ROSE and Lance returned to the villa in Cannes three months after they had left it. It had been a period of constant travel, with one round of gaiety being substituted for another as they slowly meandered their way from the Caribbean Islands down to Rio de Janeiro, Mexico and thence to New York. Rose had
found it a strain to live in hotels all the time but Lance did not mind it and, used to a life of constant social activity, had been surprised when she had protested at her enforced idleness.
"Don't tell me you're pining to go back to work!" he said on one occasion as they sipped an aperitif by the pool of their hotel in Montego Bay.
"I'm so bored I could almost take a job here," she retorted. "I don't see how anyone can idle away their time for more than a few weeks."
"Meaning me."
"If the cap fits, wear it," she said and regretted the words instantly for he turned pale with anger.
"I'm sorry Lance, I'd no right to say that."
"You might as well say it if you think it. We've always been truthful with each other."
Miserably she stared at her drink. She was no closer to Lance after three months of marriage than she had been on the day she became his wife. He was always polite and attentive but there was a barrier between them that had never existed until their wedding day. Yet in fairness to him she had to admit that the barrier was in her mind alone, for he himself had not altered at all.
Indeed, it was the fact that caused her the heartache, for she had been
unprepared for their relationship to remain the same. He had never pretended to love her, it was true, but she had hoped that propinquity and a honeymoon spent amid tropical splendor would work their magic and result in their
marriage becoming if not a love idyll, at least different from the friendly basis on which it now found itself.
To see Lance every day knowing he could never be hers, to feel his casual touch knowing she would never feel his touch in passion, made her realize the torture to which she had condemned herself and sometimes at night she would long for his presence and wonder what had happened to her pride that it could allow her to cry for a man who did not even know she existed.
It required a great effort for her to keep her thoughts hidden from Lance and though they occasionally burst out in a display of irritation—as they had that night at the hotel—for the most part she was successful in pretending to be completely happy.
Didi Hammond was not at the villa when they arrived although they were told she would be back later and Lance and Rose were shown to the main suite, two rooms with a bathroom intervening. Rose left her maid to unpack and was
wandering happily through the rose garden, her favorite spot, when Lance came across the lawn towards her.
"You disappeared in a hurry," he said. "But I knew I'd find you here."
"Do you want me?"
"Certainly." He caught her hand and swung it backwards and forwards as he spoke. "I've got used to having you around. Do you know that for the past three months we've hardly been an hour apart except for sleeping!"
She forced herself to laugh. "I thought you'd welcome being away from me for a bit."
"On the contrary. You're a stimulating companion."
"Me stimulating? No one's ever said that before."
"But you are," he persisted. "And you're restful too. I think that's your main attraction. Your tranquility."
She was suddenly reminded of Didi saying Lance needed a maternal woman but wisely she held her peace and began to walk past the flowerbeds, pausing now and again to touch a particularly beautiful bloom.
"Marriage suits you," Lance said unexpectedly. 'You're much more sophisticated now."
She touched the rough linen of the dress she was wearing, one she had bought in New York.
"It doesn't even go skin deep," she said lightly. "I'm the same inside."
"Well, I'm not. I can look back on the past without any feeling of bitterness.
When I think of Enid it's as if it happened in another world. I've got you to thank for that."
"It's the reason you married me," she said quietly. "I've only done my duty."
He caught her hand again. "I don't like that word between us. I'd hate to think that whatever I did for you or you did for me was because of duty. I'd rather it was because of affection."
Unexpectedly he put his arm over her shoulders and she shivered. He took his hand away at once, his expression so remote that she couldn't tell whether he had misinterpreted her action. To ask him would lend point to something that was better left unpointed and she continued to stroll through the rose arbour.
The quietness was interrupted by the sound of a car, and realizing Didi had returned they strolled across the lawn to greet her. But was the small, grey-haired woman who came towards them the same one they had left behind such a short while ago? Rose and Lance stared at her in amazement. Gone was the curly red-gold hair and in its place was a smooth cap of snow-white. Certainly it owed a great deal to artifice but how much prettier it was! Gone too was the heavy make-up and only the faintest spatter of powder softened the tanned skin while the vivid blue eyes were framed with thick, short unmascaraed
lashes. Even the style of dress was different; a casual shirt-waister instead of a sheath, three rows of matchless pearls instead of glittering gold. The same
woman and yet entirely different.
"Didi!" Lance said disbelievingly. "I'd never have known you. You look so much better."
"I feel better too." She disentangled herself from his embrace and put her arms around Rose. "And you look wonderful as well. No need to ask if you're happy—
you obviously are."
