Roberta Leigh - And Then Came Love

by Roberta Leigh

  "It doesn't bother me at all," she said firmly. "Think how dull it would be if we all spoke the same way."

  With a pleased grunt he resumed his meal, and anything she might have added was forestalled by Jess' return.

  After dinner they went into the drawing-room and Jess settled herself on the settee with her knitting while Matthew sat back in an armchair and filled his pipe.

  "What about giving us a tune, lass?" he said suddenly. "You've not played for a long time."

  Glad of something to do, she stood up and went to the piano, starting with Glair de Lune and Green-sleeves, before going into the Moonlight Sonata. As the last note died away, Jess yawned prodigiously.

  "You play quite well, but I can't say I like your taste. Why don't you give us something with more of a tune? That lot fair sent me to sleep."

  "You needn't have stayed to listen," Stella said icily.

  "Don't be offended with Jess," Matthew said hastily. "She's never been very musical."

  "I don't care whether she is, or isn't. But that’s no reason for her to deprecate what other people enjoy."

  Jess stood up with a flounce of skirts. 'If you've quite finished talking about me …”

  The door banged behind her, and Stella lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture, expecting Matthew to make some comment When he did, she was disagreeably surprised.

  "You'd no reason to upset Jess like that. You're too quick to take offence with her."

  "I was playing for you — music you like."

  "But Jess was here too. You should have remembered that."

  Too hurt to defend herself further — not that she thought defence was needed, Stella lapsed into silence, excusing herself several moments later to retire to her room.

  Matthew's championship of his sister rankled bitterly with Stella, increasing the chasm that separated her from him. How could he expect her to feel close to him when he always sided against her in an argument? When he refused to. let her have any say in the running of his home? What a mockery it made of his promise that she would be able to do as she liked once she was his wife! Grey Walls was far more Jess's home than anyone else's. And Matthew liked it that way! It was this knowledge which rankled more than anything. Night after night he came home to the same stodgy meals of hotpot or stew; of potatoes and cabbage and a sherry trifle that could easily have passed for a bread pudding with shop bought custard passed over it! And it wasn't as though Matthew didn't appreciate well cooked meals. In London he had always chosen the menu with imagination and understanding. But here, in his own home, he was frightened to come to terms with his sister.

  As if knowing Stella's feelings, Jess went out of her way to be condescending, and though there were many times when a row could have developed, Stella resolutely refused to play into her sister-in-law's hands. If anything she made a greater effort to be friendly, even though the overtures met with continual rebuffs. When Stella made conversation, Jess complained of idle people with idle tongues, and if she was silent would remark that she had not expected her brother to marry someone who could not be bothered to speak to ordinary folk. She sniffed audibly when Stella wore one of her trousseau dresses, and having grown accustomed to her mother's criticism of her simple clothes, Stella was surprised by her sister-in-law's envy. But her offer to go shopping with Jess was met with an affronted refusal, and she passed no comment on the new tweeds and fussy dresses that made then appearance, though she could not help thinking that for someone who professed to despise fashion, Jess was displaying an extravagance out of keeping with her economy in running her brother's household.

  Mrs. Percy wrote regularly each week, and Stella wondered what her mother would say if she knew the position that existed between herself and Matthew.

  "When are you coming to London?" (one letter began). "I’m lonely now that you're away and Adrian's at the Academy, all day. He's settling down well, and I'm trying to make sure he doesn't get mixed up with those awful young men again. There's so much I want to ask you, Stella — can't you come down for a few days? It must be depressing to be stuck in the wilds. The winter's grim in London, but it must be worse where you are, and a change would do you good."

  With this part of the letter Stella heartily agreed. Many times she longed for the theatres, concerts and friends she had once taken for granted. Although its position had much to commend it, Grey Walls was a long way from town, and a visit to Leeds entailed a long, tedious bus journey. Once or twice she had telephoned for a taxi, but Jess had been so scathing in her comments that eventually she had stopped doing it. She had always imagined she would have a car of her own to drive, but to her surprise Matthew only had one, which he himself took to the factory each day.

