Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  “I don’t see anything funny—” Eileen protested.

  “Don’t you? I find it hilarious! You and I are sitting here calmly discussing whether or not I should marry a girl who would probably laugh in my face if I so much as mentioned being in love with her!”

  “At least you owe it to her to ask her—”

  “Owe it to her?”

  “Well, I mean you have given her the opportunity to fall in love with you.”

  “I can’t believe anything so utterly fantastic!”

  “Men!” said Eileen.

  “And this young dancer that Marisa is so excited about,” George pointed out, “what about him?”

  “Well, what about him?”

  “Do you think she could dance with him as she does and not be in love with him?”

  “Oh, George, don’t be a fool!” Eileen protested, half laughing, half exasperated. “You know the way they dance together is all part of their act. It’s good show business to let people think you are enraptured with each other. Kristen calls him ‘Leon,’ yet Marisa insists all his friends call him Lee! Does that sound as though she were in love with him?”

  She stood up, suddenly weary of the argument. “I only wanted to let you know, George, that I feel fairly certain Kristen is genuinely interested in you. And because you are a man, you’d probably never realize it. And now that I know you are in love with her, whether you admit it or not—well, I thought perhaps the knowledge that I would go back to England, very willingly, might help you to decide what to do.”

  She went out, and he heard her go up the stairs.

  She had left him with a problem that made him feel dazed.

  He went up to bed at last, but it was a long time before he could get to sleep …

  For the rest of Kristen’s visit, Marisa kept her so occupied that there was no chance for George to talk to her alone. He wondered a little if Kristen might not be avoiding him, and cursed himself for the hurt the thought gave him.

  It was not until the last evening of her visit that he was able to see her alone. She would be going back to Fort-de-France in the morning, and it was not likely that he would have another chance, unless— But he wouldn’t even let himself pursue that thought any further.

  Marisa’s young friends had dropped in to say goodbye to Kristen, and it developed into a gay party of youthful good spirits, with much laughter, music, and dancing. When George saw Kristen slip unobtrusively out of the room to the terrace, he drew a deep hard breath and just as unobtrusively followed her.

  It was a night of tropical beauty straight out of the most inspired travel folders. A huge moon was so round and yellow that it looked as if one might thrust a fist through its softness. Below the terrace, the surf pounded with its incessant rhythm, and the salt-tangy wind was pleasant on Kristen’s lifted face.

  She stood at the curve of the terrace, her face lifted to the soft moonlight. Her eyes were closed, and the wind blew her soft filmy chiffon skirts back a little so that for a moment, as he watched her, he thought of a lovely figurehead on some proud ship.

  He made no effort to walk quietly, and before he reached her, she turned swiftly, smiling at him. In the moonlight, she was revealed to him almost as vividly as though she stood in a spotlight. He saw her lovely, friendly smile and felt it warm the dry reaches of his heart.

  “I came out to say goodbye to all this,” she told him softly, with a gesture that took in the scene about her. “I shall never forget this visit. You were quite right: Martinique is the loveliest spot in the whole world.”

  “I suppose you feel, ‘It’s a lovely place to visit, but I wouldn’t care to live here’?” he teased her lightly.

  “Live here? Oh, I’m not so sure about that. I think I’d have to live here if I hoped to see everything there is to see.” She laughed and turned once more to look out over the restless water.

  “You’re very fond of show business, aren’t you?” he probed, carefully keeping his voice matter of fact.

  “Well, yes, of course. It’s really the only thing I’ve ever known,” she answered. “And that’s pretty funny, I suppose. None of my people were ever in show business. My sister is studying to be a teacher; and my mother and father couldn’t imagine anything but being farmers. They love it. But they were very understanding when I wanted to be a dancer, and did everything they could to help me.”

  “I know they’re very proud of you,” said George.

  Kristen laughed. “I think really they’re more puzzled than proud. They thought I’d grow up, marry the boy next door, and settle down to dairy farming. That’s what my sister will do when she has taught for a few years, I know.”

