — it seemed a bit of a mockery when they were all congratulating us. Don't let me wait too long, will you, Stella?"

  She shook her head dumbly, and with a sigh he kissed her on the cheek and walked oat.

  A week after the Barrett's dinner party Brenda rang, up and invited her out for tea, calling for her in her own little car and driving with such competence that Stella felt ashamed of her own inability to drive. Once in Leeds they parked the ear and Wandered round the shops, where Brenda enjoyed herself buying scent and lipstick and gloves.

  "You haven't bought the thing!" she exclaimed
to Stella.

  "I don't need anything."

  "Neither do I — but that hasn't stopped me! You're a paragon, if you can come out with me and return home empty-handed!"

  Stella laughed but remained adamant. Though Matthew had kept his promise and opened an account for her, she had not touched any of it; to take his money when she was already so emotionally in his debt was out of the question.

  She was glad when they left the stores and made their leisurely way to a restaurant for tea, but after a further hour of Brenda's non stop chatter she was heartily glad when the girl suggested they return home.

  Her boredom with Brenda made Stella realise how tedious Matthew would find it if she asked him to mix with men and women of her age, and that evening, while Jess was out of the dining room, she apologised for finding fault with Milly's party.

  "I didn't take any notice of it," he 'said, as she finished. "If I took account of everything you complained of, we'd have had some mighty rows by now!" She laughed and he looked across at her quickly. "I like that, Stella."

  "Like what?"

  "The way you laugh. It makes yon more human. You should do it more often, sweetheart."

  "You must give me reason."

  He leaned over the table and caught her hand. "I wish I could. As soon as I've settled things at the factory we'll go away. Perhaps by then we'll be — happier."

  "I hope so."

  He patted her hand and then let it go.

  "Matthew," she said suddenly, "why must yon always call me sweetheart and lass?"

  His look was quizzical. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me that."

  “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to —"

  "No need to apologise. But I’ll �make a bargain with you. You stop saying frightfully', 'ghastly' and 'really’ and I won't say sweetheart and lass!"

  “Touché!" She pulled a face. 'I asked for that!"

  He repeated her smile, though his eyes remained serious as he said: "Does my accent bother you? Be honest with me, Stella."

  "I notice it," she said carefully.

  "But does it bother you?" he persisted.

  She bit her lip. Had he posed this question when they were in London, she would unhesitatingly have said yes, but in the last few months she had grown accustomed to it, and found it warming and friendly — except when spoken by her sister-in-law!