"Well," he asked. "What have you got so say?"
She shook her head. "No, Lance. Thank you for asking me, but I can't marry you."
"Why not?"
"Because, strange though this may sound to you, I happen to be a romantic and one day I hope a man will ask me to marry him out of—out of love. Not pity."
"I see." He sat on the edge of the bed and looked earnestly into her face. "I'm not in love with you, any more than you're in love with me, so I won't pretend to an emotion we both know is false. But I'm not asking you out of pity. Believe me, it isn't that."
"Then why are you asking me? I've told you before I don't need your help."
"But I need yours," he said huskily.
Disbelief showed on her face and seeing it, he sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead. She looked at him closely and noticed the fine stubble of hair on his chin and a muscle that twitched erratically under his eye. No need to ask if he had had any sleepless nights. It was apparent in every movement he made.
"Go on," she said softly. "Tell me what you mean."
He straightened. "First of all, whether you concede it or not, I do happen to feel guilty over what happened to you. But that's only one reason I'm asking you to be my wife. The other reason is that I need you to protect me."
"Protect you? From what?"
"Your own sex! I'm tired of being chased. I'm tired of the never-ending round of false gaiety and phoney companionship. I thought that with—" he hesitated as if he could not bring himself to mention the name "that with Enid I'd found what I'd been looking for. But I turned out to be a bigger fool than I realised. Well, I've learned my lesson and I don't intend to fall in love again. But I still want to settle down and get out of the rat race, and you're the only woman I'd dare to marry!"
"But you hardly know me."
"I know you're honest and hard-working and kind. You've proved all that. I'm fond of you and—well, you must obviously like me or you wouldn't have tried to help me." He gripped her shoulders. "I'm not asking you because it's the only way I can take care of you financially— there are other ways I could do that without even telling you—I'm asking you to marry me because I need you. I'm tired, Rose. I'm tired of being alone."
Rose did not know what to say. She would never have believed Lance capable of talking this way. She had fallen in love with a gay, philandering playboy with great physical charm. Yes, she was honest enough to admit it was his physical charm and devil-may-care attitude towards women that had first aroused her interest. But not until this moment had she realised Alan was right in saying there was more to Lance than appeared on the surface, and as she realised this her love for him became deeper and more maternal. To think he needed her! She had an overwhelming impulse to throw her arm around his neck, to pull his fair head down to her breast and tell him she loved him.
But she did none of these things, for she knew he was still too emotionally numb to consider another woman in such a way. If she married him all she could hope for was that propinquity would one day cause him to turn to her.
She held out her hand to him. "I'm glad you explained why you want me to marry you. And I can understand your reasons. I'm not—I'm not in love with anyone so I—I'll change my mind and say yes."
For the first time since he had come in he smiled. "It's a woman's prerogative. And I can promise you'll never regret it." He picked up her hand. "I'll be back to see you tomorrow. We'll have a lot to discuss and the wedding itself to arrange."
"Will you want it to be soon?"
"We've no reason to wait, have we?"
"No. But I'd like my father to be there."
"That can easily be arranged. Write and find out when he can come and as soon as you tell me, I'll arrange the wedding. Meanwhile I'll put up the banns." He pressed her fingers to his lips. 'Thank you for saying yes, and don't hesitate to tell me if there's anything you want."
She nodded but did not speak and through a blur of tears watched him go. How ironical that he should ask if there was anything she wanted when the only thing she wanted was to be a wife — a real wife — to him. Was she doing the right thing in agreeing to marry him? Would her life be happier with him, even though she knew he did not love her, than it would be if she said goodbye and tried to put him out of her mind?
It was a question to which she did not have the answer. Time alone would tell.
CHAPTER NINE
IT was a difficult letter Rose had to write to her father, but as she read it through she felt the bad news of her accident and lameness was compensated for by the announcement of of her engagement to Lance Hammond.
Not that great wealth would make any difference to her father's appreciation of a man, for he would never consider a fat bank balance of prime importance to happiness. But there was no doubt he would be pleased in the belief that she had at last fallen in love, and the reply she received from him was characteristic; a brief telegram saying: "COMMISERATION ACCIDENT STOP. CONGRATULATIONS ENGAGEMENT. STOP. ARRIVING IMMEDIATELY LOVE DAD."
Desmond Tiverton was as good as his word for two days later the nurse ushered him into her room.
"It was wrong of you not to let me know immediately the accident happened instead of waiting all this time," he said as he bent and kissed her.
"I didn't want to worry you." She patted the side of her bed. "Come and sit next to me. It seems ages since I saw you."
"It is ages," he said, doing as she asked. "And a great deal seems to have happened to you in the sunshine. What's he like?"
"Lance, you mean?"
"Who else?"
She hesitated. She had been aware that her father would want to know as much about Lance as possible, but he had arrived more quickly than she had anticipated and she was mentally unprepared.
"Why the hesitation?" Desmond Tiverton asked. "I've never known you short of words before."
"I've never been in love before." She forced herself to give a light laugh. "It's an awfully difficult question to answer, Dad. I'd rather you waited and saw Lance for yourself."
