"Didi!" Lance said disbelievingly. "I'd never have known you. You look so much better."
"I feel better too." She disentangled herself from his embrace and put her arms around Rose. "And you look wonderful as well. No need to ask if you're happy—you obviously are."
Chattering gaily she twined an arm through each of theirs and led them into the drawing room.
It was not until later that evening, with dinner over, that Didi asked them what plans they had made.
"I'm not going to stay in the villa during the winter so you're welcome to live here if you like."
Lance rubbed the side of his jaw. "I haven't given our future much thought. It depends on Rose." He looked at her. "Have you anything in mind, darling?"
She decided to take the plunge. "Surely you have work to do in London?"
Recognizing the challenge in her voice he raised an eyebrow. "There's always work to be done," he said dryly, "but it usually gets done without me. Still, it might be a novelty to try it for a bit." He looked at his mother. "What are your plans, or daren't I ask?"
"I'm going to stay with some friends in the country," came the answer, "but I don't know for how long. But don't worry, darlings, I'll keep you posted of my whereabouts in case I've any news." She looked from one to the other. "I don't suppose you've anything to tell me yet?"
Lance was puzzled at the question but Rose blushed, and seeing her change color, he realized the implication of his mother's remark and burst out laughing.
"Good lord, Didi, I've never known you to be so tactful in your phraseology! But you needn't worry. We're not going to make you a grandmother yet."
During the long hours of the night Rose cogitated over Lance's use of the word 'yet' and wondered whether he intended at any time to consummate their marriage. She knew that to be taken by Lance, even if it were not in love, would be better than not to be taken at all, yet she could never make the first move to him.
He had at least admitted he no longer loved Enid and that was certainly a step in the right direction. Once the bitterness had gone he would be ready to fall in love again.
"Please let it be with me," she prayed, and with her hands still clasped together in pleading she fell asleep.
At the end of the week they all left the villa, Didi to visit her friends near London and Lance and Rose to stay at the Hammond house in Mayfair. It was a Regency house in a quiet square and though a stream of traffic wended its way a few yards from the front door, once it was closed one could almost have been in the country. It was the most opulent house Rose had ever been in, and she found the atmosphere oppressive with luxury and the taste too baroque for her liking.
"Change anything you like," Lance said, seeing her expression of distaste as she entered the house for the first time.
"Is it going to be our permanent home?" she asked, "or is it your mother's?"
"It's the Hammond house," he replied, "so I suppose you could call it mine."
"But is it going to be permanent?"
"We'll be here a few months," was his answer. "For the lord's sake don't make a thing about it. Make any alterations you like."
Tentatively in the following weeks she set about trying to make the place more homelike, changing many of the ormulu fittings for crystal ones and replacing one or two Persian carpets with pastel-colored Savonneries.
She would not have been human had she not enjoyed having unlimited money to spend and though she had no wish to load herself with jewellery or clothes it was exciting to know she was able to buy whatever she wished.
She had not seen her father since her return to England although she had spoken to him on the telephone. He had taken a post at Cambridge University and there was a buoyancy in his voice she had not heard since her mother had died.
Rose knew she should go and see him, but somehow she could not face his searching look and kept putting it off from day to day, appeasing her conscience by telephoning him frequently.
As the weeks passed she and Lance settled into a routine and began to entertain as well as be entertained. But it was not until they had been in London for a month that he asked her to give a dinner party. It was a nerve-racking experience for her to choose an elaborate menu, but luckily the staff they employed were old retainers who preferred to do things their own way, and as it was a way that obviously suited Lance, Rose decided not to interfere. The one thing she did insist on supervising were the flowers and when their guests arrived there were exclamations of delight at the sight of them. Pink and white chrysanthemums were intertwined with dark green leaves and curled profusely round the column of the staircase. For the dining table itself she had used orchids, their mauve and pink petals reflected on mirrored trays.
Rose's dress followed the same color scheme with mauve and pink flowers embroidered delicately over pink satin.
She looked lovelier than she had ever looked before and was aware of the interest in Lance's eyes as he came into the drawing room and saw her. But he had no chance to say more than a few words for their first guests were announced and soon the room was full of people.
Lance moved from one cluster to another, but Rose found it tiring and sat on a settee and talked to Alan.
"How does it feel to be the hostess at such a glittering occasion?" he asked.
"Nerve-racking!" she confessed. "But it was something I had to do sooner or later."
"You'll feel much better at your next party. If I were—" his voice trailed away and she saw he was staring at the door through which Mrs. Rogers had come with a fair- haired girl. Rose moved over to greet them and made a point of not overlooking mentioning Benjy the poodle.
"What a dear girl you are to remember," Helen Rogers laughed. "But I haven't had much time for Benjy lately, I'm afraid. I've been too busy with Susan. She's just got back from America."
Rose smiled at the girl. She was about twenty, with a retrousse nose, small mouth and thick blonde hair left dramatically straight.
