by Anne Weale
So far, two men had wanted to marry her. One of them was a young accountant whose income was probably less than her own and whose prospects were uncertain. The other was a textile manufacturer, a widower with a son only a few years younger than Andrea. She guessed that his feeling for her was a middle-aged infatuation, and although she considered his proposal very seriously for some time, in the end she refused it, although she knew that wealthy men were seldom young or even passably good-looking, and that this deficiency was part of the price she would have to pay. That a man as rich or as presentable as Justin Templar should want to marry her had never occurred to her, and now, although it was the realization of all her aims, she was suddenly full of doubts and uncertainty.
What had he said? “Remember that you have just as much to offer as I have.”
Frowning slightly, she opened her purse and studied her reflection in the mirror of her compact. Did he really think that her face and figure were an adequate exchange for his name and all that went with it?
Thrusting the compact back in her purse, she lighted a cigarette and tried to analyze the situation from his point of view. He had said that he shared her views on the subject of what people called love, so what would influence his choice of a wife? Not social position, for Jill had said that he had been the target of matchmaking mothers for years without result. Evidently he wanted a wife who would be a showpiece like his house in Syon Place or his gleaming Bentley or the bloodstock horse he had ridden over the moor in Cornwall.
The best that money can buy, Andrea thought wryly. Apparently I am it. Well, he's old enough to know his own mind, I suppose.
She finished her cigarette and washed up the tea things and went to bed.
The next day she avoided the espresso coffeehouse where she usually lunched with a group of other models, and went instead to a quieter restaurant where the customers were mostly suburban housewives up for a day’s shopping and she was not likely to meet anyone she knew. Justin had given her three days to make her decision, and the time seemed to be passing very swiftly. Toying with her apple tart, she wondered what it would be like to be married to him.
Suppose that after they were married he revealed traits that she had not seen before?
Once before she had gambled her future, but this time the stakes were terrifyingly high, and if she lost she would have to pay for her misjudgment for the rest of her life. On the other hand, if Justin proved to be a difficult husband, she would have the compensation of living in luxurious surroundings with no more anxiety for the future. There was even the possibility that they might be happy together.
All that day and the next day she was torn with indecision, and it was not until late that night that she made up her mind.
As she dialed Justin’s telephone number her hands were trembling and she felt very cold. Hubbard answered the telephone. She recognized his soft, rather quavery voice.
“Is Mr. Templar in, please? This is Miss Fleming speaking.”
“Will you hold the line, madam?”
It seemed an eternity before she heard the click of the extension receiver being lifted. Then Justin’s voice said, “Andrea?”
Her mouth was dry and there was a lump in her throat. She tried to speak but no words came.
“Andrea? Are you there?”
“Yes ... Justin...”
“What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
She took a grip on herself.
“No, nothing’s the matter. I’m quite all right.”
“You sounded so odd.”
“Justin, I’ve made up my mind. If you’re sure you want me, I will marry you.”
It came out in a rush, and the minute she had said it she felt a queer upsurge of relief, as if the tension within her had suddenly snapped.
There was a short pause and then he said quietly, “I’m very glad. Thank you.”
“I hope I haven’t interrupted you, but you asked me to let you know.”
He made a sound that might have been a laugh.
“No, you didn’t interrupt me. I was reading. Can I come around to see you?”
At that nervousness quickened again.
“I was just going to bed,” she said hastily.
“Oh, I see. Then we’ll lunch together tomorrow. Where can I collect you?”
“I’m not sure where I’ll be. It would be better if I met you.”
“As you wish, Can you manage one o’clock at the Savoy?”
“Yes. That’ll be fine.”
“Right. If you’re free in the afternoon, we’ll look at some rings.”
“Oh ... yes.”
“Good night, my dear. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Good night.”
A moment after she had replaced the receiver she heard Jill’s key in the latch. Before she could switch on the light, Jill was in the room with Nick just behind her.
“Hello. Why the gloom?”
“I was dozing. Good movie?”
“Not bad. I had some horrible child behind me who kept kicking the back of my seat. When Nick asked him to stop, his mother got frightfully worked up and complained in a loud voice about people who were always finding fault with innocent little darlings.”
Jill turned to Nick. “Are you hungry, darling? Shall I make some scrambled eggs?”
It was not until they were having supper that Andrea broke the news.
“I’m going to marry Justin,” she said suddenly.
There was a startled silence while they digested this information, and then Jill jumped up and hugged her.
“Andrea! How exciting! Why on earth didn’t you tell us before? When did it happen? No wonder you were mooning around in the dark. I had no idea you were really keen on him. Tell us about it.”
“There’s not much to tell. He asked me and I accepted,” she said quietly, looking at Nick, who had not yet spoken.
For the fraction of a second she saw that there was a peculiar expression in his gray eyes, but he concealed it almost immediately and said warmly, “Delighted to hear it, Andrea. I’ve never met Templar, but Jill says he’s a very good fellow. When’s the great day?”
