The Youngest Bridesmaid (9 page)

III

When she was ready she slowly turned herself about for his approval, and looked disappointed when he said briefly:

Not your color.

No, she thought, it was Melissa

s color, it was part of Melissa

s trousseau; the very brushes she had used, the scent from the jewelled-topped flask, were all part of the extravagant luxuries meant for another bride. If, thought Lou unhappily, I had just
something
of my own that wasn

t bought for someone else
...
then she remembered her shabby slippers and was comforted.


I believe you

re vain, Cinderella,

Piers teased, trying to guess from her changing expressions what she was thinking.

Are you hurt because
I
don

t care for your dress?


Why should I be? It was made for Melissa,

she replied, and as the amusement left his face, wished she had not pointed this out. He, no more than she, would care to be reminded that he should have married someone else.


I—Cousin Blanche didn

t think my own clothes would be suitable, you see,

she said, trying to explain what must seem to him a liberty, but he merely looked bored.


My dear child, you don

t have to apologize. As I gather I

m being soaked for the lot, I couldn

t care less. Come on, let

s go down. I shall be intrigued to find out what the chef has thought up as a honeymoon offering.


Will there be something special, then?


I don

t mind betting there will. This rather dreary hotel will flourish for
weeks on tal
l
stories circulating about the Merrick

s bridal night. Come
on.

She went with him to wait for the lift to take them down, feeling at last that she wanted to weep, to plead, not for consideration in the expected culmination of the day, but for comfort. She would have liked him to understand that although she wore Melissa

s clothes, and used her expensive appointments, she was still herself, Cinderella perhaps, but not liking or wanting her borrowed finery. She wished that Piers

unfortunate accident gave her the right to comfort and cosset in her turn, but he did not seem receptive to sentiment, neither was he prone to weakness. For him the interruption of his plans amused rather than upset him, for a
honeymoon designed along quite different lines could no longer have any importance for him.

They sat in the lofty, almost deserted dining room, making polite conversation. The chef, as Piers had surmised, had surpassed himself in the dishes that were offered. Lou, who was now too tired to be appreciative or, indeed, to enjoy the inspired creations of the cuisine, picked at her food and earned frowning disapproval from Piers.


They really have rather excelled themselves,

he said.

Make a
pretence of eating, Lou, or the chef will be, not unnaturally, insulted.

She made a pretence, hoping that the bits she hid under her knife and fork would not be noticed. She was, she thought, looking at her husband

s frowning face, going to find it difficult to acquire his epicurean habits when her own tastes in the matter of food had been so sadly neglected.

He had ordered champagne because, he said, it was expected of him. For his own pleasure he would have preferred a vintage claret.


Then why didn

t you?

she asked, and he smiled that little twisted smile that, this time, held no tenderness.


Champagne is
what you expected, too, isn

t it? You have got to be educated in the matter of wines.


Of course,

she said, clinging on to the tattered remnants of her past self,

you must remember that I

ve had little opportunity of being educated to your standards. In my parents

lifetime, a cheap sherry was all we could a
ff
ord.

His look of amusement vanished and, for a moment, she thought his eyes were humble.


You put me in my place very neatly, don

t you, Cinderella?

he said gently.

I wasn

t, you know, trying to point out your mistakes.


Mistakes? Am I shaming you, then, already Piers?


Don

t be so idiotic! I hoped I might put you at ease, that

s all. What

s wrong with cheap sherry if you can

t afford anything else?


Nothing, I suppose,

she replied nervously.

Only—


Only what?


Only you don

t put me at ease when you pounce and bite.


Pounce and bite—is that what I did?

He sounded surprised and his eyes softened into tenderness.

She saw the tenderness, but it was too late now to set any store by it. She had, she told herself with wry humor, married above her station, as the gossip columns would surely imply; Cinderella would have to look to herself for wisdom in dealing with her Prince Charming, for there was no one else to advise.


What were you thinking?

he asked, but she smiled a little uncertainly and shook her head. Such thoughts were hardly to be expressed with any clarity, neither did she feel he would understand. She did not understand a great deal herself, now she came to think of it, only a firm resolve that he should not find her wanting when it came to the test, that whatever his reasons for so casually putting her in Melissa

s place, he had still been the first man to stir her.

