by Daphne Clair
'Stacey,' his voice stayed her. 'First, believe I've never been more serious in my life. And I want to marry you. If you want to think about it, I'll understand. And if you give me an answer now, please be very sure that it's the right one, for you.'
'I'm sure,' she said steadily, because she had been given fair warning, after all. 'And the answer is yes.'
She felt his fingers tighten about hers as he drew an audible breath, then she was in his arms, laughing and kissing at the same time.
'I love kissing you,' he muttered, holding her away to look at her joyous face, only to pull her back again and rake his fingers gently into her hair to bring her mouth to his once more. She responded almost with abandon, but minutes later the urgency of his mouth and the determined rigidity of his body told her he was close to losing control. Reluctantly she pushed away from him and stepped back, retaining a comforting hold on one hand as he turned away from her and gazed out at the distant lights. He was holding her fingers so tightly that she almost cried out, but in a few seconds his hold relaxed and he turned to her with a smile.
'I hope you don't want a long engagement,' he said. 'Not being of the "now generation", I don't think I could stand it.'
'No long engagement,' she agreed softly.
'You do realise that I'm twelve years older than you are?' he asked. 'That's why I tried to hide what I felt for you, instead of cutting the ground from young Graeme's feet.'
'You knew—then?'
'I knew I wanted to make love to you the first time I saw you—I told you that. But I told myself it was a natural reaction to an extraordinarily attractive girl who happened to be too young for me. I knew I wanted to marry you the night you told me you were seriously thinking of marrying Graeme. My immediate reaction was that I wanted you myself.'
'But you did nothing,' she said.
'That's right. I said he wasn't the right one for you, and then began wondering if I was prejudiced because I loved you myself. So I determined to give him every chance. He was nearer your age and perfectly suitable for you in every way, as far as I could tell without bias.'
'But you weren't without bias.'
'No. And then'—he gave her a small shake—'then you upset all my calculations by cottoning on to that seafaring Galahad and dropping poor Graeme like a hot brick. At first I thought it would be just a dinner and then he'd be off into the wild blue yonder. But instead he was buzzing round for weeks.'
'I told you there was nothing in that,' Stacey reminded him.
'I know. And when he shot off and I decided to show some initiative—with your mother's encouragement, I might add—she assured me I wasn't too old for you— you turned on me like a little green-eyed tigress ready to rend me limb from limb!'
Stacey gave a shamefaced little laugh. 'I thought we were going to forget that night,' she said.
'Yes. But there are one or two incidents that I preferred not to forget, if you don't mind.'
'I don't mind,' she cast him a provocative glance, and his arm tightened about her waist.
'Come inside, you green-eyed witch,' he said huskily. 'Though I doubt if they're green right now. They go grey when I kiss you, you know that?'
'They go grey when anyone kisses me,' she teased, as they went inside, and was punished by a tug on her hair as he came in behind her:
'I'll fix you for that later,' he warned.
She smiled again. It would, she knew, be a sweet vengeance.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Stacey picked up the jade girl and held her in front of the window to watch the play of sunlight on the delicate carving. Outside the wind moved in the leaves of the magnolia tree, and the few blossoms she could see trembled under its rough touch. The day was blustery but warm and humid, and the upstairs bedroom was one of the coolest parts of the little house.
Still fingering the carving, she turned and looked around the room. It was furnished now, with cottagey furniture which she and Alex had chosen together and lovingly restored with many hours of work. In two weeks the dressing table of sturdy matai would no longer be bare, the little commodes which had been converted to charming matching bedside tables would hold their bedtime reading, the wood-framed oval mirror would reflect back the gleam of her wedding ring as well as the sparkle of the jade engagement ring which adorned her finger now, its soft green colour enhanced by the small diamonds which surrounded it.
'What did you have last time?' Alex had asked.
'An emerald,' she answered. 'A small one. It was all we could afford.'
