IT was a difficult letter Rose had to write to her father, but as she read it
through she felt the bad news of her accident and lameness was compensated for by the announcement of of her engagement to Lance Hammond.
Not that great wealth would make any difference to her father's appreciation of a man, for he would never consider a fat bank balance of prime importance to happiness. But there was no doubt he would be pleased in the belief that she had at last fallen in love, and the reply she received from him was
characteristic; a brief telegram saying: "COMMISERATION ACCIDENT STOP.
CONGRATULATIONS ENGAGEMENT. STOP. ARRIVING IMMEDIATELY LOVE DAD."
Desmond Tiverton was as good as his word for two days later the nurse ushered him into her room.
"It was wrong of you not to let me know immediately the accident happened instead of waiting all this time," he said as he bent and kissed her.
"I didn't want to worry you." She patted the side of her bed. "Come and sit next to me. It seems ages since I saw you."
"It is ages," he said, doing as she asked. "And a great deal seems to have happened to you in the sunshine. What's he like?"
"Lance, you mean?"
"Who else?"
She hesitated. She had been aware that her father would want to know as much about Lance as possible, but he had arrived more quickly than she had anticipated and she was mentally unprepared.
"Why the hesitation?" Desmond Tiverton asked. "I've never known you short of words before."
"I've never been in love before." She forced herself to give a light laugh. "It's an awfully difficult question to answer, Dad. I'd rather you waited and saw Lance for yourself."
"I must say I'm very curious. I've read a great deal about him. Wasn't he engaged to some other girl not so long ago?"
It was a question Rose had dreaded but there was no way of avoiding it.
"It was a very short engagement," she said quickly. "When he met me he—"
"Hey, hey! I'm not criticizing your young man, I merely made a casual remark."
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm too sensitive where Lance is concerned. But I love him so much that I can't understand other people not feeling the same!"
Desmond Tiverton suddenly looked extremely relieved. "I'm glad you're so
vehement, poppet. I wouldn't like to think you were marrying him because he's a millionaire."
Rose looked at him in astonishment. "But how could you think a thing like that? Money's never been important to me."
"I know. But atmosphere does strange things to people, and living in a luxury hotel the way you were—"
"Until my accident the people I mixed with were the people I worked with," she said dryly.
Too late she realized the implication of what she had said. "I — I knew the man who works for him as his secretary. Alan Dawson."
"I see." Her father shrugged. "It all seems to have happened rather quickly — but I suppose love is different these days. Maybe the atomic age has speeded things up! Still the main tiling is that you're in love. And if you are, you'll be able to overcome everything."
It was not until later, when she was alone that she pondered over her father's last remark: 'As long as you're in love, you'll be able to overcome everything.' Heaven knew she certainly had a lot to overcome! She and Lance hailed from different worlds; they had a different standard of behavior and a different understanding of what gave purpose to life. Yet none of these differences
would be insurmountable barriers were they in love. But without love what would happen? Tied together in marriage would the difference between them begin to jar, to tear at the fabric of a relationship which was already fragile? Or would marriage and the propinquity it brought with it, cement their friendship and turn Lance's liking into love? Without wishing to be conceited she knew he found her an amusing and stimulating companion. From that sort of a basis love had often sprung, and she would not be optimistic in hoping it might occur again.
It was in Rose's bedroom In the nursing home that Desmond Tiverton met his future son-in-law for the first time, and watching them together, she knew with a sense of relief that they liked one another. She could not help being
surprised, for although she had felt that her father and Alan would have a great deal in common, she had not been so sure about Lance. But listening to the two men talking about the world political situation and from there on to discuss art and music, she knew she would have nothing to worry about as far as their relationship was concerned. It was only when both men got up to go that she realized Lance intended her father to stay as a guest at his mother's villa.
"I wouldn't dream of bothering you," Desmond Tiverton said, "I've booked in at a small pension and—"
"I wouldn't hear of it, sir," Lance said firmly. "It's quite out of the question for you to stay anywhere else but at Didi's villa."
"Didi?" Desmond said questioningly.
Lane smiled. "My mother. But she doesn't like me calling her that — she thinks it's old-fashioned!"
Desmond Tiverton said nothing but watching his face, Rose was hard put not to smile. What on earth would her father make of the flighty, volatile Mrs.
Hammond?"
"Well, that's settled then," Lance said. "I'll drive you back to your pension and you can collect your bags."
The two men went to walk out, and only at the door did Lance seem to realize he wasn't behaving in a loverlike fashion. Turning, he came back to the bed and bent to kiss her on the cheek.
"Sleep well, Rose," he said lightly. "Only one more night here."
"What do you mean?"
He grinned. "I didn't really mean to tell you because I knew you'd get excited, but the doctor says you can come home tomorrow. So you'll be staying at the villa with your father."
