Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose

by Rachel Lindsay

  "Don't look like that," he said quietly. "Dancing's a very unimportant part of one's life."

  "It isn't just the dancing. There are so many other things I can't do." She saw his face change color and regretted her words. "Don't look like that. I didn't mean anything. It's just that—"

  "I know what you mean, Rose. You've no need to apologize to me of all people."

  He had no chance to say more for he had to do his duty as a host and, while he was dancing, she wandered into the garden.

  "Hey, wait for me!" a voice called and she looked round to see Alan. Since leaving the nursing home she had not been alone with him, and on the occasions they had met their conversation had perforce been casual.

  "Should you be walking this far?" he said as he reached her side.

  "Don't you start that."

  He grimaced at the reproof in her voice and guided her by the elbow over to a seat.

  "Well, you mightn't be tired, but I am. I've really had to work the last few weeks."

  "Why?"

  "Sending back the presents that arrived for Lance's first engagement and then making all the preparations for your own wedding."

  "Poor Alan," she said lightly. "At least this time you know it'll be permanent."

  He did not appear to hear her and, standing up, he paced the grass. She watched him, realizing there was something on his mind, and hardly had she thought this when he came over and gripped her shoulders.

  "Don't marry without love Rose! And don't marry in the hope that you can make love grow — because you can't!"

  "That's a matter of opinion."

  "I speak from experience." She looked at him and he shook his head. "No I haven't been married but I have been in love. The girl had no idea how I felt and regarded me as if I were her brother."

  "Why didn't you tell her how you felt?"

  "What would have been the point? It wouldn't have caused her to fall in love with me."

  "Maybe not" Rose said "but at least you'd have had the satisfaction of knowing you'd tried."

  "I'd rather have the satisfaction of knowing she doesn't pity me. Please Rose, don't go ahead with it. You'll ruin your life."

  "Why do you say that? You've always thought so highly of Lance."

  "I still do. But he's not the man for you. He'll break your heart."

  She stood up in silence and started to walk back to the villa and he fell into step beside her.

  "If I'd told you not to run away from the girl you love," she said, "but to stay and face up to it, would you have taken any notice?"

  "No."

  "Well then," she smiled, "you can't expect me to take any notice of you! You ran away and you're still unhappy. I've decided to remain. Let's wait and see which turns out to be more successful: your action or mine."

  The days until Rose's wedding flew past. Her father made no further mention of returning home but she knew that once she became Lance's wife, he would pack his bags and depart. She could not help a pang of sorrow, for she knew he would not willingly return to the villa again. There appeared to be an armed truce between him and Didi, and for most of the time the woman was occupied with a constant stream of men dancing attendance on her. None of them was as suave as Tino Barri but they were still of that genre, and Rose wondered whether Didi were trying to infuriate her father into action. If she were, she was going about it in the wrong way, for Rose knew her father was not a man who responded well to rivalry.

  If Lance was aware of the undercurrent between the two older people he gave no sign of it. Indeed Rose hardly saw him, for he flew to London to attend a board meeting and did not return until the eve of their wedding. He had been adamant in his refusal to turn their marriage into what he termed a three-ring circus, but even so a quiet affair by Hammond standards was anything but quiet in Rose's eyes.

  Though they did their best to keep the date and time a secret there was a horde of photographers and reporters outside the register office in the French village which Lance had chosen for the wedding, and only when they finally escaped from the crowds and were travelling back in the car to the villa did she glance at the man by her side and realize he was her husband. Her husband! She said the words over to herself, unable to believe them, and suddenly she was engulfed by a wave of panic. She must have been crazy to marry a man who did not love her. She had thought her own love would be strong enough for them both but now — now she would have given anything she possessed to turn back the clock. She felt a touch on her arm, and turning her head saw Lance looking at her with concern.

  "What's the matter, darling? Do you feel ill?"

  It was the first time he had called her 'darling' and her heart turned over. The panic died and she was so sure that everything would turn out all right that the color flooded back into her cheeks.

  "It's just the excitement of leaving my spinsterhood behind," she said.

  "What about me? I'm not a gay bachelor any more. All I can be now is a misunderstood husband." He grinned. "Don't forget that from now on you're my protection from other women!"

  She froze into silence, his words bringing her back to the reality of the situation. No matter for what reason she had married Lance, his reasons remained unswervingly the same: protection.

  "Don't look so forlorn," he said unexpectedly. "I was only trying to be funny." He picked up her hand and kissed it. "You're very sweet, Rose, far too sweet for me."

  The chauffeur turned a bend without slackening speed and she was flung against Lance's side. His arms came round to steady her and she waited, praying with all her heart that he would draw her close. But he put her gently back in her seat and then reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

  Tears of disappointment welled in her eyes but she blinked them away and buried her head in the bouquet on her lap.

  There was only a small luncheon party at the villa. Mrs. Rogers had flown over from London and was highly delighted in the belief that Lance's marriage was the direct outcome of her own actions.