“I don’t know yet. We haven’t had time to discuss our plans.”
“But when did he propose?” Jill asked, looking slightly puzzled. “I thought you hadn’t seen him since Monday.”
It occurred to Andrea that the truth might sound odd, so she told a white lie, and said Justin had left just before they came in.
“I am so glad. When one’s happy oneself, one wants everyone else to be,” Jill said, squeezing Nick’s hand and giving him an adoring look. “Perhaps you’ll be married before us. I mean, Justin has a house already. You won’t have to slog around looking for somewhere to live.”
“I shouldn’t think you’ll have to slog over anything,” Nick said dryly.
“No, of course not. Imagine, you’ll be able to buy your clothes in Paris and have a maid to wash out your undies and no bother about meals. Has he given you a ring yet?” Jill asked.
“We’re going to choose one tomorrow,” Andrea said, embarrassed by Jill’s enthusiasm. For the first time she realized that it was going to be difficult to hide the truth from the younger girl, but somehow she would have to do it. Jill was a wholehearted romantic and would be appalled at the thought of marrying for anything less than love.
Watching Nick, who was lighting his pipe, Andrea wondered if he suspected that her engagement was very different from his own. If he did, would he tell Jill?
“This is going to make quite a story. The Mirror will probably come out with a banner headline ‘Model to Wed Steel Magnate,’ ” he said.
“But it isn’t public yet,” she said anxiously.
“Don’t worry, I won’t give it away. No doubt Templar will put a notice in the Times tomorrow. But once it’s out, you’ll probably be inundated with photographers and columnists.”
Andrea bit her lip. If the newspapers decided to publicize the engagement, they might upro
ot the facts of her past. She could imagine how much more colorful the story would be then. All the old clichés about Cinderella marrying Prince Charming and the girl from the wrong side of the tracks breaking into society would be splashed over the front page of the popular papers. They might even print a picture of the Briggs Lane basement and one of the house in Syon Place.
For a moment she was tempted to phone Justin and ask if they could keep their engagement a secret, but then she realized that the news would be bound to leak out eventually and they could scarcely conceal their marriage. There was nothing to do but hope that some more important event would overshadow the engagement.
She was a little late for their luncheon appointment the next day, and apologized so concernedly that Justin was amused.
“If you never keep me waiting longer than five minutes, I will be an unusually fortunate man,” he said smiling.
When they had been shown to a table overlooking the Thames, and he had ordered the food and wines, Andrea found herself stricken with shyness. She could think of nothing to say and her replies to his remarks became more and more stilted.
“Does your soup taste unpleasant?” he asked, seeing her taut face.
“No, of course not. It’s delicious.” She colored slightly. “It’s just that I’m not quite used to this yet.”
“By ‘this,’ do you mean being my future wife?” he inquired a shade quizzically.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you want a long engagement to accustom yourself to the idea? Personally I can see no point in prolonged engagements once one has made up one’s mind to marry. But if there are any lingering doubts in your mind...”
He left the sentence unfinished, watching her with a rather hard expression.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,” she said hurriedly.
“You’re quite sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest we set the date at the end of March. Where would you like to spend a honeymoon?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. Wherever you like.”
“Paris is very pleasant in the spring. We can follow the sun later in the year.”
“Paris would be lovely. I’ve never been there,” she said.
“In that case, you needn’t bother about a trousseau. My sister tells me the French designers are superior to the British. Are you busy this afternoon?”
Andrea shook her head.
“Then when we’ve bought your ring, I’ll take you to meet Madeline.”
“Does she know about me?”
“Yes, I told her last night.”
Andrea wondered how his sister had received the news. Although she had only seen her from across the church on Christmas Day in Cornwall she had an uneasy feeling that her future sister-in-law might not welcome the engagement.
After lunch they went to one of London’s most exclusive jewelers where the manager, an august personage in morning dress, greeted Justin with the deference due to a valued customer. He ushered them into a small anteroom and gave instructions to one of his staff.
“Had you any particular stone in mind, Miss Fleming?” he asked Andrea as they sat down at a table covered with a black velvet cloth.
She said she had not.
“I suggest an emerald to match your eyes,” Justin said, and she gave him a surprised glance, for he had spoken in a tone that was quite different from his normal one.
In a few moments the assistant arrived with a large flat case.
As Mr. Hampton lifted the lid, Andrea gave an involuntary gasp, for the rings that lay on the white satin bed were the most beautiful she had ever seen.
“How about that one?” Justin said, indicating a large square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds.
“Yes, that is a particularly fine stone, Mr. Templar,” said Mr. Hampton, slipping it over the third finger of Andrea’s left hand.
She gazed at it wordlessly, spellbound by its glowing color.
“Do you like it?” Justin asked.
