Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose

by Rachel Lindsay

  "I didn't mean to pry," he said abruptly. "But… but I saw them. They're very good."

  "They are, aren't they? Particularly of Susan. I like the one of her that I took by the car, don't you?"

  "Yes," he said without looking at it.

  Rose held up the picture to which she was referring. "It's really caught her gamine expression," she said softly, "and the tilt of her nose. Look at it, Alan."

  "I don't need to," he burst out. "I can see it with my eyes closed!"

  Rose put the pictures down. "Susan is the girl you once told me about, isn't she? The girl you said you didn't stand a chance of marrying."

  He busied himself with the folder in front of him, stacking and re-stacking the papers.

  "Yes," he said at last. "Yes, she's the one."

  "Does she know how you feel about her?"

  "No."

  "Then how do you know you don't stand a chance?"

  "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

  "Why?" Rose asked sharply. "You were always more than willing to give me advice even when I didn't want it. Even a few moments ago when you came into the drawing room and found me crying it never entered your head to go out and pretend you hadn't seen me."

  He had the grace to look ashamed and sensing her advantage she said: "I'm sure Susan likes you. Why don't you at least ask her out?"

  "What for? Do you think I, could ever afford to keep her? She's out of my class."

  "I didn't have any money," Rose said gently.

  "You can't compare a woman with a man. If a poor girl marries a rich man everybody says jolly good luck to her, but if the boots on the other foot and the girl has the money, what do you think they'd say about the man? They'd call him a fortune hunter."

  "Why are you so concerned about the mythical 'they'? Isn't it Susan's opinion you should be concerned with?"

  "Susan's a young twenty. She doesn't know what it is to work for a living and all the people she mixes with are cut from the same pattern. You don't seriously think she'd be interested in Lance Hammond's secretary?"

  "I don't know what Susan thinks. All I do know is that you should give yourself a chance. So far you're deciding what Susan does or doesn't want, but you haven't the courage to find out whether she happens to want it as well!"

  "I don't intend to either. For heaven's sake, Rose, do you think this is something I've decided on the spur of the moment ij Susan's never been in love with anyone and if I were to succeed in winning her I'd feel I were taking advantage of my position. After all, she regards me as almost one of the family."

  Rose looked at him incredulously. 'You don't mean to tell me you're waiting until she falls in love with someone else before you tell her how you feel?"

  His expression told her she had guessed correctly and her incredulity changed to exasperation. "Really, Alan, you might give other people good advice, but when it comes to your own affairs you're the biggest fool in the world!"

  "Thanks," he said and picked up the folder.

  "Don't be angry."

  "I'm not. At least not angry with you, just with myself. I shouldn't go on staying with Lance. As long as I do I'll never get Susan out of my mind."

  He flung the folder down and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Seeing him so dejected she knew a great urge to comfort him and overwhelmed by tenderness, she put her arms around him.

  "I'm sure you're wrong about Susan. Let me have a word with her and find out what she thinks about you."

  "No! You're not to say a word to her. Not a word! If you do I'll never forgive you."

  "All right," she said quickly. "I won't."

  For a long moment he remained staring at her, then the tenseness left him and he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth, a kiss of thanks and friendship.

  "I hope I'm not breaking anything up," a cold voice said and with a start of guilt Alan's hand dropped from

  Rose's shoulder as he stared at the man framed in the doorway.

  "Lance, I—I didn't know you were coming back."

  "Obviously. If I'd realized I'd be interrupting a scene like this I'd have warned you of my return."

  "Alan saw the pictures I took last week," Rose said quickly, "and he—"

  "You needn't go into any explanations," Lance interrupted. "You're at perfect liberty to kiss whosoever you like. But I'd advise you to be more circumspect in this house. Servants are inclined to gossip."

  "Lance! You're deliberately misunderstanding what happened. Alan wasn't making love to me. He was kissing me out of friendship."

  "I told you you needn't go into explanations," came the answer.

  Anger at his rudeness decided Rose against replying to him. If he wanted to believe the worst of her so much the better. At least it meant he did not suspect she was in love with him.

  She looked at Alan. "You'd better go."

  He left the room and only when Lance was alone with her did he speak again.

  "I told you a little while ago, Rose, that if you wanted your freedom you should come and tell me."

  "And I told you that if ever the question arose, I would." She looked at him directly. "I don't mind you misjudging me, but I don't think it's fair you should misjudge Alan. He was not making love to me. He was merely telling me something about his past. It upset him and I…" her voice trailed away and she stared at the fire, hating herself for the tears that threatened to overcome her.

  But Lance finished the sentence. "What you're trying to say is that it was your maternal solicitude that prompted you to kiss him."

  Still not trusting herself to speak she nodded.

  "I believe you, Rose," he said suddenly. "I'm sorry if I was rude."

  She swung round, so full of relief that the tears she had held back overflowed down her cheeks. Lance moved close and looked at her intently.

  "I've been leaving you alone too much lately. You're not used to being idle and you need something to do."

  "I know. I was going to talk to you about it. I'd like to open a florist section in a couple of the supermarkets—or even just one of them to begin with."

