Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  She could not equal Anne in beauty! Her daughter had a stronger face and an almost electric quality about her. She was continually vivacious and her youthful gaiety filled the house with warmth and laughter.

  Donald was almost a male counterpart of Anne; he was attractive and pleasant. But he had a serious streak which was perhaps missing in Anne. Yet they got along exceptionally well—too well for Becky’s liking.

  She had barely turned from the mirror when the two came in with conspiratorial smiles. She asked, “You two look as if you were up to something! What is it now?”

  “I want to take Anne out to dinner to celebrate my becoming a member of the firm,” Donald said. “Father has given me his permission, and we now wish yours. I promise I shall have her back by nine.”

  “Please, mama!” Anne entreated her, looking too lovely to be refused.

  Becky hesitated. Then said, “If your father agreed to this, Donald, I suppose I must also give my permission. Where are you planning to dine?”

  “The Strand!” Anne exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “They have an orchestra and there is waltzing at dinner!” To demonstrate this, she did a graceful waltz step for them.

  “The Strand it shall be,” Donald said, laughing. “I’ll call for you at six. Wear that pink gown I liked the other night. And be on time!”

  Becky was amused. She said, “You sound like an echo of your father!”

  Donald looked pleased. “That wouldn’t be so bad. But I’m truly much my own man. Father will find that out when I join the firm. I’m very interested in steel.”

  “Steel?” she said.

  “You must have heard of it,” he insisted. “It is coming into use both here and in America. Great bridges are being built of it because it is light and strong. And steel ships are already setting records crossing the ocean.”

  Becky was interested, she had vaguely read about this new metal, but it had not interested her much. She said, “Your father has done well enough with iron ships. I expect he’ll know what to do about steel when the time comes.”

  “The time is now,” Donald said. “I’ve tried to make him see that. But he insists on sticking with the old ways.”

  She smiled, “Again you sound like your father. He had the same sort of argument with my late husband, only it was over the yard making wooden ships as opposed to iron. Bart won out!”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” the young man said. “I hope I win out now. Gregg & Kerr should be starting to build steel ships.”

  He left. Finding herself alone with Anne, she said, “Donald has become very much the assured young man since his return from Oxford.”

  Anne, with her hair drawn straight back and tied in a pony tail and wearing a pale yellow dress which matched her blonde good looks, smiled and said, “Yes. He’s terribly ambitious.”

  Becky was seated on the end of a divan, and Anne sat across from her on the arm of an overstuffed chair. Becky studied her daughter’s happy face. “What were you talking about?”

  Anne smiled knowingly. “He was telling me about the changes he’s planning for the firm.”

  “His father may have something to say about that.”

  “I think his father will listen to him. Don’t you?”

  “Bart is hard to understand,” Becky said. “He has been my friend for many years, and I’m never completely sure of him.”

  “You and Bart,” her daughter said wistfully. “I think it rather sad!”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What is sad?”

  “That you and poor old Bart can’t get married. I think Vera is mean to stand in your way. So does Donald!”

  “Really!” Becky gasped. “I don’t think you two children should be discussing such things!”

  “We are not children!”

  Becky said, “Well, whatever you are, you are also much too presumptuous.”

  Anne teased her. “You two are in love. Don’t deny it!”

  “We are good friends. We used to live in houses side by side,” she said lamely. “Your father and Bart were partners.”

  “But I’ll wager they were not friends!”

  “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because I’m sure Bart must have been in love with you before father died. How could he possibly feel friendly to a man who stood in his way?”

  “You are talking wickedly,” Becky said, blushing.

  “And your face is crimson,” Anne laughed.

  “No wonder. You speak so frankly as to be almost indecent.”

  “I want to be frank. Donald likes that in me!”

  “Does he?” she said. “And I supposed that is terribly important to you.”

  “It is. I value Donald’s opinions.”

  Becky eyed her daughter worriedly. “I think it is time you stopped giving Donald so much of your time and thoughts. It is all very well for you to have been friends growing up, but now you should begin to lead your own lives. You keep on sharing everything with him.”

  “He is my best friend. Maybe my only friend,” Anne said.

  “Nonsense,” she protested. “You have lots of beaux. You ought to be judging them, deciding which one you care the most for and whom you might one day marry.”

  Her daughter sighed. “That’s a tiresome thought!”

  Becky continued, “And Donald should be doing the same thing with other girls. You both should find someone nice to marry. You can still be friends. That will likely last all your lives. But the next few years will be critical for you both, the time for selecting your mates.”

  Anne gave her an odd look. “Why go to all that bother?” she asked. “Couldn’t we marry each other? Donald would make such a fine husband, and I’d try to be a worthy wife to him.”

  She gasped. The worst was out. She’d suspected this had long been in her daughter’s mind, and perhaps Donald felt the same way, in which case trouble loomed for all of them.

