Stratford Jewel

by Oliver, Marina

  It had been a very long day, and Rosa was thankful when Max drove to a nearby hotel.

  'We'll stop here tonight,' he said cheerfully, 'then on the way home you can see some of America.'

  They sat outside, on a shaded verandah, their table shielded from others by banks of greenery. During the meal Max talked encouragingly of the progress other patients with Jack's condition had made, and Rosa did her best to respond. Her thoughts were more with her own dilemma, though, and she was aware that the time for decision was rapidly approaching. It came at the end of the meal when Max suggested a stroll through the gardens down to the shore of a small lake.

  'We can discuss our own future now,' he said softly, taking her hand and folding it in his as they walked.

  'Max,' Rosa began quickly. 'There's no need, no need at all for you to feel you have to marry me. We can manage perfectly well now, and it wouldn't be fair to you.'

  'I thought you'd stopped protesting,' Max said with a slight laugh. 'Rosa, can you truthfully tell me you don't want to marry me?'

  Rosa groaned. 'I don't know! But that's beside the point. You can't want to marry me. You proposed when things looked desperate, it may have seemed the only way out, you hadn't had time to think, and you practically admitted you had a girl back at home.'

  'I used to have, and then it was more because our families expected it. Jenny didn't want to marry me.'

  'But everyone is always telling us America is the land of the free, the land of opportunities. Surely families here aren't so hidebound as that. Why, even in England those sort of arranged marriages don't take place any more.'

  'Virginian society is probably stricter, more conscious of its pride, its status, than the British aristocracy,' Max tried to explain. 'It may be to do with the relatively short time we've had to establish an attitude of superiority towards the rest of the States. The first immigrants with an aristocratic heritage settled here, remember, and always thought themselves a bit above the others.'

  'That has nothing to do with us, now. There's Jenny to consider. You must have thought you loved her. I can't come between you.'

  'Jenny loves someone else. We agreed to break it off the last time I was at home. Rosa, it's you I love, you I want to marry, and though I admit I surprised myself when I proposed back in Stratford, I knew at once it was what I wanted most in the world.'

  Rosa remained unconvinced, and Max ceased trying to persuade her. He talked of neutral things before leading the way back indoors. At her bedroom door Rosa, afraid she had offended him, turned to say goodnight, but Max thrust her inside and followed her in.

  'I can see words won't convince you,' he said briskly, and Rosa, startled, saw a determined gleam in his eye.

  'What do you mean?'

  'This.'

  Max slid his arms round her before Rosa realised his intention. As she opened her mouth to protest it was covered by his, and she would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her so tightly. She struggled to breathe, and Max lifted his mouth for a moment, then laughed huskily as his lips once more recaptured hers. Her thoughts whirled. His previous kiss, and Adam's, had been nothing like this. As his lips played with hers, and his tongue darted across them, teasing them into tingling awareness, she felt her bones melting and clung to him for support. The kiss seemed endless, growing ever deeper and more intense and Rosa, forgetting all idea of objecting, instinctively responded. She whimpered in delight as Max's tongue, daringly invasive, inflamed her into an urgent seeking for fulfilment.

  When Max picked her up and carried her to the bed she was incapable of protest. As he removed her clothes, tantalisingly slowly, kissing every gradually revealed inch of her body, she silently willed him to hurry to whatever climax was inevitable. Max seemed in no haste, however, murmuring endearments and admiration in between kisses.

  'You are so lovely, so enchanting,' he whispered as he lay down beside her, and in a dim recess of her mind Rosa wondered how it was that even her ears seemed alive and responsive to the soft breath which caressed them.

  She wriggled closer. 'Max.'

  'Hush, my love, there's no need to hurry. We have all night to explore one another.'

  She felt as though her body was floating, a mass of anticipatory sensation, every part of it craving for a closer, deeper contact which was repeatedly promised and then denied her. Her mind ceased to function, all she knew was the delicious, exhilarating awareness of what Max was doing to her. Then, when she was desperate for more, she felt his weight cover her, and she clutched him to her in a fierce embrace.

  'Rosa, my darling, I love you so,' he whispered, and Rosa, gasping, laughed shakily.

