Vintage Love (140 page)

Becky continued, “And Donald should be doing the same thing with other girls. You both should find someone nice to marry. You can still be friends. That will likely last all your lives. But the next few years will be critical for you both, the time for selecting your mates.”

Anne gave her an odd look. “Why go to all that bother?” she asked. “Couldn’t we marry each other? Donald would make such a fine husband, and I’d try to be a worthy wife to him.”

She gasped. The worst was out. She’d suspected this had long been in her daughter’s mind, and perhaps Donald felt the same way, in which case trouble loomed for all of them.

Becky recovered enough to say, “It is stupid to marry a boy you grew up with! Stupid for Donald as well! You’d both do better to seek out strangers, enjoy the thrill of discovering new loves, and marrying them.”

“Can’t we decide that for ourselves?”

“Of course you must,” Becky said seriously. “But I’m fond of Donald, and you are my daughter. I don’t want to see either of you cheated!”

“We won’t be.”

Becky stood up and crossed to the girl, touching her shapely shoulder. “You and Donald haven’t discussed this seriously, have you?”

“No. We don’t talk about it. But maybe we are taking each other for granted.”

“That could be tragic!”

“Why?” Anne said staring at her.

“There are many reasons,” Becky said wearily. “I’ve told you the most important one. You ought to know many men before you decide to marry. Marry Donald, and you’d both be unhappy in a few years and flirting with other wives and husbands.”

“Mother!” she said, shocked.

“That goes on!” Becky warned her. “And it’s mostly among couples who have married too early without giving their marriage proper thought.”

“You sound like dreary old Aunt Elizabeth before she died,” Anne told her.

“Why do you say that?”

“Whenever Aunt Elizabeth saw me with Donald she’d become angry and tell me he was like his father. Not to be trusted and I shouldn’t play with him.”

She listened to her daughter patiently. “I’m sure she only meant to give you good advice.”

“It was silly.”

“Aunt Elizabeth was a strange woman. But when she died, she left you her fortune. You must never forget that. She must have cared for you.”

Anne looked down at her hands. “I suppose so. She could be nice. And I liked her when she wasn’t mean. She always smelled of lilac.”

“I’m glad you were friendly with her in her last years,” she said. “Elizabeth lived and died a lonely woman.”

“Why did she never want to see you?” Anne asked.

“I’ve told you before,” Becky sighed. “She and I had a foolish quarrel about my moving here. She never forgave me for it.”

“She would never talk about it. Just changed the subject whenever I mentioned your name.”

“That was best.”

“I almost felt she hated you,” Anne said. “And I couldn’t understand why. She seemed to be so fond of my father.”

Becky said, “That is why she hated me. I think she resented my coming to the house. She would have hated anyone who married her beloved brother. In her eyes no one was good enough for him.”

“I see,” Anne said. “She would have preferred that he remain unmarried as she did.”

“Yes.”

Anne smiled and kissed her on the cheed. “I’m glad he did marry, or I wouldn’t exist and I wouldn’t have a wickedly, pretty mother like you!”

“You’re buttering me up,” Becky chided her. “I’m a woman of middle-age. I’ll soon be old.”

“You’re still most attractive,” Anne said. “Donald thinks so.” And with a sly smile, she added, “And I don’t have to tell you Uncle Bart thinks you’re beautiful!”

She pretended annoyance. “Brat! You had to get that in!”

Anne ran away from her to go upstairs. “I must bathe and dress if I’m to be ready at six,” she said.

Becky called after her, “Remember what I said. Think of other young men when it comes to marriage.” But she was almost sure Anne was no longer listening to her.

When Donald came to pick Anne up at six, Becky felt her blonde daughter had never looked more glorious! In a tiny pink evening bonnet, dark cape, and pink gown she presented a fetching picture. She kissed Becky hastily and then hurried off with Donald to the waiting carriage.

Becky watched after her sadly. And she was still in a somewhat melancholy mood some hours later when she and Bart lay together in bed after making love. Their rounds of love were not so frequent these days, but then Bart would come to her almost in a stage of frantic need, as he had tonight.