'Do you want diamonds?' he had asked. And when she shook her head, saying not particularly, he suggested a jade ring, specially made to his own design. 'And to go with your eyes.'
Her gaze went to the high, old-fashioned bed with its polished brass bedhead, fitted with a comfortable modern mattress. 'The best of both worlds,' as Alex had grinned when he tried it for comfort, pulling her down briefly beside him and giving her a quick, hard kiss before rolling away and getting to his feet.
'Come on,' he said to her as she remained where she was, her hands linked behind her head. 'We have to finish stripping that dressing table.'
'Slave-driver!' she complained, getting to her feet. 'I can see it's going to be a life of drudgery, married to you.'
'Can you?' he mocked, catching her as she passed him on the way to the stairs. 'How's this for drudgery, then?'
This time his kiss was long and satisfying. 'Do you think you can stand it?' he whispered teasingly in her ear when he had finished.
'Mmm, I daresay there will be compensations,' she murmured.
Stacey smiled at the memory as she replaced the jade figurine on its table. On impulse she opened the window and leaned out to pick a just-opening magnolia before going to join Alex, who was weeding an already thriving vegetable garden at the rear of the cottage. She had come up to put away some newly bought linen in the cupboard near the stair, and had lingered to wander into their future bedroom, and dream.
As she passed the open door of Alex's present room, she glimpsed the photograph of his dead wife on the dressing table. She paused, pushed the door wider and went in.
Looking at the fresh young face, she vowed silently, 'I'll make him happy, I promise. Thank you for helping to make him what he is.'
She looked down at the flower in her hand, and then gently laid it down in front of the picture, before leaving the room.
The news of their engagement had been received with enthusiasm but little surprise by the rest of the family. Their wedding was to be the first of the imminent three, in spite of what Roger called their 'late entry into the stakes'. Helen had elected to postpone her own until both her 'chicks' were off her hands, and Tricia's family wanted to give her a traditional wedding to which her numerous cousins, uncles and aunts could be invited—necessitating some months of planning.
Stacey had put away the locket in a small carved wood box on her dressing table with various trinkets and mementoes of earlier days. There was a yellowed twist of tissue there that held an emerald engagement ring. She had taken that off after the funeral, because an engagement ring symbolised a promise to marry, and there had no longer been any point in wearing it. The locket was enough. Sometimes her hand still strayed to her throat to find its chain, and not finding it, she would touch her new ring for comfort. She had not forgotten David. Indeed, there had been some pleasure in being free to mention to Alex, 'David and I did that,' or 'That's what David said,' just as he sometimes said, 'That's how Gwen liked it,' or 'I went there with Gwen.'
But her thoughts were less and less of David these days. Alex filled them more and more.
They would be married before the university term began, and she was going to start a full-time art course, because Alex had insisted on it. 'I can afford to keep you,' he said. 'And it's what you would really like, isn't it?'
'Well—I would like it, yes. But if you want me to leave work, wouldn't you rather I stayed home?'
'I don't want you to leave work—if you
would rather stay on. And what on earth would you do at home all day? There isn't enough work in that place to keep you_ fully occupied—unless you wanted to start a family right away.'
'Well, no. Not right away, necessarily. But some time.'
'So why not take advantage of my offer and take that course while you have the chance? You were willing to do it for David.'
'Yes, but he would never have done this.'
'Wouldn't he?' Alex asked non-committally. 'I want to do it, Stacey. I believe you have talent and you should have the training you need to learn to use it to the fullest.' He grinned. 'When you're rich and famous I shall expect you to keep me in idleness for the rest of my life!'
Alex was talking to Fergus, waiting for Stacey to come home from work. It was a scorching hot February day, and Fergus had opened a chilled bottle of beer for them both. Alex sat at the table, and Fergus lolled against the bench. Both doors to the house had been left open so that what little breeze this created could waft through the house. They spoke of their prospective weddings, Fergus mildly envious of the quiet, just immediate family affair which Stacey and Alex planned, but understanding of Tricia's desire to please her own family with a bigger and more traditional version.