  "Never could stand being driven," he apologised, "or else I'd have had a chauffeur. But I'll see about getting a run-about for you."

  "That would be ideal," she enthused. "I'd like to get out more."

  "Take a taxi, sweetheart."

  "You can't always get one," she lied. "And any.-way," she added truthfully, "you can never get one to bring you home again if it's after four o'clock. The rush hour here, is worse than London."

  "Then come home earlier. You've got all day to do your bits and pieces!"

  With an effort she controlled herself. "If you go to a matinee or concert, you can't dictate the time they end!"

  "You've a point there," he conceded. "A sports car is the answer."

  "I don't mind what you buy. A second hand car would —"

  "There's no need for mat," he interrupted. "I can afford to buy you the best!"

  He held out his hand and, as she took it, Jess came in, her hard brown eyes raking them.

  "Don't mind me," she said with false heartiness. "It's good to see you acting like lovebirds."

  Matthew chuckled but Stella dropped his hand and moved away from him.

  "Don't tell me I've embarrassed you, Stella?" Jess grinned. "I never thought you'd still be shy with Matt."

  "I'm not shy with Matthew," Stella said coolly, "only with you!"

  No more mention was made of the car, but with every passing day Stella anticipated finding one wafting for her in the drive. Daring their brief engagement Matthew had been generous in the giving of presents, and had lavished gifts not only on herself but on Adrian and her mother too. But the sympathetic man she had known in London was nothing like the preoccupied tycoon he had now become, and though she realised he was still absorbed with final settlement of the strike, she resented his obtuseness in doing nothing to alleviate her loneliness.

  Pride refused to let her remind him of his promise, and as the days passed, anticipation gave way to hurt and then to anger. Why had she married a man about whom she knew, so little? Why hadn't she at least had the sense to visit his home first? Sight of Jess alone would have been sufficient warning of what she was letting herself in for!

  Yet there was a lot about Matthew that she liked, and when she was not smarting under his indifference to her problems, she was conscious of vague stirrings of affection which could — she felt — have blossomed into something deeper if they had been given a chance to be on then: own.

  At the end of March Stella received a letter from Charles telling her he was coming to Leeds on business and would like to see her. The brief note gave her surprising pleasure, and she replied immediately, inviting him to dinner. How wonderful to talk to someone who spoke her language and understood her point of view!

  She mentioned his coming to Jess who shrugged indifferently. "I'll be out most of Friday. You should have given me warning."

  "I didn't know until today. But I can do the dinner myself."

  "Not in my kitchen, you won't. You can't have two women running the same house. I'll prepare something for yon to heat up. Which would you prefer — hotpot or steak .and kidney pie?"

  "Do you think we could have veal escappoles?" Stella said carefully. 'They only need frying and I could —"

  "Veal's too dear," Jess retorted. "I'll do the stea
k and kidney with some extra potatoes and cabbage and sherry trifle to finish with."

  "Couldn't we have something other than cabbage?"

  I’ll try for sprouts. But I don't think your fancy friend will object to a good, wholesome meal."

  She stalked out and Stella furiously paced the room. Her position here was intolerable. She was nothing more than a stranger in a home that was supposed to be her own. Matthew would have to do something. She could not go on this way any longer.

  "I was afraid this would happen," he said when she tackled him about it later that evening, choosing a moment when Jess was in the kitchen. "Two women can never share the same kitchen without quarrelling!”

  "We're not sharing the same kitchen," Stella commented. “I’m not even allowed in it!"

  "That's something most women wouldn't complain of! Why do you want to bother with the domestic side if Jess is willing —"

  "Because this is supposed to be my home and I'd like some say in the way its run. You promised you'd talk to Jess about it, but you haven't said a word."

  "I want to do it in my own way," he said quickly, and was about to continue when Jess's heavy tread was heard in the hall. Clamping his mouth around his pipe, he lapsed into silence.

