Her daughter came around the table and threw her arms around her as she sobbed, “Oh, mother, what shall I do?”
“Follow your heart.”
“I love André in a way I’ve never loved anyone before.”
“Then marry him.”
Anne sighed and let go of her and stood touching a hankie to her eyes. “No. I can’t do that. Not until I return to England and talk to Donald.”
At once Becky knew the old fear. She said,” I say that is the worst thing you can do.”
“Why?”
“Donald will try to urge you into marrying him and putting André out of your life.”
Anne said, “He can’t force me to unless I agree.”
“He’ll work on your sympathy, and you will agree. You’ll be married, and in a short time you’ll feel restless and frustrated. You’ll never forget André, and you’ll come to hate your marriage.”
“Hate Donald? Never.”
“You think not now,” her mother said. “But I’m older than you, and I’ve seen such things happen.”
“I will have to risk it,” her daughter said. “André has promised to wait until I can go to England and work this out. If I am meant to marry him, I’m sure I shall return.”
Her daughter’s decision worried Becky, not only for the obvious reason that Donald and Anne could never marry, but also because Count André Lemont was such a fine prospect for a son-in-law.
At a garden party held at his mother’s house the next day, she and the young Frenchman stood together by a lovely fountain. Fragrance of the flowers in the surrounding gardens filled the air.
André was copper-haired with rather thick, sensual lips and an even-featured pleasant face. His eyes were brown and alert. And he had a wry, ready smile which he was quick to use.
He smiled now as he told Becky, “I have to be worried.”
“You do?” she said, pretending not to understand him.
The Count said, “Yes. Anne is determined to return to London and discuss her plans with that young man she grew up with.”
“Oh, that!”
“I do not like it.”
“Nor do I,” she smiled. “From all she has told me she is clearly in love with you. And you have asked her to marry you. She should accept.”
“Thank you, madame,” the Count said. “My mother is of the same opinion. But Anne will not decide.”
“I have talked to her.”
“So have I. Endlessly,” he said. “It has been of no use. I love your daughter. But I do not always understand her.”
“I must admit to the same thing,” Becky smiled. “Her father’s character was a strong one. She seems to have inherited it.”
“What shall I do?” André asked in despair.
“Be patient.”
“I have been.”
“When she returns to England, you come with her. Then you will at least be able to hold your own in this contest for her.”
The Count brightened. “I had not thought of that.”
“But if she protests?”
“Come anyway,” Becky said. “I will entertain you.”
“Excellent,” the young man said with one of his quick smiles. “You are a most understanding mother!”
“I’m concerned for my daughter’s happiness,” she said quietly.
And she was. A few days later she returned to London. Anne would complete her Paris studies within the month, and then planned to come back to talk with Donald. No matter what Becky said, she could not make Anne change her plans. So that was how things now stood.
Becky was exhausted by the time she reached her house in London. She found several messages waiting for her there, including one from Bart Woods which said, “James Kerr back in London! Watch out!”
She’d barely had a warm tub and changed to a suitable robe for the house when her housekeeper informed her she had a visitor. Thinking it must be Donald or even Bart, she went downstairs to find someone else, someone whom she thought to be a stranger for a moment. Then she recognized him and gasped, “James Kerr!”
“The same,” he said, with a courtly bow from the hips. His hair was white, and his face was bloated. His eyes, which had once held a merry expression, could now only be called shifty. He was dressed elaborately in a pale blue coat and black and white checkered pants. A glowing diamond stickpin decorated his purple cravat. He looked prematurely old and unhealthy.
She said, “You’ve returned to England.”
James Kerr laughed mockingly. “Surely that is obvious. I would expect something better than that from a smart girl like you, Becky.”
Upset, she said, “I’m sorry. You did surprise me.”
“I’m rather strong on surprise,” the prodigal said. “I will now make a prediction. You are going to offer me a strong whiskey, or better still a glass and bottle so I can help myself, and an easy chair in which to rest my poor body.”
She said, “I’m also weary. I’ve just returned from Paris.”
“I know,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. And she went for the whiskey, wondering who might have told him.
He took the glass and bottle from her when she returned. Seating himself with feet sprawled out he bade her to sit in the chair across from him. “Sit down where I can see you,” he said.
“I had planned on retiring early,” she said as she sat down.
“I won’t keep you long.”
“I’ll be grateful if you don’t.”
He poured a drink and downed half of it. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”
“We were not all that close.”
“More your fault than mine,” he rebuked her. “I was very much taken with you at one time. But you were out to marry Mark Gregg and you did.”
“That’s all over with,” she protested.
“Not as I see it,” he replied. And he finished off the whiskey in the glass and poured himself another. Then he asked, “Where was I?”
“You mentioned that I married Mark.”
He laughed. “So I did. Quite a match for a barmaid whose sister became a prostitute and who might have been one herself!”