'I think she rather fancies the trimmings herself, mind you,' he added affectionately. 'She's having a whale of a time picking the bridesmaids and the dresses and all the rest. Stacey's been through all that once before, of course. I don't suppose she wants to repeat it, after what happened then.'
'No, I think Stacey is quite happy with our plans.'
'I'm glad you persuaded her to pursue her artistic bent properly at last. I always thought it was a darned shame she let that scholarship go.'
'Scholarship?' Alex queried.
'Didn't she tell you?' Fergus asked in surprise, 'She was offered a university scholarship in art. It would . have been a big chance—as you know, we would have found it difficult to keep her at university. She was delirious with joy when she first heard of it. But'—he looked slightly grim—'young David soon squashed that. It would have meant postponing the wedding. They couldn't afford to have both of them going to university, so he said.'
Alex put down his glass on the table. 'My God,' he said slowly. 'David really was a thoroughly selfish little bastard, wasn't he?'
Fergus's sudden movement with his free hand, his quick glance at the doorway was too late for warning. Alex turned in his chair and rose in one quick movement, knowing that Stacey was there, that she had heard.
He momentarily closed his eyes against the shocked accusation in hers, and when he opened them again she had already turned away and was walking swiftly, her back very straight, towards her own room. He noticed her shoes swinging from one hand, and realised she had slipped them off after, coming in through the open front door. Her feet would have been hot and tired after walking the hot pavement from the bus-stop.
'Oh, lor'!' Fergus said softly behind him. 'You've done it now, mate. You'd better go after her.'
'Yes.' Alex smiled at him bleakly, wryly. 'If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, send a rescue team,' he suggested.
'Not me, mate. I'm going out. Good luck!'
Stacey's door was firmly shut. Alex knocked, waited, knocked again. He listened, and heard a small sound from within.
'I hope you're decent, Stacey, because in five seconds I'm coming in,' he warned her.
'Go away!' she called.
He didn't answer, and in exactly five seconds he was in her room, shutting the door quietly behind his back.
She was standing by the bed. The wrinkled cover showed where she had been sitting on it, her shoes and bag dropped on the floor. She looked cool and quite composed.
'I said, go away!' she repeated.
'You know I can't. I owe you an apology. I don't need to tell you I didn't know you were about.'
Her lip curled scornfully. 'No, you don't need to tell me. But why apologise for saying what you really think?'
'Because I needn't have said it, and because I hurt you.'
'But it is what you think, isn't it?' She paused, and when he did not reply, challenged him again, 'Isn't it?'
He shook his head impatiently. 'It doesn't matter what I' think, surely. Your memories of him are different from my impressions, that's all. He was young, and the young are inclined to be ‑'
'Selfish? Well, if David was, a selfish little ‑' she paused, and swallowed. 'David is a part of me. You said that, yourself. If you don't want that part of me, Alex—if you don't like that part of me—we'd better call it quits now, before it's too late.'
'Don't be stupid!' he snapped, fear making him rough and reckless. 'I know you're hurt and angry, but this has nothing to do with what's between us.'
'I think it does,' she contradicted him. 'I think that David, and how I felt—feel about him—has a lot to do with us. You've encouraged me to talk to you about him. 'How can I do that if I know you hate and despise him.'
'I don't!'
'Yes, you do. I heard the truth today ‑'
'I heard a truth today, too. I heard that you turned down an art scholarship for his sake.'
'I loved him!' she cried, 'I thought you understood! I would have done anything for his sake!'
'My God, do you think I don't know that? You would have walked on broken glass for him, and he was capable of asking you to do it, if he thought it would do him any good!'
'He never asked me to give up that scholarship!'
'How did he persuade you, then? Turn on one of his famous sulks? The hurt boy act?'
