"I see." She was so overwhelmed to hear it would not be worse that words failed her and tears of weakness coursed down her cheeks.
He saw them and gave an exclamation. "Rose, don't cry. My dear girl, don't cry."
"I'm sorry." She made an effort to be calm. "I know men hate tears, but I'm so tired I can't seem to control them."
"You need to get some sleep. I'd better go before the nurse chucks me out." He walked to the door. "I'll see you again soon, Rose. But meanwhile don't worry. I'll look after you."
Left alone, Rose fell into an uneasy sleep, and the three weeks that Lance said she might have to stay in bed became magnified in her dreams until they stretched into months and years. She awoke in a cold sweat and turned on the light. Midnight. The hours before the doctor came to see her stretched endlessly ahead and she shifted her head restlessly on the pillow and thought about Lance's future and her own. Would Enid be able to persuade him to give her another chance? She had deceived him it was true, but love could be blind, and Lance was more blind than most. If he were not he would have realised by now that she herself was in love with him. Thank heaven he had not! Her pride was the only thing she could take home with her: her heart she would certainly be leaving behind.
At nine o'clock the next morning the nurse ushered in the doctor, and Rose looked at him with trepidation. He was younger than she had expected with a lined face and dark hair. In his hand he carried a buff colored folder in which she caught a glimpse of some X-ray pictures.
As if sensing her tension he dispensed with greetings and said immediately the words she wanted to hear. "You've nothing to worry about as far as paralysis is concerned, Miss Tiverton. Within a week—two weeks at the most— you'll be able to walk properly."
Rose was so relieved that she wanted to shout for joy.
"I can't tell you how thankful I am to hear you say that. It's wonderful to know I'll be perfectly well again."
A strange expression crossed the doctor's face, and as she saw it her voice faltered.
"I will be perfectly well again, won't I?"
"Not quite." The man's voice was steady, but his eyes were full of compassion. "You see, there has been some damage to the spine, and though rest and treatment will go a long way towards effecting a cure, I'm afraid it will never be a complete one."
"Do you mean I'll always be in pain?"
"Not pain, though you might suffer a little discomfort from time to time." He hesitated and looked at the floor.
"What I really mean is that because of the damage to the nerve centre—damage incidentally which we cannot completely see in an X-ray but can only guess at—you'll always walk with a limp."
"A limp!" Rose looked at him, unable to believe she had heard correctly.
"Don't look so tragic, my dear," the doctor said sternly. "Twenty minutes ago you were convinced you'd have to lie like a log for the rest of your life. At least now you know you'll be able to move around freely and you should thank God your injuries weren't worse."
Rose drew a deep breath. "You're right," she said with an effort. "I was expecting to hear something much worse and when I didn't I thought I—I thought I—" she swallowed and continued, "I'm sorry for being so childish about it."
"You're not being childish at all. If I appeared to speak sharply it was because I didn't want you to be full of self- pity. Think how much worse it would have been if you had lost a leg for example! As it is, although you won't be able to indulge in any sports you'll still be able to lead an active life."
"What about standing? Will I be able to stand for long periods?"
"Not for the first six months, I should say. But it depends how strong your recuperative powers are. The spinal colmun is such a complex mechanism that doctors have often been proved wrong."
Rose closed her eyes. If she could not stand for long periods it would put paid to her work as a florist. With an effort she choked back the sobs that thickened her throat and forced herself to smile at the grave-faced man watching her.
"Is there no way at all that I could be cured?"
"None I could reasonably advise."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, a Swiss professor has been known to effect a cure in similar cases to yours, but the operation he performs is a delicate one with a high percentage of failure."
"Surely it's worth a try?"
The doctor shook his head. "It has a high mortality rate. Too high for me to recommend it to any patient of mine." He patted her hand. "The best thing you can do it to accept the fact that you'll walk with a limp. It won't disfigure your appearance and your legs will look as lovely as ever. Now I'll send Mr. Hammond in to see you. He's been waiting outside for the last half hour."
When Lance stepped into the room Rose knew from the look on his face that he had already spoken to the doctor.
"I don't know what to say," he muttered. "I've never involved anyone in an accident before and I…"
He began to pace the room, his broad shoulders blocking out the light each time he strode past the window. For so tall a man his footsteps were extraordinarily light, and she felt such a rush of physical awareness for him that tears brimmed over her eyes.
Lance stopped abruptly and looked at her, his face drawn with compassion. "Don't cry, my dear," he said. "You've nothing to worry about. I'll arrange things so that you need never worry about working again."
"There's no need for you to do anything of the sort. I might not be able to work as a florist but there are lots of other jobs I can do."
"I don't want you to work at all."
"That's silly," she said quickly. "I can't live in idleness."
"You can go and enjoy yourself. Take a cruise or a trip to America—anything you like. Damn it all, it was because you were trying to help me that you've ended up a cripple!"
The moment he uttered the last word he stopped, aghast at what he had said. Then he leaned forward and caught her hands tightly in his.
"Rose! You must let me help you. It's the only way I can appease my conscience."