She jumped up, enraged. “How dare you say that?”
“I have a certain lady friend,” he mocked her. “Somewhat the worse for wear I will admit. But in her sober moments she recalls a Becky and Peg Lee. And she can tell a few stories of Peg working side by side with her in Alfie Bard’s stable of girls!”
“Get out of here!” she demanded.
“Not yet,” he said, calmly finishing his drink. “I can prove what I’ve said. And I also know that Mark Gregg was duped by you and Bart Woods after his stroke. Mark was not able to sign any documents, and he certainly could not have fathered your girl!”
“You can prove none of that!”
“I don’t need to,” he sneered. “I have only to say it abroad and in court. I was wrongly robbed of my share of the shipyard, and I mean to get it back!”
“You were paid off by your father!”
“And cheated—though I mean to get mine!” He coughed and all at once bent his head as if in pain. Then he reached into his inner coat pocket and yelled at her, “Fetch me some water!”
Terrified at his sudden attack, she hurriedly fetched a glass and a pitcher of water. She filled the glass and put it on the table by his chair. He brought out a bottle with white pellets in it. He took out one and put it on his tongue. Then he drank some water and sat back in the chair staring until the attack passed.
She watched him closely and after a little the glazed look of pain left his eyes. His face, which had gone paper white now became reddish again. He seemed to breathe easier. He picked up the bottle of white pellets and replaced them in his pocket.
He smiled and said, “Wonder pellets! Supplied to me by a doctor friend in New York. I brought a supply here with me. I must have them constantly at my side, or my life is in danger.”
She was standing. “You are better now?”
&
nbsp; “Yes,” he said. He looked up at her. “You hate me, don’t you?”
“What do you expect after the things you’ve said?”
“All of them are true.”
“You twist everything to suit yourself.”
“I’m willing to argue that in court,” James said. “I’m going to plead that Bart and you, being lovers and ambitious, persuaded my senile father I was worthless and had him pay me off with a paltry sum!”
She said, “I have heard a different story. I heard that you were well paid.”
“From Bart Woods?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, I’m back,” James Kerr told her. “And if Bart does not come up with a goodly sum, all that I’ve told you will be public knowledge.”
“Why do you wish to ruin us?”
He smiled coldly and rose. “I have no such wish. I’m only interested in my rightful inheritance. If you wish to bring ruin on yourselves by denying me, then I cannot do anything to stop it.”
“Unless you get your way, you will do all this,” she said. “And Bart cannot give you a lot of money, even if he wished. The business is in bad shape.”
“I would say that is his concern and yours, not mine,” the dandy said. “I’m living at the house at the request of my sister, Vera, though I must admit I’ve been coolly treated by both Bart and his son. How like his father he is !” James gave her a leer. “I should like to meet your daughter.”
“You will please me best by leaving and never returning,” she said coldly.
He picked up his hat and fashionable walking-stick. “Have no fear,” he said. “You are bound to hear from me again.” And he left her.
She was in a state. She paced up and down without any thought of rest. And she was actually glad when the doorbell later sounded. She opened the door and a tense Donald entered.
Donald said, “I just learned you had returned. Dear Uncle James kindly told me!”
“That creature!” she exclaimed.
“I know!”
“Despicable,” she said. “He was never a nice person, and now he’s thoroughly rotten!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Donald said. “And as soon as Father heard he’d been here he asked me to come over. Father was worried about you.”
“I’m all right,” she said. “He did upset me. That’s all.”
Donald frowned. “What are all these threats about? Father won’t tell me. And James only goes on about revealing certain family secrets if he’s not properly treated. What is he talking about?”
“There’s a great deal of bluff to it,” she said, slumping down into a chair by the fireplace.
“My mother looks terrified, and she has even had several sessions with father in his study. They usually never talk over anything, but he has driven them to consulting each other. Mother seems to believe her brother can cause trouble.”
Becky sighed. “He can slander us all and cause a nasty scandal. He claims he was cheated out of his share of the firm.”
“Father says there are papers he signed to accept that he was being paid off. My grandfather showed them to him—they are in the safe at the office. So he doesn’t have a true claim that it’s a case of blackmail!”
“Without doubt!”
“We’ll have to wait and see,” she said wearily. “He is a sick man. He had a bad attack of some sort while he was here.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. I was terrified. He took some pellet and seemed better.”
“His wonder drug,” Donald said sarcastically. “It’s his heart. He’s had several attacks at the house since his return. But he keeps the tablets by him always, and as soon as he takes one he improves.”
“I saw that,” she said. “I wonder that a man clearly so near death would wish to do so many people harm!”
“He’s vicious,” Donald said. “I’ve had a bad time since you left—trying to keep the merger plan from my father, having to deal with this unpleasant Uncle James, and worrying about Anne ! She only writes me every ten days or so, only a short note with little in it. What is she doing?
