Nicholas handed her the wisp of lace lying on the bedside table.
"Here."
"Thank you," she hiccupped, and dried her eyes.
The room was in darkness except for the bedside lamp, which cast a golden glow over the bed. Her hair, loosened from its confining braid, fell in rippling waves to her waist, and her nightdress revealed her bare white shoulders. Nicholas felt his pulses stir, and obeying an impulse stronger than himself he sat down on the edge of the bed, filled with sudden compassion for her.
"I'm sorry if I've hurt you, Jane. But these past few months haven't been easy."
"They haven't been easy for me either," she whispered. "We're both to blame for thinking such a marriage could work."
In the dim light her eyes were like two deep pools and Nicholas was conscious of a constriction in his throat. Perhaps he had been wrong in thinking she had known of his father's plans? Perhaps it had come as much of a shock to her as it had to him? Obeying an impulse he could not deny, he pulled her close.
As she felt his hands burning through her thin nightdress Jane gave a gasp, and unable to stop herself, twined her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. She could feel his heart hammering against her breasts and not caring that she was letting him see how much he meant to her, she stroked his hair and the back of his neck, her lips parting beneath the pressure of his own, her whole body aching with desire for him.
Nicholas would not have been human if he had resisted the loveliness so eagerly offered, and his hands caressed her smooth shoulders! With a stifled groan he pulled her down against the pillows, oblivious of everything except this moment and all it held for him.
Jane opened her eyes and lay still, drugged with happiness. In the passionate hours of last night she had come into the kingdom which was the right of every woman, and yet which so few ever truly inhabited.
"He does love me," she thought exultantly. "He does!" A smile curved her lips as memory touched her heart: he had been a perfect lover: gentle and kind, yet masterful. She gave a deep sigh of contentment and looked at the clock on the bedside table. Its gilded hands pointed to nine-thirty and she knew Nicholas must already be at the office.
With a slight sigh she got out of bed and pattered over to the bathroom. She lay for a long time in the warm scented water thinking about the previous night, then slowly dried herself on the large, peach-coloured towel. She dressed leisurely, and it was a few minutes after eleven o'clock when she went down to the dining-room and rang for breakfast.
Within a few minutes a maid came in wheeling a trolley, but Jane only noticed the square grey envelope leaning against the coffee pot. Her name was written heavily across it, and recognising it as Nicholas's writing, she picked it up quickly, waiting until she was alone before tearing open the envelope with shaking hands and taking out the single sheet of thick paper. Hurriedly she began to read, the colour fading from her face as she did so.
When Nicholas had opened his eyes that morning he had been puzzled for a moment at the unfamiliarity of the room. Hearing a slight sound, he had turned and seen Jane lying by his side, her face rosy with sleep, her dark hair gleaming blue-black against the pillow and rippling across her white shoulders.
Slowly he sat up, checking a groan as the events of the previous night flashed through his mind. Remembering her sweet surrender, he was filled with terrible compunction. Feeling as he did about Carole, how could he have been mad enough to take what Jane had offered? She would mink he no longer loved Carole, would even expect that from now on their marriage would become a real one. It was only then - as this thought came to him - that a hard gleam came into his eyes.
"You fool!" he said to himself. "You damned fool!" Shaking with anger, he let himself quietly out of the room, and not until he was in the safety of his own bedroom did he allow the full force of his bitterness to escape, pacing the floor like a caged lion, each heavy step seeming to sound the death knell to his future as he acknowledged the fact that he had' lost all chance of having his marriage annulled.
Now he would have to wait three years for his freedom. Again he cursed himself for not having seen the real reason for Jane's surrender. Not that she could win him this way. If she believed she could keep him chained to her, she had better think again!
He washed and dressed quickly and hurried down to the library. Seated at his desk, he began to write, the words leaping across the page in angry bursts as he set out his bitter thoughts.