Chattering gaily she twined an arm through each of theirs and led them into the drawing room.
It was not until later that evening, with dinner over, that Didi asked them what plans they had made.
"I'm not going to stay in the villa during the winter so you're welcome to live here if you like."
Lance rubbed the side of his jaw. "I haven't given our future much thought. It depends on Rose." He looked at her. "Have you anything in mind, darling?"
She decided to take the plunge. "Surely you have work to do in London?"
Recognizing the challenge in her voice he raised an eyebrow. "There's always work to be done," he said dryly, "but it usually gets done without me. Still, it might be a novelty to try it for a bit." He looked at his mother. "What are your plans, or daren't I ask?"
"I'm going to stay with some friends in the country," came the answer, "but I don't know for how long. But don't worry, darlings, I'll keep you posted of my whereabouts in case I've any news." She looked from one to the other. "I don't suppose you've anything to tell me yet?"
Lance was puzzled at the question but Rose blushed, and seeing her change color, he realized the implication of his mother's remark and burst out laughing.
"Good lord, Didi, I've never known you to be so tactful in your phraseology!
But you needn't worry. We're not going to make you a grandmother yet."
During the long hours of the night Rose cogitated over Lance's use of the word 'yet' and wondered whether he intended at any time to consummate their
marriage. She knew that to be taken by Lance, even if it were not in love, would be better than not to be taken at all, yet she could never make the first move to him.
He had at least admitted he no longer loved Enid and that was certainly a step in the right direction. Once the bitterness had gone he would be ready to fall in love again.
"Please let it be with me," she prayed, and with her hands still clasped together in pleading she fell asleep.
At the end of the week they all left the villa, Didi to visit her friends near
London and Lance and Rose to stay at the Hammond house in Mayfair. It was a Regency house in a quiet square and though a stream of traffic wended its way a few yards from the front door, once it was closed one could almost have
been in the country. It was the most opulent house Rose had ever been in, and she found the atmosphere oppressive with luxury and the taste too baroque for her liking.
"Change anything you like," Lance said, seeing her expression of distaste as she entered the house for the first time.
"Is it going to be our permanent home?" she asked, "or is it your mother's?"
"It's the Hammond house," he replied, "so I suppose you could call it mine."
"But is it going to be permanent?"
"We'll be here a few months," was his answer. "For the lord's sake don't make a thing about it. Make any alterations you like."
Tentatively in the following weeks she set about trying to make the place more homelike, changing many of the ormulu fittings for crystal ones and replacing one or two Persian carpets with pastel-colored Savonneries.
She would not have been human had she not enjoyed having unlimited money to spend and though she had no wish to load herself with jewellery or clothes it was exciting to know she was able to buy whatever she wished.
She had not seen her father since her return to England although she had spoken to him on the telephone. He had taken a post at Cambridge University and there was a buoyancy in his voice she had not heard since her mother had
died.
Rose knew she should go and see him, but somehow she could not face his searching look and kept putting it off from day to day, appeasing her
conscience by telephoning him frequently.
As the weeks passed she and Lance settled into a routine and began to entertain as well as be entertained. But it was not until they had been in London for a month that he asked her to give a dinner party. It was a nerve-racking experience for her to choose an elaborate menu, but luckily the staff they employed were old retainers who preferred to do things their own way, and as it was a way that obviously suited Lance, Rose decided not to interfere.
The one thing she did insist on supervising were the flowers and when their guests arrived there were exclamations of delight at the sight of them. Pink and white chrysanthemums were intertwined with dark green leaves and curled profusely round the column of the staircase. For the dining table itself she had used orchids, their mauve and pink petals reflected on mirrored trays.
Rose's dress followed the same color scheme with mauve and pink flowers embroidered delicately over pink satin.
She looked lovelier than she had ever looked before and was aware of the
interest in Lance's eyes as he came into the drawing room and saw her. But he had no chance to say more than a few words for their first guests were
announced and soon the room was full of people.
Lance moved from one cluster to another, but Rose found it tiring and sat on a settee and talked to Alan.
"How does it feel to be the hostess at such a glittering occasion?" he asked.
"Nerve-racking!" she confessed. "But it was something I had to do sooner or later."
"You'll feel much better at your next party. If I were—" his voice trailed away and she saw he was staring at the door through which Mrs. Rogers had come with a fair- haired girl. Rose moved over to greet them and made a point of not overlooking mentioning Benjy the poodle.
"What a dear girl you are to remember," Helen Rogers laughed. "But I haven't had much time for Benjy lately, I'm afraid. I've been too busy with Susan.
She's just got back from America."
