Araluen (15 page)

Amongst the wealthy patrons of the theatre who fell under her spell was one Viscount Peter Lynell and, although Penelope wasn’t particularly attracted to him, she allowed him to fete her with roses, after-show suppers and, when she wasn’t performing, opening nights at the ballet and opera.

He was a little old for her, she felt – he must have been in his early forties at least and she was only twenty-two – but he was immensely wealthy and she actually rather liked him. Besides, he wasn’t as demanding as the purser or some of the
other admirers she’d encouraged. His goodnight kiss occasionally became a little persistent and his hand occasionally brushed her breast as if by mistake, but it was nothing Penny couldn’t control. She was starting to feel rather tempted. Peter certainly appeared to be the wisest choice.

And then he introduced her to his friend from Sydney.

‘Penelope, this is Franklin Ross. Franklin, Penelope Greenway.’

Penelope hadn’t been particularly interested in meeting Peter’s friend. Apparently the man had fought a duel over a woman and had been shot in the shoulder and everyone seemed to find that fascinating. Not Penelope. She thought it was a rather stupid thing to have done. Besides, Peter’s friend was Australian. From Sydney, what’s more, and Sydney held little interest for Penelope Greenway. As it turned out though, Franklin Ross was an extremely attractive man.

‘How do you do, Miss Greenway.’

They shook hands. Penelope met the steel-blue eyes and knew immediately that the man was attracted to her. She was used to that. ‘Mr Ross,’ she said nonchalantly, and made to release his hand. But he held on to her for that fraction of a second too long and his eyes didn’t waver and Penelope felt a little disconcerted. If he found her overwhelming, then surely he should be the one to feel uncomfortable?

‘I believe you’re from Sydney,’ she said. Damn, she hadn’t meant to bring Sydney into the conversation but he was staring at her and she had to say something. Now he’d probably ask her where
she came from and she’d have to admit to Brighton-Le-Sands and the respectable childhood she’d escaped.

‘Yes,’ was all Franklin said.

Penelope started to feel something akin to panic. No one had ever had this effect on her before and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

‘Franklin’s originally from South Australia.’ Mercifully, Peter Lynell continued the conversation. ‘His vineyards produce some of the finest wines in the country.’

‘Peter tells me you’re an actress, Miss Greenway.’ The eyes hadn’t left hers.

Before she could answer, Peter was called away to welcome some newly arrived guests. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘back in a moment. Look after Franklin for me, Penelope.’ They were at a cocktail party in Peter’s Chelsea townhouse.

Franklin suggested they step outside onto the small balcony which overlooked Elm Park Square. There was little Penelope could do but oblige.

‘When may I look forward to seeing you in the theatre?’ he asked.

Penelope focused on a park bench in the middle of the square, terribly aware that his sleeve was nearly touching her arm as he leant against the railing. ‘I’ve just completed a season in Mr Barrie’s play
Quality Street,’
she answered. ‘He came to the opening night – a lovely man.’ Then, before Franklin could ask her which role she’d played (it was a very minor one) she continued, ‘How long are you planning to be in London, Mr Ross?’

‘I leave one month from today,’ he answered.

‘I’m afraid I shan’t be performing during that time. I’m between engagements.’

Penelope hoped he wouldn’t ask her what her next engagement was, she didn’t have one. But it appeared he wasn’t interested anyway. For the first time, he took his eyes off her, looked up at the night sky and breathed deeply.

‘The air is so different here, isn’t it?’

It was sheer willpower that dragged Franklin’s eyes away from Penelope Greenway. He could have sat and drunk his fill of her all night. The patrician bones, the chiselled nose, the perfect mouth which held such promise. She was graceful and feminine, and yet there was something unyielding in the set of her brow. She was a strong woman, he recognised that. And she was well-bred. Young. In fact she was ideal. And she was as attracted to him as he was to her, he could sense that.

Franklin decided to test Peter Lynell’s intentions and the following night, when they were dining at Peter’s club, he brought up the subject of Penelope Greenway.

‘I admire your taste, dear chap,’ Peter agreed. ‘She’s fascinating. But totally unobtainable, I’m afraid. At times I wonder whether it’s worth the chase.’

