"I guess I need a boy friend of my own," she decided one evening as she lay in bed listening to the sound of revelry that floated up from the street below. Yet she could not work up any enthusiasm over Alan. He was a pleasant companion, interesting, sympathetic and intelligent. But the vital spark was missing between them and nothing could put it there.
However, this did to stop her from accepting his invitation to dinner the next night, and she took especial pains with her appearance, rewarded by the admiration in his eyes as she came towards him on the terrace of the hotel.
"You've no objection to having a drink here first?" he asked as he held a chair out for her.
"Not at all. It gives me a thrill to think of myself as a guest here instead of an employee — even if it's only for a few hours."
"In that case we'll dine here too," he said. "I feel in a very generous mood. From now on my motto is going to be live while you're young." He drained his drink and signalled the waiter for another.
Rose looked at him curiously, wondering at the sudden change in his behaviour.
"You haven't won a fortune, have you?" she asked.
"No. But every so often I decide I'm going to Live with a capital L. It doesn't last for long, though. By tomorrow I'll be my old stodgy self again."
"You're not a bit stoggy," she protested.
"It's nice of you to say so. Living with a man like Lance makes any man feel stodgy by comparison."
Much as she disliked all that Lance Hammond stood for, Rose could not in all honesty disagree with Alan, so she kept silent and sipped her drink, gazing around her at the chattering throng.
Gone was the casual, carefree air of the beach, and smooth tanned shoulders arose arrogantly out of exquisite dresses while graceful necks were smothered with expensive jewels. The bohemianism of the South of France might exist in St. Tropez, Rose thought ruefully, but there was very little difference between the terrace of one luxury hotel and another, whether it be Claridges or the Hotel Plage or the Waldorf Astoria.
"If Lance Hammond got married," she said abruptly, "what would happen to your job?"
"Nothing for six months or so. I'd give Lance that long to settle down. I told you a little while ago he's got a good brain and I'm hoping he'll soon start to use it. That's when my job should really become interesting."
"But you're wasting an awful lot of time waiting for him to get started. Why don't you leave and start up on your own? Or ask him to get you another job in his organization. Surely he could if he wanted to?"
"Of course he could, but I don't want to leave him. I'm fond of Lance, believe it or not, and he needs someone around him whom he can trust."
"You're making him sound like a poor little rich boy," Rose said dryly. "What's this, a plea for sympathy?"
Alan set his glass down and stared soberly into the distance. "Lance doesn't — and wouldn't — want anyone's sympathy. But that doesn't mean he isn't in need of it. You're still young enough to believe that rich people don't need sympathy, but believe me, they need more of it than the average person. Having wealth puts an awful burden on you. And it also robs you of any privacy. That's one of the hardest things a rich person has to learn to do without. Privacy. Their money can buy them anything else they want, yet being left alone is something that's very often out of their reach."
"I shouldn't have thought that would worry Lance Hammond. He strikes me as the sort of person who'd revel in publicity."
"Maybe he does now, but it was the bane of his life when he was a kid. And he didn't have a very happy childhood, either. He was devoted to his father who died when he was just thirteen. His mother never bothered much with him. She didn't have any understanding of children and she thought that if Lance was fed and clothed and sent to a good school that was enough. But of course it wasn't. Once his father was dead Lance never had the feeling of being wanted or of being important to anyone. Why, he hardly saw his mother from one year's end to the other."
"What about the holidays?" Rose asked.
Alan half smiled. "Can you imagine how welcome a schoolboy would be to a woman like Diana Hammond? You've met her and seen the sort of person she is."
"She seemed very friendly and charming," Rose said.
"I grant you all of that. She's always charming and friendly — so much so that you can never get below the surface and know what she's really thinking — or if she's capable of thinking at all! I keep telling myself not to judge her too harshly, but I can't help It. I know she was very much in love with Edward Hammond and his death was a dreadful shock to her. Maybe that's why she won't allow herself to care deeply for anyone again. Maybe that's why she's drifted from one affair to the other and always with men young enough to be her sons. You can imagine how happy that's made Lance."
"Can't he stop her?"
Alan shook his head. "He wouldn't even if he could. Lance is a great believer in freedom. Do you know Mrs. Hammond has never allowed him to call her mother because she's afraid of getting old?"
"I remember him calling her Didi," Rose said softly. "I thought it was a sort of pet name."
"It is," Alan said. "But I'm pretty sure Lance would rather call her Mum! No, the woman who's really close to him is Helen Rogers."
Rose stared at him in amazement. "That wouldn't be the Mrs. Rogers who lives in Charles Street?"
"Why, do you know her?"
"I should think I do!" Rose cried. "It's because of her I'm here. She's the woman I told you about. It was her dog I saved."
"What a strange coincidence. I must remember to tell Lance."
"He's probably forgotten me by now," Rose said coolly.
Alan did not contradict her and she was conscious of a feeling of pique. Yet after all, why should Lance remember an unimportant little florist? Her thoughts were abruptly halted by the appearance of the very person of whom she was thinking and she watched as he and Enid Walters were escorted to a table on the far corner of the terrace. What a striking couple they made; both tall and blond and both with the moneyed look that Rose was beginning to know so well.