  She laughed suddenly and added, “It’s nice to know that when I get too old and too creaky in the joints to go on dancing, they’ll take me in; and I can sit in a corner with a shawl about my shoulders and tell my nieces and nephews what it was like to be a professional dancer.

  “Most of all,” she went on, and now her voice had lost all hint of raillery and was deeply earnest, “I’ll have the memory of Martinique and all the lovely things that have happened to me here to tell them about. It’ll always be one of my most cherished memories.”

  “Kristen, this boy next door—”

  Kristen laughed gaily.

  “Oh, there’s no such person. It was just a figure of speech,” she dismissed it lightly.

  “I am wondering, Kristen,” he said, and nerved himself for the plunge, for he knew it must be now or never, “whether you could live happily ever after in Martinique?”

  He saw the startled look that sped over her face.

  “Oh, but I don’t see how that could be possible,” she answered.

  “But if a way could be offered? I think there is a way, Kristen.” His voice trailed off beneath the almost frightened look in her eyes.

  “Oh, but I promised Leon I’d stay with The Act,” she said hurriedly, avoiding George’s stricken eyes. “I couldn’t just walk out on him—not after all his hard work and all the training he’s given me.”

  George drew a deep, harsh breath and said pleasantly, “No, of course you couldn’t. I can’t think what I could have had in mind even to suggest such a thing.”

  He smiled at her, and even in the moonlight she could see the flash of his white teeth in a mirthless grin.

  “I suppose it’s just that we have enjoyed your visit so much that we hate to see it come to an end. Now, shall we go back inside? I think it’s getting a bit chilly out here, don’t you?”

  The intensity of her relief struck him like a blow as she brushed past him, moving swiftly as though anxious to escape from him. And George stood where she had left him, feeling the aching bitterness of smashed hopes that he should never have allowed to spring up in his heart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When the last guest had gone, and Kristen and Marisa had said good night to George and Eileen, they went upstairs, arm in arm. To George, watching, they were like two small children. And he had dared to fall in love with a girl who was of an age with his own daughter!

  Marisa said, as they reached Kristen’s room, “I’m going to miss you an awful lot, Kristy.”

  Kristen smiled warmly at her.

  “That’s sweet of you, Marisa. I’ll miss you, too. It’s been such grand fun.”

  “I do hope you can come back for another visit. Lee, too. I’d love having him up here for a while,” Marisa went on gaily. “Poor lamb! He’s really a darling, isn’t he?”

  Kristen laughed. “Remember, I’m only his dancing partner. He saves his charming personality for his friends! I’ll agree, if you like, that he’s a very fine dancer and that I’m tremendously lucky to be his partner.”

  Marisa eyed her curiously.

  “You’re not a bit in love with him, are you?” she asked frankly.

  “Not a bit,” Kristen answered. “Are you?”

  Marisa’s lovely eyes widened and she stared at Kristen in amazement.

  “Well, goo
dness, no, Kristy—how could I be? I couldn’t afford to marry a man who wouldn’t look after the estate and all the people, so I’m certainly not going to fall in love with one. That would complicate things!”

  There was a hint of a twinkle in Kristen’s eyes.

  “It would, at that,” she mocked.

  “How do you like Ronnie, Kristen?” Marisa asked, ignoring Kristen’s amused smile.

  “Ronnie? Do I know him? Is he one of the exuberant young men who’ve been around?”

  “Ronald Lansing, Uncle Peter’s grandson,” Marisa answered. “That tall, good-looking red-head. I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry him.”

  “You’re in love with him, Marisa?” Kristen asked gently.

  Marisa looked up at her in surprise.

  “Well, I’m very fond of him. I think I could very easily be in love with him, and it would be a very suitable marriage. I know his family and mine would be pleased. It would join two of the biggest plantations on the island.”