She glanced at him fondly as he lay with his eyes closed, his head on the pillow beside her. His hair was completely gray with white predominant at the temples, and he had put on a great deal of weight. He had a double chin and his youthful dash was replaced by a heavy look. He was still handsome but in a weary, mature way. He had lately suffered from arthritis and at times suffered much pain. He would not use a walking stick, nor take his doctor’s orders to give himself more rest.

Softly, she said, “Dear Bart!”

He opened his eyes and turned to smile at her. “I needed you tonight.”

“I always have a need of you,” she told him.

“Things have been difficult at the yard,” he said. “We are actually slack after years of prosperity. I think the whole country is having bad times. I blame it on the government.”

“You shouldn’t worry. You could retire.”

He frowned. “Not yet! My son is just coming to take his place with the firm. I want it in good shape for him.”

“Perhaps he could take over with the help of the men you have trained.”

“Too rash in his ideas.”

“Are you thinking about his conviction that steel is the coming things for ships?”

Bart gazed at her across the pillow in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

He sighed. “I forgot. He spends most of his free time over here. It vexes Vera and her whining old mother!”

“It worries me as well.”

Bart stared at her again. “Why? Don’t you like the boy?”

“I like him far too well,” she said. “And so, I’m afraid, does Anne.”

“Well, why shouldn’t they be friends? They always have been since they were children!”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “And there’s a danger in that now they’ve come to the time to find marriage partners.”

Bart raised himself on an elbow and looked down at ther worriedly. “You’re not telling me those two foolish children have fallen in love?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I think Anne has, and perhaps Donald is close to it!”

“Good God!” Bart gasped.

“I pain for them,” she said. “And I feel this may be our punishment.”

Bart brushed this aside, “That is nonsense talk.”

“I wonder.”

“You should have mentioned this before, if you’d seen it happening.”

She said, “Donald was at Oxford until now. I hoped in the meanwhile they’d both find loves.”

“And?”

“It hasn’t happened,” she said unhappily. “Donald has come straight back to her, and she has attached herself to him like a magnet. They’re so happy together—it is pitiful.”

“Damn!”

“What’s to be done?”

“Have you talked to Anne?” Bart asked. Anne was his special joy. He never looked more happy than when she called him Uncle Bart. He had been dangerously close to spoiling her with attention and gifts.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve told her the mistake it is to marry someone you’ve known from childhood without giving other young men a chance.”

“Did you convince her?”

“I don’t think so.”

The man beside her in bed gave a deep sigh. “A new problem!”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve always had secret fears that one day something like this might happen.”

He stared at her. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Well, we must face it now.”

“Yes.”

“I always thought of the four of us as family,” Bart said. “It is normal for a family to be close. That is why I never had any worries about Donald and Anne liking each other.”

“We are a family,” she said. “That is precisely the trouble.”

He thought a moment. “There is one thing in our favor.”

“What?”

“Donald entering the business. He’ll have plenty to do in the next year or so. If he ever mentions marriage to me, I’ll make it plain I think he should give at least two or three years to prove himself in the business before taking on the distraction of a wife and the family to follow.”

She smiled her approval. “That sounds logical. You have always been smarter than me.”

“It is true; that’s the best part of it,” Bart said. “And because Donald is just as ambitious in his own way as I was, I think he will listen to me.”

“I hope so.”

“In the meanwhile you must try to see that Anne spends time with other young men.”

“I have been trying, but I’ll go on with it.”

“It will be all right,” Bart said. “I’m sure. I know Vera is always nervous when Anne comes to visit. I guess I can understand why.”

“She will see it as our sin falling upon them.”

Bart shook his head. “It is not a sin to love. And I have faithfully loved you for more than twenty years!”

Becky smiled and reached up and drew him to her so their lips met. Then she said, “I have never regretted it, Bart.”

“Nor have I,” he said in a gentle voice.

“And now we must dress,” she said. “The children already believe we are lovers. But I refuse to allow them to find us naked in bed together!”

