Romance Classics (8 page)

Tonight the moon was full and the night was warm and soft. There was a breeze from the river, and the shadows on the lawn, beneath the huge old white oaks and hickories, made a brilliant black and silver mosaic. Roses, hundreds of them, poured their perfume on the soft, dewy air.

Tip seated himself beside Geraldine, leaning forward to offer her a cigarette and a light. He said, “Look, this fellow Donaldson — he’s a pretty keen character. I like him enormously. Do you?”

Geraldine was momentarily tense. But this was the moment and it must be said. She dared no longer put it off, and so she said very quietly, very carefully. “Yes — as a matter of fact I was — engaged to him once.”

She all but held her breath lest that be a blow from which Tip would stagger. But he had to know — he
had
to know! And it would be better for him to hear it from her.

Tip laughed and said, “No kiddin’? Why, you little two-timer! When was that?”

Geraldine let out her held breath in a tiny ghost of sound. He was going to take it well! She felt a little warm rush of eagerness. The right words, exactly the right expression — Oh, dear God, it must be
right!

“Oh — when I was terribly lonely and — I thought you were never coming back,” she managed to say, almost brightly casual.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” said Tip and seemed only surprised and not in the least upset.

Suddenly he got up and walked to the balustrade of the terrace and stood with his back to her, looking out over the moon-drenched garden. She saw the tiny, gleaming arc his lighted cigarette made as he flicked it from him, and over his shoulder he spoke at last.

“Were you — in love with him, Gerry?” he asked. Now there was no trace of raillery in his voice, but a sudden tension about him that she could see as well as feel.

For just an instant she steeled herself for the one great, all-convincing lie of her life. She must tell it so that he would have no faintest doubt; he must believe her implicitly.

“How could I possibly be in love with him,” she asked very low, “when I was — and always have been — loving you with all my heart?”

There was the tiniest possible tremor in her voice, but Tip read it as further proof of her sincerity. He turned and came back to her and sat down. His hands captured hers, that were cold and shaking, and held them close.

“That’s the truth, Gerry?” he asked and now his voice was taut, almost sharp. “You have never really stopped loving me?”

And Geraldine said in a tone, the sincerity of which was utterly convincing to the man who needed so desperately to believe, “Never, for a single moment”

Tip said levelly, “Phil Donaldson’s — quite a fellow.”

Geraldine smiled through tears she could not control.

“So are you, darling,” she said very low.

Tip took her into his arms and held her closely, his cheek against her hair.

“Dear little Gerry!” he said huskily. “Loving you always, Gerry. Never anybody else —
never!”

Geraldine had told her gallant white lie, and now with Tip’s arm about her, she knew her feet were committed forever to the path he walked, and which they must walk hand in hand. She was Tip’s wife, and she must never forget it for a single breath of time. If a sob struggled in her throat, Tip was not conscious of it; or if he was, he misunderstood the reason for it.

As Tip’s health increased, Geraldine gave up driving him to the plant. He had bought a little old jalopy in which he drove himself, leaving the sedan at home for Geraldine’s and Mrs. Parker’s use. He came home in the evenings excited and pleased about his work, interested, almost himself. But there were times when he thought himself unobserved, when he sat silent, his eyes brooding, his shoulders drooping. At such times Geraldine walked softly, and her heart ached with pity for him because of the ugly memories he could not quite shake off.

Mrs. Parker had taken it surprisingly well when Geraldine had told her that Tip knew of her former engagement to Phil.

“I knew you would have to tell him sooner or later,” she commented, the thin edge of accusation in her voice.

“Of course,” Geraldine said curtly.

Mrs. Parker studied her curiously for a moment.

“How did he take it?” she asked at last.

“Like a man,” said Geraldine.

“Being Tip,” Mrs. Parker finished. “And I suppose he is going to set you free so you can marry your — lover?”

There was a stinging lash in the last word beneath which Geraldine quivered inwardly.

“I convinced him that I did not really love Phil,” she said evenly.

Sharp relief showed in Mrs. Parker’s eyes.

“Well, of course! Naturally you couldn’t forget a man like Tip for a creature like Donaldson,” she said sharply.

Geraldine turned on her, and for a moment she wondered that she could ever have feared this woman.

