Yet in all honesty she had to admit that if she herself had changed in the past few months so had he. Indeed, the word 'playboy' no longer applied to him for he had lost the devil-may-care attitude that had so antagonized her towards him when they had first met. His gaiety now seemed more forced and she suspected he was beginning to be almost as bored by the society people who were his friends as she herself was.
The window clicked behind her and she swung round to see Lance. It was the first time he had come into her bedroom and her heart beat fast.
"I knocked on the door," he explained, "but you didn't hear."
"When I'm outside I can't hear anything. You weren't waiting breakfast for me, were you?"
"No. I was taking a stroll in the garden and I saw you out here. So I thought we might as well have breakfast together."
With his hand under her elbow he guided her out of the room and down the stairs. As always when they walked together he shortened his step to suit hers, but as always she was conscious of her uneven gait. Did Lance notice this with repugnance? If he did he gave no sign and she wished that he would at least say something to show that he was aware of the clumsiness of her movements, for to pretend that he wasn't was ridiculous. Suddenly she could bear it no longer and as they reached the dining room she stopped.
"Does it worry you the way I walk?" she asked abruptly.
"Why should it worry me?"
"Because it's ugly."
"It might be ugly," he answered, "but it's also unimportant."
"How can you say it's unimportant that I can't walk properly? Do you think I like being unable to dance or play tennis or—"
"For God's sake, I wasn't meaning that at all!" He gripped her shoulders and swung her round to face him, shaking her into silence. "How can you misunderstand me like that? All I meant was that I considered your limp unimportant in our relationship. How could you think otherwise?"
She looked at him dumbly and he shook her again. "Tell me, Rose, how could you think otherwise?"
"Maybe because I didn't think we had a relationship."
"But haven't you been happy since we've been married?"
She hesitated. To answer truthfully would mean throwing her pride to the winds and telling him she could never be happy unless he returned her love. But to do this was unthinkable and she forced herself to smile and nod her head.
"Of course our marriage has meant something to me, Lance. But it's been a strain, too. I've had to adapt myself to your way of life and it hasn't been easy."
"But you've had everything you wanted!"
She could not help smiling at the irony of this remark. "Maybe I've had too much. Hasn't that thought ever struck you?"
"No," he said slowly "Most girls would give their eye- teeth to be in your position. Hell, that sounds conceited, but I don't mean it like that."
"I know what you mean. And I don't think you're conceited at all. Though I must say you aren't much of a judge of the average working girl. All the women you know are content to idle away their time buying clothes and gossiping over the coffee cups. That sort of life would never suit me. I'm used to working — it's the thing I miss most."
"Poor darling." He put his arm over her shoulder and feeling her tremble he pulled her closer. "It isn't much of a marriage for you, is it? I feel I took advantage of you, Rose. I almost bludgeoned you into marrying me. It was so soon after your accident that—"
"You didn't bludgeon me at all and I'd do the same thing again if I had the choice."
"Would you?" He looked into her eyes. "Are you sure you've no regrets?"
"Why should I have regrets now when I didn't have them four months ago?"
"I just thought you might have fallen in love. Do you remember what I said to you some time ago? That if you wanted your freedom you must tell me? Well, that still goes."
"Thank you. And — and it still goes for you too. At the moment I—" she moistened her lips, "at the moment I don't want my freedom. Do you?"
"No," he said vehemently, and with an unexpectedness that took her breath away, kissed her full on the mouth. It was so brief a contact that it was over before she had a chance to respond and in a way she was glad, for even the thought of his kiss set her pulses on fire.
"Now let's have some breakfast," he said cheerfully. "All this conversation has made me hungry!"
Looking back on their discussion, Rose saw it as the turning point, for from that moment on there was a greater ease between them. The longer she knew Lance the more likeable she found him. The charm, the devil-may-care attitude and the flirtatiousness were all part of the facade; inside he was surprisingly shy. That he was romantic too, she knew from having watched his love affair with Enid. But she had never until now suspected the depths of tenderness within him and as she discovered it, she was convinced that he had left London because he had felt she was in need of a warm climate.
"I feel so much better now," she told him one afternoon when they were sitting in the drawing room, the french windows open to the sun. "I'd like to go back and start work."
"Doing what?"
Diffidently she told him of the scheme she had outlined to Alan and, as he listened, Lance's interest grew.
"I think it' an excellent idea. You can open an experimental branch in one of our London supermarkets and if it goes well we can consider doing it in the large ones."
"Oh Lance, how wonderful! Do you really mean I can go ahead? How much will I be allowed to spend? Can I engage an assistant? Will I be able to—"
"Hey, hey, not so fast. What do you mean, can you engage an assistant? You don't think I'm going to let you work in one of the supermarkets do you? I said you could supervise it, Rose, but that's all. As my wife you can't take a more active part than that."
The delight died away inside her.
"That won't give me much to do. Once it's organized and set up it'll run by itself."
"Don't you believe it. It might run by itself if you have a couple of departments, but if it catches on it'll need a terrific amount of organization and supervision."