“It’s beautiful,” she said dazedly.
“Then we’ll have it, Hampton,” he said as calmly as if he were buying some cheap trinket instead of a ring that she knew must cost several hundred pounds.
As they left the shop and walked back to the car, which was parked in a side street, Andrea said, “It’s a wonderful ring, Justin. Thank you very much.”
“I’m glad you like it.” His voice was back to its normal clipped tone.
It was then that she realized why he had sounded different in the shop. He had looked at and spoken to her as if they were like other engaged couples, as if he loved her.
His sister lived in Knightsbridge and they were shown into the drawing room by a prim-faced maid in a dark green uniform.
“I think I told you that Madeline had a passion for interior decoration,” Justin said dryly as they sat down on a sofa covered with thick white tweed. “What do you think of it?”
Andrea surveyed the white carpet, the white curtains and the white walls. The only notes of color were the lime green cushions and some African tribal masks on the walls. “It’s very unusual,” she said politely.
“Personally it reminds me of an arctic waste,” he said derisively. “The next time we call I’ve no doubt everything will be a funeral black. Madeline is a creature of whims.”
At that moment they heard high heels tapping down the hall and Madeline Laverick came into the room. She was wearing a dull yellow dress, which Andrea recognized as a Lanvin-Catillo model, with a long chain of amber beads looped around her throat.
Justin rose, drawing Andrea to her feet and keeping hold of her hand.
“Madeline, this is Andrea,” he said quietly.
Whatever Andrea had expected, it was not for Mrs. Laverick to glide forward with a brilliant smile and say warmly, “I’m delighted to meet you at last, my dear. I can’t imagine why Justin hasn’t brought you to see me before, but, as you’ve probably discovered, he’s an eccentric creature. You know I’ve seen your pictures so often that I feel I know you already. I can’t tell you how pleased I was when Justin broke the news. I had quite despaired of him getting married unless it was to some terribly serious girl who would think me a shocking scatterbrain.”
Before Andrea had had time to recover from her surprise at this effusive reception she found herself back on the sofa with Mrs. Laverick beside her.
“Now tell me all your plans. When is the wedding to be?”
“The end of next month,” Justin said.
“So soon? My dear child, you’ll be rushed off your feet. Never mind, Justin told me your parents were dead, so it will be my job to help you with all the preparations. We will have to start at once.”
“Perhaps Andrea would rather have a quiet wedding,” Justin suggested.
She was about to say that she would, but his sister got in first.
“What nonsense! Every girl wants a proper wedding, and Andrea will make such a lovely bride—” another brilliant smile “—that it would be quite criminal to have one of these makeshift affairs. However, the first thing is the engagement party. I’ve invited the rest of the family to dinner on Friday and afterward we’ll have an informal dance.”
For the next ten minutes Madeline prattled on with plans and suggestions, so that by the time the maid wheeled in a tea wagon and she paused for breath, Andrea had lost the courage to say that she did not want an elaborate wedding.
While they had tea and Madeline continued to monopolize the conversation she was conscious that Justin was again making a pretense of being what she mentally termed “a proper fiancé.” The way he smiled at her, the way he lighted her cigarette, the way he said her name—all these were deliberately calculated to make his sister think he was in love with her.
She was both embarrassed and confused, and it was a relief when he said they must leave. His sister saw them out to the car, but it was too cold for her to stay talking through the window for long.
As they drove back to the apartmen
t, Justin said, “Madeline has a flair for organization; you leave most of the planning to her. I hope you don’t mind this party she’s fixed up. Most of my relatives are quite harmless.”
“I hope they will approve of me,” Andrea said uncertainly.
“Why shouldn’t they?” He bit back an expletive as a cyclist suddenly swung out a few feet in front of his nearside fender. “What would you like to do tonight?”
“I was wondering if you’d care to have supper with us. It will only be potluck,” she added, remembering the fish pie she had planned for their evening meal.
“Thank you. I would like to,” he said.
The evening was remarkably successful, and when Nick arrived just as they were finishing the dishes, Andrea was relieved to see that the two men seemed to take to each other. By the time she and Jill had put away the dishes and powdered their noses the others were ensconced in the sitting room, discussing foreign policy in the Middle East. Andrea passed the sofa intending to sit on a leather pouffe by the fire, but Justin caught her wrist and drew her down beside him. He did it quite naturally without breaking off his remark to Nick, and she did not think anyone noticed her heightened color. Presently the conversation turned to lighter topics, and from time to time Justin glanced down at her with a smile. He was an incredibly good actor. Anyone watching him would have thought him a charmingly attentive lover. He continued to hold her hand in a light clasp, and after a while she felt less self-conscious and was able to talk more easily.
Toward ten o’clock Jill bestirred herself to make coffee and toast and Nick went to help her. As soon as the kitchen door had closed, Justin got up on the pretext of emptying an ashtray into the fire.