Reading the letter later that morning, some part of Jane died for ever. How childish she had been to think that her virginal surrender had meant anything to Nicholas! She moved her hand and the letter fluttered on to the floor, but she made no effort to retrieve it, for each word was imprinted indelibly on her brain.
I want to thank you, he had begun abruptly, without any prefix, for the exciting end to what had already been a pleasant evening. Your surrender was charming, and even had me fooled until this morning, when reason returned. In the cold light of day, I find it in my heart to pity you for believing that you could hold me in such a fashion, diverting and passionate as it no doubt was. You will learn, however, if you have not already learned, that passion founded on love is a thing of beauty, but founded on lust it is just what it appears to be - ugly and fleeting. I must congratulate you on having so nearly taken me in. Nicholas.
"Nicholas!" Jane spoke his name aloud, then burying her head in her hands cried as though her heart was breaking.
"Jane! Jane! My poor child, whatever is the matter?"
Jane raised a tear-stained face to see Agatha Carew coming across the room, and with a cry of pain she ran towards her.
"My poor child, what is it? Something to do with my stupid Nicholas, no doubt."
Haltingly, with painful and embarrassing gaps of silence, Jane disclosed what had happened last night.
"So you see it's hopeless," she ended. "It's all quite hopeless. The only thing for me to do is to go and live with my parents until we can be divorced."
Agatha Carew stood up abruptly and retrieved Nicholas's letter. She read it, then tore it into shreds, looking at Jane intently and shaking her head.
"Will you do something for me, Jane?" she asked. "Will you let me take you in hand ? "
"In hand for what?"
Agatha Carew's voice was patient. "Just get up and look at yourself in the mirror." There was a pause. "Now, how do you think-you compare with Carole, or any other smart young girl?"
Jane shook her head miserably. "I don't. I'm too ordinary."
"Don't be a fool, child, you're by far the most beautiful girl I've seen for years! Your bone modelling - your colouring. Heavens above, you could knock any so-called glamour girl into a cocked hat! All you need is grooming."
Despite herself, Jane smiled. "I'm not a horse!"
"That's all to the good! Will you put yourself completely in my hands?"
"What good will it do? I've lost Nicholas and -"
"You haven't got him at the moment! But you'll stand a chance if you follow my advice."
"If I only had once chance in a million, I'd try anything!"
"Then it's settled. The first thing to see about is clothes. We'll go to Paris for them."
"They'll cost a fortune there!" Jane gasped.
"Whatever you married my nephew for, it certainly wasn't his money! Nicholas can afford to have his wife on the best-dressed list and I'm going to see you do justice to the fact!"
"What will he say when he gets the bills?"
"If and when he marries Carole, he'll have to foot much bigger bills than yours!" Agatha Carew gave her usual snort. "And while we're in Paris you must see Francois and get him to do your hair. We'll transform you, Jane. I'm going to get a lot of fun out of this. I never had a daughter, and now here you are, made for me!"
Jane put her cheek against the lined one. "I love you, Aunt Agatha - I really do."
"Stuff and nonsense!" The woman looked round the room. "Why haven't you had this place redecor
ated? It's about as homely as a museum!"
"I didn't feel I had the right to spend any money."
"You've more right than Carole will have." Mrs. Carew marched across to the telephone and dialled a number.
Mr. Selbright, please——-Is that you, Percy? Agatha
Carew here——-Very well, thank you, and with a lovely big job for you to do——-No, dear boy, it must be done at once. At once. It's Mrs. Hamilton's house. That's right, the newspaper tycoon." She flung Jane a smiling look and continued speaking. "We're going to Paris for several weeks, but the house must be ready for our return——-Yes, completely redone. Sell what you like and buy what you like -
but send my niece samples and photographs first——-Good.
I knew you'd do it."
If Jane had not been so overwrought she would have been amused at the high-handed way in which Agarna Carew got what she wanted, even managing to bully two air tickets to Paris for the following morning.
"The only thing left is for you to tell that nephew of mine where we're going and ask him to stay at his club while the house is being done."
At this point Jane's amusement vanished.
