She shook her head happily.
“Now what do you really think of the house?” he asked. “Do you think you will be happy here or would you like us to start somewhere brand new? Or is there anything you want to change in it?”
“No, I love it. I think it’s a heavenly house.” And so she did, but she wasn’t altogether sure about the decorations. She felt somehow that they were a little too austere, a little formal. “
Never
mind,” she thought, “I’ll change it by degrees
...
I do adore the house itself. But I don’t like these stamped velvet covers and heavy velvet curtains. I should like it to be more like a country room, especially as it’s got a garden.” Aloud she said: “I do so long to see the garden.”
“We’ll lunch here to-morrow as it’s Saturday. I’ll get off early to-
morrow
morning and we’ll go and buy you a ring and get you photographed
...
You’ll have to meet everyone at the bank, by the way. They’ll probably want to give a party for us. You know what it is in a family business. Most of my people have been with us since they left school, and their sons and daughters often come in too. There’s one man of my age who is third generation. His grandfather worked for my grandfather. So you see we’re all very close.”
“Then your wife must be very important to them,” Rose said with sudden apprehension. “I do hope I shall not let them down. It frightens me
...
I wonder if I am really the wife you ought to have? I have seen so little. I have had so little experience,”
“My darling, if only you knew what an effect you have on people,” he said. “You’re like the sight and sound of clear running water to a man dying of thirst.”
CHAPTER
SIX
THE next few weeks went by for Rose like some enchanted dream. She and Stephen saw each other every day and sometimes twice a day when she went to lunch with him in the City, and they spent all Sunday together. She discovered that at the bank he was, like so many men at their places of business, a different person—someone to be in awe of. It was evident that all his employees adored him while at the same time treating him with the greatest respect. She met his three partners, who were all older than himself, and he introduced her to as many of his friends as possible. His great friend, Robin Johnson, she had now met on several occasions, and he was charming to her, but it pained her a little bit to realize how much better he knew Stephen than she did.
A most cordial letter had come from Stephen’s sister, and altogether everybody was making her feel as welcome as possible in her new life. Clare Frenton could not have been nicer and even gave a dinner party for them, but what pleased Rose more than anything was that Francie now seemed to have accepted Stephen completely and drawn him into the warmth of her friendship.
At moments she could hardly believe her good fortune. She used to wake in the night thinking: “Why should all this have happened to me? I don’t deserve it. If only I could do something to give back to life all the wonderful gifts it is showering on me.”
Now that their engagement had been made public she did not see as much of Stephen alone as she would have liked because there were so many of his friends who wanted to meet her, but Sundays they kept to themselves, and Sunday therefore was the day she looked forward to most, when they would usually drive out into the country. It would be wonderful in the summer when they could sit out in the garden of their own house. Rose had secret plans for altering the garden—it was too formal and she would have liked to change the paving stones for grass—but she loved Stephen’s home too much to tell him at this stage that she did not think it all quite perfect.
His tenderness to her was only equalled by his generosity. It seemed to be his greatest delight to shower presents on her. He had given her the most wonderful sapphire engagement ring and a mink coat and all kinds of smaller gifts, and every day flowers came for her. She became quite afraid of expressing a partiality for anything because he immediately bought it for her. He wanted to give her the money to buy her trousseau but she was very firm about this. The little money she had of her own—mostly from the sale of her parents’ belongings—she wanted to spend on her trousseau and on buying a wedding present for him, and she also wanted to keep something back in order to be able to buy him presents with her own money in the future. She had imagined that after they were married he would give her an allowance, but when she once brought up the subject he replied: “What on earth for? We shall have a joint account and you can draw on it for whatever you want. There’s no such thing as yours and mine now. Everything is
ours.”
Rose couldn’t adjust herself to the idea of being rich. Since her father’s death every penny had been a matter of concern, and even before the accident the family finances had been very straitened. She would have felt more at ease therefore in the rigid framework of an allowance which would have entailed careful budgeting.
The wedding had been fixed for the twenty-ninth of April, in less than a fortnight, now, and Stephen hoped to be able to take three weeks’ honeymoon. It would be instead of a summer holiday. They were to fly the car over to Le Touquet and then motor slowly to Florence. Stephen immensely enjoyed planning the details.
This trip, even without Stephen as her husband, would have been the greatest thrill to Rose, who had never before been abroad in her life, but
with
Stephen it was almost greater happiness than she dared to contemplate. It made her quite dizzy. Only to Francie, however, did she voice her fears, and that only once. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming, Francie?” she had asked. “Why should all this have happened to
me
of all people? I can’t believe it sometimes. I feel some catastrophe
must
happen—something
must
go wrong.” And she had not been reassured when she saw Francie hurriedly touching wood.
“You deserve it just because you are you,” Francie had replied. “Because you have always expected so little.”
