by Norrey Ford
He held her away from him. "How regal you look! Are you all dressed up for an occasion?"
"For you."
"But—how did you know I was coming?"
"I was pretending. Then suddenly I knew it was pretence, that you weren't here, and I felt so lonely. Then—you walked in. I must be dreaming you."
"Did you think I'd let you go so far away without saying goodbye? I came as soon as I had your letter. I must go back on the midnight train, but we'll have one evening together."
"You're not angry with me about the cruise?"
"Only with fate for arranging it this way. I see that you have to go, darling. We can't live only for ourselves. It'll be a cruelly long time, but I shall make good use of it by finding a house for us. Would you like to live by the sea? I don't intend to wait a minute for you after you get back, you know. The shorter time we give them for fuss, the better. We may have to elope. Shall you mind?"
"I can't marry without Daddy's consent till I'm twenty-one—or can I? I'll be over twenty by then."
"If necessary we'll apply to the magistrates. I'd hate it to come to that, but the old boys stick their necks out for it." He blew out his breath in a tremendous sigh. "I'll be glad to be rid of this hole and corner stuff."
She clung to him. Their mouths met, and he felt her love and longing for him, a sweetly innocent desire that made every pulse start in his body. When he released her, she sighed with quick content.
"It felt horrible to be cut off from you. As if I'd been cut off from my Own soul. It must never happen again." "It must not. I swear it won't."
Her mood changed into gaiety. She whirled round, making her dress swing smoothly. "I was displaying my fine feathers to you. You hadn't told me your opinion of this?"
"You look like a firebird. Make the most of it, my girl. I'm not a shipping magnate. Cotton frocks for you in future."
She pouted. "I'm not marrying you for your money, Mr. Bramhall. It must be for your looks! And I love you for your character."
"I have a shocking character."
"Are you trying to scare me off?"
He took the easy chair and pulled her on to his knee. "Seriously, I want you to stop looking at me through those rose-tinted spectacles. I'd been thinking about money. How did I dare ask you to marry me? I'ye nothing beyond my salary. The business will be mine some day, but my father is still in full control. He could throw me out on my ear to-morrow and I wouldn't have a brass farthing."
"Don't fret, my angel. If we have to be poor, I can take it."
"But I can't take it for you. I'll compel my father to take me into partnership. He will if I put the pressure on. So far, I've had no particular incentive. I do most of the work nowadays, whether he realizes it or not."
She smoothed his forehead with cool fingers. "We must get rid of your horrid scowl. I won't be expensive. I don't eat much. And this week I've bought enough clothes to last me ages."
He stared round the room. "Are all these boxes full of new clothes? H'm, expensive! Who pays?"
"Daddy gave me an enormous wad of notes and told me to spend it all. Nearly everything will do for when we're married."
"If we marry without Uncle Robert's consent, you'll bring with you nothing he's paid for."
It was a moment before his meaning came home to her. "You don't mean that. It's silly."
"I certainly do mean it. I'll buy you what you need."
She laughed shakily, not sure of him. A bright spot of colour burned in her cheeks. "You're being ridiculous. What would Daddy want with all these?"
Impatiently, he said, "I don't care. Burn them." "What a wicked waste. You're not serious."
"Never more so."
Despite Robert's money, he had trained her well in north country prudence. The idea of such waste shocked her. All her careful, happy shopping to be discarded so ruthlessly!
"Don't you want me to be nicely dressed? You said yourself we'd be poor at first. I could make these things last me two or three years, if necessary."
"My wife mustn't wear clothes she's stolen."
Her temper rose hotly. "Are you calling me a thief? Daddy gave me them. They're mine."
"To his daughter. Not to my wife. If you can't see that, our thinking is poles apart."
The room seemed vibrating with their anger. Appalled, Verity thought, we're quarrelling, wasting the short hours. Yet she could not control the anger his obstinacy aroused.