"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hammond," Susan said. "Lance and I grew up together and I rather look on him as a brother."
"I hope he was a nice one?"
Susan laughed. "Couldn't be better. A bit of a bully when I used to hare after him on my eight-year-old legs and rather supercilious once he got to Oxford and I was still in plaits. If you really want to have the low-down about him I'll be delighted to give it to you!"
"I'll remember that," Rose said, liking the frank face and the warm, slightly throaty voice. "I don't suppose I need introduce you to Alan. You've probably known him longer than I have."
Susan smiled at the man standing on Rose's left. "Hello there," she said casually. "Why didn't you get in touch with me when I got back from the States?"
"I've been busy," he said abruptly.
Susan shrugged and with a smile at Rose, followed her aunt across the room to greet some other people.
"She seems a nice girl," Rose said as they moved out of earshot.
"Susan's one of the best," Alan replied. "You'd never know from talking to her that she's worth a fortune. She's the daughter of Mrs. Rogers' brother-in-law. He died about ten years ago and left her a packet. Mrs. Rogers has really been like a mother to her."
At that moment Rose saw the butler hovering in the doorway and as she nodded her head he moved across the hall and opened the doors of the dining room.
Once dinner was over the party broke up into small groups again. The majority of the people Lance had invited were considerably older than themselves and Rose was relieved that there was no dancing. Although she knew she was silly to care, she could not help feeling envious when she saw other couples take the floor and she was glad that for this one evening she would be able to forget her lameness. But in this hope she was wrong, for seeing Susan Rogers walk towards her, so straight and supple, she felt a rush of envy that filled her with horror. Whatever happened to her she must beware of becoming bitter over another woman's grace!
Susan sank into the empty chair beside her.
"It's good to be back in this room again," she said. "Lance spent his school holidays at Aunt Helen's place but we always managed to come over here once or twice."
"What for?"
The girl laughed. "Lance liked to sit in the library and touch his father's books and I used to spend my time sliding down the banisters."
"Well, you're welcome to come over and slide down the banisters any time you like."
"Be careful of that—I might take you up on it! Aunt Helen's always complaining that I'm still a tomboy. But it's in my nature and I can't change."
Rose smiled. "Were you in America long?"
"Six months. Aunt Helen rather hoped I'd get engaged while I was out there, but I didn't."
There was a defiant tone in her voice and Rose wondered at it.
"You've got plenty of time yet," she said. "You should have lots more fun before settling down."
"I'm not sure I want to settle down. Sometimes I think I'm cut out to be a spinster."
"Not likely!" said a male voice and the girls looked up to see Alan in front of them.
Susan tossed her head. "How long have you been eavesdropping?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping. I was just passing by. You've a carrying voice, young Sue."
"For goodness' sake stop calling me that!"
"Sorry. But Lance always referred to you that way and—"
"Well, he'd better stop it too." She looked at Rose apologetically. "Here am I trying to be grown up and this big oaf still treats me as though I'm a schoolgirl."
"I could never mistake you for a schoolgirl," Alan said. "Not with a. low-necked dress like that!"
Susan stood up quickly and he grinned. "Sorry about that, young Sue—pardon me, Susan—but I promise not to tease you any more."
"I don't expect miracles," Susan replied, and with a smile to Rose sauntered away.
By midnight all the guests had left and Lance, closing the front door on the last one, breathed a sigh of relief.
"I must say it went off very well," he said coming back into the drawing room. "Not feeling too tired, are you?"
She shook her head and he smiled and pulled her down on the settee beside him.
"Good. We can have a little talk. Aunt Helen thought you were looking rather pale. I can't say I've noticed it, but then being with you every day…" his voice trailed away and he stared at her closely. "Are you happy with me, Rose?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just curiosity."
He placed one hand under her chin and tilted it up. "If ever you do have any regrets about marrying me, will you say so?"
"Yes. And I can say the same thing to you."
He nodded. "At the moment I haven't any regrets at all. Marrying you was the best thing I did."
He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth, a touch so fleeting that it was over before it had begun. Then he pulled her to her feet, keeping his arm companion- ably over her shoulder as they went up the stairs. At the door of her room he left her and as she undressed and climbed into bed she pondered the remark he had made in the drawing-room. "At the moment I have no regrets."
She should be happy at those words, yet instead of bringing happiness they had brought fear—fear based on the first three words 'at the moment'. But what of tomorrow or the day after? The question weighed heavily in her mind, disturbing her dreams as she fell into an uneasy sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SLOWLY the weeks turned into months and the house in Mayfair became more of a home both to Rose and Lance. She had always felt convinced that once he started to work his interest in the business would grow, but even she was surprised at the diligence and enthusiasm he displayed. He left the house every morning before nine and rarely returned before six. Even at weekends he was busy studying papers and documents in the library until finally she was forced to protest that he was working too hard!
It was a Sunday morning and she had come in from posting a letter to her father to find Lance pouring over a sales sheet.