"What a wonderful surprise! I'd never have forgiven you if you hadn't told me tonight. Do come over early, Lance."
"First thing in the morning—" he said gruffly. "Scout's honor!"
True to his word, Lance collected her soon after ten and driving beside him in the car she found it strange to realize that when she met other people they would now look on her as the future Mrs. Hammond. She looked at him and aware of her scrutiny, he slowed down the car and smiled at her.
"You've nothing to worry about, Rose. You'll be perfectly all right."
"Will I?" she asked, thinking of his friends and position and the gay, glamorous life that was a closed book on her.
"Of course you will. The doctor said that in a few more weeks your limp will be hardly noticeable."
"Oh — my limp." She realized he had misunderstood her question, and decided it was for the best. Strange to think she had barely given her limp a thought, so intent had she been on her feelings for Lance.
Tentatively she moved her legs. Sitting down, no one would guess there was anything physically wrong with her. It was only when she waited that her limp became noticeable, as if she were wearing one heel shorter than the other.
"But my leg hasn't been injured," she had said to the doctor in surprise after she had taken her first few steps across the floor.
"Not as far as you can see," he explained. "The injury comes from the hip. It is complicated to explain but I can tell you if you're interested."
"I'd rather not know," Rose said quickly. "It isn't going to help me walk without
a limp, is it?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, mademoiselle. But, believe me, it is not too unsightly."
Rose remembered his words now, and wondered if he had been speaking the truth. From a medical point of view her limp might not be unsightly but how would she appear to a normal person? Once more she looked at Lance but he was driving fast and giving all his attention to the road. She sighed. What did the future hold for them? Would his guilt towards her always remain so high or would he one day wish he had never married her ? Yet he had said he wasn't asking her to marry him out of guilt, but as a protection from other women!
Other women! In Lance's life there would always be other women, and she would only be a protection from his becoming too deeply involved. Yet what would happen if he fell sincerely in love? 'If the woman doesn't turn out to be me,' she said to herself, 'then I'll have to give him his freedom!'
Rose settled down easily to living in the Hammonds' luxurious villa. Luxury was easy to become accustomed to, and she would lie in bed late in the morning, breakfast leisurely on the terrace of her room overlooking the gardens and the sea, and then, wearing brief shorts or a sun-dress, stroll down to sit on a
chaise-longue by the swimming pool until lunch. This was an informal al fresco meal, either on the terrace that ran the length of the villa or else by the side of the pool itself. Lance was staying aboard his yacht and rarely put in an
appearance until late afternoon.
"If I stay here you'll feel duty bound to entertain me," he said by way of explanation. "Like this you'll be able to convalesce in your own time."
Rose was not sure whether this was the real reason for Lance's absence, or whether he stayed away because he found it embarrassing to go swimming or surf-riding and leave her to sit in a chair and watch him. But she decided it would be wiser not to probe too deeply, and spent her time either in reading or talking to her father.
Luckily he had settled down very well, and she often remembered with
amusement the look on his face when he had first seen her future mother-in-law.
Although he had spent a night at the villa before Rose had arrived, it was not until mid-morning the next day, when she and Lance were already ensconced on the terrace, that Mrs. Hammond had put in an appearance.
She was wearing one of her usual skin-tight dresses, her arms and shoulders protected from the sun by a chiffon stole, on her red-gold hair one of the currently fashionable straw hats with an enormous brim.
"So you are Rose's father," Mrs. Hammond had smiled at him girlishly, blinking her thick, mascaraed eyelashes. "You're much younger than I thought."
"I can return the compliment," Desmond Tiverton had said smoothly. "I would never have known you could be the mother of such a son."
"It is ridiculous, isn't it? People are always mistaking me for his sister!"
"I'm sure they are," Desmond said and studiously avoided meeting his daughter's eyes.
Convinced she had another easy conquest on her hands, Didi set out to be her most charming, and for the rest of the day gushed over him inexorably.
Immediately lunch was over she invited him to stroll with her in the gardens, and they did not return until tea-time, when Desmond sank into a chair and mopped his brow.
"Don't tell me I'm making you tired," she cooed. "We hardly walked any distance."
"It wasn't the walking," he said dryly. "It was the talking!"
Didi burst into laughter, but Lance looked at Rose and frowned.
"I don't want Mother making a nuisance of herself," he said quietly. "I'd like your father to be perfectly happy here."
"Of course he'll be happy." She touched his arm. "And he likes your mother. I can tell."
"I hope you're right," Lance said soberly. "She's a bit of a handful if you're not used to her and I shouldn't think your father's come up against a woman like Didi before!"
"It'll do him good," Rose Said firmly. "He's got into a rut since mother died."
Lance stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Come for a stroll before dinner. The
doctor told me it isn't good for you to sit about too much."