“I must ask you never to speak of Phil again in that tone,” she said harshly. “I’ve done what you wanted. I’ve done what I know is my duty. I shall be loyal to Tip as long as I live. But I will not endure your taunts and insults.”

Mrs. Parker bristled indignantly.

“Well,
really
— ” she began haughtily.

“I used to be deathly afraid of you because you could be so very unpleasant,” said Geraldine steadily. “You had the power once to make me more miserable than any human being has the right to make another. I was a silly kid of a girl then — but you’ve lost that power. I’m no longer in awe of you. Nothing you can say or do can ever hurt me again. But I warn you that your days of bullying me are over. We either live here together quietly and with politeness and mutual consideration, or Tip and I will find living quarters somewhere else.”

Mrs. Parker’s eyes flashed fire, but Geraldine went on.

“Tip wants me to be happy. If he knew the way you have behaved, I can assure you he would not ask me to live another moment under the same roof with you. I’m perfectly willing to stay here, but only if I am given the courtesy and consideration I shall give you. I want that clearly and distinctly understood, here and now. Is it?”

“I can’t quite understand your attitude, Geraldine — ” she began haughtily.

“Oh, yes you can — you understand me perfectly,” Geraldine cut in swiftly. “This is what is vulgarly known as a showdown, my dear Mrs. Parker. Or perhaps the turning of the worm — I’ve been a worm long enough. This is the finish. I’ll play if you will — otherwise, Tip and I are leaving. I’m quite sure we understand each other better than we have ever done before.”

“I suppose what you are trying to say is that from now on, you insist on being mistress here, giving orders to the servants,” she began huffily.

Geraldine’s smile was small and thin, entirely without mirth.

“Oh, no, you don’t suppose anything of the sort,” she said coolly. “I wouldn’t think of attempting to interfere with the running of the household. You do it superbly; I wouldn’t know how. All I ask is that I be treated, by you, with the ordinary courtesy you would extend a casual house guest — not as your private whipping boy, to receive the insults and taunts that relieve your mind when you can’t find anybody else to endure them!”

She went up the stairs and into her own room.

• • •

It was at the Thursday night dinner-dance at the Country Club that Geraldine first became aware that Phil was seeing a great deal of Sally Walker. The discovery came as an unpleasant shock, which startled Geraldine. She had thought herself schooled to accept the fact that Phil must be lonely, and that he could, as most lonely men can, be solaced by another woman.

She and Tip had arrived late at the club, and stood in the doorway of the ballroom for a moment, waiting for the music to finish before they sought their own table.

Glancing idly about the room, Geraldine’s eyes found Sally’s red head, above an emerald-green silk jersey frock, deceptively simple, that molded her curves with a clarity that only a wet bathing suit could have duplicated. Sally was laughing up at her partner, and the dancers shifted a little so that Geraldine saw Phil’s head bent above Sally’s, and his arms holding her. Obviously, Phil was enjoying whatever it was that Sally was saying, for his interest was apparent. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed — and his eyes met Geraldine’s. For the space of a handful of heartbeats they looked straight into each other’s eyes; and it was Phil who looked away first.

“Quite an affair, that,” said a feminine voice beside Geraldine and, startled, she turned to find Betsy Hammond at her elbow. “The Donaldson dream, and Sal, I mean. She seems to have taken up where you left off!”

There was, Geraldine thought, a faint edge of malice in Betsy’s voice, though Betsy’s eyes were wide and blue and innocent.

“How very nice for Phil,” said Geraldine lightly, and prayed that neither her eyes nor her voice betrayed her inner emotion.

“How very nice for Sal, you mean,” said Betsy.

“Sally’s very attractive and good company.”

“I don’t like her either,” Betsy interrupted cheerfully. “Few people do — that is, few women. Which, of course, worries our Sal so much that she barely sleeps at night So long as men come and sit up and beg when she whistles, Sal should give two hoots in Hades about women liking her.”

“Aren’t you a little hard on her?” Geraldine made herself say lightly.

“I’d like to be really hard on her — something with boiling oil in it.” Betsy was suddenly neither so young nor so innocent. “Women like that should be burned at the stake.”

Geraldine studied her in sudden sharpness.

“See here, Betsy — ” she began.