"I couldn't see Nicholas. Not now."
"Then write to him." She patted Jane's arm. "Tell him you're staying at my hotel tonight as we'll be leaving very early in the morning."
In a daze Jane complied with Aunt Agatha's demands, penning a brief note to Nicholas in which she made no mention of me letter she had received from him that morning. Then she rang for the housekeeper, told she was going abroad for some weeks and arranged for all the staff to go to Mrs. Carews house in Cornwall until such time as they.
could return and prepare Orme Square for her own arrival.
The housekeeper's face was a study in astonishment. "Will that be all ?" she asked.
"I think so. Just see that the chauffeur delivers this letter to my husband and then have an overnight bag packed for me. You can send all my other clothes to the Duchess of Banster's Relief Fund."
"All of them?"
'Yes."
When the surprised woman had left the room Jane passed a shaking hand over her forehead. "Well, Aunt Agatha, how am I doing?"
"I couldn't have done better myself! You've got the right spirit, child."
Jane gave a wan smile. She would need more spirit to see her through the coming weeks.
CHAPTER VIII
Jane and Aunt Agatha were in Paris for a month, indulging in an orgy of shopping which left them breathless. They went to all the model houses where Jane was measured and fitted until she, was so tired she could hardly stand on her feet, but on the fifth day of their stay Mrs. Carew took her to a luxurious salon where they were greeted by Francois, "The greatest hairdresser in the world," as he modestly introduced himself.
He was a small, plump man, dean-shaven and completely bald, and he welcomed Aunt Agatha like a long-lost friend. After ten minutes of rapid French he turned to Jane with a swift smile that lit up his face and made him look like a fat cherub.
"So you are my dear friend's niece, eh? And now I am to make you look beautiful?"
"Only if you're great enough to perform miracles!" Jane said.
The little Frenchman chuckled. "A brain beneath the lovely hair, eh? Now, if Madame will sit over here, I will evolve a style for her. My style may not be new, but -" he raised his hands in ecstasy, "it will be the best way for Madame to wear her hair. And then my beautician will show you how to apply your make-up. No Englishwoman knows how to make proper use of the cosmetiques!"
Aunt Agatha departed, leaving Jane in Francois' capable hands, and it was some four hours later before she finally returned to her hotel.
The suite was empty and she ordered tea and relaxed, glad of the opportunity of being alone. She was sipping her second cup when the telephone rang and Aunt Agatha's voice came booming down the line. "Have you been back long, child?"
"Not very. Where are you?"
"At the Comtesse de Gascon. She's invited us to have dinner with her. Get changed and come over." "I've nothing to wear!"
"Yes, you have. Some of your clothes arrived this afternoon. I had them put away in your wardrobe. Now hurry up and get over here."
Jane put down the receiver, her mood suddenly one of elation as she ran into the bedroom and flung open the heavy doors of the cupboards lining one wall. A kaleidoscope of colour met her eye and she gave a cry of sheer pleasure.
Surveying herself later in the cheval mirror, she could hardly believe that the girl she saw reflected was herself. With a little laugh of delight she picked up her fur wrap -a small token that would cost Nicholas what she would have earned in one year as a secretary - and went down in the lift to get a taxi.
The Comtesse de Gascon lived in a large house some twenty minutes from the hotel, and as she mounted the steps she felt a pang of nervousness, wondering how her new appearance would be received.
There were a dozen or more people in the long, low-ceilinged drawing-room, and as she entered the hum of conversation ceased. John Masters, talking to Aunt Agatha, looked up in the middle of a sentence, surprised by the momentary hush, and saw a beautiful woman framed in the doorway. Jane ? Was this vision Jane ?
A dress of apricot crepe clung to her figure like a second skin, billowing out from her slim hips tin a cloud of matching coloured chiffon to fall to her small silver sandals. Her hair, which he had always remembered being wound sedately round her head, now fell in gleaming black waves to below her shoulders, while her eyes, veiled by lashes skilfully darkened with mascara, glowed like sun-drenched pools. Yet despite her elegance and beauty she stood hesitantly by the door, reminding him of their first meeting, and making it difficult for him to credit that this dream of perfection was the shy, frightened girl he knew.