"If I worked twenty-four hours out of twenty-four," he answered, "it'd still take me years to catch up on all I've neglected."
"You can never make up for lost time, Lance. Anyway, it's not good to work without a break. You'll get stale."
"Rubbish. I love every minute of it." He flexed his muscles. "I think I'll start playing tennis again though. I'll ring Susan and see if she'll give me a game."
"Susan?"
'Yes. She's a crack player — Wimbledon class."
He picked up the telephone and Rose went into the hall and hung up her coat. When she returned Lance was standing by the fire.
"I've just had a word with Susan," he said. "She'll give me a game this afternoon and we'll come back here for tea, if that's all right with you?"
"Perfectly," Rose said and wished desperately that she could have played with Lance instead. The longing was so intense that it gave an edge to her voice and he glanced at her sharply. But she was not looking at him and he turned back to the fire.
That afternoon was the first of many Lance and Susan spent together and eventually it became a regular week-end habit. Not only Sunday but Saturday too they would spend playing either tennis or squash, returning to the house in the late afternoon exhausted but in high spirits. Watching Lance laugh and joke with Susan, Rose realized how much they had in common, an affinity formed not only by similar enjoyment but by an equal vitality. Occasionally Alan came over for tea, but when he saw Susan was a regular week-end visitor he dropped out and Rose saw little of him.
As the winter days grew shorter and the weather colder she spent more time indoors and the hours dragged heavily past. The cold weather also gave her unusual pain in her hip, making her limp more noticeable. Embarrassed by it, she hardly went out at all and wondered what she could do to pass the time. Life as one of the idle rich did not suit her, she realized one particularly long and dreary winter's afternoon. Yet without any creative ability there was litde she could do except take a job or join in the social round of the women in Lance's circle. Yet what was
Lance's circle today? He was working so hard that he had no time for night clubs or parties and the people who dined with them were mostly business acquaintances with one or two friends from his university days. It was all so much as Rose had wished that she wondered at herself for daring to be discontented and knew that had her marriage been a real one there would have been no discontent at all. A child would have been the answer to her boredom. She trembled at the thought and resolutely pushed it to the back of her mind. But it was not something that could so easily be dismissed and restlessly she got up and walked around the room. Her leg dragged painfully and she stopped by the fireplace and stared at herself in the mirror. Her tweed dress was in the best of taste as were the pearls at her throat and the earrings in her ears. Her hair was cut in the latest fashion and her make-up accentuated her eyes and mouth, yet there was no laughter in the eyes, yet it was a face from which the animation had gone and with it had gone youth. Unutterably depressed, she sank on the settee and buried her head in her hands.
She was so deep in misery that she did not hear the door open and it was only when she felt a hand on her shoulder that she realized Alan had come in.
"What's the matter, Rose? Are you ill?"
It was useless lying to him, for the tears were still wet on her cheeks and she brushed them away.
"I'm just a bit tired and depressed."
"I'm not surprised. You should go out a bit more. Haven't you any friends ? I'd have thought as you'd worked in London for so long…"
"I can't have the same friends now, Alan. It wouldn't work out. When I came back I got in touch with some of them but they were as embarrassed as I was. Anyway I've never had any close girl friends."
"Where's your father?"
"At Cambridge." She blew her nose and put her handkerchief away. "No, as soon as I feel better I'll try and get a part-time job. But at the moment I can't stand for more
than a few minutes at a time."
"Even if you could stand you couldn't get a job again. What would people say?"
She laughed. "You sound like Lance."
"I'm sorry, Rose, but it's true. It would be unthinkable for you to take a job. You could open your own florist's, though, there'd be nothing wrong with that."
His suggestion started her imagination working and she remembered that at one time she had thought it would be a good idea to open a flower section in some of the larger supermarkets. Diffidently she told Alan and he nodded approvingly.
"You needn't take up much space to begin with, until we see how it goes, but certainly the supermarkets in the expensive districts would be ideal locations. Talk it over with Lance." He walked over to the door. "Which reminds me, I came back to collect some papers for him and he'll wonder what's happened to me. It's a file he was working on last night."
He walked out and she waited for him to return. A few moments went by and she crossed the hall to the library. Alan was standing at the desk, a bundle of photographs in his hand. They were some that she had taken a few weeks earlier when she had gone with Lance and Susan to the country. It had been one of the nicest days she had spent. Lance had bought her a miniature camera and she had used it to take pictures of them without their knowing. They were candid and amusing, with some particularly lovely ones of Susan. It was at these that Alan was staring with an anguish she had never before seen on his face and suddenly his inexplicable behaviour over the past few months became understandable. She knew now why he refused to come to the house when Susan was there and why, on the occasions when he did meet her, he persistently talked to her as if she were a schoolgirl. He had once said he was in love with someone and did not stand a chance of marrying her and Rose was convinced that the girl was Susan.
She came in and closed the door behind her and at the sound Alan started guiltily and dropped the pictures on to the desk.
Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose Page 14
