'But it is a phoney,' Roz protested. 'Damn you, Charles; what are you up to? You said it was a cover-up to help Eve, and now you're acting as though it's all in earnest. You're letting a little bit of makebelieve go to your head!'
'Not in the least.' Charles didn't look at her, it wouldn't have been convenient; they were waiting at a quite busy T-junction. He studied the traffic and then slipped easily into the stream. 'You were the one who grabbed at the cover-up, the results of a guilty conscience, I suppose. All I did was offer you a way out, you took it, and now, darling, you'll stick to it.'
'You mean you're taking all this seriously?' Her voice rose from its normally controlled tones to an outraged squeal.
'Certainly.' He sounded rather amused. 'It might be all a game to you, but I don't play that sort of game. When I play, I play for keeps.' The amusement was gone and he sounded grimly resolved. 'I've drafted out a notice for the papers, the usual thing: "A marriage has been arranged…and will take place…" and I shall send it in as soon as I've applied for the licence and made arrangements with the Registrar. It's high time you were wedded and bedded—you're lethal running around loose.'
'I will not choose one,' Roz raised her chin and her lips firmed. Her voice dropped to a hissed whisper. 'You can show me every damn ring in the shop and I won't pay any attention!'
'You don't have to choose,' Charles was unmoved. 'You'll have what you're given. Ah, that's better,' he nodded approval as the jeweller took away the tray of diamond solitaires and replaced it with one which showed a little more colour. 'This, I think.' Charles picked out an opal surrounded by a sparkling rim of diamonds. 'You're not superstitious, I hope, darling?'
Since the jeweller was regarding them closely, Roz smiled sweetly. 'I was born in the right month, darling.' Her voice was syrupy. 'In any case, the only unlucky thing about opals is that they're rather soft, they damage easily; even immersion in water isn't good for them. In fact, the less they're worn, the better. I'll have the opal.'
Secretly, she admired the stone greatly, although nothing on earth would have made her admit it. The opal sat there against the black velvet background and through the vein in its opalescent milkiness, streaks of blue, green and red fire glittered balefully, making the sparkle of the diamonds seem commonplace. It was beautiful and she wanted it—but not as an engagement ring. Almost automatically, she started doing little sums in her head and came to the sad conclusion that she couldn't afford to buy it for herself. Her spell off work had reduced her bank balance to less than two hundred pounds, and this ring would cost far more than that.
Impassively, she watched the jeweller give the ring a final polish, put it in its little leather box and accept the cheque which Charles had written. Equally impassively, she watched Charles open the box, take out the ring and slip it on to her finger where it sparked turquoise and red fire dangerously. Dangerous—yes, that was the word. She would have to tread very carefully if she was to get out of this mess without a husband. Charles as a husband she couldn't accept, her pride wouldn't permit. She would need to trust the man she married; she didn't expect him to be as pure as driven snow, but a five-year-long liaison with his secretary was too big a pill to swallow. No doubt they had parted amicably, but… She could accept a love affair or two, but one that lasted for five years? No, it would be like breaking up a marriage, and she would feel as though she was stealing. That was another thing which her pride wouldn't allow.
But, she decided, since Charles had never raised the question of his secretary, she could hardly do it. The best thing was to play along with him and take a chance of escape as soon as it arose. Roz walked along the pavement with him, going she knew not where; she hardly noticed the people passing and the shop windows were a blur. It wasn't until she stumbled over a high kerbstone that she raised her head and asked where they were going.
'Register office.' He was curt. 'The sooner we apply for a licence, the sooner we can be married.'
'How soon?'
'A day or so, I believe.' The hand on her arm tightened as if she was going to run away, which she wasn't. Instead, her mouth curved in a smile of wolfish glee.
'The exercise will be useless,' she told him, hardly bothering to conceal her triumph. 'Quite useless— you're wasting your time.' His raised eyebrows tempted her into displaying malicious glee. 'You can't get a licence without certain information, and I'm not giving you any help in that direction.'