“She’s finishing her studies and enjoying the city,” Becky said.
“She’s not being fair!”
“I understand she is coming back to London soon to talk with you. She’s not making any plans until she does.”
He sighed. “At least I’ve been able to get that much sense in her. When she returns, she’ll see this other romance is wrong and marry me.”
“That’s what you want?”
“It is what is right for both of us.”
“I wonder,” she said.
“How can you have any doubts?” he protested.
“I thought you and Julia Brown made a nice couple,” she told him.” What about Julia?”
“She’s all right.”
“Have you seen her?”
“You told me to see her!”
She smiled. “Don’t be so aggressive. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m simply interested. Her father is a dear friend; perhaps he will be our business associate. I’d like to know how you and his daughter have made out.”
Donald paced up and down. “She’s a fine girl. You know I think that. I’ve seen her several times. In fact, I’ll be taking her to dinner and the theatre tomorrow night.”
“Ah!” she said. “That sounds as if you’ve been truly kind to her.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t completely altruistic on my part. She’s jolly good company. I never tire of being with her.”
“I can imagine she’s delightful.”
“She is!” He said almost enthusiastically. Then he looked at her strangely. “Why should you be lauding her so?”
“I’m only saying what I think to be true.”
“You’re Anne’s mother. You should be anxious for me to marry her!”
Becky said, “Only if I’m sure you are better suited for each other than to anyone else. And I’m not that sure!”
He shook his head. “I think you had me meet Julia just to confuse me!”
“You had to meet her if you’re going to be a business partner of her father’s.” She paused and said knowingly. “And if you are confused, it means you must care more than you’d like to admit!”
“I’m going!” Donald said. “I’ll tell father you are all right.”
CHAPTER 14
The next morning she received an unusual message from Bart, an invitation to join him for a ride in his carriage that afternoon. She could only surmise that he wished to speak with her about something concerning James, and that it was of such a private nature he thought they had best meet and talk in the carriage. She put on a brown taffeta dress she’d purchased in Paris, and one of the wider-brimmed bonnets which were popular over there. Then she waited by the window overlooking the street until his carriage arrived.
London was slowly changing and becoming larger and more populous. Elgar Street was no longer a quiet residential area, as it had been twenty years ago. Business places had located at either end of the street, many new houses had been built, and its cobblestone surface was the route for several horse-drawn bus lines. As she watched, a two decker came by with the driver perched high at the upper level and four horses moving it along at a good rate. The upper section was open to all sorts of weather, but the lower seats were protected. The front wheels were smaller than the rear, and there were advertisements of many kinds painted along the red sides of the bus in gold letters.
A bicycle rider went by on the latest model with its two giant wheels, a hawker of fish and chips halted to shout his wares and move on, and then the elegant carriage of Bart Woods pulled up before her door. She at once hurried out; the driver helped her inside.
Bart was sitting in a corner of the shadowed interior with a blanket pulled up over his arthritis legs. In his stove-pipe hat and drab grey suit he looked nothing like the daring man she had once known. He was a tired, dejected figure, yet there was immense strength in his face.<
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She leaned forward and kissed him. “How nice of you to think of this.”
“I needed to talk with you,” he said. “And we can do a bit of sight-seeing at the same time.”
“A delightful idea,” she said, settling close beside him with a smile.
As the carriage started away, he asked her, “How did it go in Paris?”
“I’m hopeful.”
“Just hopeful?”
She gave him a knowing look. “I fear Anne inherited your strong character. She refuses to break with Donald until she returns and talks it all out with him.”
“Damn!” he said. “That means we may be faced with telling them the truth. It seems nothing short of that will make them change their minds.”
“It may not be as bad as you fear,” she said. “Donald has been seeing a fine young woman. And I have reason to assume that he is more than a little fond of her.”
He frowned. “I have gathered that. But he has been most mysterious about it. Refuses to tell me anything about her.”
“That is often the case with young men in love.”
“You think he may actually be in love?”
Becky nodded. “He has admitted to being confused. I find that promising.”
Bart looked out the window and sighed. “I would not count too much on it. Things could hardly be worse. I sent Donald to you last night to warn you about James.”
“He came to see me, you know,” she said. “I mean James.”
Bart turned with anger showing on his worn face. “The Devil he did! What did he say?”
“Exactly what he must have said to you. He wasn’t at all careful to hold anything back. In fact he even called me to task for having been a prostitute, which you know to be a lie.”
“He’s loaded with lies,” Bart said, clenching his hands as they rested on the blanket. “He’s given me a deadline of three days to make a settlement. Then if nothing happens, he will tell his stories to the scandal sheets and the courts.”
“I think the yellow press is more likely to listen to him than any court!”
“The very fact he makes his accusations will be enough. He need not prove them. We will be ruined by what he implies. People enjoy scandal and are always ready to accept the worst.”
Vintage Love Page 118