Realizing there was something on his mind she followed him obediently and he pulled her arm through his as they walked over the lawn. She was painfully aware of her uneven gait and felt herself grow hot with embarrassment, but Lance seemed unperturbed by it and slowed his pace to suit hers, so that gradually she began to feel more at ease.
"Tell me about your mother," he said abruptly. "You've never talked about her."
"There isn't much to talk about — not unless you knew her."
"Are you like her to look at?"
"I'm a mixture, I think. Dad says I've got my mother's good points and his bad ones!"
"I don't think you've got any bad ones."
"You don't know me very well then. I've a temper when I'm aroused and I can be pretty obstinate."
"So can I — be obstinate, I mean. As a child I was frequently cutting off my nose and spiting my face!"
He stopped, for they had reached the rose arbor, and drew her on to a bench.
"It's strange that I'm confiding in you so easily, Rose. When we first met I was pretty sure you disliked me heartily."
"It wasn't that at all," she protested, and then fell silent. How could she tell him it was because she had liked him too much? To say so would make him instantly aware of her love for him, and so destroy the bonds of friendship and companionship that were beginning to grow between them.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly.
She smiled. "Private thoughts. You mustn't know everything about me or you'll find me dull."
"That's the last word I'd apply to you. Until I met you I never realized one
could talk to a woman as if she were a man!"
Rose burst out laughing. "What a thing to say!"
"I mean it as a compliment."
"I'm sure you do."
But later, as she was changing for dinner, Rose was not so sure. For Lance to regard her as a man might augur well for companionship, but it did not augur well for love. Love. With unexpected temper she flung her belt on to the floor.
Why couldn't she stop thinking of love and Lance and accept her marriage to him for what it was?
The dinner gong sounded from the hall and she made her way down the
marble stairs and out to the terrace. Her father was already there and she sat beside him, drawing comfort from his presence and remembering the many times when, as a child, she had gone to him for advice.
"You're not too old, you know," he said suddenly.
She looked at him, startled. "Too old for what?"
'To confide in me. You used to do so when you were at school."
She made no reply and he patted her arm.
"You should credit me with a bit of intelligence, my dear. I don't want to pry between you and Lance, but no one could see you together without realizing that whatever your engagement is based on, it isn't based on love!"
Still she said nothing and he stood up and paced backwards and forwards in front of her.
"Answer me one thing, Rose. Is Lance marrying you because he blames himself for your accident?"
"Yes," she said huskily and as she uttered the one word her reluctance to talk about herself disappeared. "You're quite right, Dad. Lance isn't in love with me.
But he's not marrying me just out of guilt. There are other reasons too."
Haltingly and with difficulty she tried to explain his motives, and when she had finished, her father, far from looking relieved, appeared even more disquieted.
"I think you're both behaving childishly. Lance might believe he's turned his back on love for good, but that's only a normal reaction. In a matter of months he'll think quite differently and then where will you be? Lance is a hot-blooded man, Rose, he'll want a woman in the fullest possible sense!"
"I'll be his wife." she said steadily. "And I love him."
"Enough to give yourself to him knowing he doesn't love you? I doubt it when it comes to it. You've too much pride. And that's when the trouble will start.
Other women will throw themselves at him and you'll have to stand by and watch. And of course there's always the chance that he'll fall in love again — and not with you. Have you thought of that?"
"Yes." Her voice was so faint she could hardly hear it herself. "Yes," she repeated more loudly. "I've thought of it from all angles and I'm still going ahead."
Footsteps sounded behind her and looking round she saw Didi framed in the french windows.
"I hope I'm not interrupting you both?" she asked gaily. "You look so serious."
She came over and sat next to Rose. 'You're getting to look better every day, my dear," she said happily. "Another week of convalescence and then you'll be able to come to Paris with me and buy some clothes."
"There's an awfully good place in Cannes," Rose said.
"You can't buy your clothes there! Once you're Lance's wife you'll be photographed wherever you go and you've got to do him credit."
"Rose will do any man credit," her father interrupted. "You set too much store by outward appearances, Mrs. Hammond."
It was the first time Desmond Tiverton had spoken so frankly to his hostess, and she seemed taken aback by it. A look of surprise passed over her heavily painted face, but in an instant it was gone and the blue eyes beneath their thickly mascaraed lashes twinkled up at him.
"If I do, it's because that's what most men seem to go by."
"Then you know the wrong sort of men."
"In my particular life one only meets men of a certain type. Money creates its own barrier, you know."
"It's only lack of money that creates a barrier," Desmond said abruptly. "If you've enough of it you can go everywhere and anywhere."
"It's only lack of money that creates a barrier," Desmond said abruptly. "If you've enough of it you can go everywhere and anywhere."