  'Max. Oh Max, I love you too!'

  He lifted his body slightly away from hers. Rosa arched her back, and her clasp tightened as she silently urged him not to abandon her. Then, when she felt she could bear no more, her world exploded into a whirlpool of ecstasy and triumphantly consummated passion.

  ***

  Chapter 12

  Rosa woke and stretched luxuriously. A faint glow announcing the dawn came though the gap in the curtains, and she felt vitally alive despite sleeping only a few hours. Recalling the reasons for her disturbed rest she smiled langurously. She was utterly content, aware of her body as never before, physically complete and satisfied, yet ready the moment Max touched her to engage in still more love-making. For three days and nights they had remained at the hotel, their need for one another apparently insatiable. Rosa had lost all her inhibitions under Max's tutelage, and was incredulous that she had never before suspected such ecstatic delights existed.

  She leaned on one elbow and bent to kiss the nape of Max's neck as he lay beside her. Instantly awake he rolled over and seized her before she could move away, and in a laughing tangle of arms and legs Rosa felt her desire mounting until she was feverishly encouraging him to reach the climax which, tantalisingly, he delayed again and again until she was almost weeping from frustration.

  Later, as they sprawled together on the rumpled bed, he played with her fingers and circled her wedding finger with one of his.

  'It's time we made this legal,' he said softly. 'Rosa, I love you more every day, if that's possible. But if I don't tie you to me I'm afraid you'll disappear in a puff of smoke. Or vanish down the trapdoor as in a Pantomime.'

  'Am I the good fairy or the evil witch?' she demanded.

  'You're my good fairy. It's time we went back to New York and made arrangements. Jack signed the necessary permission last week. We'll spend a few days on an official honeymoon, and I'll take you home to meet the family.'

  Rosa drew back slightly. 'Max. I'd forgotten them,' she confessed worriedly. 'Won't they hate it, your marrying an English girl?'

  'They'll love you,' he reassured her. 'I'd take you there first and let my mother arrange the wedding, but I'm too afraid she'd want to make it a big occasion, and we'd have to wait weeks to give her time to get all the neighbours involved.'

  'Won't she be offended if we don't let her do it?'

  'Too bad. And being Ma, she'd make sure we were at opposite ends of the house, probably with her open door in between so that there'd be no chance of slipping past.'

  Rosa chuckled. 'There must be fields and barns around, or haylofts,' she said speculatively.

  'Could you bear to make love only when we could sneak away into the woods on our own? Even then I'd bet she'd organise all my cousins and friends in a rota to keep us company every time we tried to escape.'

  'OK. I'm convinced.'

  Rosa was ecstatically happy and although when they finally went back to New York Max had to spend a good deal of time at his office, she cherished the daily reunions. She knew she loved Max, wanted to marry him, and was convinced he loved her equally. Jack was improving, and the telephone conversations Max had with his uncle were reassuring. Dr Higham thought Jack's symptoms were very mild, and his treatment would be successful enough to permit Jack to leave the hospital within a few months. What they would do then, whether Ja
ck would want to return to England and face the music there, or be content to stay in America, could be resolved later. The wide open spaces of the states further west, which Max had described to her, and which he promised to show her soon, might suit Jack better than cramped little England. With the money from the sale of the business he might be able to buy a small farm, set up as a horse-breeder, or even return to being a carrier. She'd always heard that America was the land of opportunity, and for Jack it might be ideal.

  Rosa didn't have much time for brooding. Max insisted she bought herself plenty of clothes from the big stores. 'You didn't have the chance to bring much, and this will be your trousseau. Do English girls still have these?'

  Rosa laughed. 'Mother used to talk constantly about our bottom drawers, but thank goodness she didn't insist on us embroidering endless tablecloths and napkins to put in them. In Victorian times, I believe, girls were expected to collect dozens of everything. Underwear had to be made by hand, of course, with infinitely small stitches. It's a wonder they had time for anything else.'

  'And all to no purpose, since their husbands would be as eager to take it all off as I am. Thank goodness you don't wear corsets and several petticoats.'