"I must say I'm very curious. I've read a great deal about him. Wasn't he engaged to some other girl not so long ago?"
It was a question Rose had dreaded but there was no way of avoiding it.
"It was a very short engagement," she said quickly. "When he met me he—"
"Hey, hey! I'm not criticizing your young man, I merely made a casual remark."
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm too sensitive where Lance is concerned. But I love him so much that I can't understand other people not feeling the same!"
Desmond Tiverton suddenly looked extremely relieved. "I'm glad you're so vehement, poppet. I wouldn't like to think you were marrying him because he's a millionaire."
Rose looked at him in astonishment. "But how could you think a thing like that? Money's never been important to me."
"I know. But atmosphere does strange things to people, and living in a luxury hotel the way you were—"
"Until my accident the people I mixed with were the people I worked with," she said dryly.
Too late she realized the implication of what she had said. "I — I knew the man who works for him as his secretary. Alan Dawson."
"I see." Her father shrugged. "It all seems to have happened rather quickly — but I suppose love is different these days. Maybe the atomic age has speeded things up! Still the main tiling is that you're in love. And if you are, you'll be able to overcome everything."
It was not until later, when she was alone that she pondered over her father's last remark: 'As long as you're in love, you'll be able to overcome everything.' Heaven knew she certainly had a lot to overcome! She and Lance hailed from different worlds; they had a different standard of behavior and a different understanding of what gave purpose to life. Yet none of these differences would be insurmountable barriers were they in love. But without love what would happen? Tied together in marriage would the difference between them begin to jar, to tear at the fabric of a relationship whi
ch was already fragile? Or would marriage and the propinquity it brought with it, cement their friendship and turn Lance's liking into love? Without wishing to be conceited she knew he found her an amusing and stimulating companion. From that sort of a basis love had often sprung, and she would not be optimistic in hoping it might occur again.
It was in Rose's bedroom In the nursing home that Desmond Tiverton met his future son-in-law for the first time, and watching them together, she knew with a sense of relief that they liked one another. She could not help being surprised, for although she had felt that her father and Alan would have a great deal in common, she had not been so sure about Lance. But listening to the two men talking about the world political situation and from there on to discuss art and music, she knew she would have nothing to worry about as far as their relationship was concerned. It was only when both men got up to go that she realized Lance intended her father to stay as a guest at his mother's villa.
"I wouldn't dream of bothering you," Desmond Tiverton said, "I've booked in at a small pension and—"
"I wouldn't hear of it, sir," Lance said firmly. "It's quite out of the question for you to stay anywhere else but at Didi's villa."
"Didi?" Desmond said questioningly.
Lane smiled. "My mother. But she doesn't like me calling her that — she thinks it's old-fashioned!"
Desmond Tiverton said nothing but watching his face, Rose was hard put not to smile. What on earth would her father make of the flighty, volatile Mrs. Hammond?"
"Well, that's settled then," Lance said. "I'll drive you back to your pension and you can collect your bags."
The two men went to walk out, and only at the door did Lance seem to realize he wasn't behaving in a loverlike fashion. Turning, he came back to the bed and bent to kiss her on the cheek.
"Sleep well, Rose," he said lightly. "Only one more night here."
"What do you mean?"
He grinned. "I didn't really mean to tell you because I knew you'd get excited, but the doctor says you can come home tomorrow. So you'll be staying at the villa with your father."
"What a wonderful surprise! I'd never have forgiven you if you hadn't told me tonight. Do come over early, Lance."
"First thing in the morning—" he said gruffly. "Scout's honor!"
True to his word, Lance collected her soon after ten and driving beside him in the car she found it strange to realize that when she met other people they would now look on her as the future Mrs. Hammond. She looked at him and aware of her scrutiny, he slowed down the car and smiled at her.
"You've nothing to worry about, Rose. You'll be perfectly all right."
"Will I?" she asked, thinking of his friends and position and the gay, glamorous life that was a closed book on her.
"Of course you will. The doctor said that in a few more weeks your limp will be hardly noticeable."
"Oh — my limp." She realized he had misunderstood her question, and decided it was for the best. Strange to think she had barely given her limp a thought, so intent had she been on her feelings for Lance.
Tentatively she moved her legs. Sitting down, no one would guess there was anything physically wrong with her. It was only when she waited that her limp became noticeable, as if she were wearing one heel shorter than the other.
"But my leg hasn't been injured," she had said to the doctor in surprise after she had taken her first few steps across the floor.
"Not as far as you can see," he explained. "The injury comes from the hip. It is complicated to explain but I can tell you if you're interested."
"I'd rather not know," Rose said quickly. "It isn't going to help me walk without a limp, is it?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, mademoiselle. But, believe me, it is not too unsightly."