She pulled her hands away from his. Many had been the times that she dreamed he was holding her dose and looking at her with the gentleness he was now displaying. Yet this gentleness was due to pity and she wanted no part of it.
"Many people are cripples," she said firmly. "But the doctor's assured me I'll be able to lead an almost normal life. I'll probably have to take things easy for six months or so, and I should imagine your insurance will cover me for that time, but—"
"For heaven's sake don't talk that way! Do you think I'd leave you to my insurance company? You were injured trying to help me, and I'm going to look after you whether you like it or not."
He walked over to the door and had his hand on the knob before he turned round. "I'll be back to see you tomorrow and we'll talk about your future then."
Left alone, Rose indulged in the relief of tears, and as she cried she began to feel better and more able to cope with the situation. Lance's use of the word cripple had appalled her, but she knew it was far better to face up to all that the word implied rather than keep running away from it.
'I'll have to make a habit of standing still,' she thought and shook her head. No matter how rational she tried to be, she realised she had not fully assimilated the fact that when she stood up and moved she would no longer be the same girl she had been before the accident. Gingerly she shifted in the bed. It was now possible to move her limbs slightly, although the effort caused intense pain. She lay back on the pillows and thought of her future, and how best she could live. Nothing seemed to matter any more, and she did not care whether her lameness made her less attractive to men and, because of it, less marriageable. This apathy was not due to indifference but merely to the knowledge that if she could not have Lance she did not want anyone.
It was during the afternoon that Rose received her first visitor apart from Lance. It was Alan and he came in—nay staggered in—with an enormous basket of fruit. He placed it on the
bedside table and bent to kiss her cheek.
"I've, heard the news and if there's anything I can do, you just have to ask me."
Smiling, she shook her head and he made a face and sat down.
"I hate independent women. You should learn to be submissive !"
"Now don't start lecturing me, Alan. I've had enough of that already."
He did not question her remark but, as if aware that she did not wish to talk about her accident, proceeded to regale her with all the gossip that had occurred since her stay in the nursing home. Rose had always known Alan to be an interesting conversationalist, but not until today had she known that he also had a keen and perceptive eye, as well as a dry wit with which to recount all he saw. Listening to him tell her the Riviera tittle-tattle she felt a return to normality, and the tension left her body as she laughed at his jokes and gossip. But eventually there was no more gossip to be recounted and she asked the two questions that had lain in the back of her mind since she had first recovered consciousness.
"How were Lance and I rescued from the sea and what happened to Enid?"
"What do you want to know first?"
She half-smiled. "The rescue, please."
"Fine. I take it you remember what happened before, so I'll just tell you what occurred after the speedboat crashed into the side of the yacht. Lance managed to grab you clear of the debris and keep you afloat until you were both picked up by his crew. You were brought here immediately and Lance came on to the villa. I was sleeping there and he burst into my bedroom looking demented. I managed to calm him down a bit and as soon as it was daylight he sent word that he wanted to see Enid." Alan rubbed the side of his face. "I wasn't with him at the time but I can tell you they had a pretty terrible row and that she packed her bags within the hour and drove away."
"And what about Tino?"
"Ah, that was a sight worth watching! He was staying at the villa too, as you know, and when he came down to breakfast on the terrace, he found Lance waiting for him. He was up the stairs in double quick time and was out of the house again before I'd had my second cup of coffee!"
Rose grinned. "I wish I'd been there to see it. I think that of the two, Tino acted far worse than Enid."
"You're merely defending your own sex."
"Not at all," she protested. "But at least I can understand a woman falling in love with a man although she's engaged to someone else. What I couldn't bear about Tino was the way he fawned over Mrs. Hammond. Why, she was years older than he was."
"It's never worried her," Alan said dryly. "And if it hadn't been Tino it would have been somebody else."
"Has she always been like that?"
"Since Lance's father died. You see, when she woke up to the fact that she was all alone, she realised she wasn't young any more. Lance's father had been much older than her, and because of it she'd been pampered and petted and made to feel like a seventeen-year-old. But when the old man died she realized she was verging on middle-age."
"But still lovely," Rose said. "Some of the most glamorous film star are Mrs. Hammond's age!"
"Maybe so, but she doesn't happen to agree with you. That's why she searches for youth, and comes up with men like Tino." Alan stopped abruptly. "Lord, I'm sorry about this. I make it a habit not to gossip about the people I work for but I feel as if you're part of the menage."
"I almost feel as if I am." Rose smoothed the sheet beneath her hand. "I found out about Enid and Tino the night before her engagement to Lance."
Alan let out his breath in a whistle. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"What good would it have done? You wouldn't have told Lance, would you?"
"I suppose not. But I must say I'd have found myself in a pretty unenviable position."
"That's why I didn't say anything. Anyway, I'm relieved he hasn't let himself be talked round again. I was afraid he'd make it up with her."
"Make it up ?" Alan lifted his eyebrows. "That's not only schoolgirl phraseology but schoolgirl psychology. Lance might behave like a playboy, but he's a man for all that. As far as he's concerned, he and Enid are finished."
