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CAVE OF THE WHITE ROSE

 

Flora Kidd

Juliet Grey was delighted when Lance Crimond offered her a job as secretary to his delightful mother in a lovely part of Scotland, although she wasn't very keen on Lance himself.

She was even more delightful, though, when she arrived at Castle Ross to work and met Lance's brother Gareth...

The bride and bridegroom were going away. Juliet Grey stood on tiptoe and tried to see over the broadcloth-covered shoulder of the man who stood in front of her and who was effectually blocking the front doorway of the Ring o' Bells, the old coaching inn where the wedding reception was taking place.

It was useless. He was too tall and too wide. He took up all the space. He was deaf too. She'd asked him twice to move and let her pass him so that she could join the laughing, joking group of relatives and friends who were saying goodbye to the happy couple, but he hadn't heard her.

She should be there out in front to wave to Hilary, her lively good-natured cousin who had married Ian Munro that afternoon in the thirteenth-century church on the other side of the village green. Coming from the Highlands of Scotland, quietly-spoken and a little shy, Ian had come to work for Hilary's father over a year ago. Perhaps it was his native reserve and his obstinate refusal to be stampeded by his boss's gay daughter which had appealed to Hilary, mused Juliet romantically, for she knew that her cousin had fallen head over heels in love with the young, highly-qualified engineer.

Now they were going away together for a honeymoon in Europe and Juliet was determined to wish good luck to the cousin who had remembered her and had invited her to attend the wedding.

'Excuse me, please.' She spoke as loudly as she could. I'd like to see them go.'

This time the man in front of her heard. He turned. She was strangely and tinglingly aware of the cold glitter of light eyes, deep-set under dark eyebrows, of a broad chest only just confined by the severe tailoring of an impeccable morning suit, and then she had slid past him, graceful and cool in her sea-green dress.

She was only just in time. Ian had started the engine of the car and Hilary was giving her parents a last kiss and hug before getting into her seat beside her husband. Juliet had to push a little before she was able to get anywhere near the car, and then at last she was standing beside her other two cousins, Hilary's twin sisters Anthea and Sylvia.

Before the car moved away Hilary opened the window on her side and threw her bouquet of red and white roses towards the group of young women. Her sweet, infectious smile lit up her face.

'Here,' she cried, 'whoever catches it will be the next to marry!' Juliet wasn't conscious of striving to catch that bouquet. Like her cousins she held out her arms, but having always been a butterfingers she didn't think she would catch it, so that no one was more surprised than she when her hands closed round the sweet-smelling bunch of flowers with its long trailing ribbons. She gazed down at them in a bemused fashion, only half aware of her cousins' envious comments.

The car was going to the accompaniment of waves and cheers. Aunt Faith, Hilary's mother, superbly elegant as always in navy blue and white, was dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. Uncle Clive, short and vigorous, his expansive smile a more studied masculine counterpart of his daughter's, was informing the guests that the party wasn't over yet and that there was plenty of champagne left.

And then suddenly everyone had gone, back into the inn, and Juliet was alone in the afternoon sunshine which filtered through the leaves of the sycamore trees edging the green, and she was looking down through a mist of tears at the bouquet of roses.

Still blinded by the tears, she turned and walked reluctantly into the dim interior of the inn. Now that Hilary and Ian had gone her interest in the wedding waned. She would have liked to have escaped from the reception, but she knew that if she didn't join the party, comments would be made about her by Aunt Faith, and she wasn't having that.

It had been a lovely wedding, she thought, Hilary had looked almost regal in a simple dress of white lace. Sunlight had mellowed the grey stonework of the church which was famed for the brasses set into the floor of its aisles. From the carved oak choir stall the voices of the boys had soared heavenwards in perfect harmony, backed by the throbbing sound of one of the finest organs in the country. The reception after the service, held in the elegant, panelled dining-room of the eighteenth-century inn, widely known for its excellent cuisine and cellar, had gone off without a hitch.

In fact it had been everything a wedding should be, as Aunt Faith had intended it should be; a wedding which the county would not forget in a hurry, as Aunt Faith had intended it should not; a wedding which had been as much a testimony of Aunt Faith's severely-conventional outlook and brilliant powers of organisation as it had been the crowning ceremony of Hilary's and Ian's love.