  Becky recovered enough to say, “It is stupid to marry a boy you grew up with! Stupid for Donald as well! You’d both do better to seek out strangers, enjoy the thrill of discovering new loves, and marrying them.”

  “Can’t we decide that for ourselves?”

  “Of course you must,” Becky said seriously. “But I’m fond of Donald, and you are my daughter. I don’t want to see either of you cheated!”

  “We won’t be.”

  Becky stood up and crossed to the girl, touching her shapely shoulder. “You and Donald haven’t discussed this seriously, have you?”

  “No. We don’t talk about it. But maybe we are taking each other for granted.”

  “That could be tragic!”

  “Why?” Anne said staring at her.

  “There are many reasons,” Becky said wearily. “I’ve told you the most important one. You ought to know many men before you decide to marry. Marry Donald, and you’d both be unhappy in a few years and flirting with other wives and husbands.”

  “Mother!” she said, shocked.

  “That goes on!” Becky warned her. “And it’s mostly among couples who have married too early without giving their marriage proper thought.”

  “You sound like dreary old Aunt Elizabeth before she died,” Anne told her.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Whenever Aunt Elizabeth saw me with Donald she’d become angry and tell me he was like his father. Not to be trusted and I shouldn’t play with him.”

  She listened to her daughter patiently. “I’m sure she only meant to give you good advice.”

  “It was silly.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth was a strange woman. But when she died, she left you her fortune. You must never forget that. She must have cared for you.”

  Anne looked down at her hands. “I suppose so. She could be nice. And I liked her when she wasn’t mean. She always smelled of lilac.”

  “I’m glad you were friendly with her in her last years,” she said. “Elizabeth lived and died a lonely woman.”

  “Why did she never want to
see you?” Anne asked.

  “I’ve told you before,” Becky sighed. “She and I had a foolish quarrel about my moving here. She never forgave me for it.”

  “She would never talk about it. Just changed the subject whenever I mentioned your name.”

  “That was best.”

  “I almost felt she hated you,” Anne said. “And I couldn’t understand why. She seemed to be so fond of my father.”

  Becky said, “That is why she hated me. I think she resented my coming to the house. She would have hated anyone who married her beloved brother. In her eyes no one was good enough for him.”

  “I see,” Anne said. “She would have preferred that he remain unmarried as she did.”

  “Yes.”

  Anne smiled and kissed her on the cheed. “I’m glad he did marry, or I wouldn’t exist and I wouldn’t have a wickedly, pretty mother like you!”

  “You’re buttering me up,” Becky chided her. “I’m a woman of middle-age. I’ll soon be old.”

  “You’re still most attractive,” Anne said. “Donald thinks so.” And with a sly smile, she added, “And I don’t have to tell you Uncle Bart thinks you’re beautiful!”

  She pretended annoyance. “Brat! You had to get that in!”

  Anne ran away from her to go upstairs. “I must bathe and dress if I’m to be ready at six,” she said.

  Becky called after her, “Remember what I said. Think of other young men when it comes to marriage.” But she was almost sure Anne was no longer listening to her.

  When Donald came to pick Anne up at six, Becky felt her blonde daughter had never looked more glorious! In a tiny pink evening bonnet, dark cape, and pink gown she presented a fetching picture. She kissed Becky hastily and then hurried off with Donald to the waiting carriage.

  Becky watched after her sadly. And she was still in a somewhat melancholy mood some hours later when she and Bart lay together in bed after making love. Their rounds of love were not so frequent these days, but then Bart would come to her almost in a stage of frantic need, as he had tonight.

  She glanced at him fondly as he lay with his eyes closed, his head on the pillow beside her. His hair was completely gray with white predominant at the temples, and he had put on a great deal of weight. He had a double chin and his youthful dash was replaced by a heavy look. He was still handsome but in a weary, mature way. He had lately suffered from arthritis and at times suffered much pain. He would not use a walking stick, nor take his doctor’s orders to give himself more rest.

  Softly, she said, “Dear Bart!”

  He opened his eyes and turned to smile at her. “I needed you tonight.”

  “I always have a need of you,” she told him.

  “Things have been difficult at the yard,” he said. “We are actually slack after years of prosperity. I think the whole country is having bad times. I blame it on the government.”

  “You shouldn’t worry. You could retire.”

  He frowned. “Not yet! My son is just coming to take his place with the firm. I want it in good shape for him.”

  “Perhaps he could take over with the help of the men you have trained.”

  “Too rash in his ideas.”

  “Are you thinking about his conviction that steel is the coming things for ships?”

  Bart gazed at her across the pillow in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  He sighed. “I forgot. He spends most of his free time over here. It vexes Vera and her whining old mother!”

  “It worries me as well.”

  Bart stared at her again. “Why? Don’t you like the boy?”

  “I like him far too well,” she said. “And so, I’m afraid, does Anne.”

  “Well, why shouldn’t they be friends? They always have been since they were children!”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “And there’s a danger in that now they’ve come to the time to find marriage partners.”