  "It sounds a good idea," he said quickly, so quickly that she felt he had hardly given it thought. "But you're not well enough to think of working yet, and I'm not going to have you brooding round the house until then." He gripped her shoulders. "How would you like us to go to Cannes for a month?"

  "But I thought you were busy?"

  "Not so busy that I can't get away. The business managed without me for years. It can manage without me again for another month. In fact, the more I think of it the more enjoyable a holiday seems. I'm not going to take no for an answer, Rose. We'll leave for France tomorrow."

  "But I don't want to go."

  "Well, I do. Now, no arguing."

  Realizing that once he had made up his mind it was hopeless to disagree with him she went upstairs to supervise her packing.

  Disappointment at the ease with which he could drop his work robbed her of the elation she would normally have felt at going away on a holiday, and with distaste she looked at the growing mound of clothes that her maid was laying on the bed. Lance's life had been a holiday for so long that it was stupid of her to expect him to work for more than a few months at a time. But her disappointment with Lance would have changed to surprise had she been able to overhear the conversation taking place between him and one of his directors.

  "I know it means I'll be leaving you to handle the negotiations," he was saying, "but my wife needs to get away. If anything crops up urgently I can always fly back, but right now I owe it to her to take her off to the sunshine."

  He replaced the telephone and walked back to the fire.

  How much more he owed Rose than just sunshine! He owed her her health and her happiness. Yet it seemed he could give her neither. The months of their marriage had not drawn them more closely together and her need to love someone was so great that she had turned towards Alan. Not that he blamed Alan. Idly he wondered what the two of th
em had been discussing to cause his secretary to look so distraught. Whatever it was it had aroused Rose's sympathy and, tenderness. She had once displayed the same tenderness to him and it had resulted in her being maimed. He clenched his fists until the knuckles showed white. Whatever happened, his duty towards her remained the same: to make her as happy as he knew how.

  He glanced at his watch. Half past five. An hour ago he had no intention of leaving the country, yet now he was impatient to be away. Would it be a good idea to ask his mother to come along? Rose liked her and it would be added companionship for her. He picked up the telephone and got through to the house in Cambridge where Didi was staying. Her voice at the other end of the line was as he had always remembered it — gay, light and far younger than her years.

  "Lance, how lovely to hear from you. Yes, I'm having a wonderful time here. How are you and Rose ?"

  "Fine. We're going to the villa tomorrow. I thought maybe you'd like to come with us."

  "I'd love to. But it isn't convenient."

  "Why? What are you doing? You haven't been up to Town once."

  "I know, darling. But I've been improving my mind. I've read nearly all the books in John's library and I've taken up gardening too!"

  "Well, come and garden at the villa."

  "Darling, if things don't turn out the way I've planned you'll probably see me before the end of the week."

  "What sort of things?" Lance asked sharply. "Mother, you're not up to anything silly, are you?"

  "Of course not. Now I can't talk any more, darling. We've got people to dinner and I must change. But I promise you'll be hearing from me before the week's out."

  "Mother! I want to—"

  Didi quietly replaced the telephone, a smile lifting her mouth. Tonight would see the beginning or the end of all her plans. Plans that she had persevered with dignity over the past few months.

  She went up to her room and looked through her wardrobe carefully before taking out a midnight blue dress with a pleated skirt and draped neckline. The transformation Rose and Lance had noticed on returning from their honeymoon was now complete and she bore no resemblance whatever to the Didi Hammond of a year ago. If her friends Mary and John had been surprised at the way she had adapted herself to country life they had been too tactful to show it. Her statement that she wished to buy a house had aroused no comment and they had set to work to help her find one. Weeks of search had finally brought her Amberside, a small Elizabethan manor in two acres of garden. With the help of a housekeeper and a gardener, she had set to work to make it into a home. Determined not to take any of the furniture from the London house — to do -so would have necessitated meeting Lance and Rose and answering their questions — she had combed out-of-the-way antique shops until she had found exactly what she was looking for. Now, after months of work, Amberside was finished, the garden put in order, the house ready for its mistress to take possession. Each night she had returned to stay with John and Mary but from tomorrow Amberside would be her home and she would take her place in the village from which it derived its name. Indeed she was already on the Committees of the W.V.S. and the Church Bazaar, and was on visiting terms with all the main people in the village. To them she was not Didi Hammond, a gay butterfly of cafe society, but little Mrs. Diana Hammond, who had come to settle down in their village and spend her time doing good works and gardening.

  Didi looked at herself in the mirror and tightened the belt around her tiny waist. No matter that she looked fifty in the mirror; she felt a trembling sixteen inside as she wondered whether her subterfuge would bear fruit. In another hour she would know. In another hour two professors and their wives and one professor who was a widower would be arriving to dine with John and Mary. And it was the widowed professor who would tell Didi whether her gamble had come off.