Crash! Juliet's thoughts splintered in all directions. She had walked into something rock-like and resistant. The tinkle of glass warned her that something had broken, and a faint feeling of dampness in the vicinity of her knees made her realise that whatever had broken had contained liquid which had split on her dress; her beautiful dress on which she had spent all her savings.

Shock drove the last glimmer of tears from her eyes and alerted her. Her glance travelled up, over a pale grey waistcoat fastened with pearl buttons, past a pale grey cravat to the edge of a square chin. Above the chin a contradictory mouth was curved into a faintly contemptuous smile. The mouth was contradictory because its long thin upper lip hinted at sternness and possibly cruelty, whereas the full lower lip hinted at generosity and a love of life.

Juliet didn't allow her glance to go any higher than the contradictory mouth.

'I'm sorry,' she muttered to the crushed bouquet in her hand, which looked distinctly forlorn after its contact with that formidable physique. 'I wasn't looking where I was going.'

'You can say that again!'

The voice was a surprise, as was the expression he used. It was quiet and edged by a crispness of accent which she couldn't place.

'Were you blinded by tears, perhaps?' he added, and there was a sarcastic taunt implicit in the words.

But Juliet was impervious to that kind of taunt. Astonished that he had been able to guess so accurately, she looked higher into pale grey eyes bright and observant between thick dark lashes. Above the eyes a lock of dark hair had slid forward on to a lined forehead. It seemed to her to be completely out of keeping with the rest of his immaculate appearance, a symbol of rebelliousness against conventional surroundings.

'Supposing I was?' she replied earnestly. 'People always cry at weddings. They were tears of happiness. Hilary is my cousin and I'm happy because she's happy.'

'And what about the groom? Are you happy for him too?'

'Oh yes, of course I am. Hilary is one of the nicest people I know. Ian can't help but be happy with her.'

'You astound me,' he jibed softly, but didn't say why. 'So you're the cousin of the bride—and incidentally, the only unmarried woman who hasn't been introduced to me yet by my very attentive hostess.' His grey eyes flickered sardonically in the direction of Aunt Faith, who was busy talking to Sir Humphrey Bartlett, chairman of the group of engineering companies of which Uncle Clive was the managing director. 'I wonder why she left you out?' This time the grey eyes subjected her to their all-assessing glance.

'I expect it's because I'm not very important,' Juliet replied in all sincerity. 'I'm only Juliet Grey, the poor relation. If you'll please excuse me I'll go and find someone to sweep up this mess.' She indicated the smashed champagne glass on the floor.

'There's no need. Someone is already coming to do that,' he said.

His hand was gripping her arm above the elbow and she was unable to move away without pulling in an undignified manner. She looked up enquiringly.

'You don't dress poor,' he remarked. 'That outfit must have set you back a bit.' His bright gaze roved over the sea-green gown with its deep U-shaped neckline, its high waist and long full sleeves, edged with embroidered white roses.

'Yes, it did,' she replied equably. 'All my savings. I wanted to look my best for Hilary.'

'Even though the coffers were empty and the prospects were nil?' His astuteness took her breath away.

'How do you know?' she asked sharply, her eyes wide and wondering.

He touched the fine bones which showed through the white skin where her neck joined her shoulders. The tips of his fingers were slightly rough and their touch embarrassed her and she tried to draw away. But his other hand still held her arm firmly.

'Too thin,' he remarked. 'And I watched you eating earlier.'

'Oh!' The knowledge that those brilliantly-lit observant eyes had been watching her when she hadn't noticed startled her.

'Don't think I don't understand what lies behind your effort to put on a brave show. I once did the same, and turned up at a wedding all correctly dressed, without a penny in my pocket,' he said, and the undercurrent of laughter in his voice mocked himself. 'It's odd what youthful pride will drive us to do. But your beautiful dress is stained. You must let me pay for the cleaning of it.'

'Oh, no, I couldn't! I mean, I don't know you, and it wouldn't be right. It was my fault and I...'

'Yes,' he agreed aggravatingly, 'come to think of it, it was your fault. Then come and drink champagne with me and m introduce myself, if you insist on being conventional.'

She had the oddest feeling that she was being swept off her feet by a ruthless force which would push her along remorselessly in the way it wanted her to go, irrespective of any feelings she might have on the matter.