He did not repeat his question when she did not answer, but caught the head waiter

s attention with a small, imperious nod. The chef was summoned and graciously congratulated, the wine waiter rewarded and dismissed with pleasant thanks, even the scullery hands were fetched from the kitchen because, said Piers, they really did all the work. It was the first time Lou had witnessed the famous Merrick charm
turned on like a tap, and she watched and listened with a twinge of embarrassment. They might have been royalty, she thought, and indeed royalty could not have been more obsequiously received.

“Do you always do this?” she asked
as they left the dining room, and saw one eyebrow lifted in wry amusement.

“You think it was a bit overdone?” he said. “Perhaps it was—still, we’ve inadvertently made
their day, and they’ve all been falling over backwards to please.”

“People always fall over backwards for you, Piers, I imagine,” she said, and he made a small grimace.


Well, money buys most things, I

ve always found. You

ll learn that too when you

ve got used to being the wife of a rich man,

he retorted with a certain astringence, but if he thought he had dashed an ill-timed hint of cr
i
ticism he had misjudged Lou

s innocent tenacity.


I don

t think I

ll learn easily. I wouldn

t want bought affection,

she said, and looked surprised when he stopped dead in their leisurely passage towards the lift.


And what do you mean by that?

he demanded with an ominous change of tone.

Are you suggesting, for instance, that I

ve bought your affection, if, that is, I can flatter myself that you feel any affection towards me?

She felt herself coloring under his cynical gaze, aware that she had surprisingly managed to hurt him, that for all his boasting to the contrary, he could still expect something that was not to be bought.


I wasn

t thinking of us. I—I was speaking generally,

she stammered, aware that she had such little knowledge of men that she was almost bound to say the wrong thing.


Then you should be thinking of us. You should be thinking very seriously of our future and all it may entail,

he said, and she could see out of the
corner
of her eye that a page-boy and two waitresses were affording them curious if discreet attention.


Yes
...
yes, I should,

she agreed hurriedly.

Piers, people are listening. Oughtn

t we—oughtn

t we to go up?


Perhaps you

d rather sit in the lounge and postpone the evil hour,

he said, and she wondered for a fleeting moment if, after all, he was as nervous as she was, then inwardly laughed at herself for such an absurd notion. The wedding night of a man as experienced in casual love affairs as Piers Merrick was reputed to be would scarcely hold any doubts or fears.


No,

she said,

let

s go up. You—you ought to have an early night, surely, after that crack on the head?

She saw the little unamused smile he gave her, but he moved on towards the lift without making any immediate reply. Only when the door of their suite had closed behind them did he return to a subject she had hoped forgotten because it could well have been misunderstood.


Poor Cinderella,

he said, taking her by the shoulders.

Were you hoping to pack your bridegroom off to an early bed and so avoid the consequences? My crack on the head hasn

t incapacitated me, you know.

She stood between his hands looking uncertainly up into his face. She did not know how t
o
make it any plainer to him that she was neither unwilling nor anxious to avoid the consequences of her hasty marriage; she had no gift for subtlety, she realized, no knowledge to deal with such a situation.


Piers
...

she began hesitantly,

I just don

t know how to answer you
...
I

ve married you, and anything you choose to ask of me I

ll gladly give you. That—that affection you spoke of downstairs—it

s
true I—I wouldn

t have married you just to get Cousin Blanche out of a jam, or—or for mercenary reasons. Happiness can

t be bought.


A
cliché
, old as the hills.


But true.


Perhaps.

He took her face between hands which were gentle and suddenly unsure.

You

re very sweet,

he said,

very sweet, and deserving of a better husband than you

ve got, I

m afraid. We were both a little mad, perhaps.


Are you regretting things?


I never regret things. If they don

t work out, I just forget them, or throw them away.


Oh ... is that a warning?


Not, I think, in the sense you mean,

he told her with gentle amusement, but Lou was not so sure. The very rich could afford to ignore their whims and follies. Hadn

t he said
that money could buy most things? A handsome settlement, a few costly presents, and even an ill-chosen wife could be discarded.

You

re very tired, aren

t you, Lou?

he said, understanding too late that his approach had been quite wrong. He should have ordered dinner up here, made love to her, wakened her out of the dream they had all forced upon her. He felt suddenly inexplicably humbled by her honesty, her uninformed efforts to please
him. Pride and anger had driven him to this outrageous gesture, but he thought as he observed the shadows under her eyes, and felt the weariness in her passive, unresisting young body, that he had not been altogether wrong
when he had told her she might be what he needed.

She would not, however, admit she was tired, fearing he would take it as an excuse, but when he pulled her down on to a sofa and drew her head against his shoulder, comforting but quite impersonal, she said impulsively:

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