  "If it hadn't been for my darling little poodle you wouldn't have found such a lovely bride," she said as she toasted them.

  Lance affectionately agreed, and watching him talk to Mrs. Rogers Rose remembered all that Alan had told her about Lance's childhood. There was no doubt he was extremely fond of the woman and regarded her with as much—if not more—affection than his own mother. She was not the only one to be aware of this, for turning unexpectedly she saw such a look of sadness on Didi's face that she walked over to the settee and sat down beside her.

  During the wedding breakfast everyone was in high spirits and Rose, bubbling with champagne, gave what she considered to be a passable impersonation of a happy bride. The wine had numbed her fears and the future, although hazy, did not appear to be too gloomy. It was nearly three o'clock before she and Lance were able to leave and everyone came out on the drive to wave them goodbye.

  Didi waved harder than them all, standing on the top of the steps until the Cadillac turned through the wrought- iron gates and disappeared. Only then did she move into the house and push her way past the others, intent on going to her room before anyone noticed her tears. She had one foot on the stairs when someone took a firm hold of her arm and she knew, even without turning, that it was Desmond. She tried to pull free but he wouldn't let her go and she found herself being led into the breakfast room.

  "At least let me go and repair my make-up," she expostulated. "I look a sight."

  "I've seen you look better," he admitted and taking out his handkerchief dipped it into a vase filled with flowers that stood on the table. The handkerchief came out sodden and he wrung it out and advanced towards her.

  "Don't touch me!" she said.

  "Don't be silly. Your mascara's run and you look like a coffee-colored coon!"

  She muttered angrily but stood quiescent as he rubbed her face.

  Not until a few moments had gone by did she realize that not only had he removed her mascara but the rest of her make-up as well and she pu
shed him away and made for the door.

  "Really, Desmond! I haven't got a shred of make-up on and I look a sight."

  "You look a sight better than you've ever looked," he answered. "For heaven's sake stop disguising yourself and let the sun get to your skin."

  "It makes wrinkles," she retorted.

  "A woman of your age should have wrinkles. Unless She wants to look like a statue. And no man could love a statue. No real man, that is."

  She looked at him quickly. "Apart from being personal about me, you aren't by any chance being personal about yourself?"

  "If you mean whether or not I could love a statue, then the answer is no."

  He sat on the edge of a chair and stared at her. There was no happiness in his face and the lines that ran down either side of his mouth seemed deeper now than when he had arrived at the villa a month ago.

  "You needn't try and flirt with me any more," he said gently. "You've already done what you set out to do. You might as well know — if it's any satisfaction to you — that I love you."

  "Oh Desmond!"

  She moved over to him but he stood up abruptly and put the chair between them.

  "Don't come near me, Didi. I don't know why I said what I did except that I couldn't help myself. But I'd like you to forget it."

  "Forget it? But I don't want to forget it. Darling, you know how I feel about you. Oh Desmond, don't look at me like that. I'll even promise not to wear mascara if you wish."

  "Didi, my dear, don't talk that way." He ran a hand through his hair. "It would never work out. I've nothing to offer you."

  "If you're thinking of money—"

  "That's only a part of it. But we're so different in other respects. I could never lead your kind of life and you couldn't be happy in mine."

  "I don't see why not. A writer can work and live anywhere, can't he?"

  A slight smile moved his mouth.

  "I can just visualize the life you have in mind for me. Idling away my time either here or in the Bahamas and using the fact that I'm a writer as an excuse for doing nothing at all." He shook his head. "That's not for me, I'm afraid. I've made up my mind to go back to teaching and with all the will in the world I can't see you being happy in a university town."

  "At least give me the chance."

  "No. It would be misery for us both. How would you amuse yourself with no parties, no constant round of entertainment and gaiety? Damn it, Didi, have you ever seen professors' wives? They don't spend on themselves in one year what you spend on one dress. When I think of—"

  "You needn't go on," she said jerkily. "You've made it perfectly plain that you think your friends would look on me as a freak. Well, maybe compared to them I am a. freak."

  "For God's sake don't talk like that." He pushed the chair away and strode over to her, pulling her close until she was resting against him, so tiny that he towered above her. "I love you, Didi. Stupid, silly and vain though you are I love you! But I could never make you happy. Our interests are too divergent—we're too different…"

  "But if we loved each other," she said huskily, "wouldn't that be enough?"

  "I don't know. At the moment I'm a novelty for you because I'm not like your usual run of men friends. But I'm afraid to build a marriage on a novelty."

  She pulled away from his grasp and walked over to the french windows. From the safety of distance she looked at him, seeming in her earnestness young and childlike.

  "You might not doubt your love for me, Desmond, but you doubt my love for you if you 'think it's based on novelty. I'm not going to say I'm proud of the way I've behaved since Edward died, but at least I'm honest enough to admit I made an idiot of myself. I'm not going to search for my youth any longer. That's one thing you can pride yourself on having taught me. And neither am I going to beg you to believe I love you. Go home, Desmond. Go back to the safety of your cottage and the sanctity of your college. One day you'll realize you did me an injustice in doubting me."