“It does seem unfair though that some people should have all the happiness. Oh, Francie, I hope I make him a good wife. I wish I knew just what one had to do to be a good wife
...
You’re a wonderful wife,” she added hastily, “but then Derek’s a wonderful husband. Not that I don’t mean that Stephen won’t be a wonderful husband, but he’s not all of one piece if you know what I mean. He’s a completely different person, for instance, when you see him at the bank.”
Francie felt that it was up to her and Derek to give Rose a wedding reception as they were her only living relatives. They could ill afford it at this moment, but it wouldn’t cost very much if they gave it at the new coffee shop. What would cost most would be the invitations, but Rose was insisting on paying for these herself. Stephen showed a certain impatience when Rose tried to talk about the details of the actual wedding. All he wanted was to get it over as quickly as possible. He wanted Rose to himself. He would spend hours pla
nnin
g the details of their honeymoon trip but would have been very content, she believed, to go through the shortest possible wedding ceremony at a registrar’s office.
One evening Stephen said to her: “I’m taking Clare out to lunch to-morrow. I hope you don’t mind. I owe her a great deal. She’s been awfully good to me.”
Rose said that of course she didn’t mind, but she did secretly wonder, in spite of herself, why it was that they could not all three have lunched together. It was just a very tiny cloud on her horizon. A much bigger cloud was having to break to Tony back at her old home that she was going to be married. It was all very well to refuse him by saying that she did not feel ready yet for marriage, but extremely difficult to tell him that she had agreed to marry a man after seeing him only three times. She had postponed writing the letter as long as possible but that morning she had told herself firmly that it could not be delayed any longer, so she had sat down to do it there and then and had posted it before lunch.
The thought of his receiving her letter next morning was weighing on her that evening, which was perhaps the reason why she felt this slight depression when Stephen told her that he was taking Clare Frenton out to lunch the next day. It wasn’t as if she really very much enjoyed seeing Stephen at lunch-time on weekdays. There was a slight air of remoteness about him on these occasions, as if his mind was preoccupied with business affairs, which disconcerted her. He did not seem to be completely
hers
any longer. She sensed that there was a side to him which she knew very little about. For all his marvellous wooing of her there was still something slightly mysterious about him. She couldn’t possibly have said that she really
knew
him in spite of what she had told Francie that time at three o’clock in the morning. But on their honeymoon, when she had him all to herself, she would have a chance to get to know him really well.
The next morning, just as she was going out, a telegram came for her. It was from Tony and it read: “Coming up this morning. Please meet me one-thirty at the Trocadero. Very important.”
She groaned in spirit. The last thing she wanted was to see him. She had an impulse to send a message to the Trocadero to say that she was very sorry but she was engaged for lunch, but she resisted it. It would be cowardly. She could not deny him an interview, painful for both of them as she imagined it must be. There was nothing for it but to go and meet him.
However, she did not intend to see him without Stephen’s knowledge, so she rang him up right away at the bank to tell him what had happened; but he was out and his secretary could not say where he was nor when he was expected back. “I’ve got to go out now,” Rose said, “but I’ll ring him again in an hour or so.”
She tried twice more but could not get hold of him. He had been in but had had to go out again. She did think of ringing up Clare and asking where they were lunching but she didn’t like to do that in case it looked as if she was intruding on them.
In the end she had to go and meet Tony without letting Stephen know.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TONY was waiting for Rose in the vestibule of the Trocadero. He was a tall, fair young man with the kind of pleasant open face that made one trust him instinctively. The moment she saw him she felt a pang of compunction because he looked so unhappy. Her own happiness in comparison seemed almost heartless.
“It was good of you to come,” he said.
“But of course I’d come if I possibly could.”
“Let’s go and have some lunch in the Grill Room, shall we? I’m afraid it’s rather late, but I couldn’t get up before. Even as it is I’m playing hookey.”
Rose, who could hardly eat anything from excitement whenever she was with Stephen, was ravenously hungry now, but poor Tony had no appetite, so she felt that she must curb her own in sympathy with him. It was a wretchedly unhappy meal. He had come up to beg her not to marry in a hurry. “You hardly know this chap,” he argued, “whereas we’ve known each other for years
...
Give me a chance. Please don’t marry him, anyhow, for six months.”
“I can’t promise you that,” Rose said unhappily. “It’s all fixed for the twenty-ninth.”
“You could postpone it if you wanted to.” This of course was true and she made no answer to it.
“You’re terribly in love with him, aren’t you?” he demanded accusingly.
“Oh, Tony, you are making things so difficult for me
and
for yourself. I do want to keep friends with you. I hate hurting you. I can’t tell you how I hate it
...”
“Are you sure it isn’t his money that’s swept you off your feet?”