His smile, as he looked down at her, was as wolfish as her own, and he led her into the entrance of a small shopping arcade where he reached into his breast pocket with his free hand while controlling her with the other. When his fingers emerged from the tweed of his jacket they were holding a folded piece of paper, one dog-eared corner of which displayed some red lines.
'Your birth certificate.' His wolfish smile became a positive leer as he flicked the fold of paper open and waved it under her nose. 'Eve parted with it without a murmur. I told her it would be a great help if the original could be found; it would save us getting a copy.'
'You-you conniving bastard!' Outrage sparkled in Roz's eyes. 'And I suppose you have your own with you?'
'I never travel without it.' Charles was now serene. 'It was one thing which the orphanage was very definite about. We were always taught that we ought to have some method of identification about our persons. I also have my passport. Checkmate, darling?'
'Not in the least.' Now that the shock was over, she was beginning to enjoy herself. It was a battle of wits and she was sure that with a little concentration she could win. 'I'll concede you one small pawn and we'll play out the rest of the game.'
She sat quietly in the Registrar's office while Charles arranged the licence, her smile was remote as she accepted the Registrar's congratulations and good wishes, and she didn't open her mouth until Charles and the Registrar had arrived on what, to them, was a suitable date and time for the small ceremony to take place.
'Impossible, darling.' She didn't shout it or even snap it out; instead she said it with a mournful shake of her head and a melting glance at the Registrar which begged him to make allowances for the stupidity of her husband-to-be. 'My sister,' she explained. 'She's arranging a lovely party for us, it would break her heart if anything happened to spoil it for her.' Concealed from the Registrar's gaze by the front of his desk, which possessed a truly magnificent polished mahogany modesty board, her high-heeled shoe ground down on one of Charles' pigskin casuals, and she wasn't kind about it; she gave her heel a definite twist before she raised her foot.
'One can't give an engagement party for a married couple,' she was almost pathetic. 'It's quite unthinkable!' The Registrar bent his head to his diary and out of the corner of her mouth and in a voice which only Charles could hear, she murmured, 'That one's mine! Your move, darling!'
Charles' smile was rather forced and Roz felt a despicable satisfaction. She could have broken his toes; she rather hoped she had, at least one anyway! 'When is the party?' he mouthed back at her, and she shrugged her slender shoulders.
'I haven't the faintest idea,' she whispered, 'but if I have anything to do with it, I should think it would take place next Christmas, which gives you six months to make the arrangements.'
'Bitch!' he whispered with a fond smile, and then aloud, 'We seem to have reached an impasse,' he absorbed the Registrar's nod with equanimity, 'and my fiancée did so want to be a June bride! But that leaves us three weeks, doesn't it; perhaps if I rang you within the next few days, when the arrangements are slightly less fluid…?'
They went for lunch in the same restaurant, and the clientele seemed to be composed of the same well-dressed, beautifully coiffeured ladies. Roz looked at them and wondered if that was their life; a little walk around the shops, morning coffee, another period of window shopping followed by lunch; then perhaps a bit of serious shopping, possibly in a cut price supermarket before they came back here for tea. A little smile curved her lips, nothing to do with the well dressed ladies but brought on b
y her small victory in the register office. She stared hard at the gold dragons which writhed across a black japanned screen which shielded the door to the ladies' powder room and concentrated hard.
It wouldn't be wise to be too euphoric just because she had thrown a spanner in Charles' works. It had only been a very tiny spanner and it would soon be mangled up. Then his machinery would go on running smoothly and she would be processed through it like a can of baked beans, or should it be like one of his photographs? Taken, developed, printed, washed, dried and glazed; all with care and attention to detail but with a ruthless efficiency. Roz tried to think of a few more spanners to throw in the works, but she was distracted by some delicious celery soup, the necessity of deciding between breaded veal and mushrooms and chicken espagnol, not to mention the array of various sweets.
Her appetite was healthy and unimpaired by the thought of the licence nestling in Charles' pocket; that was something she would think about later. Just for now, she was a hungry young woman who would think better on a full stomach. Charles took his cue from her and gave most of his attention to his food until they were at the coffee stage when, stirring his cup automatically, he observed.