  Moodily Stella picked up a book and began to read. But it was difficult to concentrate on fiction when reality kept impinging on her thoughts, and after a while she flung the book aside and went to her room.

  She was still at the dressing-table brushing her hair when there was a knock at the door, and knowing it was Matthew she could not stop herself trembling, though her voice as she bade him come in, was cool and self-possessed.

  "You're annoyed with me," he said without hedging. "I just want you to know I haven’t forgotten I said I'd talk to Jess. But she's looked after my home for years and I don't want her to think I'm trying to get rid of her now I don't need her."

  "No one's trying to get rid of her."

  "We know that — but she doesn't. The minute I say anything to her, that's what she'll think."

  "Then you'll never be able to tell her!"

  "I will. I promise you that." His eyes were pleading. "Give me time, Stella."

  His words reminded her of her own pleas to him the day after their marriage, and her scathing reply died before it was uttered. No matter how angry he made her, the memory of her wedding night prevented her making any demands on nun. All she could do was request. Only when she was his wife in the full sense of the word would she have the right to expect him to put her wishes before those of another woman. Yet how could she learn to respond to him when Jess was a continual barrier between them? When his defence of his ill-mannered sister destroyed any warmth she might have felt for him?

  Unaware of her thoughts he strode over and pulled her to her feet, and for the first time she realised she was wearing nothing beneath the fine silk of her negligee. She tried to move away from him but the action inflamed the passion he was trying to hold in check, and he held her more tightly and buried his lips in the soft tangle of hair at the nape of her neck.

  "How much longer?" he whispered. "I want you-so much. — You're beautiful, Stella, so beautiful."

  Lifting his head, he found her lips, his hands caressing the smooth skin on her shoulders and moving down to cup the gently swelling curve of her breasts.

  Unable to stop herself Stella responded to Ms touch, twining her hands around his neck and stroking Ms hair.''

  "Sweetheart," he said eagerly, and pulled her closer still, his heart thudding so heavily that she could fee! it against her own. "I want you, Stella. I want you. Don't let Jess come between us."

  The name acted on her like an electric shock. Gagging nausea threatened to overwhelm her and the desire she had felt for him vanished. What a fool he was to have mentioned his sister's name. What a blind insensitive fool! Hating herself for having been aroused, she hated him the more for having aroused her, and unable to hide her look of revulsion, she turned back to the dressing-table and blindly handed him a tissue.

  "You've got lipstick all over you, Matthew"

  He wiped it off, never taking his eyes from her. "What's the matter, Stella? A minute ago you —"

  "I'm tired," she interrupted. "I want to be left alone."

  The warmth left his face, leaving it bleak and sad. "I understand. I'm sorry."

  He was at the door when she spoke his name again, turning with such eagerness that she was furious with herself for being so stupid. Why couldn't she at least have waited till the morning before making her request But it was too late now. "I just wanted to know if I can borrow the car in the morning," she said hurriedly.

  "Of course." He spoke with an effort. "I'll get Bob to drive you. Do you have much to do?"

  "I want to get some vegetables and some nuts and chocolates. Charles has a sweet tooth."

  "You must be looking forward to seeing him."

  "I am." She spoke without expression. "He's a good friend of mine."

  "I couldn't come and see you so calmly if I'd lost you to another man," Matthew- said bluntly. "I'd want to sock him on the jaw!"

  She could not help laughing. "You needn't worry about Charles. He isn't the fighting type!"

  "I wouldn't worry even if he were."

  Stella knew he was speaking the truth, and looking at his broad shoulders and strong, clenched hands, she could not avoid a momentary feeling of power.

  'Try and get home early tomorrow," she said huskily. "I'd like you here when Charles arrives."

  “I’ll leave sharp at five. Goodnight, lass. And remember… I love you."