‘So what are your intentions then?’ Franklin asked.

‘My intentions? Good God, man, to get her into my bed, of course.’ Franklin Ross never ceased to amaze Peter. How could a man with such style and breeding be so naive about women? He was an Australian, of course, but nevertheless …

Although Peter had helpfully spread the story all around London of Franklin’s duel, he secretly thought the man was a fool for having taken such a risk. And for a factory girl no less! A highborn lady perhaps, but … And now the chap was making serious inquiries as to one’s intentions toward a young actress.

‘She’s an actress, for goodness’ sake, Franklin,’ he said with a touch of exasperation. ‘And not a particularly good one at that. And I have the distinct feeling that she wants me to marry her before she’ll acquiesce, which makes her a gold-digger into the bargain.’ He signalled for the waiter to clear the table. ‘We play a ridiculous game,’ he continued. ‘I allow her to call the tune because of course one can’t force the issue. But one does get a little tired of her delusions of grandeur.’

Distasteful as Franklin found Peter’s comments on Penelope, he was thrilled at the prospect that she was under no obligation. Peter’s scorn for her in no way affected Franklin’s view of the girl. After all, Peter came from such a blue-blooded line that little short of royalty impressed him. Franklin was convinced the man wouldn’t know good, true stock if he fell over it. Typical of the English, Franklin thought, their upper classes are far too inbred – it’s not healthy.

Franklin admired Penelope even more for not succumbing to the Viscount’s charms. Peter Lynell was a man of extreme wealth and a dashing aristocrat into the bargain. Many a girl might have been tempted. But not Penelope. Franklin was convinced she was a virgin and, the more he thought about her, the more convinced
he was that she should become his wife. He set out to court her.

No matter how often Penelope told herself she wasn’t remotely interested in Franklin Ross from Sydney, Australia, it didn’t work. She’d never met anyone like him before and she was immensely attracted to him.

His lack of guile was confusing. She realised that she could have told him the truth and it wouldn’t have made any difference – she wasn’t used to that. She
didn’t
tell him the truth, of course – Penny Green had lived a life of fantasy for so long that she’d lost sight of what the truth was. She painted her pictures as vividly as she always had and Franklin quite happily believed that Penelope Jane Greenway was an extremely successful actress in the theatre and that it was only a matter of time before she would embark upon a career in films and become a star.

Franklin didn’t question any of Penelope’s tales about her past or her present because he had no need to. He wasn’t particularly interested in what she had to say – it was the way she said it. She was beautiful, young, strong and well bred. He didn’t care whether she was middle class or upper class; the stock was there, she would be a good breeder. Even her deep commitment to her career failed to concern him. She was a born mother, he could tell it. Once she had given birth, her priorities would change. Most women’s did and Penelope would be no different. And the strength and dedication she now poured into her career she
would later pour into her family. She would be his total support and she would rule his dynasty alongside him with a strength to equal his own.

In their own self-obsessed ways, Franklin and Penelope were falling in love, the only way that each of them knew how.

It was a Sunday and Penelope had wanted to see the ocean, so Franklin had hired a chauffeured limousine to take them to Worthing for the day.

For the past fortnight he’d been hiring transport rather than availing himself of Peter Lynell’s standing offer: ‘One of my vehicles and a driver is at your disposal any time, dear chap, feel free.’ It was a generous gesture, but Franklin was highly critical of Peter’s cavalier attitude towards Penelope.

‘Good God, man, you’re mad,’ he’d said when Franklin had tentatively mentioned his desire to court her. Then he’d shrugged and added, ‘Good luck’. Franklin had found his tone rather insulting.

Worthing was a pretty coastal town with stone cottages in the back streets, grand holiday houses along the ocean front and an impressive stretch of promenade and pebbled beach.

Franklin gave the driver a handsome tip, told him to amuse himself for two hours and instructed him to have a chilled bottle of champagne awaiting them on their return. Then he and Penny lunched at a little tea house overlooking the sea and Penny found herself actually admitting that Worthing reminded her of Brighton-Le-Sands.

‘I only ever think of Australia when I’m by the
sea,’ she said, ‘and then I remember the beautiful blue bay and the little boats and I think of my childhood.’