He seemed to take a grip of himself. "For the love of heaven, sweetheart, forget the whole thing. This was going to be our lovely evening. Try to accept the fact that, though I've no compunction about taking you, and appealing to the courts for permission to marry you if necessary, I'm hanged if I'll rob my Uncle Robert of things he's paid for. It's a matter of principle."
She paced the room, too angry to stand still. "Men are always making people suffer for what they call principle. Usually it's some stuffy point of pride which any woman would realize didn't matter two hoots."
His voice cracked like a whip. "You mean you can't live without all these?" He swept an arm dangerously, knocked down a striped hatbox, spilling the white lace hat within it
on to the floor. "I didn't realize you were so attached to your luxuries. You'd better call the whole thing off while you're still safe. I can't live up to Uncle Robert's standards, not for a few years yet."
Shocked into utter silence, they stared at one another. His breath came and went as if he had been running far and fast. The temper died in her, giving place to a shocked remorse.
"My darling, my love—what are we doing?"
He grinned crookedly. "Hurtling over a precipice, pretty nearly. Sorry I yelled at you."
"I yelled too. I don't care about a few silly clothes. I'd be proud to come to you in rags."
He held out a hand and she went to him. They stood deep-drowning in each other's eyes for a long moment, then she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. "Your love will be a great golden cloak for me, beloved. I want nothing more."
She looked up and gave him a rainbow smile. "And we don't know for certain that Daddy will object. He'll bluster, but at heart maybe he'll be glad to end the quarrel in wedding bells."
"Could be, Now pop your bonnet on. I'm taking you places."
Mischievously, she laughed. "What? In Daddy's frock?" He shook his fist. "I've beaten women for less. You're not my wife yet, more's the pity."
They dined and danced in a golden dream, forgetting the coming parting, forgetting to plan practically for the future. An evening on a moonbeam.
It was not until he'd taken her back to her hotel, kissed her and gone, that she realized he'd overtopped her in their battle of wills. The issue still seemed to her a matter of petty pride, she could not view it as he did, as a matter of principle. Nevertheless she'd given way and left him victorious. She was glad about that. If he'd given way to her, no matter how chivalrously, she could not have loved him so much.
She went up to her room, her chin high. She was determined to be brave; to do her duty cheerfully to Robert
Bramhall, without kicking against the pricks or sulking. Then, when she had discharged her obligation, to go cleanly and courageously to the man who loved her, no matter what it cost.
Adam loved her, and that made her proud and happy, in spite of the agony of parting which tore her heart.
CHAPTER SIX
THE Bramhall Queen lay at the quayside, white-painted, gaily beflagged.
A stewardess conducted Verity to her luxurious pink and white stateroom. A sheaf of crimson roses lay on the dressing-table, beautifully wrapped in transparent paper and ribbon-tied.
"They came ten minutes ago," the stewardess told her. "Aren't they lovely? There doesn't seem to be a card with them."
Adam would know she had no need of a card. The roses said everything for him. The brief sweet hours in London were misty in her mind, like the fading memory of a dream, but here were his flowers, to remind her it had all been real.
"P
lease bring me a vase, Stewardess. I'll arrange them myself."
When the flowers were finished to her satisfaction, she found Robert walking round the boat deck watching the preparations for departure. His pride in his ship was touching, boy like. She slipped an arm in his and walked with him.
"My stateroom is a picture, Daddy. She's a beautiful ship."
He looked at his watch with the air of a man with an appointment. "Let's go along to the cocktail lounge. It's cold out here."
"It's not a bit cold. Daddy, you're up to something."
He looked as guilty as a boy with a pocketful of stolen apples. "Me? Nonsense." He was almost dragging her by the arm. "This way."
The cocktail bar was warm with golden-shaded lights, planned to flatter. She discovered the reason for Robert's pleased secrecy.
"Tom!" She was faintly disconcerted to see him there, but tried not to show it. "How delightful! Have you come
to see us off?" Then she saw his tall, handsome mother, smiling beside him.
Robert beamed. "Mrs Cooper and Tom are coming too. I thought you'd like company of your own age."