Rose made no reply. Alan had a lot to learn if he really believed one could turn love on and off like a tap. Of all the emotions, love was the most illogical and could flourish under the most unlikely conditions. Poets had referred to it in many different ways and often it had been likened to a tender plant that needed nourishing and affection. Well, so far as she was concerned, love was no tender plant but a hearty cactus that would grow and flourish without any care and attention paid to it whatsoever.
She sighed. "You don't really think Lance is going to forget Enid so easily, do you?"
"I wasn't suggesting he would. All I said was that he will never marry her now. The affair is over for Lance and nothing can resurrect it."
"Don't be sure. Love isn't a cut and dried emotion."
"I know what love is. If you let it get a hold on you it can ruin your life."
His voice and expression was harder than she had ever heard it. Gone was the gentle, easy-going person she had grown accustomed to seeing and in his place was a man who suddenly looked his years.
"You sound as if you're talking from experience," she said in surprise.
"I am." He stood up and, walking over to the basket of fruit, lifted out a peach, "Let me peel this for you. It's just ripe enough to eat."
Seeing he wanted to change the subject she took the fruit he offered and though not hungry, forced herself to eat it.
Not until he had left, some half hour later, did she ponder over what he had said and knew an intense curiosity to meet the woman who could make a man as phlegmatic as Alan look so unnerved and unhappy.
In the morning Rose was considerably better though she did not know whether this was due to natural resilience or the fact that she was no longer afraid of being paralysed. All she did know was that she could move her legs and sit up in bed without any undue pain. There and then she decided that as soon as she was well enough for the journey she would convalesce in Devon. As she thought of the wild loveliness of the English garden, so different from the exotic beauty of the gardens here, and felt in retrospect the stimulating sea winds, so different from the warm mistral, she was so overcome by homesickness that she would—if it had been possible—have flown home that very instant.
If only her father were here now so that she could talk to him. But even as the thought entered her mind she knew she would never be able to confide in him. There were some things a daughter had to keep to herself—and being in love with a man like Lance Hammond was one of them!
At mid-morning a bouquet of flowers arrived from Mrs. Hammond with a note written in her own hand wishing Rose a speedy recovery. "Of course I'd be delighted for you to come and stay in my villa," Diana Hammond wrote, "but Lance will tell you much more when he comes to see you."
Rose glanced at the leather-cased clock ticking on her bed-side table. It did not look as if he would put in an appearance this morning, for it was already cocktail time and the terraces of the gleaming hotels would be filled with informally dressed people sipping their aperitifs. Which girl was lucky enough to be with him now? There was no doubt whatever in her mind that Lance was with a girl, for he was not the sort of man to allow anyone to feel sorry for him. She could well imagine the gossip now that his broken engagement had been made public, and in an effort to show the world he did not care she was certain he would become even more flamboyant in his affairs.
The thought sickened her and she had no appetite for the lunch that was brought in to her and merely picked at the food. The nurse coming back to collect the tray looked at it disapprovingly.
"We can't have this, you know. You must start to eat more and put on some weight."
"I'll get a better appetite when I'm out of here," Rose said with a smile of apology.
"Well, that's to be understood." The nurse rested the tray on her hip. "Thin or not, I must say you're looking prettier than I've ever seen you."
The nurse was telling no lie, for in spite of her accident Rose looked exceptionally lovely. It was true she was considerably thinner, but it gave her an ethereal fragility heightened by the fact that her tan had ebbed and her skin had a translucent quality which made her eyes appear a darker, deeper grey. Her hair had lost none of its sheen and was caught back from her face with a pale blue ribbon which matched the chiffon nightdress she was wearing.
"Yes," said the nurse again. "You look very nice indeed. But I don't suppose you want to hear those words from me. I'll go and fetch Mr. Hammond."
Rose sat up sharply. "Is he here?"
"Been here the last twenty minutes, but didn't want to disturb you while you were in the middle of eating."
Rose mentally revised her earlier opinion that Lance had been enjoying a cocktail with his friends, and wondered why he had come so early to the hospital.
She knew the moment he walked in that he had something on his mind, for his greeting was unusually abrupt and he began to pace around the room in what she had come to realise was his usual behaviour when he had something troubling him.
"Do stop it!" she said at last. "You're making me nervous."
He stopped pacing and swung round to look at her.
"I'm sorry. But I happen to be feeling nervous myself."
"Is anything wrong?"
"That depends on you."
"That sounds very mysterious," she said lightly. "I wouldn't think anything I could say would be so important."
"This happens to be," he said abruptly. "Rose—Rose, will you marry me?"
The silence in the room was so deep as to be almost tangible. 'I must be dreaming', she thought and stared at him. Lance certainly did not look the picture of an impatient lover, but rather like a man impatient to receive an answer and get it over with.
She caught her breath. Why should she expect him to look like a lover when he had never felt anything other than liking for her? Liking and now… pity. She hid her hands under the bedclothes so he would not see them trembling. Pity. It was this that had prompted his offer. Pity and guilt because he held himself responsible for her accident.
Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose Page 10