  Bart raised himself on an elbow and looked down at ther worriedly. “You’re not telling me those two foolish children have fallen in love?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think Anne has, and perhaps Donald is close to it!”

  “Good God!” Bart gasped.

  “I pain for them,” she said. “And I feel this may be our punishment.”

  Bart brushed this aside, “That is nonsense talk.”

  “I wonder.”

  “You should have mentioned this before, if you’d seen it happening.”

  She said, “Donald was at Oxford until now. I hoped in the meanwhile they’d both find loves.”

  “And?”

  “It hasn’t happened,” she said unhappily. “Donald has come straight back to her, and she has attached herself to him like a magnet. They’re so happy together—it is pitiful.”

  “Damn!”

  “What’s to be done?”

  “Have you talked to Anne?” Bart asked. Anne was his special joy. He never looked more happy than when she called him Uncle Bart. He had been dangerously close to spoiling her with attention and gifts.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve told her the mistake it is to marry someone you’ve known from childhood without giving other young men a chance.”

  “Did you convince her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The man beside her in bed gave a deep sigh. “A new problem!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve always had secret fears that one day something like this might happen.”

  He stared at her. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Well, we must face it now.”

  “Yes.”

  “I always thought of the four of us as family,” Bart said. “It is normal for a family to be close. That is why I never had any worries about Donald and Anne liking each other.”

  “We are a family,” she said. “That is precisely the trouble.”

  He thought a moment. “There is one thing in our favor.”

  “What?”

  “Donald entering the business. He’ll have plenty to do in the next year or so. If he ever mentions marriage to me, I’ll make it plain I think he should give at least two or three years to prove himself in the business before taking on the distraction of a wife and the family to follow.”

  She smiled her approval. “That sounds logical. You have always been smarter than me.”

  “It is true; that’s the best part of it,” Bart said. “And because Donald is just as ambitious in his own way as I was, I think he will listen to me.”

  “I hope so.”

  “In the meanwhile you must try to see that Anne spends time with other young men.”

  “I have been trying, but I’ll go on with it.”

  “It will be all right,” Bart said. “I’m sure. I know Vera is always nervous when Anne comes to visit. I guess I can understand why.”

  “She will see it as our sin falling upon them.”

  Bart shook his head. “It is not a sin to love. And I have faithfully loved you for more than twenty years!”

  Becky smiled and reached up and drew him to her so their lips met. Then she said, “I have never regretted it, Bart.”

  “Nor have I,” he said in a gentle voice.

  “And now we must dress,” she said. “The children already believe we are lovers. But I refuse to allow them to find us naked in bed together!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Charles Dickens had been dead for fourteen years and his body had been given an honored burial in Westminister Abbey. Prince Edward and his lovely Danish Princess Alexandra were at the height of their popularity, though it was whispered around London that the Prince was much more a ladies’ man than his stern Queen mother liked. Tall tales of his infidelity were repeated in low voices in many of the London private clubs. And it was occasionally the ladies of the gentlemen who repeated the tales with relish who were the ones involved!

  The London stage was flourishing
and enjoying the patronage of the popular Prince and his Princess. One of the great idols was Henry Irving, whom Victoria would knight in a few years. He had taken over the Lyceum Theatre and, with the delightful Ellen Terry as his leading lady, was thrilling audiences with such plays as Othello and The Bells.

  Bart Woods had come to love the theatre as well as the music halls. He often took Becky and Anne to see the great theatre productions. His wife, Vera, peevishly refused to attend any theatrical offerings, on the grounds that her aged mother considered the theatre a sinful place.

  So when Gilbert and Sullivan took London by storm, one of their first devotees was Bart Woods. He had faithfully attended the productions of The Pirates of Penzance, H.M.S. Pinafore, and Iolanthe. Now the new musical satire of the D’Oyly Carte Company at The Savoy Theatre was scheduled. It was Gilbert and Sullivan’s Princess Ida. So it was quite natural that he purchased tickets for the opening for himself, Becky, Anne, and Donald.

  Becky had been relieved when Bart told her that he had given his son a serious lecture about his responsibility to the firm. According to him, Donald had accepted the advice in a most agreeable fashion. He had admitted that entering the business and marriage at the same time might prove a problem. He had promised to defer any wedding for two or more years.

  Becky had then asked Bart, “Did you ask him to make the same reservation about becoming engaged?”

  Bart showed surprise. “That didn’t occur to me.”

  She smiled wearily. “I fear you overlooked a most important point.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do,” she said. “What if he insists on giving Anne a ring and becoming engaged to her.”

  “We must try to stop that,” Bart agreed.

  “It may be difficult,” she warned him.

  So she was especially pleased when on the opening night of Princess Ida an almost ideal solution to their difficult problem presented itself. They were mingling in the foyer with the other affluent first-nighters during the intermission. It was a gala affair, with much of London society represented and all dressed formally in their best.