"C-coming on the cruise?" She felt like a wild animal in a trap. The three friendly faces smiling at her were the faces of her captors. This, then, was Robert's scheme! He was determined that she should marry Tom, and he never, never failed. For five whole months she'd be shut up in a not-very-large ship with Tom Cooper and his mother. All three of them were determined on the marriage. A panic pulse beat in her throat and she closed her eyes momentarily, fighting for control. The others talked smoothly, noticing nothing.
"Come and watch the departure from the boat deck," Tom urged. "The start of anything is exciting, and the start of a voyage is the best of all."
"Plenty of time before lunch," Robert encouraged. "Eleanor and I will stay here. The temperature is more suited to our time of life, eh, Eleanor?"
It was disconcerting to see the two elders smiling after them as they left the lounge.
In the open air, she lost some of the trapped sensation. She leaned on the mahogany rail, Tom at her elbow pointing out the Earlton landmarks from a new angle. The gangways vanished one by one, then at last the narrow gap of black water between ship and quay widened slowly, as if the ship stood still and the shore moved away.
There was a stack of bales on the quay. Idly, Verity traced the apparent backward movement of the land by keeping her eyes on the bales. Then suddenly she caught her breath, and leaned far over the rail to make sure.
Standing motionless, screened by the bales, Adam was watching the departure. She was too far away to see his face clearly, but she knew every line of his figure by heart.
Had he been watching these last ten minutes, as she'd laughed and chatted with Tom by the rail? Would he understand how one could skim on the surface of existence with a smile, while one's heart ached beyond bearing?
Would he believe she'd known all the time that Tom was to be her companion on the cruise?
Tom grabbed her round the waist. "Hey, you'll be overboard if you crane forward as far as that."
She saw Adam's head lift and knew with certainty that he had picked her out of the crowd lining the rails. She could feel his eyes on her. As long as she could see him, she remained watching his ever-diminishing shape, willing him to understand she wasn't here of her free will, that the man by her side wasn't there by her choice.
Impatient, self-willed, proud, would he give her the benefit of the doubt? I know him so well, she thought, that I'm able to foresee our quarrels already. She knew a piercing pang of regret; what a pity we always quarrel! Maybe we were born to make each other unhappy.
Tom was silenced by the peculiar solemnity of leaving one's native shore even for a pleasure cruise, but when the ship swung clear into the river, and the musical bells rang for lunch, he asked, "Are you cross with me for coming? Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to spring it on you like this. I'll say this for your father—when he gets an idea into his noddle no one can shift it."
"Was it his idea? Not just a coincidence?"
"He's a deep devil, isn't he? Didn't you honestly suspect a thing? He invited my father and mother at first,. as his guests. Naturally Mother jumped at the idea of a winter holiday, but somehow between them they fixed it so that I came instead of Father."
"Didn't you want to come?"
"Of course. Don't get me wrong. I'm not ungrateful for the holiday; it's more than generous of your father, and the idea of being with you all the time is perfect. But all the same I wish he hadn't done it."
"Tell me why."
He shrugged. "I'm being pushed under your nose whether you like it or not. A man likes to do his own courting. This business is more likely to handicap me than help."
"Then why did you come?"
He said sulkily, "I don't know. It seemed a good idea at the time."
"Cheer up. We're both in the same boat, Tom, in more senses than one. A week ago I told Daddy I didn't know you well enough to decide whether or not I wanted to marry you. This is obviously his answer. He's throwing me at your head. It's shame-making, but he's like that. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, for goodness' sake. From my angle it's wonderful, but please don't think I'm going to take advantage of it. Parents can do dreadfully embarrassing things, meaning well by us, bless them. I want you to know I realize I'm strictly on approval. Say the word and I'll keep clear. I won't make myself a nuisance."
She sensed the depth of his embarrassment, thrust into such a position by Robert's high-handed ways. Would it be kinder to say at once that she was in love with another man and intended to marry him—or would that add to his feeling of humiliation? She decided to say nothing for the moment but find an early opportunity of telling him tactfully.