She considered the recalcitrant lock of black hair and then the bright glitter of the grey eyes and came to a conclusion.

'No, thank you,' she said. 'You've quite obviously had more than enough already.'

He was puzzled. 'Enough what?'

'Enough champagne. Now, please let go of my arm.'

By way of answer he let out a shout of laughter which caused every head in the room to turn in their direction.

This time she felt anger scorch through her.

'Oh, now look what you've done! Everyone is looking at us,' she hissed at him.

'Including your aunt, and her expression is one of disapproval, but of you, not me,' he answered, with a wickedly attractive grin. 'So you think I've had more than enough champagne? That's a pity, because I was looking forward to drinking the happiness of the newlyweds with you and at the same time becoming better acquainted with you. You see, I saw your mother dance when I was a boy. It was before you were born. She was dancing the part of Juliet in Lambert's ballet of Romeo and Juliet. I guess you were named after her favourite heroine.' He tipped his head to one side and studied her. 'You're not unlike her. Do you dance too?'

'No, I don't. Oh, do tell me about her,' she urged, forgetting that she wanted to escape from him.

'Only if you promise to drink champagne with me.'

She promised, and from then on he took over. Not that he wouldn't have done anyway, she thought ruefully, as she sat on the cushioned window-seat which curved under a bow window at one end of the big room. He was the sort of man she detested, typical of the big business executives with whom Uncle Clive associated; the sort who would always manage to get his own way using any means available to him. But she would sit with him for a while because she wanted to hear about her mother.

When he came with two glasses of champagne he presented hers to her with an amused tilt of his dark eyebrows.

With the compliments of your uncle. He's very pleased that I'm entertaining his niece, even though his wife frowns upon us and would prefer to see me entertaining one of her daughters.'

Juliet sent a quick anxious glance in the direction of her aunt. It was true, Aunt Faith was watching her, a faint frown of irritation on her usually blandly smiling face, which meant she didn't like what she was seeing.

'Why should Uncle be pleased because you're entertaining me?' Juliet asked, raising innocent eyes to his face. 'Who are you?'

'If you're the poor relation of the Greys, I suppose I might be considered the wealthy relation of the Munros, so watch out, you'd better not offend me,' he remarked with a laugh. 'I'm Lance Crimond.'

Juliet was really none the wiser. The name Crimond meant nothing to her.

'Lance for Launcelot?' she enquired.

'Yes, but spelt with an "a" only. Your turn to laugh and to tell me that you've never met anyone less like a knight in shining armour than I,' he replied, and his wicked white grin was in evidence again.

'Although Lancelot was the warrior whom King Arthur "loved and honoured most" he didn't always behave himself,' murmured Juliet, recalling the stories she'd read of the Arthurian legend. 'He broke a few rules.'

The quick upward glance of his grey eyes was as bright as a flash of lightning against the darkness of a thundercloud.

'And you think I'm capable of doing the same?' he queried with dangerous softness.

'Not only capable, but probably you have already,' she answered coolly. The lightning flash was brighter and she quailed a little at her own temerity. But he didn't retaliate. Instead he laughed again and once again heads were turned curiously, and she wished she hadn't agreed to sit and drink champagne with him.

We're forgetting our toasts,' he said easily, raising his glass. 'To the happy couple, to Hilary and Ian.'

'To the happy couple,' repeated Juliet, and sipped the sparkling wine.

She glanced at the crushed roses on her lap. 'Whoever catches them will be the next to marry? Would it be her turn next? Would she ever meet anyone who would love and cherish her? Would the loneliness she had known for so long ever come to an end?

'Will you be the next to marry?' said a quiet crisp voice beside her. Now she was convinced he had magical powers.

'You should have been called Merlin, not Lancelot,' she said sharply.

'Nothing magic about it. You looked down at the bouquet and it was easy to guess what you were thinking from the expression on your face. Will you be the next?'

'How do I know? I have no magical powers and can't see into the future.'

'Does that mean you're not in love with anyone?'

'Can't you tell by the expression on my face?' she countered acidly, and his grin appeared again.

'I wondered when you'd show your claws. So you're not in love. For that I'm glad, because it will save complications later on.'

What on earth did he mean by that? She was about to burst into speech when he held up his hand and said quickly,

'I know, I know, don't say it. I'm infuriating, and I've had more than enough champagne. But what else is there to do at a wedding if you're not the bride or the groom except to keep on drinking their health?' He twisted his empty glass in his hand and added sombrely, 'Last time I went to a wedding I vowed I would never go to another.'