Realizing he was right she settled back more contentedly in her chair and began to plan how she would start the first branch. Which supermarket should she use for the experiment? The one off Oxford Street, newest and largest, or the one in the Edgware Road with its more regular clientele?
"I can't wait to get back," she said aloud. "When can we go?"
"Soon." He strolled over to the mantelpiece and straightened the Buffet that hung on the wall above it. "I'd like Sutherland to do a portrait of you, Rose. Would you like that?"
She was taken by surprise. "I'm not sure. Wouldn't it be rather expensive?"
He shook his head. "You're the most inexpensive wife a man in my position could ever have! When was the last time you bought yourself some clothes?"
"I'm not sure," she confessed. "But I don't need any."
"Nonsense. Women always need clothes. I put an allowance into your account each month. You should use it."
"I don't like to. I — I feel it isn't mine."
"What nonsense. You're my wife, aren't you?"
"Not really."
He made no pretence to misunderstand her and coming close he looked deep into her eyes. "You're a lovely woman, Rose, I'd be lying if I said I haven't been tempted many times to…" He paused, "to take advantage of my position. But I respect you too much to do so."
Color flooded her face. As clearly as he could without stating it in so many words he was telling her he did not love her and that any desire she might arouse in him was based solely on passion. She remembered a conversation she had had with her father before her marriage when he had said that one day she might be faced with the choice of giving herself to Lance knowing he did not love her. She remembered too her reply: that if Lance wanted her she would willingly say yes to him. But now that the moment had come, when it merely needed a nod of her head, a movement of her body for him to take her into his arms, she realized she could not go through
with it, could not give herself to a man who did not love her.
"Lance," she whispered, "I wish I—"
"Don't look so upset, my dear. I'm not asking for anything and I've got no regrets." He straightened and walked over to a chair. "I've asked Susan to come down for a week. I thought she might be company for you and then we can go back to London together."
Rose was startled into losing her discretion. "But Alan's coming down this week."
"What of it? As a matter of fact it's one of the reasons I asked Sue. I'll be occupied with Alan — he's bringing a stack of stuff that I'll have to go over — and I don't want you to be alone."
"I see. That was very thoughtful of you."
"You don't mind Alan being here, do you?"
"Why should I mind?"
"No reason. Merely that I made an ass of myself in London when I saw you kissing him."
"I explained the reason I did that. You aren't still harboring any doubts about it, are you?"
Before he could answer the telephone rang and he went into the hall to answer it.
When he returned his face was pale, his expression strange.
"That was George Moffat. I said we'd go there tonight for a drink and he wanted to warn me that Enid had invited herself along. He thought we might like to cancel and go tomorrow instead."
"Do you?"
"Not unless you want to." She shook her head and he looked relieved. "It'll be an experience for me to see Enid again. It's rather as if you've had the nerve taken out of a tooth and when the dentist drills it and says it won't hurt, you're never sure whether to believe him! That's how I feel about seeing Enid. She doesn't mean anything to me but — but I'm not sure my pulses know it!"
Rose clenched her hands. Jealousy fought with sensibility and jealousy won.
"Well, you'll know soon enough, won't you? And if your pulses do win the day I'm sure Enid will take you back. She was never very fussy about needing a wedding ring!"
She walked out of the room, banging the door behind her, and Lance stared after her in amazement.
That night Rose took extra care with her appearance and was rewarded by the look of admiration on Lance's face as she came downstairs, the full skirts of her gold taffeta dress rustling around her. On her throat she wore a necklace of topaz, a present from Didi and the only jewellery of any value she possessed.
Lance stepped forward and helped her down the last couple of steps.
"You should always wear yellow. You look beautiful in it." He picked up her hand and looked at it. "Which reminds me, I've never bought you an engagement ring. How about a yellow diamond?"
"Isn't it late for an engagement ring?"
He laughed. "I've never known a woman refuse jewellery no matter how belated the offer! But then I've never known a woman like you."
He stepped back to admire her again. "Although you look lovely, I'm not sure I don't prefer the old you. I remember the first time we met you were wearing something very pretty in blue. .
It was her turn to laugh. "The something very pretty in blue was a nylon overall belonging to the Hotel Plage!"
"That just goes to show how important clothes are!" He walked over to the front door and held it open for her.
The Moffats' villa was only a short drive farther along the coast, and almost before she had a chance to settle herself in the car, they were upon it. It was larger than their own villa but did not have a swimming pool and the grounds were considerably smaller. Cars were packed closely together along the narrow road leading to it and Lance scowled as he saw them.
"I'd better drive you up to the front," he said. "Otherwise you'll have quite a walk."
"I don't mind a walk —it'll do me good."
He parked the car at the end of the lawn and together they made their way towards the house. Every step brought her more closely to Enid and as her nervousness increased, so did her limp. She would have given anything in the world to have been able to sweep into the house with the grace of a queen instead of bobbing in like a one-legged doll.