  Rosa giggled. 'I've scarcely worn anything for the past few weeks, when you've been here,' she pointed out. 'I only seem to get dressed when we go to the theatre or out to dine.'

  A week later they exchanged vows in a tiny episcopalian church and Max slipped the wide gold band on her finger. 'I love you, Mrs Higham,' he whispered, bending to kiss her and raising his head, grinning, only when the Minister gave a somewhat embarrassed cough.

  They went to Niagara, and spent several days there. Rosa felt that the vast torrent of water was miniscule compared with her tumultuous and overwhelming love. They held hands at the top as they stood on the rocks and watched the swirling river move inexorably over the edge. Below, they went in the boat and almost felt the thunderous crash as the water mingled in the whirlpool at the foot of the falls. At night, in the early morning, and often in the daytime as well, they made glorious, rapturous love. Rosa suspected this intense physical enchantment might diminish in time, but she didn't care. It was enough to feel so desirable, so cherished, and to know she was making Max happy too. Whatever the future might hold, she was confident their love would endure.

  *

  'Do you, Celia Juliet Greenwood, take this man Gilbert Edward Meadows, for your lawful wedded husband – '

  Celia sighed and wished the ceremony was over. Gilbert had wanted a church wedding, but she'd refused to arrange it in Stratford. They'd waited until the new play opened in London, and here they were in an anonymous city church, marrying by special licence with only two mildly curious office clerks persuaded to act as witnesses.

  'I don't want to celebrate,' she'd said angrily when Gilbert suggested inviting the rest of the cast to a party.

  He shrugged. 'Very well, darling, but we'll have dinner at the Ritz and spend the night there in one of their best suites. It's a special day for me, so let me celebrate.'

  Celia thought about this as the ceremony dragged to its conclusion. Was she being silly, with her reluctance to marry? It needn't make any difference to her, after all. She'd go on acting, they might become a famous husband and wife team, but if an opportunity arose which did not include Gilbert she knew he would not object or try to prevent her from taking it. Gilbert had ambitions to be a director, and he could direct her in leading roles. Already he was talking about trying to persuade young dramatists to write plays especially for her. What kind of part would she like best? She didn't fancy the heavily serious parts which George Bernard Shaw wrote. Rosa might like to play that boringly tedious Saint Joan, but she preferred to look glamorous, be amusing, wear exciting clothes and have the audience adoring her. Something like Hay Fever was far more attractive. She wondered whether Noel Coward would write any more successful plays, and whether he'd write one for her.

  She was so deeply into her dreaming she barely felt the ring Gilbert slipped onto her finger, or noticed the tiny vestry where they signed the register. They were driving along the Strand in a taxi before Celia came back to earth.

  'Are we going to the Savoy?' she asked.

  'No, the Ritz. Would you have preferred the Savoy?'

  'It doesn't matter. Rosa stayed there, when she came to London with Adam. Something funny happened. She never told me what, but I could tell.'

  'Will you send the marriage certificate to Mr Brinkley today?'

  'The what? Oh, where is it?'

  'Here.' Gilbert passed the paper to her. 'You were in such a dream I thought I'd better take care of it. Shall we post it and then he can get on with selling the business?'

  'That was why we got married. You send it off. No, wait, can we change the date so that it looks as though we got married last year?'

  'I thought you didn't mind people knowing?'

  Celia shrugged pettishly. 'Of course I don't, but he was so unbearably stuffy, he made it clear he thought we weren't married, and I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right, that's all.'

  Gilbert chuckled. 'We don't need to see him again, it can all be done by post. And if you altered the date it might make the sale invalid, you'd have to pay the money back or something.'

  'It's all so unbearably stupid!' Celia burst out, and relapsed into gloomy thoughts for the rest of the drive, while they were shown to their suite overlooking Green Park, and while they changed for dinner.

  She did make an effort to talk cheerfully during dinner, until they were finishing the ices she'd chosen for pudding. As she laid down her spoon there was a squeal of excitement behind her and two girls, dressed in flowing chiffon dresses with floating panels and several strings of beads which dangled well past their waists, swept down on Gilbert.