'This should set your golden boy back on his heels!'
'Yes.' Roz's smile glittered with the quality of chipped ice. 'He'll now, possibly, turn his full attention on to his post-grad student, who looks as though she'll be a pushover. You shouldn't have interfered; you should have used your head. One moment's thought would have told you that I'm not such an easy proposition. That student will say "baa" and follow wherever he leads.'
'No,' there was a fugitive twinkle in his eyes, 'you're not much like a sacrificial lamb, are you, my sweet? You've got nasty pointy teeth.'
'And you look like a satyr,' she told him snappily. 'You've got nasty pointy ears—and don't think this lamb is going to spread herself on the altar without making a fight of it!'
'You fight very well,' he murmured. 'And I shall have the bruises to prove it. I thought you were going to break my toes.'
'Didn't I?' Her face registered regret. 'I'm so sorry. Ah, well, better luck next time!'
She kept up the acid bickering all the way back in the car and felt much better for it, but when they arrived it was to find Eve up to her ears in party arrangements, and Roz went back to feeling that she was being got at.
'You're going to knock yourself up, sister mine,' she remonstrated. 'You're not over the baby yet, you're not well enough.'
Eve pooh-poohed her. 'Of course I'm well enough. It's just what I need, something to really wake me up, get me out of this baby-bound fog I'm living in. Not that I don't love the baby—I do, you know I do, but he has to take his place in the scheme of things. I've made out a guest list, it's quite small really; is there anybody you want to invite?' The question was addressed to both Roz and Charles, and as one person, they both said 'No'.
'Then,' continued Eve happily, 'there's just the vicar and his wife, the couple from the schoolmaster's house, those very nice people who took over the farm and run a riding school, and I thought we'd have a couple of dons and a tutor or so from the U. The dons will be practically moribund, but their wives are very nice, and of course, we shall have to have Stephen's post-grad student; that's why I'm inviting a tutor or so. The poor girl will want some young company.'
'That's eighteen people at least,' Roz protested. 'It's far too many—think of the food we'll have to cook!'
'Caterers,' Eve brushed aside the objections. 'And isn't it a good thing that this is such a big house; we can open up the doors between the sitting-room and the drawing-room, take up the sitting-room carpet, borrow some records from the neighbours…' and in a haze of planning she went off with her pad and pencil clutched tightly in her hand to count napkins and cutlery.
'Now see what you've done!' Roz scolded. 'My sister has the bit between her teeth. Thank God we're not in London; she'd probably have booked the Dorchester!'
Charles chuckled. 'Leave her alone, Roz; she's enjoying herself. She's looking better already. Why don't you do your part and find her something really splendid to wear?'
'But all this hoo-ha about a farce of an engagement!' Roz found herself near to tears.
'Eve doesn't think it's a farce and, for that matter, neither do I,' he sounded quite serious. 'Just think about it for a moment, will you. Would I have gone to the trouble of applying for a marriage licence if I hadn't been serious? Make up your mind to it, Roz; we're going to be married.'
'Not if I have anything to do with it,' she stormed, 'and you can't marry an unwilling bride.'
'Unwilling?' he gave a short laugh. 'Oh, no, Roz. I'm sure I shall have your full co-operation.'
'Get lost!' she yelled at him as he went upstairs to his room to change.
Eve chose this moment to come back, but her mind was too occupied to be bothered by a small matter like Roz shouting rudely up the stairs. 'The glasses.' Her brow creased in a frown. 'We've only a dozen of each, now what's to do? Shall we use what we have and hire some more or would it be better to hire everything? It would save us washing up and all that bother.'
'Hire it all,' Roz muttered fiercely. 'Hire the glasses, the cutlery, the crockery, half a dozen waiters and a butler, if you like. I don't care,' and she collapsed on the bottom stair while tears slowly welled up in her eyes and spilled over to run down her cheeks.
'Pre-wedding nerves,' Eve diagnosed without any signs of being disturbed. 'I wept buckets myself, I know how it feels. You get this feeling that things are out of control.' She plumped down on the stair with Roz, taking her sister's hand, and then, just as Roz was thinking she'd get some much-needed sympathy, Eve spotted the ring. 'Oh, it's lovely,' she crooned. 'Charles has very good taste, hasn't he? Lots of men would…'
'Lots of men wouldn't rush me off my feet,' Roz wailed. 'Do something, can't you? I want a long, long engagement. I don't want to be married for ages, I'm very happy as I am.'
Eve patted her hand. 'Silly girl, don't get so uptight; it'll be all right on the night.'
Roz found no comfort in this at all, in fact it sounded like the knell of doom, so she raced up the stairs and locked herself in her room. There, she flung herself on the bed and hammered the pillows with clenched fists. She was being forced, manoeuvred to do what she wanted to do. She wanted Charles, she loved him, despite the fact that he was the most hateful creature in creation, despite his thinking that she was… At this point, she ceased her hammering and angry mutterings, and pulled herself together, washed her face and redid it, brushed her hair into some sort of order and went back downstairs determined to be as awkward as possible while preserving a cool, calm and collected front.
CHAPTER SIX
Roz opened bleary eyes and gazed at the streamers of sunlight filtering through the curtains, then she rolled over in bed and closed her eyes again firmly. Yesterday had been the most awful day in her life—far worse, now she thought about it, than the day when Stephen and Eve had told her about their forthcoming marriage.
She looked down at the ring on her finger. It was now milkily bland with not a hint of hidden fire. Of course, that was a trick of the light, it wasn't an omen or anything silly like that, but a shiver ran all the way up her back and then down again. Was it only yesterday Charles had put it on her finger? It seemed like a hundred years ago; that was the worst thing about time, when you were happy, it whistled by, but a little bit of worry, of uncertainty, and it dragged on leaden feet.
Last evening had been ghastly because Stephen had talked to Charles. Well, he hadn't talked to him, he'd talked at him and she, Roz, had sat at the dinner table going hot and cold by turns. Stephen had been full of good humour and advice for the husband-to-be, and although Charles had been very non-committal, brushing it all aside, Stephen had gone on and on. The man, she thought viciously, had the hide of a rhinoceros and about the same amount of tact!
And he wasn't above implying things either. To listen to him, one would have thought that Roz's youthf
ul infatuation had involved far more than it had. Of course, he didn't say anything which was utterly false, but he seemed to have the gift of colouring facts very slightly and forcing his audience to draw false conclusions. Or maybe it was just her imagination, a slightly guilty conscience perhaps at having made such a fool of herself all those years ago. Come to think of it, she was slightly ashamed of herself!
Unable to sit listening any longer, she had escaped to the kitchen with Eve. Yes, it had probably been all in her mind, because Eve hadn't noticed anything. She had thought that Charles and Stephen were getting on together famously! After the kitchen had been tidied and the table set for breakfast, Roz had gone off to her bedroom, locked herself in and had sat staring out over the garden until it was too dark to see anything any more. After that, she had slipped into bed, switched off the light and prepared herself for a wakeful night.
Some time around dawn, she had slipped into an exhausted sleep which had been peopled by a faceless Margery Smith and Stephen, who had both chanted that she must leave Charles alone, and when she had turned to him in bewildered terror he had walked away from her, leaving her alone in the darkness.
With a disgusted grunt at her own stupidity, she slid out of bed, grabbed her robe about her, stuffed her feet into her slippers and padded off to the bathroom, where she found her sister coping with a recalcitrant Gilly who didn't want to be washed.
'You ought to have another bathroom put in,' Roz growled. Lack of sleep and an overdose of worry had made her bad-tempered. She caught Gilly's soapy little body as it was trying to escape the cleansing process and redeposited it in the bath. 'You stay there this time, my girl, or Aunty Roz will beat you!'
'All the best books say you shouldn't say things like that.' Eve smiled widely. 'It's supposed to make the kids nervous.'
'Nervous!' Roz snorted. 'Look at her, she's about as nervous as a suet pudding!' She made a horrid face at her niece, who demonstrated her fright by shrieking with glee and slopping water all over the floor while she implored her aunt to 'do it again'.
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