Charles Dickens had been dead for fourteen years and his body had been given an honored burial in Westminister Abbey. Prince Edward and his lovely Danish Princess Alexandra were at the height of their popularity, though it was whispered around London that the Prince was much more a ladies’ man than his stern Queen mother liked. Tall tales of his infidelity were repeated in low voices in many of the London private clubs. And it was occasionally the ladies of the gentlemen who repeated the tales with relish who were the ones involved!

The London stage was flourishing and enjoying the patronage of the popular Prince and his Princess. One of the great idols was Henry Irving, whom Victoria would knight in a few years. He had taken over the Lyceum Theatre and, with the delightful Ellen Terry as his leading lady, was thrilling audiences with such plays as
Othello
and
The Bells.

Bart Woods had come to love the theatre as well as the music halls. He often took Becky and Anne to see the great theatre productions. His wife, Vera, peevishly refused to attend any theatrical offerings, on the grounds that her aged mother considered the theatre a sinful place.

So when Gilbert and Sullivan took London by storm, one of their first devotees was Bart Woods. He had faithfully attended the productions of
The Pirates of Penzance, H.M.S. Pinafore,
and
Iolanthe.
Now the new musical satire of the D’Oyly Carte Company at The Savoy Theatre was scheduled. It was Gilbert and Sullivan’s
Princess Ida.
So it was quite natural that he purchased tickets for the opening for himself, Becky, Anne, and Donald.

Becky had been relieved when Bart told her that he had given his son a serious lecture about his responsibility to the firm. According to him, Donald had accepted the advice in a most agreeable fashion. He had admitted that entering the business and marriage at the same time might prove a problem. He had promised to defer any wedding for two or more years.

Becky had then asked Bart, “Did you ask him to make the same reservation about becoming engaged?”

Bart showed surprise. “That didn’t occur to me.”

She smiled wearily. “I fear you overlooked a most important point.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” she said. “What if he insists on giving Anne a ring and becoming engaged to her.”

“We must try to stop that,” Bart agreed.

“It may be difficult,” she warned him.

So she was especially pleased when on the opening night of
Princess Ida
an almost ideal solution to their difficult problem presented itself. They were mingling in the foyer with the other affluent first-nighters during the intermission. It was a gala affair, with much of London society represented and all dressed formally in their best.

Out of the crowd a diminutive dark-haired girl suddenly came rushing over to Anne. The dark girl was wearing a stunning blue gown with white ruffled trim. Her hair was done in the latest style; she was very much the elegant young lady.

Kissing Anne on the cheek, she exclaimed, “I haven’t seen you since finishing school!”

“That is so,” Anne said. “And we were such dear friends!”

“Inseparable,” the girl smiled.

Anne introduced her to everyone as Susan Gray, the daughter of a wealthy importer. Susan seemed to be intelligent but somewhat given to talking on and on rapidly. She offered opinions on the play, talked about her father’s health, which was apparently on the decline, and announced that she was going to Paris for six months to perfect her French.

“A terribly smart school,” Susan said happily. “And operated by women with great social background. My mother says every lady should know a second language.”

“I dare say she is right,” Bart Woods said.

Susan turned to Anne and asked her, “Why don’t you join me? We would have such fun together exploring Paris and meeting French society people!”

Anne said, “It would be fun. But I think not.”

Becky spoke up quickly, “Why couldn’t you take the course? I think Susan’s mother is right. French is an excellent second tongue.”

Anne stared at her mother in wonder. “You don’t speak any other language but our own.”

“And I regret it,” Becky said. “It would only take six months. And I could come over once or twice to make sure you were doing well.”

Susan implored, “Please, Anne! Tell me you’ll join me!”

Anne was blushing. “I don’t know! I’ll have to think about it.” And she turned to Donald to ask, “What do you think I should do?”

Donald said, “The decision must be yours. But it does seem a good opportunity to broaden your knowledge and experience. And I shall be very busy getting familiar with my work at the yards for the next six or more months.”