Rose remembered his words now, and wondered if he had been speaking the truth. From a medical point of view her limp might not be unsightly but how would she appear to a normal person? Once more she looked at Lance but he was driving fast and giving all his attention to the road. She sighed. What did the future hold for them? Would his guilt towards her always remain so high or would he one day wish he had never married her ? Yet he had said he wasn't asking her to marry him out of guilt, but as a protection from other women! Other women! In Lance's life there would always be other women, and she would only be a protection from his becoming too deeply involved. Yet what would happen if he fell sincerely in love? 'If the woman doesn't turn out to be me,' she said to herself, 'then I'll have to give him his freedom!'
Rose settled down easily to living in the Hammonds' luxurious villa. Luxury was easy to become accustomed to, and she would lie in bed late in the morning, breakfast leisurely on the terrace of her room overlooking the gardens and the sea, and then, wearing brief shorts or a sun-dress, stroll down to sit on a chaise-longue by the swimming pool until lunch. This was an informal al fresco meal, either on the terrace that ran the length of the villa or else by the side of the pool itself. Lance was staying aboard his yacht and rarely put in an appearance until late afternoon.
"If I stay here you'll feel duty bound to entertain me," he said by way of explanation. "Like this you'll be able to convalesce in your own time."
Rose was not sure whether this was the real reason for Lance's absence, or whether he stayed away because he found it embarrassing to go swimming or surf-riding and leave her to sit in a chair and watch him. But she decided it would be wiser not to probe too deeply, and spent her time either in reading or talking to her father.
Luckily he had settled down very well, and she often remembered with amusement the look on his face when he had first seen her future mother-in-law.
Although he had spent a night at the villa before Rose had arrived, it was not until mid-morning the next day, when she and Lance were already ensconced on the terrace, that Mrs. Hammond had put in an appearance.
She was wearing one of her usual skin-tight dresses, her arms and shoulders protected from the sun by a chiffon stole, on her red-gold hair one of the currently fashionable straw hats with an enormous brim.
"So you are Rose's father," Mrs. Hammond had smiled at him girlishly, blinking her thick, mascaraed eyelashes. "You're much younger than I thought."
"I can return the compliment," Desmond Tiverton had said smoothly. "I would never have known you could be the mother of such a son."
"It is ridiculous, isn't it? People are always mistaking me for his sister!"
"I'm sure they are," Desmond said and studiously avoided meeting his daughter's eyes.
Convinced she had another easy conquest on her hands, Didi set out to be her most charming, and for the rest of the day gushed over him inexorably. Immediately lunch was over she invited him to stroll with her in the gardens, and they did not return until tea-time, when Desmond sank into a chair and mopped his brow.
"Don't tell me I'm making you tired," she cooed. "We hardly walked any distance."
"It wasn't the walking," he said dryly. "It was the talking!"
Didi burst into laughter, but Lance looked at Rose and frowned.
"I don't want Mother making a nuisance of herself," he said quietly. "I'd like your father to be perfectly happy here."
"Of course he'll be happy." She touched his arm. "And he likes your mother. I can tell."
"I hope you're right," Lance said soberly. "She's a bit of a handful if you're not used to her and I shouldn't think your father's come up against a woman like Didi before!"
"It'll do him good," Rose Said firmly. "He's got into a rut since mother died."
Lance stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Come for a stroll before dinner. The doctor told me it isn't good for you to sit about too much."
Realizing there was something on his mind she followed him obediently and he pulled her arm through his as they walked over the lawn. She was painfully aware of her uneven gait and felt herself grow hot with embarrassment, but Lance seemed unperturbed by it and slowed his pace to suit hers, so that gradually she began to feel more
at ease.
"Tell me about your mother," he said abruptly. "You've never talked about her."
"There isn't much to talk about — not unless you knew her."
"Are you like her to look at?"
"I'm a mixture, I think. Dad says I've got my mother's good points and his bad ones!"
"I don't think you've got any bad ones."
"You don't know me very well then. I've a temper when I'm aroused and I can be pretty obstinate."
"So can I — be obstinate, I mean. As a child I was frequently cutting off my nose and spiting my face!"
He stopped, for they had reached the rose arbor, and drew her on to a bench.
"It's strange that I'm confiding in you so easily, Rose. When we first met I was pretty sure you disliked me heartily."
"It wasn't that at all," she protested, and then fell silent. How could she tell him it was because she had liked him too much? To say so would make him instantly aware of her love for him, and so destroy the bonds of friendship and companionship that were beginning to grow between them.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly.
She smiled. "Private thoughts. You mustn't know everything about me or you'll find me dull."
"That's the last word I'd apply to you. Until I met you I never realized one could talk to a woman as if she were a man!"
Rose burst out laughing. "What a thing to say!"
"I mean it as a compliment."
"I'm sure you do."
But later, as she was changing for dinner, Rose was not so sure. For Lance to regard her as a man might augur well for companionship, but it did not augur well for love. Love. With unexpected temper she flung her belt on to the floor. Why couldn't she stop thinking of love and Lance and accept her marriage to him for what it was?
The dinner gong sounded from the hall and she made her way down the marble stairs and out to the terrace. Her father was already there and she sat beside him, drawing comfort from his presence and remembering the many times when, as a child, she had gone to him for advice.
Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose Page 11