Betsy drew a deep breath and said tautly, “Oh, I got him back, of course. He wasn’t a big enough fish for Sal’s net She just snagged him in an idle moment, to keep her hand in. When somebody with more money came along, she threw Ted back to
me
— slightly damaged and never to be quite the same again — but I can have him if I want him.”

Geraldine said softly, “Betsy, I’m so terribly sorry.”

Betsy managed a wry grin. “Thanks.”

Tip, who had been talking to a group of men a few feet away, came back to Geraldine and said, “Want to finish this, honey?” Then he grinned at Betsy and added, “Hi, Bets! Or am I interrupting something?”

Betsy tossed her head saucily.

“Well, but of course you are. Don’t you men always? Only it’ll keep. Be seein’ you around, people,” she answered and turned away.

“Gosh,” said Tip as he put his arms about Geraldine and drew her out on the floor, “it’s indecent the way these kids grow up on you the minute your back’s turned! Bets had pigtails and freckles when I went away, and now here she is a married woman.”

“Girls grow up fast these days,” Geraldine answered lightly. “Men, too, for that matter.”

Tip nodded and his gaiety slipped for a moment and the old bleak, tired look was back. The next moment he smiled at her and warned, “How right you are! Careful not to trip over my long white beard, angel face.”

The encore finished with Tip and Geraldine, Sally and Phil within a few feet of each other. They greeted each other pleasantly, found a table together, and Sally smiled at Geraldine. The smile, Geraldine told herself grimly, of a cat that has just made a meal of the family’s morning cream.

“You’re looking a bit fagged, darling,” said Sally in an almost cooing voice. “Afraid you’re working too hard — all those committees and things.”

“I feel splendid,” said Geraldine coolly.

“You mustn’t let her work herself to death, Tip — or go off in her looks,” drawled Sally sweetly.

Tip stared at her coldly. “My good woman,” he said sternly, “Geraldine will be a dazzling beauty when she’s eighty! Brown-haired, gray-eyed women like Gerry only improve with age.”

Sally bristled a little. “Meaning that it’s red-heads who fade?”

Tip grinned.

“You said it, I didn’t,” he reminded her gently.

Sally shrugged.

“Oh, well, I never claimed to be a celebrated beauty, thank heaven,” she drawled carelessly. “My only hope for distinction is in wearing outrageous clothes.”

She put a suddenly possessive hand on Phil’s and gave him her most enchanting smile. “But there’s them as likes redheads, eh, pardner?” she drawled.

Phil patted her hand warmly and answered her smile, and Geraldine felt a little tightening about her heart. And knew, in the split second that she felt Sally’s eyes upon her, that Sally had been entirely aware of that tightening. There was a triumphant gleam in the other girl’s green eyes.

A little later, Sally said cheerfully, “Shall we go do things to the tired faces, Gerry, my pet? These two men are simply aching to talk shop, and I can’t take it.”

Geraldine picked up her sequinned evening bag, smiled at Tip and Phil and followed Sally to the powder room. There Sally, instead of seating herself at one of the mirrored dressing tables, dropped on a chaise lounge, took out her cigarette case, fitted a cigarette into a long jade holder, and said coolly, “Well, Gerry, how goes it?”

Geraldine, busy with compact and lipstick, was thankful that her face was turned away from Sally’s too sharp eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she managed, her mouth arched towards the lipstick she held in her hand.

Sally made a little sound of derision and said cooly, “Don’t pretend, my pet. Remember me? I’m Sally, I know all, see all, but don’t
always
tell all — unless I’m pushed.”

Geraldine turned to her swiftly.

“And just what do you mean by that?” she demanded.

Sally shrugged and her smile was thin-lipped.

“Oh, I think you know,” she drawled. “How are you and Tip making out?”

“Splendidly; thanks for your warm interest.” Geraldine’s voice had a cutting edge.

“No — er — readjustments that are — painful?” persisted Sally outrageously.

“None whatever.”

Sally scrubbed out the half-finished cigarette and fitted a new one into the holder.

“A gallant lie, spoken gallantly.”

Geraldine was too angry to risk speech.

“You see, my pet,” Sally went on coolly and deliberately, “I happen to know that you were desperately in love with Phil — not Tip. I fully expected when Tip learned the truth that a neat little divorce would be arranged, quietly and gracefully as such things can be done, when there is practically unlimited money, and that you and Phil — ”