"You couldn't be a nuisance, Tom. This is holiday. Let's think of it that way, and forget the question of marriage was ever mentioned."
They shook hands impulsively, as if on a truce.
During lunch she made the discovery that Tom was not to stay with them for the whole cruise. "I'm flying home after Christmas," he told her. "My father can't spare me any longer than that, and also I'm Chairman of the Merchants' New Year Ball committee this year. I must be home . for that—can't let the committee down."
"Of course not."
"As a matter of fact," he told her in a low voice, "I'd nominated you for Miss New Year at the Ball—that's the Chairman's privilege and, to be candid, practically all he has to do. The secretary has been running the thing so many years he does it now with one hand tied behind his back. But of course when I heard you wouldn't be in England, I had to decide on someone else."
"I'm flattered. That's considered an honour, isn't it? I'm sorry to have missed it."
She was speaking the truth. To queen it at the Earlton Merchants' Ball was no small thing. Only one girl in each year could have the honour of being chosen, and the speculation beforehand was intense. The identity of the lucky girl was a closely-guarded secret until the moment when she appeared on the decorated stage at the Town Hall. Verity would have been less than human and feminine not to regret the lost chance.
But below the simple truth lay a cunning which startled her when she recognized it in herself. Can love do this to me? she wondered. She was thinking that here was a way of getting home to England sooner. When Tom flew back for the Ball, she could fly with him, and for a reason which would be acceptable to her father and Tom's mother.
"Who is the one you've chosen, Tom?"
"Rosemary.' She won't be told yet—not until the very , last minute, so if you care to change your mind and fly back with me . . .?"
"You tempt me. Tom, you tempt me very much. But —" Quite firmly she shook her head. "No. I came on this cruise with Daddy and I'll see it through. Get thee behind me, Tom Cooper."
"All right. But I'll keep the nomination open in case you change your mind."
"I shan't change. I mustn't change. I wish you'd settle definitely for Rosemary, then I wou
ldn't be tempted. Besides, the poor girl mustn't be disappointed—it would be awful to rob her of her chance."
"She need never know. And what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
The Bramhall Queen sailed into sunshine. From dark autumnal clothes the passengers emerged into gay summer colours, like butterflies. Verity spent her mornings with her father, walking the deck with him or sitting beside his long chair listening to his endless yarns.
The rest of her day was filled for her by the admirers she could not help attracting. She tried not to give more time to Tom than to the others, but as the days passed and the younger people gradually paired off, she and Tom were
tacitly regarded as a ready-made pair and none of the other men tried to cut him out.
One afternoon she found a secluded spot and stretched herself out in a long deck chair to read. At least, she held a book in her hands, but her mind was not on the story. She was thinking about Adam. At the next port of call there'd be a letter from him. He'd manage it somehow. Another twenty-four hours. She daydreamed contentedly.
If only Adam had been her companion instead of Tom! The cruise would have been entirely different and certainly not so restful! They'd have quarrelled, no doubt, but there would have been Adam's ardent kisses too; his lovemaking wasn't gentle, self-effacing, like Tom's. A smile touched her lips, as she lay back with eyes closed, in the shade of a white awning. One could never forget Adam's presence for a moment—he was so violent, so positive. Tom one could often forget.
All the same, in this lazy, warm atmosphere she could not be actively unhappy all the time. Her father was improving in health, and in holiday mood was genial and kind. She had made friends, played games, swum, danced. Tom's companionship had never let her feel lonely, yet never been oppressive.
She slid into a doze. Awaking suddenly, she found Tom smiling down at her. He folded his long legs and sat beside her on the white scoured deck. "You are looking remarkably beautiful, Verity. Your skin is honey-coloured, like your dress—warm golden honey scented with flowers."
"You've kissed the Blarney Stone."
"Not a bit of it. Pure inspiration, looking at you. I've been awfully good these few weeks, haven't I? But you know I want to marry you and I'd like you to consider giving me an answer now."