"Do you really think he's serious about her?" The question came out before she could stop it and Alan, who had seen Lance come in, nodded.
"Enid's the one person Lance knows isn't after him for his money. She's got stacks of her own. So if she does agree to marry him it isn't for what she can get, but for love."
"I can't imagine her loving anyone except herself," Rose said and glanced at Alan. Seeing how intently he was looking at her she flushed. "You must think me very catty. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. My opinion of Enid is the same as yours — and I haven't got feminine intuition to go on either!" He picked up his drink. "But let's not talk about my boss any more. Let's talk about you."
With an effort Rose tried to forget the couple sitting not more than a dozen tables away. But even though she laughed and joked with Alan, she was conscious of the arrogant blond head gleaming under the lights, and knew an infinite sense of relief when Lance Hammond stood up and led Enid off the terrace and into a waiting car.
Later that night as she prepared for bed, Rose could not help remembering all the things Alan had told her about Lance and his mother, and though she did not want to feel pity for him she could not help thinking of the sort of life he must have led as a child. Although there was still something about the man that she found vaguely antipathetic, she at least found his behavior more comprehensible. When he had never had love himself it was no wonder he was so casual in his treatment of others.
In the days that followed she saw him many times in the hotel, for he was continually squiring Enid and there was a standing order to send her flowers each evening. It was a matter of some pride to Rose she had so far managed to make the floral arrangement a different one on each occasion, but some two weeks later she found her ingenuity taxed to its extreme, and trying to compose a colorful display of carnations and sweet-scented stock, she reached such a state of irritation that she undid the whole basket
and began to rearrange them again.
"Very nice too," said a deep voice behind her and Rose swung round to see Lance Hammond watching her.
"You have a habit of coming in without my hearing you," she said breathlessly. "Is there anything you want?"
"Yes. Have you sent up Miss Walters' flowers yet?"
"I'm just in the middle of arranging them. If you can spare a few minutes you'll be able to see the finished effect."
"I don't particularly want to," he said casually. "I'm sure I can rely on you."
"What he really means,' Rose thought furiously, 'is that he doesn't care how much effort anyone puts in as long as his orders are obeyed.' But aloud all she said was: "If there's nothing I can do for you perhaps you wouldn't mind if I got on with my job?"
"By all means. But first of all tell me where you can hide this."
He put something into her hand and looking down on her palm she saw a magnificent diamond ring. It sparkled as if it were on fire, each facet a point of brilliant light.
"I don't understand what you mean," she said, not raising her eyes from it. "Why do you want me to hide it?"
"As a surprise," he said impatiently. "I want you to put it among the flowers. But don't hide it so that she'll never find it!"
Rose moved her palm so that the diamond slid across it. "I've never seen anything so lovely."
"I'm sure you haven't given up hope of having one like it one day," he said drily. "All you need is to meet a millionaire, and surely that's why you're working in this place?"
"On the contrary," Rose replied sharply. "I work here in order to earn a living. Marrying a millionaire isn't my ambition — not unless I happened to fall in love with him. And from the ones I've seen around here, I should think that most unlikely!"
"Don't tell me you want love and money." Lance's blue eyes held the mocking expression she had always associated with him. "You really are old-fashioned, aren't you?"
Rose moved away from him, conscious of his height and the breadth of his shoulders. "I'd never marry a man unless I loved him," she said quietly. "And a ring like this, beautiful though it is, would be worthless if it were given without love."
The cynical expression left Lance's face. "You needn't worry about this ring," he said softly. "I happen to be very much in love with Miss Walters."
"I'm glad," she replied. "I hope you'll be very happy."
"Thank you," he said. "I believe you mean it."
Without another word he left the shop and Rose stared after him. What a strange man he was. For a moment she could almost see him through Alan's eyes and, seeing him that way, could almost like him. She looked down at the ring and resisting the impulse to put it on her finger, moved over to the basket of flowers and slipped the diamond carefully over the leaf of a long-stemmed yellow rose so that, catching on a thorn, it could not slip farther down and escape notice.
Realizing that the basket was now too valuable to entrust to the honest but careless hands of any of the pages, she decided to deliver it herself, and calling Jacqueline, busy in the small room at the back of the shop, to take her place in the front, she slipped into the arcade and up the stairs to the first floor.
There was no reply to her knock on the mahogany door of the suite at the far end, and she gave a sigh of exasperation. She did not like the idea of taking the flowers downstairs again and having such an expensive piece of jewellery in the shop. But there seemed no other choice and she was halfway along the corridor when a maid came past. Rose stopped, struck by a sudden thought.
"Have you got a pass key to Miss Walters' suite?" she asked. "I want to put these in her drawing room."
"Oui, mademoiselle." The maid hurried forward and inserting the key, pushed open the door.
Smiling her thanks, Rose stepped into the hall. Opposite her the drawing room door was half open and she had stepped over the threshold before she became aware of the two figures clasped in one another's arms in the far corner of the room. With a shock she recognized Enid Walters and Tino Barri, the Italian she had met at Diana Hammond's villa!