  When Stella went downstairs the following morning the car was already in the drive with Bob at the wheel, and her sister-in-law was in the kitchen with her hands deep in flour, her sallow face flushed from the heat of .the oven.

  Tin going out, Jess. Is there anything I can get you?"

  "No, thanks. I've got everything in."

  "I thought your order wouldn't be delivered until some time this morning. That's why I'm going to town — I want to get something special."

  "I thought we'd decided on the food."

  Stella moistened lips that were suddenly dry. "I thought we'd have something more exciting than mashed potatoes and cabbage."

  Jess flung down her wooden spoon. "Then you'd better cook the dinner yourself! I've tried to do my best for you ever since you arrived, but you're too much the lady for me. I've had enough of your complaints. I'll not be your skivvy, any longer!"

  "You're anything but my skivvy! This is as much your home as mine, but I'm your brother's wife and the mistress of his house."

  "Bit of a change for you to be mistress of anything! Looks as if it's gone to your head! Well, I’ll not have you throwing your weight about white Fat here!"

  "Then perhaps it would be better if you left," The words were out before Stella could stop them, but once they were said she grew reckless. "If you feel you're working tike a skivvy, the best thing is for you to find a home of your own."

  "Well see what Matt has to say about that! You'll be laughing the other side of your face when I've told him." Jess untied her apron and threw it on the floor. "Pick it up and get to work. You talk so fine, let's see what you can do for a change!"

  The kitchen door banged behind her and Stella sat down on a chair and buried her head in her hands.

  "Why, Mrs. Matthew, whatever's the matter?"

  She straightened to see Elsie looking at her in concern. "I suppose you've had words with Miss Jess. But don't fret, shell come round."

  "Not in time to prepare the dinner," Stella said ruefully. “I’m not a bad cook myself, but I don't fancy having a visitor to dinner the first time I cook in a strange kitchen." She stood up. "We'd better dine out"

  "So that's why you had a fight?" Elsie grinned. "I bet it was the cabbage and mash! I knew you wouldn't tike it."

  "But I do," Stella said quickly; "Cabbage is very tasty and —"

  "Not when you've got guests," Elsie plough
ed on, ignoring the defence. "My mother was cook at one of the big houses on the other side of the moors, so I know just what you ought to have. And I can do it, too."

  Stella looked at her with dawning hope. "Are you trying to tell me you can cook?"

  "Yes. I'm not as good as Mum, but I know what's what."

  "Why didn't you tell me before?"

  "You never asked me, and anyway Miss Jess has always done the cooking."

  “I’m glad you've told me. If you like cooking and you're good at it, there's no reason why you can't do it if Mr. Armstrong agrees."

  "Will you let me do the dinner tonight as a trial?"

  "By all means. We can have grilled grapefruit to begin with — that's easy — and I know the trifle's been made, so you —"

  "There's no cause to be having grapefruit," Elsie interrupted, "nor trifle. We can eat that up tomorrow." Rummaging in a drawer she took out a pencil and pad. "If I write out what I need, perhaps you could get it for me."

  "I'll get whatever you want," Stella said happily. "Just name it!"

  As if her quarrel with Jess had given a fillip to her otherwise easy acceptance of Matthew's position, Stella spent money as if she really was Mrs. Matthew Armstrong, and for the first time since her marriage bought all the delicacies, she had not seen since she had left London.

  It was nearly one o'clock when she returned home and, entering the kitchen, found Elsie — unfamiliar in a long white apron — humming, cheerfully as she rolled pastry.

  "This is for the mushrooms, ma'am," she greeted Stella like a fellow conspirator. "I thought we'd have mushroom boats as hors d'oeuvres, then asparagus as a vegetable on a separate dish."

  "What a good idea!" Stella untied the packages. "I bought a tin of foie gras for the hors d'oeuvres, but as you've made mushroom boats we'll have it tomorrow instead. Do you know if Mr. Armstrong likes it?"

  "I shouldn't think he's had the chance. Miss Jess would never buy anything as pricey as that!”