Rose smiled at the girl. She was about twenty, with a retrousse nose, small mouth and thick blonde hair left dramatically straight.
"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hammond," Susan said. "Lance and I grew up together and I rather look on him as a brother."
"I hope he was a nice one?"
Susan laughed. "Couldn't be better. A bit of a bully when I used to hare after him on my eight-year-old legs and rather supercilious once he got to Oxford and I was still in plaits. If you really want to have the low-down about him I'll be delighted to give it to you!"
"I'll remember that," Rose said, liking the frank face and the warm, slightly throaty voice. "I don't suppose I need introduce you to Alan. You've probably known him longer than I have."
Susan smiled at the man standing on Rose's left. "Hello there," she said casually. "Why didn't you get in touch with me when I got back from the States?"
"I've been busy," he said abruptly.
Susan shrugged and with a smile at Rose, followed her aunt across the room to greet some other people.
"She seems a nice girl," Rose said as they moved out of earshot.
"Susan's one of the best," Alan replied. "You'd never know from talking to her that she's worth a fortune. She's the daughter of Mrs. Rogers' brother-in-law.
He died about ten years ago and left her a packet. Mrs. Rogers has really been like a mother to her."
At that moment Rose saw the butler hovering in the doorway and as she
nodded her head he moved across the hall and opened the doors of the dining room.
Once dinner was over the party broke up into small groups again. The majority of the people Lance had invited were considerably older than themselves and Rose was relieved that there was no dancing. Although she knew she was silly to care, she could not help feeling envious when she saw other couples take
the floor and she was glad that for this one evening she would be able to forget her lameness. But in this hope she was wrong, for seeing Susan Rogers walk towards her, so straight and supple, she felt a rush of envy that filled her with horror. Whatever happened to her she must beware of becoming bitter over another woman's grace!
Susan sank into the empty chair beside her.
"It's good to be back in this room again," she said. "Lance spent his school holidays at Aunt Helen's place but we always managed to come over here once or twice."
"What for?"
The girl laughed. "Lance liked to sit in the library and touch his father's books and I used to spend my time sliding down the banisters."
"Well, you're welcome to come over and slide down the banisters any time you like."
"Be careful of that—I might take you up on it! Aunt Helen's always complaining that I'm still a tomboy. But it's in my nature and I can't change."
Rose smiled. "Were you in America long?"
"Six months. Aunt Helen rather hoped I'd get engaged while I was out there, but I didn't."
There was a defiant tone in her voice and Rose wondered at it.
"You've got plenty of time yet," she said. "You should have lots more fun before settling down."
"I'm not sure I want to settle down. Sometimes I think I'm cut out to be a spinster."
"Not likely!" said a male voice and the girls looked up to see Alan in front of them.
Susan tossed her head. "How long have you been eavesdropping?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping. I was just passing by. You've a carrying voice, young Sue."
"For goodness' sake stop calling me that!"
"Sorry. But Lance always referred to you that way and—"
"Well, he'd better stop it too." She looked at Rose apologetically. "Here am I trying to be grown up and this big oaf still treats me as though I'm a
schoolgirl."
"I could never mistake you for a schoolgirl," Alan said. "Not with a. low-necked dress like that!"
Susan stood up quickly and he grinned. "Sorry about that, young Sue—pardon me, Susan—but I promise not to tease you any more."
"I don't expect miracles," Susan replied, and with a smile to Rose sauntered away.
By midnight all the guests had left and Lance, closing the front door on the last one, breathed a sigh of relief.
"I must say it went off very well," he said coming back into the drawing room.
"Not feeling too tired, are you?"
She shook her head and he smiled and pulled her down on the settee beside him.
"Good. We can have a little talk. Aunt Helen thought you were looking rather pale. I can't say I've noticed it, but then being with you every day…" his voice trailed away and he stared at her closely. "Are you happy with me, Rose?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just curiosity."
He placed one hand under her chin and tilted it up. "If ever you do have any regrets about marrying me, will you say so?"
"Yes. And I can say the same thing to you."
He nodded. "At the moment I haven't any regrets at all. Marrying you was the best thing I did."
He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth, a touch so fleeting that it was over before it had begun. Then he pulled her to her feet, keeping his arm companion- ably over her shoulder as they went up the stairs. At the door of her room he left her and as she undressed and climbed into bed she
pondered the remark he had made in the drawing-room. "At the moment I have no regrets."
She should be happy at those words, yet instead of bringing happiness they had brought fear—fear based on the first three words 'at the moment'. But what of tomorrow or the day after? The question weighed heavily in her mind, disturbing her dreams as she fell into an uneasy sleep.