  “But Marisa darling, surely a good marriage calls for more than that,” Kristen protested.

  Marisa looked up at her, puzzled.

  “What could be a more substantial basis for a good marriage, Kristy, than mutual interests? And Ronnie and I have a great many of those,” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “The Lansings and the Newmans have a great responsibility toward the people who work for us. Think how awful it would be if I married some man who didn’t respect the traditions and the responsibilities of the people who have lived and worked here as long as my ancestors. I’d never marry any man not born and bred to the island. And Ronnie feels the same way, so I know we’ll have a good marriage. And what woman could want more?”

  She stood up, grimaced and asked, in an entirely different tone, “Do you feel all right, Kristy? I don’t. I’m wondering if that crab salad is going to give me an argument. I shouldn’t eat crabmeat, but I adore it. And I’m always taking a chance that this time it will be nice and fresh!”

  “Oh, I’m sure it was,” Kristen answered.

  “Oh, well—” Marisa grinned and turned toward the door. “We’ll get an early start in the morning. Dad has made me give him my word of honor we’ll take the long way round, instead of leap-frogging over the hills on the short cut. See you at breakfast.”

  She went out, and the door closed behind her.

  Kristen made ready for bed but it was a long time before she slept. That brief scene with George on the terrace puzzled her. But she reassured herself that he had been merely a gracious host, assuring her that her visit had been a pleasant one and that he hoped she would return.

  She slept at last, and was awakened by Eileen, saying anxiously, “Kristy dear, I’m terribly sorry to get you up so early. But Marisa is ill. Nothing serious, I’m sure—merely a touch of food poisoning—but she won’t be able to drive you to town. George will, but he’ll have to leave as early as possible so he can be back this evening.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry about Marisa. I’ll be right down,” Kristen assured her, and slid out of bed, dressing swiftly.

  When she came down the stairs, George was waiting for her, and she said anxiously, “I’m awfully sorry to be such a nuisance, making you drive me to town.”

  “Nonsense, it’s a pleasure.” George’s tone was politely cool. “I’m sorry we have to rush you. But you do have time for breakfast.”

  Eileen was already at the table when they came into the dining room.

  “Could I run up and say goodbye to Marisa before I leave?” Kristen asked when they had finished a brief but satisfying breakfast.

  “She’s asleep, Kristy, and I know she will understand,” Eileen answered, as she walked with them out into the brilliant morning sunshine that was already lifting the morning mists from the valleys about them. “And she’ll be coming into town very soon. I do hope you can come back again, Kristy. It’s been fun having you here.”

  Kristen thanked her, kissed her lightly, and went down to the car where George was waiting.

  There was a strained silence between them as the car slipped down the drive and across to the narrow road that connected with the highway that led to Fort-de-France.

  “You needn’t be afraid, Kristen,” George broke the silence as the car turned into the highway. “I’m not going to try to make love to you.”

  Kristen stared at him in amazement.

  “Well, I never for a moment thought you were,” she answered hotly.

  “Not after frightening you so last night.”

  “Frightening me?”

  “When you thought I was about to ask you to marry me.”

  “Oh—I mean—” she stammered in amazement, her eyes enormous in her flushed face. “If this is some sort of joke—it isn’t funny—”

  “I agree with you,” George told her harshly. “Neither funny or in good taste, is it? It wasn’t a joke. Or, rather, I guess perhaps it was a joke—on me! Because I let Eileen convince me that there was the very faintest possible chance that you just might care for me.”

  Kristen was so overcome that for a moment she could not speak; and George, his hands and his eyes occupied with negotiating the steep, winding road ahead of them, went on bleakly:

  “You see, Eileen wants to return to England, but she will not leave me alone, since she knows that Marisa will marry in the spring. Eileen is therefore very busy trying to find a wife for me; and she knows I’ve been in love with you for quite a while.”

  “Oh, that’s not true!”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Of course not! How could it be?”