  'Gilbert? It is you. Darling, it's been simply ages. Where on earth have you been hiding yourself? Oh, it's fabulous to see you. We're going on to a nightclub. Do come with us, it'll be such tremendous fun.'

  Gilbert laughed and submitted to being kissed enthusiastically, one girl clinging to each arm.

  'Pippa. And Cherry. I thought you were in America, in Hollywood, trying your fortunes there.'

  'Darling, it was so awfully boring. The men may look terribly exciting on the screen, but in the flesh they're frightfully disappointing. We prefer rugged English types, don't we, Cherry?'

  'Or suave aristocratic gentlemen. Gilbert's not rugged.'

  Gilbert, laughing, disentangled himself and smiled at Celia, who was looking on with an amazed, disdainful expression. 'Girls, meet my wife, Celia.'

  They glanced briefly at Celia and turned back to Gilbert, shrieking with laughter.

  'You, married? Gilbert, how positively dowdy of you.'

  'I just don't believe it. Gilbert, you naughty boy. Wouldn't they let you stay here a deux without claiming the shackles?'

  He laughed. 'It's true. Celia and I are in the same company. We met at Stratford, Celia lives there and was in the Shakespeare Festival.'

  Pippa, or it may have been Cherry, Celia was by now so angry she couldn't be sure, chuckled and tickled Gilbert under the chin. 'I see it all. Celia's a provincial, and wouldn't allow you in her bed unchained. Poor dear Gilbert. But both of you come, we'll have to begin to educate Celia properly, if she wants to be a real actress. Go and fetch wraps. Even in summer it gets cold when you come home at dawn. See you in the foyer in ten minutes.'

  'I will not speak to those – those sluts,' Celia spluttered as Gilbert guided her from the restaurant.

  'Oh come, they're not that bad, just terribly vivacious,' Gilbert said soothingly. 'They can be good fun.'

  'You call it good fun when they did nothing but insult me? All they wanted was to get you away from me.'

  'Darling, don't be silly – '

  'I am not being silly!'

  'You're showing signs of jealousy already. Don't worry, sweetheart, you're my wife, nothing can change that now.' />
  Celia waited until they had reached their suite, then she turned to Gilbert. 'I am not jealous,' she enunciated slowly through gritted teeth. 'I will not go out with those trollops.'

  'Celia, I don't want to act the heavy husband, but they are my friends, and they tried to be friendly to us. I want us to go.'

  'Just don't you dare try and order me about. I won't go, but if you do then you'll be sorry.'

  Gilbert laughed disbelievingly. 'Darling, you're tired. Why don't you go to bed, and I'll go with them just for an hour or two. Then you'll be rested when I come back. It's our wedding night, sweetheart.'

  Celia turned away, and after staring at her for a while Gilbert shrugged, picked up a light overcoat and went away. Celia swung round and glared at the door, then with an angry sob she seized her suitcase and hastily began to throw in her clothes.

  *

  'Max, darling! We weren't expecting you. What a lovely surprise. And who is your friend?'

  'Rosa, this is my mother, and Mother, this wonderful lady is Mrs Higham, my wife Rosa.'

  The older Mrs Higham blinked, but gave no other sign of her astonishment. Rosa was looking at her apprehensively, alert for any hint of disapproval, but Max's mother smiled composedly and moved forward, her arms outstretched.

  'My dear! Let me kiss you, then come into my parlour and tell me all about it. Papa's out,' she added to Max, 'so I'll have you all to myself for an hour or two. Won't that be cosy? You must have had a whirlwind romance, dear,' she said as she took Rosa's arm to guide her into the large, richly furnished room to the right of the front door. 'Max hasn't mentioned you, which I know he would have done if he'd known you for long.'

  'Rosa is English, from Stratford-on-Avon,' Max said. 'I met her on the day of the fire, she was helping get the books and other treasures out from the library.'

  'Yes, you told me about that. But then, of course, you were promised – ' Mrs Higham broke off, for the first time looking disconcerted. Max grinned at her.

  'Rosa knows all about Jenny, Ma. Yes, everyone expected me to marry her then, but this time when I went to England I was free to propose to Rosa. Luckily she accepted me. Don't you think I'm the most fortunate man alive?'