"Oh God!" she said and did not realize she had spoken aloud until Lance looked at her.
"Would you rather go home?"
"No. I just tripped on my skirt."
She did not know whether he believed her but he said nothing and they continued to walk.
The villa was overflowing with people. A radiogram blared music from one corner, a bar was doing brisk business in another and George Moffatt and his wife Adelaide were the centre of a group of people standing by the fireplace. Fireplaces were a feature of the Moffatt villa and each one was made from a different semi-precious stone. The cost, according to Lance, amounted to more than the villa itself, and Rose could well believe it for the drawing room one alone was a magnificent structure of lapis lazuli.
The Moffatts, unlike their house, were singularly unpretentious, both small and plump with pepper and salt coloring which always seemed to be carried out in the clothes they wore. But it was not her host and hostess who drew Rose's attention, but the blonde woman standing with them. Enid. She was lovelier than Rose had remembered, expressively gowned and jewelled, a delicate smile on her lips and a softness in her eyes as they rested on Lance.
"So we meet again," she said huskily. "Poor George and Addie weren't sure whether they should try and stop me from coming, but I told them it was ridiculous. After all, with so many friends in common we're bound to meet sooner or later, and it's far less embarrassing if it's sooner, don't you think?"
"I would never have found it embarrassing at any time," Lance replied coolly and drew Rose forward. "I believe you've already met my wife."
"Of course." Enid smiled at Rose. "I was terribly sorry to hear about your accident. I hope you're better now?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good. I'll be staying on this part of the coast through the summer so I hope to see something of you both." She smiled directly at Rose. "Maybe we could meet for lunch. I'll telephone you if I may."
"I'd rather you didn't," Rose said, softening her words by the lightness of her voice. "We really haven't much in common."
"Only a man," Enid said softly.
Rose mentally awarded her the first round.
"All the more reason why we shouldn't meet," she said and stopped as Lance put his hand under her elbow.
"Come and sit down, darling. You've been standing long enough."
With a smile to Enid he guided Rose over to an empty chair.
"You were a bit sharp, weren't you?" he murmured when they were out of earshot of the others.
"I know," she said wryly. "But you don't really want me to start socializing with her, do you?"
"Heaven forbid." He settled her in the chair and turned to look back at Enid, who was still talking to the Moffatts. "Meeting her again was like looking at a book that I'd read a long time ago."
"People sometimes like reading the same book again."
"Not if it was a dull one. And after you, Enid is particularly dull."
She warmed at the compliment and was suddenly glad they had come. Even later in the evening when she saw Lance dancing with Enid she did not revise her opinion, for she knew him well enough to realize that the look of indifference on his face was not feigned. Yes, there was no doubt he had recovered completely from the Enid affair and was now heartwhole again.
The knowledge brought with it disquiet, for she realized he was now emotionally ready to fall in love with someone else.
She looked down and saw she had clenched her hands together. Her wedding ring gleamed against the folds of her dress and she touched it with one finger, twisting it round and round as if by so doing she could keep Lance for ever within the circle of her life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TWO days later Susan Rogers arrived at the villa and Rose was struck anew at the girl's freshness and vitality. In next to no time she had settled down with them as if she were a member of the family and seeing the ease between her and Lance, Rose recollected that they had spent
their childhood years together. There was no denying the bond this could be and she wondered whether Susan had ever been in love with Lance. She found herself watching them more closely than she had done in London and saw not only familiarity between them but also the evident pleasure they drew from each other's company.
The morning, after Susan's arrival she had been awakened by the sharp crack of a ball coming from the tennis court below and she had looked from her bedroom window and seen Susan and Lance playing together. By the time she went downstairs they had finished their game and were sipping coffee in the dining room.
"I hope we didn't wake you," Lance said anxiously. "I'd forgotten until we started to play that your bedroom overlooks the court."
"I was awake ages before," Rose said swiftly. "And anyway, it's a lovely sound."
From then on she was awakened by the same sound every day and would lie in bed listening not only to the crack of the ball but the laughter and badinage that floated up on the still air.
The weather could not have been lovelier for this time of the year. The skies were blue and the sun warmed the air sufficiently for them to sit on the lawns from mid- morning until early afternoon. In the evenings when the air grew chill, the fire was lit in the drawing room and they would sit grouped around it and play records or talk.
At the end of the week Alan arrived, his brief case bulging with papers, and from then on Rose and Susan were thrown into one another's company. There was no doubt that Susan was excellent company for she bubbled over with joie de vivre and was completely unconscious of her attraction. Rose learned a lot about Lance from her during this time and listened to long stories of his escapades at school and university, escapades from which Helen Rogers had always managed to extricate him.
"She looked on Lance as a son," Susan said one evening as they were sitting alone together. "I suppose it's because she's never had any children of her own."
"She was lucky to have you."
"A woman prefers a son," Susan said, nodding her head wisely. "And she doted on Lance — just like other women did. Or perhaps I should say do!"
Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose Page 16