'You don't know anything about it! We talked about it and decided it was impossible, that's all. We wanted to get married. I wanted to get married. I didn't want the scholarship.'
'Of course you wanted it. Fergus said you were delirious with joy when you heard about it.'
'It was a great honour,' she said coolly. 'Naturally I was delighted. But I knew I couldn't take it up.'
'That's not how I heard it.'
'Well, that's how it was! We were young and in love, and we wanted to get, married.'
'You were children who couldn't wait to start playing house together,' he said mockingly. 'But if you want to remember it as a great love affair, that's your prerogative, darling.' Trying to retain a sense of balance, he said, 'I promise I'll never make a critical remark about David again—to anyone.'
'Do you think that helps?' Stacey cried. 'When I know that you despise him—the man I loved and wanted to marry?'
His expression grew tight. 'If I thought you'd believe me I would willingly take back what I said. I'll probably wish for the rest of my life that I had never said it. At the time I was—frankly—-sick to my stomach at the thought of what you'd given up for him.'
'You're jealous!' she said wonderingly. 'All that you said about not wanting me to forget him—it wasn't really true. You're belittling him because you're jealous of him.'
'That isn't true,' he said with some violence. 'I meant every word I said—I never have and never will ask you to forget him, or even to look at his memory realistically. Keep your dreams if you want to. But don't expect me to worship at the shrine you've made for him!'
'No,' Stacey said quietly, 'I won't do that.' She slipped the ring from her third finger and held it out to him. 'I don't think there's any point in my wearing this any longer.'
'Why the hell did you accept it in the first place? You never loved me, did you?'
'No, I don't suppose I did. But you made me think that—it was possible. Please take this.'
Her eyes were very green and clear, with no sign of tears.
'So David's won another victory,' he said bitterly. Glancing almost indifferently down at the jade ring, he said, 'Keep it—in memory of a dead love. You're good at that-.'
It was the first time he had ever been consciously cruel to her, and when he saw the automatic movement of her hand to her throat, he gave a soft, unpleasant laugh and swung round and left her.
He rang twice that week
, and Stacey refused to take the calls. She had told her mother and Fergus baldly that the wedding was off, and refused to elaborate any further. She asked Mr Grace if he would mind if she withdrew her notice at work, and he simply said he would be pleased to have her a bit longer. She was grateful for his tact. She put up with the covert glances the other girls threw at her ringless finger, and ignored a sotto-voce remark she overheard about 'the shortest engagement on record'.
One night when she couldn't sleep—and she steadfastly refused to countenance the use of sleeping pills— she turned on her light and tried to read, then threw the book despairingly down, and got out of bed to stand at the window. It was windy, and wisps of dark cloud were blowing across the sky, veiling the moon. The sight depressed her, and she turned away. The wind was rattling the back door, and knowing she would not sleep with its disturbing sound in the background, she went and wedged a piece of paper into it. On the way back she passed the spare room, and on impulse opened the door and switched on the light.
Some of the happiest moments of her life had been spent in this room. She recalled sitting on the love-seat with David, his lips nuzzling her ear, while she tried to make him concentrate on their wedding plans. And she remembered the night she had sat there listening to Alex reading poetry. And reading to him—a love poem.
She studied the painting that she had made for David, and remembered Alex saying, 'I like it.' The flowers looked vividly alive in the harsh light. And her emotions were dead.
When she returned to her room she deliberately opened the box on the dressing table. The jade ring caught her eye, but she left it untouched and lifted the gold locket, by its chain. The clasp was undone and the chain slipped in her fingers, the locket coming off the end and landing on the carpet. She picked it up and opened it, staring for a long time at David's pictured face. It all seemed very long ago, that passionate young love of theirs.
She picked up the chain and tried to fit it back through the tiny gold ring of the locket, only to find her fingers were shaking. Her hands dropped, and she saw the pale shimmer of the jade ring in the still open box, and found tears blurring her eyes so that for a moment the jade had the sparkle of emerald.