'Whose wedding?' asked Juliet, her interest caught by his unusual statement.

'My brother Gareth's,' he replied brusquely.

It was incredible. First Lancelot and now Gareth. Was it possible that Gareth's wife was called Lynette? Juliet longed to ask, but a certain grimness about the set of her companion's mouth suggested that the subject of his brother's wedding was forbidden ground.

'Then why have you broken your vow and come here today?' she asked instead.

He considered her slowly and deliberately before he answered.

'To look for a wife,' he replied, and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her. 'Interested?'

Again anger scorched through her like a flame. She gathered the bouquet in her hand and stood up.

'Now I'm sure you've had more than enough!'

His hand grasped her elbow again and she was forced to sit down on the cushioned seat.

'You'll have everyone looking at us again if you behave like that,' he cautioned derisively, 'and you know how much you dislike drawing attention to yourself. Besides, I haven't told you about your mother yet.'

Out of the corner of her eyes Juliet could see that Aunt Faith was gradually approaching the window seat, stopping every so often to talk graciously to guests.

'Relax,' murmured her companion. 'I'll behave, and I'll deal with your aunt when she comes.'

He noticed too much, she decided, but she leaned back and fiddled with the bouquet. The petals of one rose fell suddenly and lay like crimson drops of blood on the aquamarine sheen of her dress.

'Was my mother a very good dancer?' she asked diffidently.

'To my ten-year-old eyes she was the perfect Juliet, slight and graceful with a cloud of fair hair,' he answered soberly. 'It was my first visit to the ballet—or to any theatre for that matter. My mother is an English Literature buff, as you might gather from the names she gave to her three sons. My youngest brother was christened Tristram. That year she decided to take Gareth and me with her on her annual pilgrimage to the London theatre. The ballet was thrown in for good measure because it was Romeo and Juliet, and also because she knew your mother. They both came from the same part of Wales. Did you never see her dance?'

'Not that I can remember. I was only five when she died. How did you know I'm her daughter?'

'Your uncle told me. When I saw you come into church this morning I thought I was seeing things. You resembled her very much, and I was sure you must be related to her. So at the earliest opportunity I asked Clive about you and he told me the whole sad story, how both your parents were killed when they were staying with friends on a sea-going yacht at Monte Carlo. I believe it was a gas explosion, wasn't it? He also told me that he'd brought you up as if you were one of his own daughters.'

'Yes, Uncle Clive has always been very kind. He has a great sense of family,' she replied woodenly.

'More credit to him then. But why did you leave his home to fend for yourself?'

How could she tell him of the unhappy years she had endured living with Aunt Faith? How could she describe Aunt Faith's subtle forms of cruelty to her, which were the outcome of jealousy of the beautiful unconventional Norma who had married the equally unconventional Lawrence Grey, music-lover and critic for a leading newspaper?

'Have you ever felt rebellious?' she asked.

'Not only have I felt rebellious but I've rebelled many times during my life. But you don't look as if you have an ounce of rebellion in you.' He glanced at Aunt Faith and his eyes twinkled wickedly. 'I gather you rebelled against the establishment and ran away. It must have taken a lot of courage.'

'All I had,' she agreed, and experienced a strange warmth because for the second time he had understood and appreciated her feelings.

'Where did you go?'

'To London, to see my mother's old ballet teacher. I'd always longed to dance ballet, but neither Uncle Clive nor Aunt Faith encouraged me. When I left school I was sent to a secretarial school. It was taken for granted that I would go to work in Uncle's company in gratitude for being given a home and having my education paid for. But when I'd finished my training and I realised what lay before me ... something burst inside. I couldn't stay any longer with them.'

'So what did you do?'

'Madame Follet told me I was too old to train as a dancer. She ran a rather select ballet school, and she took me on as an assistant to her overworked secretary.' She paused a moment, then added in a sad little voice, 'I was there until Madame Follet died quite suddenly three weeks ago.'

'What happened to the school?' His voice was sharp, interested.

'It's been closed. I've been trying to find another similar position, but it isn't easy. I'm not really a secretary type of person, but I enjoyed the work at the school because being involved with ballet made it seem worthwhile.'