It was the most truthful admission Penny had made to anyone, including herself, in years.

They walked all the way along the promenade, passing other couples, old and young. Passing families and tourists and locals. Worthing promenade on a Sunday was a popular spot. And then the houses thinned out and there were no more people and Franklin kissed her.

He’d kissed her before. Several times, when he was saying goodnight. But his tongue never explored her mouth and his hand never sought her breast, even though she would have allowed it. Franklin always exercised control and Penny was grateful for that. This time was different though. This time she wanted him to demand a little more.

And Franklin certainly wanted more. Much more. He ached for her. But he kept his distance so that she wouldn’t feel his erection, his hands avoided the swell of her breasts and, as he felt her mouth start to respond hungrily to his kiss, he broke the embrace.

‘Will you marry me, Penelope?’ he asked.

Penny looked back at him, somewhat shaken. She wasn’t shaken by the actual proposal; she’d been more or less expecting that. She was shaken by her response to the kiss. It was the first time she’d wanted a kiss to continue. It was the first time a kiss hadn’t been simply the return of a favour, or a promise of things to come in order to maintain the status quo. And it was the first time she hadn’t been the one to stop the embrace. She
was confused and off-balance and not at all sure that she liked someone else calling the tune.

‘Oh,’ she murmured, pretending to be taken aback by the proposal and buying time. She looked out at a ship on the far distant horizon. ‘I don’t know what to say, Franklin.’ When she felt she had regained her composure, she turned. ‘Shall we go back to the car?’ she suggested gently.

Neither of them spoke during the long walk back along the promenade. The driver was waiting for them and Franklin instructed him to open the bottle of champagne.

‘Well?’ he asked finally, returning the bottle to its bucket and handing Penelope a glass. ‘Will you marry me?’ He leaned back and watched her as the car started slowly wending its way through the streets of Worthing.

Having now fully regained her composure Penelope was in no quandary as to her answer. ‘You would want me to return to Australia, wouldn’t you, Franklin?’

‘Naturally. That’s where my home is. My work. My properties.’

‘Then it’s impossible, I’m afraid.’ She smiled sadly. ‘My career, you see. I couldn’t give up my career.’

The reply didn’t altogether surprise Franklin and he was not discouraged by it. ‘I’m willing to wait,’ he said.

But Penelope shook her head. ‘There will never be a career for me in Australia,’ she answered. ‘It’s not a matter of time.’

Inwardly, Franklin disagreed with her. She was very young and he was sure that the desire to have
her own home, to be a mother, would eventually win out. Besides, he’d felt that moment of hunger in her as her mouth sought his and he knew, if he kept his distance, it would only be a matter of time before she would want him as much as he wanted her. All he had to do was speed up the process – he didn’t want to wait too long. It suddenly occurred to him.

‘If I could advance your career,’ he asked, ‘would you marry me?’

Penelope looked at him closely. Was he serious? Yes, he was. She took her time answering. ‘You know how extremely fond I am of you, Franklin,’ she said, ‘and you know how important my career is to me. If it were at all possible to combine the two … ‘ She smiled charmingly and Franklin thought she had never looked more beautiful. ‘ … it’s greedy of me, isn’t it … but, if I could do that, then yes, I would marry you.’

‘So be it.’ Franklin toasted her and downed his champagne in one draught.

As soon as Franklin got back to London, he sent a telegraphic cable to the United States. Then he cancelled his passage to Australia and waited for Samuel Crockett’s reply.

The following afternoon he was on Penelope’s front doorstep. ‘How soon can you leave for America?’ he asked.

‘America?’

‘Well, you want to be in movies, don’t you?’ And he handed her Sam’s return wire.
Expect you both as house guests as soon as possible
STOP
Of
course there will be a movie role for your fiancee
STOP
Eagerly await details of your arrival
STOP
Samuel David Crockett, Minotaur Movies, Hollywood.

Wide-eyed, Penelope looked from the telegraphic cable to Franklin.

‘May I presume we are now officially engaged?’ he asked.

Ten days later, they sailed for America on the
Queen Mary.
Franklin had booked separate cabins but Penelope was wearing an extremely expensive diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand.