“Should I be flattered?” he asked. “Or suspicious that you have a hidden reason for being so kind to me?”
“Must I have a – reason?”
“No,” he answered, “but I am half-afraid to put into your mind or mine the thoughts I really want you to think.”
They were back again where they had been last night, Cassandra thought, fencing with words, hinting at what might or might not be below the surface.
She had the feeling that, while they had been apart, the Duke had thought about her as she had thought of him, but that he had decided that their relationship should be gay and amusing but by no means serious.
Accordingly she tried to play up to the mood he desired, but underneath everything they said, she felt that there was a streak of seriousness that neither of them could ignore.
The Duke took her to The Café Royal in Regent Street, which was a popular place for luncheon and dinner.
It had not been open for many years, but it had been a huge success from its very beginning. It was the first restaurant in London where an excellent and really French meal could be eaten.
Cassandra found it fascinating. It had atmosphere and the big room with long, red, plush-covered seats contained a mixture of celebrities from all walks of life.
“Tell me who everybody is,” she begged him.
Amused by her interest and curiosity, the Duke pointed out the actors, crooks, jockeys, confidence-men, trainers, owners and professional backers, who were all eating the superlative food and drinking wine from a cellar that was acknowledged to be one of the best in London.
When Oscar Wilde came in looking pale, elegant and extremely pleased with himself, Cassandra exclaimed excitedly,
“I have always wanted to see him. I have enjoyed his poems so much. But my father has always said he is a terrible poseur.”
“He is,” the Duke answered. “Nevertheless he undoubtedly has great talent.”
There were, of course, a number of women in the restaurant who were either actresses or quite obviously of a class that Cassandra had never come into contact with.
However, after her initial interest in the other guests, she found it difficult to notice anyone but the Duke.
Once again, she found it easy to talk to him and to discuss so many different subjects.
It seemed that they could hardly pause for breath before they were arguing, discussing or exclaiming over something else.
When finally they drove away in the direction of Knightsbridge Green, Cassandra’s eyes were shining and she was feeling as happy as she had felt the night before. Never had she enjoyed a meal more.
She had been to Tattersalls with her father on a Sunday some years previously and she remembered the great grass-covered yard where the horses were shown off to prospective buyers.
She knew that there were seventy-five open boxes and twenty-five stables for brood mares, above which there was a gallery served by lifts for storing carriages and harness.
When she had been there before, the yard had been filled with top-hatted gentlemen and elegantly-dressed ladies, while grooms had trotted the horses up to the auctioneer’s box and back.
Today there were only the grooms in their shirt sleeves, moving amongst the stalls, carrying buckets of water and whistling through their teeth as they rubbed down their charges.
For the first time Cassandra now saw the Duke in a very different guise. It was almost as if he had forgotten her very existence.
His Head Groom reported to him on the way that the horses had travelled, telling him that one was nervous after the journey, another seemed a little off-colour, but the majority were settling into their new quarters.
“Keep them as quiet as you can,” the Duke told him.
“I’m seeing to that, Your Grace! A nervous horse never gets the best price.”
“That is very true.”
The Duke then went with Cassandra to look at the horses, one after another.
There was no doubt that they were magnificent animals.
“I have put a reserve of one thousand guineas on this one,” the Duke said. “He has already won three races and seems sure to win the Gold Cup at Ascot.”
“Would you not be wise to keep him then?” Cassandra asked, knowing that the Gold Cup brought in a large amount of prize money.
“I cannot afford to wait,” the Duke answered and went on to the next stall.
Cassandra asked for a catalogue of the sale on Monday.
A member of the Tattersalls staff brought it to her and she looked through it wondering as she did so, if her father had seen a copy.
Almost as if he read her thoughts, the Duke said,
“I only decided to put my horses in the sale a week ago. You will therefore find that they have been added at the last moment and listed all together at the end of the catalogue.”
“But surely that means that the addition has not gone to many of the people in the country who receive it regularly before every sale?” Cassandra queried.
The Duke shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps. But I am sure that there will be no lack of bidders. My father’s stud is well known in racing circles.”
“Yes, of course,” Cassandra answered.
She was, however, thinking that Sir James being in Yorkshire could not have heard that the Duke’s horses were in this sale.
If he had, she was quite certain that he would have mentioned it to her. This meant that there was not time for her to communicate with him, unless she sent him a telegram.
If she did that, she argued to herself, he would undoubtedly come to London, in which case she could no longer go on acting her part of a young unknown actress.
Besides, if Sir James was in London, there was every likelihood that he would introduce her to the Duke. It would be so easy for it to happen, even if she did not go with him to the sale.
An idea came to her.
When they left Tattersalls, she took the sale catalogue carefully with her and sat with it on her lap in the phaeton so that she would not forget it.
“You are dining with me tonight,” the Duke said.
It was a statement rather than a question.
“If you still want me to do so,” Cassandra answered. “Are you quite certain that you have not had enough of my company?”
“You are fishing for compliments,” the Duke replied with a smile.
He looked at her and added,
“You know I want to be with you and to see you. Don’t play with me, Sandra. I cannot bear it.”
There was something almost desperate in his voice and again Cassandra did not know what was happening.
She only felt that she was being carried along on a tide that was moving too quickly for her to have any clear or coherent thoughts about herself or her relationship with the Duke.
She knew only that he overwhelmed her, that it was a joy beyond words to be with him, to know that he was beside her and to listen to his voice speaking to her and to see his eyes gazing into hers.
And, because she felt it was all too wonderful to put into words or even to contemplate, it was dangerous.
Dangerous because she might forget that it was only a performance, that their relationship had no substance, no foundation in reality.
She was an actress he found pretty and attractive and he was a Duke who was about to become engaged to a rich heiress.
Cassandra felt as if she had embarked on a journey the end of which she could not foresee.
Her plan of meeting the Duke, of finding out the truth about his interests and most of all who he was in love with, appeared to be going well.
Yet there were so many new depths to it, so many hazards and difficulties that she had not anticipated.
The whole idea had been, she thought, a fairy story that she had told herself.
She had imagined it for so many years that to put it into operation had been easy.
Yet now she was afraid, uncertain of what might happen next.
She only knew that there was an uneasiness in her, a kind of growing fear that lay beneath the excitement and the sheer delight of being with the Duke.
Of knowing too that she loved him more every minute they were together.
*
Cassandra was ready a quarter of an hour before the Duke called for her at Bury Street.
Because she could not bear him to see her again in the garish sitting room that belonged to Hetty Henlow, she watched from a window until she saw the carriage arrive.
Then she ran downstairs.
She met him in the hall and he raised her hand to his lips.
“I have not kept you waiting?” he asked in surprise.
“No, but I thought I would save you climbing two flights of stairs,” Cassandra answered.
“You are very considerate.”
She was wearing tonight a white gown which, like the one she had worn the previous night sparkled with sequins and was ornamented with bunches of artificial flowers.
It was elaborate, beautiful and theatrical.
Hannah had set two white roses in her hair and tonight Cassandra discarded her earrings and wore instead a two-string pearl necklace that belonged to her mother.
It was very valuable and she hoped the Duke would think the pearls were artificial, but when she saw him notice them while they were having dinner, she realised that he was not deceived.
He took her to dine at Rules – a much quieter place than Romano’s.
It was small and intimate and the other diners were mostly, like themselves, couples who were intensely interested in each other and who wanted to talk in low voices.
“If it seems dull, there will be many more people here after the theatres close,” the Duke pointed out.
“I am very content with it as it is,” Cassandra answered.
“That is what I hoped you would say.”
They sat talking over their meal and afterwards Cassandra found it difficult to remember what they had discussed.
She only knew that the Duke not only made her tremble when his hand touched hers, but he stimulated her mind so that her brain responded to his and everything they said seemed to have a special meaning.
“I have never known a Sandra before,” he said to her at one moment during dinner. “I suppose it is a diminutive of Alexandra?”
Cassandra parried the question by saying,
“I hope Your Grace lives up to your name?”
“What do you know about it?” the Duke asked with a smile.
“I know that Marcus Terentius Varro was the greatest scholar of the Roman Republic. He is said to have written more than six hundred books on a wide range of subjects.”
“Where did you look that up?” the Duke enquired. “The British Museum?”
“You know as well as I do that I have had no time to visit museums since I arrived in London,” Cassandra answered, “but I find the name rather fascinating.”
“And what about its owner?”
His eyes looked down into hers and once again she knew that he was searching for something. Because his scrutiny made her feel shy, she looked away from him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a low voice.
“I am thinking about you.”
“And what conclusions have you reached?”
“Perhaps I was – trying to read your – thoughts.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then tell me what I am thinking.”
“You are worrying,” Cassandra answered. “I think that you are standing, one might say, at a crossroads in your life. You have made a decision and you are not certain if it is the right one.”
The Duke stared at her in astonishment.
“How could you know that?”
“Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true. But what you have not seen, is the reason why I am worried.”
“Will you tell me what it is?”
“That is not difficult – it is you!”
She turned to look at him and again his eyes held hers so that she felt something quiver within her and come to life.
For a moment they were both spellbound.
Then, as they looked at each other quite oblivious of their surroundings, a voice interrupted them,
“What a pleasant surprise to find you both here!”
Cassandra looked up to see Lord Carwen standing by their table.
“Good evening, Sandra,” he said and held out his hand.
She did not wish to touch him, but she could not help but put her hand in his.
He kissed her fingers lightly and then he put his other hand on the Duke’s shoulder as he would have risen.
“Don’t get up, dear boy,” he said. “I have just written to you, as it happens and sent my letter round to White’s.”
“Is it anything of importance?” the Duke enquired.
Cassandra thought that there was a worried note in his voice.
“No, it is only an invitation to ask you to stay tomorrow until Monday. Lily will be coming after the theatre tomorrow evening and there will be various other mutual friends you should find amusing.”
“It is very kind of you,” the Duke began, “but – ”
“Of course,” Lord Carwen butted in, “the invitation includes the beautiful Miss Sandra Standish.”
He smiled at Cassandra in a manner that was somehow distasteful.
“I would, pretty little lady, have written to you direct,” he went on, “but you omitted to say goodnight to me last night and so unfortunately I was unable to ask you for your address.”
“I am sorry if I seemed – rude,” Cassandra murmured.
“I missed you,” Lord Carwen said, “and so to assuage my disappointment at not being able to dance with you again, will you come with Varro and stay at my house in the country?”
Cassandra was about to refuse.
Then the thought came to her how wonderful it would be to drive into the country with the Duke.
They would be together and be able to see more of each other than was possible just by meeting for meals.
As she hesitated, Lord Carwen turned to the Duke with an insistent note in his voice,
“You must come, Varro. I will not take ‘no’ for an answer!”
“Then we have no choice,” the Duke said. “That is, if Sandra will agree.”
“I cannot believe that Sandra would be so hard-hearted as to cast me into the depths of despair by refusing my hospitality,” Lord Carwen added.
He picked up Cassandra’s hand as he spoke and kissed her fingers again.
“I must go back to my party, but I shall expect you both about teatime tomorrow. Varro will doubtless explain what clothes you will find necessary. I promise you a very entertaining time!”
“Thank – you,” Cassandra said in a small voice.
As Lord Carwen walked away, she felt that he had cast a shadow over their evening.
Although they stayed for another hour or so, Cassandra was aware of him all the time. He was on the other side of the room surrounded by his friends, yet she felt as if he was eavesdropping at their table.
As if he felt the same, the Duke asked for the bill.
“Do you want to go and stay with him?” he asked.
“No,” Cassandra answered, “but I would like to be in the country with you.”
“Then we will go,” the Duke said decisively, as if there had been a question in his mind about refusing the invitation.
Cassandra had the strange feeling that he was in some way compelled to do what Lord Carwen wished.
Because she wanted to make things easier for him she said,
“It will be nice to see Mrs. Langtry again. Do you think Mr. Gebhard will come with her?”
“But of course,” the Duke replied, “you don’t imagine that she would go anywhere without him?”
Cassandra had not thought that it would be possible for a married woman to take another man with her to stay
in a country house as if he was her husband.
Then she told herself that there were obviously special rules for actresses.
Nevertheless Mrs. Langtry was a lady and she wondered what her mother would have thought of such behaviour.
The Duke having paid the bill rose and Cassandra preceded him across the room.
So many people had arrived since they had come in that she thought that they might have difficulty in finding the velvet wrap that matched her white dress.
Rather than sending a waiter for it, she herself went to the cloakroom.
There were dozens of wraps, cloaks and coats in the charge of a woman wearing a black dress and a white frilled apron.
“I’m not quite certain which is yours, madam,” she said apologetically.
Cassandra was helping her find it when there was a little sound behind her.
She turned to see a young woman who had just entered the cloakroom collapse slowly onto the floor.
She hurried to her and recognised that she was one of the guests in Lord Carwen’s party.
With the help of the cloakroom attendant Cassandra assisted her to a couch.
“I think the lady has fainted,” she said.
“I’ll get some brandy, ma’am,” the attendant muttered and hurried away.
Cassandra rubbed the woman’s hands, which were very cold and after a moment her eyes fluttered open.
She was pretty in a rather obvious manner with very fair hair and gold-specked hazel eyes that held a frightened look.
But Cassandra thought that, unlike Connie Gilchrist, she was obviously well bred and a lady.
“It’s all right,” she said. “You have only fainted. Lie still.”
At that moment the cloakroom attendant came back with a small glass of brandy and Cassandra persuaded the girl to take a few sips.
The spirit brought the colour back into her cheeks and after a moment she took the glass from Cassandra’s hand and drank a little more.
“It was – stupid of me,” she said, “but I have been feeling – ill all the evening.”
“Perhaps you had better go home,” Cassandra suggested. “Is there anyone of your party who will escort you?”
“No, no one. Lord Carwen invited me to supper last night when I was at his party and his carriage was waiting for me after the theatre.”
104. the Glittering Lights Page 11