She was aware of a flash of navy blue and white. Aunt Faith was on her way towards them.

'Mr Crimond,' she whispered urgently, 'please don't say anything to my aunt or my cousins about me not having a job. I have reasons for not wanting them to know.'

He nodded absently as if he was thinking of something else, and the warmth she had felt faded. He had lost interest in her problem and she was out in the cold again, on her own.

'Where do you live?' The quick question startled her.

'London—Earl's Court. I moved there when the school was closed.'

'Living in a grimy little bed-sitter, no doubt,' he remarked scathingly. 'How would you like to live in a castle...?'

'Called Camelot,' she couldn't resist saying.

'I'll drive you back to town and tell you about it.'

'Oh, no, I couldn't! I wouldn't dream of imposing on you,' she began.

'Now, Julie, you mustn't monopolise Mr Crimond,' Aunt Faith's throaty voice oozed sweetness. 'I'm sure there are many other people here whom he would like to meet. Remember always, Julie, that it's good manners to circulate at a party. That way no one ever gets bored with your brand of conversation. Don't you agree, Mr Crimond?'

While Juliet cringed over the poor wilted bouquet, Lance had risen politely to his feet. He regarded Aunt Faith with cold eyes.

'No, I don't,' he said curtly. 'Juliet and I have had a most interesting conversation. I'd like to continue it and I want very much to drive her back to town, but so far I've been unable to persuade her to come with me. I wonder if you'd be good enough to assure her that I'm sober, in my right mind and come from a highly respectable and respected family?'

The devil! The infuriating devil! What did he think he was doing? Now she was sure to receive a lecture from Aunt Faith on how not to treat an honoured and respected guest. Her sea-blue eyes flashed angrily and her pale hair belled out as she swung round to face him. But on meeting his steady gaze the hot words which trembled on her lips remained unsaid, and to her amazement she heard Aunt Faith saying,

'How could you think such things, Julie? Of course you must go with Mr Crimond. I can certainly vouch for his respectability. But must you leave so soon, Mr Crimond? Clive and I were hoping you would come back to our home for dinner. Julie could come too—after all she is one of the family, and you could take her up to town later.'

'Thank you for the invitation, but I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. I've promised to meet some business acquaintances to-night. It's my only chance to see them, because I'm off to Germany in the morning,' replied Lance coolly.

'So disappointing,' cooed Aunt Faith, 'but I understand. Perhaps next time you're down this way. Just give Clive a ring. We'd be delighted to see you. Now are you quite sure you want to take Julie? She can always go back by train, you know.'

But he was quite sure, and once again Juliet was conscious of being swept along by an irresistible force. This time it swept her through farewells to her uncle and her cousins, out of the inn and into a dashing dark green car which soon was nosing its way through the village out on to a road which wound between leafy hedgerows and past pale stone farmhouses.

'We'll have dinner in town,' said Lance crisply. 'Will that suit you?'

'I wonder you bother to consult me,' she returned tardy, and he chuckled.

'I guess I hustled you a bit, but I knew that the time bad come for me to leave and I had a feeling you didn't want to stay much longer. Was I right?'

'Yes,' she admitted with a sigh. 'You like to be right, don't you?'

'I do, and I am right, nine times out of ten. How long did you work for Madame Follet?'

'Four years. That makes me twenty-two. Is that what you wanted to know?'

'You look and behave younger,' he replied bluntly, and for a while there was silence between them.

Juliet watched the elegantly tailored Oxford countryside roll by the window. Tall trees cast long shadows over green fields. Little more than an hour ago Hilary and Ian had come along this same road on their way to Heathrow, yet because of the strange turn of events it seemed hours since they had left. She glanced sideways at her companion and wondered what he had in store for her next. She had to admit he'd handled Aunt Faith very well.

'The last thing Aunt Faith wanted was for you to drive me into London,' she murmured.

'I know. The invitation to dinner was produced very slickly.'

'And I suppose the business acquaintances you have to see to-night are fictitious.'

'Not at all. They're staying at the same hotel. They're really friends over from British Columbia, three wild miners on the spree in the swinging city. I promised I'd have a last game of poker with them to-night. They return to Canada to-morrow.'

Canada. Now she was beginning to place that elusive intermittent accent.

'Are you a Canadian?' she asked.

'...