"Well," Mrs. Carew said softly, "what do you think of her?"
He drew in a breath. "I'm speechless. She's - she's beautiful."
"And if she were awakened, she'd be even lovelier. At the moment she's a sleeping beauty, and I'm hoping Nicholas will be the Prince who wakens her!"
John acknowledged the hint. "I'll give him time," he promised, "but not too long."
Agatha Carew pulled a face. "Unfortunately my besotted nephew also seems to be a sleeping beauty, so all I can say is may the bestman win!"
John was hardly conscious of the last words, aware only of Jane who was being introduced to the other guests. In a fever of impatience he waited until, after what seemed an eternity, she finally came to stand beside him.
"How wonderful to see you, John. It's been so long."
"That wasn't my fault." He caught her hands in his and said softly: "Don't send me away again."
She hesitated, swift colour coming and going in her cheeks, and realising her anxiety to change the subject, he did so. "I've been telling Mrs. Carew about Paris. I used to live here and I know it as well - if not better - than London. I hope you'll let me show you around ? "
"Not me, dear boy," Aunt Agatha said, entering the conversation as though instinct had told her of its change of course. "I'm too old to gad around these days. But I'm sure Jane would be delighted."
"I wouldn't dream of leaving you atone," Jane protested.
"You'd be doing me a favour. I can stop in bed and relax!"
And so it was John who gave Jane her first glimpse of the most magic of all cities, inspiring her not only with its grandeur but also its simplicity. Yet it was the historical and artistic background which gave her the greatest pleasure, and she stood with John and stared at the Mona Lisa, trying to solve the enigma of her smile; she roamed through the vast, echoing rooms of the palace at Versailles and she felt a tug at her heart as she looked at Marie Antoinette's hairbrushes and mirror, trying to imagine the thoughts of that beautiful but unhappy young woman; she strolled through the little gardens of the Petit Trianon and stopped to look at the Temple of Love, with its graceful, white marble pillars, and lunched and dined in the many bistros that abounded around t
here, where the decor was simple but the food delicious.
Several times they ate at world-famous restaurants: Maxim's, the Tour d'Argent and the Bristol Grill, where Jane's appearance caused every man to watch her with admiration and every woman to do so with envy. But she delighted in the stares she caused, enjoying her new clothes and wearing them all.
At times John found her young and appealing, with her hair flying in the wind as they drove along the boulevards; and then all at once she was the sophisticate: her hair braided in a coronet on top of her head or piled in elegant Edwardian curls that fell to her shoulders. But no matter her mood, he loved her in all of them, and his obvious admiration served as a balm to her wounded pride, helping her to blossom as never before.
But it was not until their last evening in Paris, when she was saying good-night to him in the corridor outside her room, that she became aware of the torment he had taken such pains to hide, for as she was fumbling for her key he caught her arm and pulled her round to face him.
"I can't go like this any longer, Jane. I must know if there's any hope for me."
She moistened her lips which were suddenly dry. "It would be wrong for me to promise. I love Nicholas. You know that."
"But if you can't get him - what then? Will there be hope for me?"
"I'll always love Nicholas," she reiterated. "But if I don't succeed… if my marriage fails——-"
"Come to me," he pleaded. "No matter how long I have to wait, I'll always want you."
She could not answer, and as if the sight of her was more than he could bear, he swung round and strode away.
In bed that night Jane felt as desperate and lonely as when she had left London. John's words had brought back the memory of those brief, intimate hours with Nicholas, and she ached with the need to be in his arms and would willingly have given ten years of her life to have him love her as much as she loved him.
The long, lonely night dragged on inexorably, and the chiming of the clock tolled a requiem for the dying hours. Feverishly she tried to blot out her thoughts, but it was nearly dawn before she at last managed to sleep.
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