At her entrance they drew apart and she was aware that the man rubbed a handkerchief over his lips, aware too that
Enid's face was flushed and her hair dishevelled. But when she spoke the girl's voice was quiet and controlled.
"Is it usual for servants to come in without knocking?"
Rose trembled with indignation and set the basket of flowers down on the nearest table. "I did knock, but I didn't get any reply."
"Then you shouldn't have come in."
"I'm sorry, but I didn't want to leave the basket in the shop. It's too valuable."
The almond-shaped eyes, a curious mixture of amber flecked with green, grew darker.
"I'd say your job is more valuable than the flowers you're delivering and if you make a habit of entering suites in this precipitous way you might find yourself unemployed!"
"I knocked twice," Rose said firmly, "but you were obviously too busy to hear me."
Enid Walters caught her breath. "How dare you talk to me like that? I shall report you."
"Do what you please," Rose answered, and walking out of the room, banged the door behind heir.
By the time she reached the shop her anger had abated but her feelings were still in a turmoil. How could any woman put herself in the position of being offered an engagement ring by one man and yet allow another man to make passionate love to her ? What would Lance Hammond say if he knew? And what would Diana Hammond say if she found out that her latest escort had been found embracing her son's future fiancee?
The questions were so unpleasant that Rose tried to push them out of her mind. What happened to the Hammonds was no concern of hers. Enid Walters had adopted a threatening attitude because she had felt guilty at being discovered in another man's arms, but there was no doubt that her threats would remain idle ones. The only trouble, Rose felt, was that she herself had been put in the position of aiding — albeit unwillingly — another woman's deception.
'But why should I care?' she told herself. "Lance Hammond is old enough to take care of his own life.'
But though she said the words with all the conviction of which she was capable she did not echo them in her heart, and was conscious of a first stirring of compassion for a man whose way of life was an anathema to her.
CHAPTER FIVE
THROUGHOUT the next day Rose was on tenderhooks to see Alan and tell him what had happened, but the hours passed without his coming to see her or even telephoning, and when she opened her newspaper the following morning she understood why. Lance Hammond's engagement was announced in banner headlines.
"HAMMOND STORE HEIR TO MARRY SOCIALITE"… "MARRIAGE IN A MATTER OF MONTHS". Rose sipped her coffee unaware that it was scalding her throat. So Enid had won what she had set out to achieve. No wonder she looked not only beautiful in her pictures but also triumphant. All Rose could do in the circumstances was to hold her peace. To tell Alan at this stage would put him in an embarrassing position, for she could not imagine Lance listening to any gossip about the woman he had just agreed to marry.
After breakfast Rose had to fight her way across the lobby of the hotel to the arcade. Reporters and press photographers milled around the door, clamoring for an interview with Enid Walters. Although the florist's was tucked in the arcade she could see the crowds through the window, and Jacqueline was almost beside herself with excitement. Constantly she pointed through the glass with cries of "Regardez, Rose! Encore un autre!", as yet another young man with notebook in his hand or camera slung over his shoulder tried to get past a barricade of bell-boys and make a dash for the first floor.
"I do wish you'd calm down." Rose was half amused and half exasperated. "One would think nobody had ever got engaged before."
"But you don't understand!" the French girl said reproachfully. "You are Eenglish and so your heart ees not stirred. But to ze French, love is always beautiful and exciting."
Rose paused in the act of twisting a
spill, of silver paper around the stem of an orchid and into her mind flashed a picture of two blond heads close together. Telling herself for the hundredth time that what Lance Hammond did was no concern of hers, she resolutely concentrated on the work in hand. And what work there was!
All the hostesses along the Riviera who had proffered as well as received hospitality either on Lance Hammond's yacht or in Didi Hammond's villa seemed to have decided to send flowers to Enid Walters, and as many of them also decided to use the hotel florist, Rose and Jacqueline had soon exhausted their supplies.
"If we get any more orders," Rose said, "we'll have to close down for the day."
"Impossible!" Jacqueline's French heart was dismayed at the thought of turning away business. "I'll go to the market myself and see what I can get. If there is nothing I'll go to one of the smaller flower shops in the back streets and buy up their stock. They will not know I work here and I will tell them I am buying flowers for a wedding or a funeral! It will not matter if I have to pay a little more because we can always charge double here! An occasion like this is good for business."
There was a certain amount of truth in this remark, but as Jacqueline whirled out of the shop, Rose remembered what else the girl had said. "I'll tell them it's for a wedding or a funeral…" Recollecting the shallow look in Enid's green eyes Rose thought how apt the word funeral was. Once the girl had a wedding ring on her hand she would lead her husband a fine dance, and if all that Alan had said about Lance was true, and he really was a romantic at heart, then his illusions would soon be dashed.
Jacqueline returned to the shop in a taxi full of flowers and for the next hour she and Rose were busy sorting out the blooms and replenishing the empty vases in the window. The girl had got a bargain by buying the entire stock of a small florist outside Cannes, and as the orders for more bouquets for the suite on the first floor kept coming in, Rose was delighted at her assistant's foresight and allowed her to go home half an hour before closing time.
Rachel Lindsay - Heart of a Rose Page 5