  Never as long as she lived would she forget the look of puzzlement and then incredulity with which Desmond Tiverton regarded her as his hostess introduced them. But before he had a chance to say more than a few words he Was firmly propelled to the far side of the room to join another history scholar from a neighboring town. Primed by Didi, Mary Turner seated Desmond at the opposite end of the table, making conversation yet again impossible although it did not stop him looking at her in amazement as she talked skilfully with the other men and their wives on subjects ranging from early Flemish paintings, the Shakespearian acrostics and English family life during the Wars of the Roses.

  Dinner over, they returned to the drawing room again, but Didi skilfully avoided contact with him and settled herself down for what was obviously a cosy chat with the wives of the professors. From the laughter that came from their corner she was obviously doing well, and as the evening drew to a close and the visitors got ready to leave, Desmond heard her receive invitations from each of them in turn.

  Only Desmond did not elect to go and as the others left the room he walked over to her.

  "Where can we talk?"

  "But my dear Desmond, you've seen me all evening."

  "Not to talk to," he said. "I want to see you alone."

  "We're alone now." She crossed her legs delicately and smiled up at him. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

  "Everything!" he burst out. "What have you done to yourself? You don't look the same woman."

  "Is that good or bad?" she asked sweetly. "And please don't shout at me or Mary will come in to know what' the matter."

  "I'm sorry," he muttered, "but it was such a surprise seeing you here tonight. You were the last person. I expected."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't think to warn you. In fact, I wasn't sure you hadn't forgotten me."

  "Didi, stop it! You know darn well I haven't forgotten you. For months I haven't been able to think of anything else. You've come between me and my sleep, my food and even my work!"

  "Poor Desmond. What were you going to do about it?"

  "I don't know. At least — at least…" He was walking agitatedly around the room and she hid a smile. He came close and stared down at her. "I might as well be honest with "you, Didi. I'd made up my mind that at the Easter recess I was going to Cannes to see you."

  Her heart missed a beat.

  "Were you really?"

  "Yes. I was going to tell you that I didn't care if you wanted to dress like a flapper, make up like Theda Bara and act like a teenager. I was going to tell you that I didn't care what you did as long as you did it with me."

  He took out his pipe and clamped his teeth firmly on it, looking so fierce and unhappy that she wanted to fling herself into his arms. But not for nothing had she suffered these last few months. Womanlike, she wanted her triumph and was determined to get it.

  "Poor Desmond. You really have had a miserable time! Still, you've got your work, so that something. Of course it hasn't been so easy for me. After our row — when you made me see myself as I was — I had to take stock again and start from scratch. Still, I haven't done so badly," she said chattily. "I've bought a small Elizabethan house at Amberside and I've decided the rural life is the one for me."

  "You'll get tired of it."

  "I don't think so. I'm not getting any younger and when Edward was alive we mostly lived in the country. No, I think I'll settle down to country life very well. You saw yourself how I got on with the other wives tonight. And that's only the beginning. A year from now I'll be so like them you won't be able to tell me apart. When I—"

  "Didi, don't!" He pulled her up into his arms. "I can't bear it. I never believed you'd take to heart what I told you. Seeing you tonight made me realize how I must have hurt you. When I think of all the things I said at the villa…"

  "I deserved them. I was making myself look ridiculous."

  "And now you're making me look ridiculous."

  "You, Desmond?"

  "Yes, me." He looked at her tenderly. "There was an awful lot I didn't like about the old Didi, but there was an awful lot that I did. I don't want you to be so much like the other professors' wives that I won't be able to tell y
ou apart. I want you to be different, Didi. I want you to be silly and mad and gay!"

  "Oh Desmond!"

  Words were no longer needed between them and Mary Turner, coming to turn out the lights in the drawing room, tiptoed softly away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ROSE stepped on to the balcony of her bedroom and looked at the view. Below lay the garden and beyond it the beach that followed the natural curve of the bay toward Cannes. Although it was barely eight o'clock the sky was a vivid blue and the sun shone down with sufficient warmth for her to be comfortable outdoors in a short-sleeved jersey dress. Difficult to believe it was a week before Christmas and the weather in London was cold enough for part of the Thames to freeze!

  She leaned against the edge of the railing and wondered how much longer Lance would remain here. The ease with which he had settled down to the life of a lotus eater filled her with disappointment and her enquiry as to when he would be returning to work had met with such a look of surprise that she had held her peace. But one week had slipped into another and when the continual round of entertainment had shown no sign of abating she had decided that though she could not force his return to London, she could at least refuse to accompany him to parties that caused her no amusement whatsoever. To her surprise he had refused to accept her decision, saying — albeit in a joking tone — that it was for this very reason that he had married her!

  "But you surely don't need me for protection all the time," she had protested. "You must be joking."

  "Maybe I am," he conceded. "Let us say that I want your company for two reasons. One because I need you and two because I don't think it's good for you to be on your own. You'll get broody."

  "You make me sound like a hen!"

  He laughed and said no more, but she had pondered on his words and was pondering on them now, wondering what had prompted him to say them. She had assumed that he had used her loneliness in London as an excuse to come to Cannes himself, but now she was not sure and wondered whether it was really on her account that he was here. If so it was a misguided action for not only was she lonely here, but worried too, worried that Lance would revert to being a playboy again.