“Now you’re being horrid.”
“No, I’m not. I want you to be sure. You told me you weren’t nearly ready for marriage and I believed you. You have been swept off your feet, and it’s so easy for a man like that. Look at your ring, look at your fur coat—mink, isn’t it? I expect he sends you flowers every day. You already smell like a rich woman. That scent you’ve got on must have cost the earth. What have I ever been able to give you? A bunch of violets and a seat at the movies. But I bet you anything you like, for all his money, he doesn’t love you as I do
...
Oh, Rose, I am being odious, I know I am and I’m sorry, but you don’t know what it’s like for a man to be cut out by somebody like that. One feels so helpless. What have I got to offer you in comparison?”
“Tony, it isn’t a question of money, I promise you. I know it seems unfair and it’s all happened so quickly, but you see I’ve never been in love before, and love changes everything. Love gives one certainty. I’m sorry to have to tell you this because it makes it harder for you, but you’ve forced me to.”
“I know I have. I’m sorry.” He put his hand over hers and tried to smile at her. “I won’t say any more—except just one thing—for God’s sake don’t ask me to the wedding. Oh, and another thing, don’t tell him about me.”
“But I have already told him—though I didn’t tell him your name.”
“Well, don’t talk about me any more,” he said fiercely. “Spare me that at least.”
The lunch was over at last and Tony said that he was going straight back to the country. Would she at least come with him to Waterloo? She hesitated. She didn’t want to go with him but it seemed unkind to refuse. They took a taxi and she chided him on his extravagance, but he replied what did it matter now? He had been saving up for
her,
for
them,
but now there was no object in saving.
“Please don’t go out of my life altogether, Tony,” she said. “Let me hear from you sometimes.”
“Do you really want to hear?”
“Of course I do. You know I do. The sad part is that
you
will now feel differently about me, but my feelings for you are just the same. Friendship in many ways is more valuable than love. Love may change but not affection. You’ll fall in love with someone else soon and then you’ll hate me because I made you unhappy, whereas my feelings for you, my deep affection for you, will
never
change.”
“Oh, Rose, I shall always love you,” and he leaned towards her impulsively and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
II
After she had seen him off she took a bus back from Waterloo to the coffee bar in Chelsea where she was to meet Francie. She was glad of the long slow journey, for an inexpressible weariness had come over her. She could not but be affected by Tony’s unhappiness. The last few weeks had been very exhausting; she had eaten very little and kept very late hours, and this meeting with Tony had snapped the golden thread of ecstasy which had been woven into her days. She realized with a shock of dismay that she was feeling depressed. How could she feel depressed when this marvellous thing had happened to her? When she had Stephen’s love? When the date of her wedding was fixed?
...
Happiness came seeping back to her and with it a great longing to sleep, to rest. She realized that her depression had been a physical reaction. Great happiness, like any great emotion, is a tremendous physical strain.
If only it were Sunday to-
morrow
, when she would have Stephen to herself for the whole day. They might take a picnic lunch as they had done last Sunday and have it in a sheltered wood starred with clumps of primroses, and lie afterwards as they had done the week before, quietly in each other’s arms listening to the song of the birds and the burble of a little stream as it tinkled over its stony bed. Oh, how heavenly it had been. What peace! What rapture!
But instead there was an ordeal in front of her this evening. The employees at the bank were giving a dinner party for them. It would be her official introduction to them all, and she could just imagine how curious they would all be to see her. They were to meet in a private room at a restaurant at seven, for dinner at seven-thirty, and Stephen was coming to pick her up at the Earles’ flat. She would have so little time alone with him that evening, and never, she felt, had she wanted him to herself so much. And the next evening there was to be the opening of the coffee bar with cocktails from seven to eight-thirty. (The opening had had to be postponed twice.) This was a big occasion for Francie and Derek and they were greatly keyed up about it. As well as getting together her trousseau, Rose had spent every possible moment helping them in any way she could with the organizing and equipping of the Botticelli, as the shop was now definitely to be called. They were going to get their ice-cream and all their pastries from an Italian firm—the pastries for sixpence apiece which they would sell for a shilling. The large cakes, or
gateaux
as they were universally called in coffee bars, were to come from the same firm but would be sold for one and sixpence a portion. There were to be three varieties of these large cakes always on sale—a chocolate, a coffee and a strawberry layer.
Rose had discovered some large cane platters shaped like giant leaves for displaying the sandwiches, and also some Italian pottery for sugar basins, condiment sets and ashtrays which were beautifully in keeping with the decorative motif; and she had got glass cloths with gay scenes printed on them for the waitresses to wipe the shiny black surface of the tables. The waitresses themselves were to be dressed in red and white striped skirts and blouses and neat black pumps. (Francie was going to insist that if they felt cold they should wear a woollen spencer under the blouse rather than an untidy cardigan on top of it, and she felt equally strongly about neat and uniform footwear.)