  "Didi!" He took a step forward, but even as he moved she was gone.

  For a long moment he remained where he was. Then he strode into the house and up to his room. Within an hour he had packed his cases and was speeding in a taxi towards Nice Airport. But even as he took his seat in the aeroplane and was lifted thousands of feet above the Mediterranean he knew he would never be able to forget the woman who in a few short weeks had captured his heart. Yet he was behaving in the only possible way. Didi was a romantic if she thought they had a future together, and it was up to him to be the sensible one.

  "But oh lord," he thought as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, "oh lord, how painful it is to be sensible."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROSE and Lance returned to the villa in Cannes three months after they had left it. It had been a period of constant travel, with one round of gaiety being substituted for another as they slowly meandered their way from the Caribbean Islands down to Rio de Janeiro, Mexico and thence to New York. Rose had found it a strain to live in hotels all the time but Lance did not mind it and, used to a life of constant social activity, had been surprised when she had protested at her enforced idleness.

  "Don't tell me you're pining to go back to work!" he said on one occasion as they sipped an aperitif by the pool of their hotel in Montego Bay.

  "I'm so bored I could almost take a job here," she retorted. "I don't see how anyone can idle away their time for more than a few weeks."

  "Meaning me."

  "If the cap fits, wear it," she said and regretted the words instantly for he turned pale with anger.

  "I'm sorry Lance, I'd no right to say that."

  "You might as well say it if you think it. We've always been truthful with each other."

  Miserably she stared at her drink. She was no closer to Lance after three months of marriage than she had been on the day she became his wife. He was always polite and attentive but there was a barrier between them that had never existed until their wedding day. Yet in fairness to him she had to admit that the barrier was in her mind alone, for he himself had not altered at all. Indeed, it was the fact that caused her the heartache, for she had been unprepared for their relationship to remain the same. He had never pretended to love her, it was true, but she had hoped that propinquity and a honeymoon spent amid tropical splendor would work their magic and result in their marriage becoming if not a love idyll, at least different from the friendly basis on which it now found itself.

  To see Lance every day knowing he could never be hers, to feel his casual touch knowing she would never feel his touch in passion, made her realize the torture to which she had condemned herself and sometimes at night she would long for his presence and wonder what had happened to her pride that it could allow her to cry for a man who did not even know she existed.

  It required a great effort for her to keep her thoughts hidden from Lance and though they occasionally burst out in a display of irritation—as they had that night at the hotel—for the most part she was successful in pretending to be completely happy.

  Didi Hammond was not at the villa when they arrived although they were told she would be back later and Lance and Rose were shown to the main suite, two rooms with a bathroom intervening. Rose left her maid to unpack and was wandering happily through the rose garden, her favorite spot, when Lance came across the lawn towards her.

  "You disappeared in a hurry," he said. "But I knew I'd find you here."

  "Do you want me?"

  "Certainly." He caught her hand and swung it backwards and forwards as he spoke. "I've got used to having you around. Do you know that for the past three months we've hardly been an hour apart except for sleeping!"

  She forced herself to laugh. "I thought you'd welcome being away from me for a bit."

  "On the contrary. You're a stimulating companion."

  "Me stimulating? No one's ever said that before."

  "But you are," he persisted. "And you're restful too. I think that's your main attraction. Your tranquility."r />
  She was suddenly reminded of Didi saying Lance needed a maternal woman but wisely she held her peace and began to walk past the flowerbeds, pausing now and again to touch a particularly beautiful bloom.

  "Marriage suits you," Lance said unexpectedly. 'You're much more sophisticated now."

  She touched the rough linen of the dress she was wearing, one she had bought in New York.

  "It doesn't even go skin deep," she said lightly. "I'm the same inside."

  "Well, I'm not. I can look back on the past without any feeling of bitterness. When I think of Enid it's as if it happened in another world. I've got you to thank for that."

  "It's the reason you married me," she said quietly. "I've only done my duty."

  He caught her hand again. "I don't like that word between us. I'd hate to think that whatever I did for you or you did for me was because of duty. I'd rather it was because of affection."

  Unexpectedly he put his arm over her shoulders and she shivered. He took his hand away at once, his expression so remote that she couldn't tell whether he had misinterpreted her action. To ask him would lend point to something that was better left unpointed and she continued to stroll through the rose arbour.

  The quietness was interrupted by the sound of a car, and realizing Didi had returned they strolled across the lawn to greet her. But was the small, grey-haired woman who came towards them the same one they had left behind such a short while ago? Rose and Lance stared at her in amazement. Gone was the curly red-gold hair and in its place was a smooth cap of snow-white. Certainly it owed a great deal to artifice but how much prettier it was! Gone too was the heavy make-up and only the faintest spatter of powder softened the tanned skin while the vivid blue eyes were framed with thick, short unmascaraed lashes. Even the style of dress was different; a casual shirt-waister instead of a sheath, three rows of matchless pearls instead of glittering gold. The same woman and yet entirely different.