  “Very easily! You’re very young and very lovely and all that any man could desire. But of course I should have had brains enough to realize that you couldn’t care for an old man.”

  All her awe of him was wiped out in that instant.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped hotly. “An old man? You’re one of the youngest men I’ve ever known in all the ways that are important. You’re handsome and distinguished and interesting and intelligent, and you have a marvelous personality.” She broke off, scarlet with the knowledge of how much she had revealed.

  George drew the car to the grass verge of the road, stopped it and turned to her.

  “You don’t find me a silly old fool to want to marry a girl barely my daughter’s age?” he asked in a tone that made it a plea.

  “I’m all of twenty years older than Marisa in all the ways that count,” she pointed out dryly. “Girls like Marisa, protected from even the smallest unpleasantness, are children, in the world I grew up in.”

  “Then there is some faint chance that if I’m very patient you might some day learn to care for me?”

  “I’d never for a moment thought you could possibly—” she stammered.

  A very faint twinkle touched his eyes.

  “Where’s that famous woman’s intuition we mere males hear so much about and learn to view with such abject respect?” he wanted to know.

  “Mine wasn’t working, I’m afraid. I like you very much—I hoped you like me. But love—I mean—well, honestly, I never gave that a thought,” she managed awkwardly.

  “But you will, now that you know how I feel?” he pleaded.

  “Well, yes, of course. But it seems fantastic that you could fall in love with me!” she said. “Are you sure?”

  He brought the car back to the road and set it once more in motion.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure!” His tone made the words a very inadequate assertion. “If I had had the vaguest doubt, the slightest inclination to believe I couldn’t be in love with you, that fer-de-lance removed all doubt. The moment I felt you in my arms—I knew I loved you very much.”

  They drove for some miles in silence, and then he broke the silence, a thoughtful frown drawing his brows together.

  “I fully realize,” he told her quietly, “just how much you would be giving up if you married me—your career as a dancer, all that. And I somehow can’t feel what I could offer you in retur
n would be enough to compensate. I don’t think you are a girl who considers money of any vast importance; yet I would like you to remember, while you’re thinking about what I’ve asked you, that I can give you most of the things women usually want: clothes, cars, jewels. We’d have to make our home here on the island. I’m not sure you’d like that.”

  “I’m quite sure I’d love it,” she interrupted warmly.

  “Well, Marisa and Ronnie Lansing seem destined to make a match of it,” he went on, and she sensed that he was speaking his thoughts aloud. “Ronnie’s quite a lad. He’ll be able, in a few years, to take over the management of both plantations, and then I shall be free to travel for at least a part of each year—if that would help you make up your mind?”

  “You’re really very sweet!” said Kristen, and there was a mist in her eyes.

  “Am I?” He seemed vaguely pleased by the words. “Eileen wants to go back to England, and there would only be one mistress at Beau Rivage. I devoutly hope that may one day be you.”

  “It’s a frightening thought,” Kristen admitted. “I don’t know the first thing about managing a huge place like that!”

  “Oh, Eileen could put you on to it in no time, and she has the staff so perfectly trained that you needn’t do much unless you really want to,” he assured her eagerly. “Kristen, my darling! Will you give the matter some thought?”

  “Of course I will, George—a lot of thought!” she promised, and smiled tremulously at him.

  “I’d take the very best care of you, Kristen, and do my utmost to make you happy,” he said.

  “I know you would, George, and it’s a very lovely thought,” she told him. “To be cherished and protected as Marisa has been—”

  She interrupted herself hastily to add, “My mother and father loved me very much, but they didn’t try to shield me. I suppose I was so stubborn and so determined that I was going to be a famous dancer that there wasn’t much they could do but just give me their blessing.”

  “Tell me about them, and about you, when you were a little girl and just getting started in your career,” he urged, smiling at her. And she knew that he was giving her relief from the tension of the moment, giving her a chance to pull herself together after the shock of his proposal.