Derek with one other man was to look after the coffee machine. (He already adored this machine and tended it as if it were a delicate child.) The men were to wear red and white striped shirts to match the waitresses’ get-up. The Earles had been strongly advised to use glass coffee cups and glass plates. These not only had the advantage of being almost unbreakable but they were also difficult to chip, and perhaps nothing looks more sordid than a chipped cup.
Their greatest headache had been in getting staff, especially as they intended to keep open seven days a week from ten in the morning until midnight. It was easier on the whole to get amateur help—amateurs being willing to work longer and more inconvenient hours—but on the other hand they were to discover that amateurs were more likely to let them down at the last moment. Derek, however, was lucky enough to find a charming young Irishman to help him at the bar. This young man, Shane, had been at school with him and was now engaged in writing the lyrics for a musical comedy for which another friend of his was writing the score. They were sure it was going to be a success but they hadn’t found a backer yet, and in the meantime Shane had nothing to live on and had been doing odd jobs of various kinds. He was only too pleased, therefore, to go in with congenial friends like the Earles and he did not care what hours he worked. He had trained himself, he said, to write in any conditions, on any old scraps of paper, and he would much rather do his writing in a nice warm bar between serving cups of coffee, than in a cold bed-sitting room. He was the ideal person for them, and he and Derek were quite confident that between them
they would be able to keep the bar going for ninety-eight hours a week.
They had much more trouble getting their female staff, and Rose’s engagement to Stephen had been something of a blow to them, as Rose was another person who could have been counted on to work much harder than a normal employee, but at last they were fixed up with two good professional women in the kitchen to take turn and turn about with unprofessional help; two professional waitresses and three girls who, though they had had no experience, seemed intelligent enough to learn their jobs quickly. All seemed set for the opening, although both Francie and Derek fully realized that their worst difficulties would probably only begin when the bar became a going concern. They had tried to overlook nothing but it was impossible to visualize all the problems that might then arise.
III
That evening, while Rose was changing for dinner, Clare Frenton rang her up. “How’s everything going?” she asked.
“Wonderfully. Touch wood!”
“I’ve been meaning to ring you up for days. First of all I’ve been very remiss in not giving you a wedding present yet, but I wanted it to be something rather special, and I think I’ve found at last just what I’ve been looking for. You and Stephen must come in here and see if you like it. I told him so at lunch to-day and he told me to get on to you to find out what evening you could manage. Tomorrow is your opening, so what about the following evening?
...
Good. There will be just the four of us. We dine at eight, but come early so there will be plenty of time for a drink first.”
That would be another evening booked up and they had all sorts of evening engagements for the following week. It didn’t look as if they were going to have a whole evening to themselves before the wedding. But still there was one more Sunday, and then, after the wedding, a whole three weeks alone together. This thought made her a little giddy with happiness.
“And I would so like you to lunch with me one day,” Clare was saying. “Just on our own. How about tomorrow?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
“Good. We’ll go to my club, shall we? It’s not very glamorous but it’s quiet for talking and the food’s really not at all bad.” She gave her the address. “At one o’clock then? Splendid. I shall be looking forward to it.”
Francie and Derek were both in the room when Stephen arrived, so his greeting of Rose was no more than friendly. She had noticed that he never kissed her in public, and though in a way she liked this restraint of his in another way
i
t disappointed her, for she could not help wanting everyone to know how much he loved her. “I heard you rang me up this morning,” he said. “Was it anything important?”
“No, I’d just forgotten what time you had said you were going to pick me up this evening.” She blushed a little as she said this because she hated telling him even the smallest, whitest lie, but she felt that she owed it to Tony. No one, except Tony himself, knew that she had lunched with him that day and nobody need ever know about it now.
“Clare has just rung up,” she said. “She’s got a present for us. I said we would dine there on Friday. Is that all right?
...
And she’s asked me to lunch with her tomorrow.”
“Good; I hope she’ll help you with your trousseau.”
“But I’ve got almost everything,” Rose replied, rather hurt by his remark. Did he feel that she needed help so badly? Didn’t he like her taste? And then the unpleasant thought suddenly struck her that he might have asked Clare at lunch that day to take her in hand in matters of dress. Was this his tactful way of guiding her taste? Well, why not? Clare was beautifully turned out. What more natural than to seek advice from such an experienced older woman? But all the same she felt chagrined, and some of her self-confidence which she needed so badly ebbed away. So far it had been an awful day. How she longed to feel his arms round her. Everything would be all right when once she was in his arms again.
In the car he put his hand on her knee and said: “I suppose I mustn’t untidy you by kissing you
...
It will have to wait till afterwards.”