Authors: Anne Weale
To her secret relief Nick returned to town on Thursday, and on Friday he took Jill to a party, so she was alone in
the apartment when Justin called for her. She dressed with her usual care and was ready at ten minutes to six. To her surprise she found she was nervous, which was quite absurd, for the evening ahead had no special significance. Jill had lent her a pair of Victorian earrings made of clustered seed pearls in the shape of crescent moons, and these and an enormous rhinestone star on the shoulder of her dress were her only ornaments.
On the stroke of six the doorbell rang and she took a final quick glance in the mirror before going to answer it.
In the narrow hallway Justin
l
ooked
even taller than she remembered. They shook hands, and this time she was prepared for his forceful grip.
“I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything but beer,” she said as he followed her into the sitting room. “We got a case in the other day for Nick. Would you like some?”
“
No, thank you.” He looked around the room. “This is a very pleasant apartment.”
“Yes, we were lucky to get it.”
“I mean the furnishings. Who did the flowers?” He looked at an arrangement of expensive white roses on the sideboard. They were a present from an actor who refused to accept the fact that Andrea felt nothing more than a friendly liking for him.
“I did,” she replied. “Do sit down. I’ll fetch my wrap.” When she came out of the bedroom he was examining the bookcase.
“Someone has a very catholic taste,” he remarked. “Are you the bookworm?”
“Yes, they’re my one extravagance. I buy far too many.”
He ran his forefinger along the row of titles. “Economics, Buddhism, the history of the theater. I didn’t know young women were interested in such weighty subjects.”
“I left school at fifteen. I have had a lot to catch up.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if
I
should have primed myself with intelligent topics of conversation,” he said, arching an amused eyebrow.
As he held her coat for her he said, “I don’t know whether you have any preference in restaurants, but personally I dislike having to talk in competition with a band, so I suggest we go the Jersey Club. Do you know it?”
Andrea shook her head. Her escorts included a number of reasonably prosperous young men, but from what she had heard, a dinner at the Jersey Club would probably have cost them a week’s salary.
Outside the apartment stood a glossy Bentley Continental, and as she sank back against the soft cream leather upholstery, Andrea wondered what it was like to have been surrounded by luxury all one’s life, to be able to buy anything one wanted.
Over a dinner of superlative foods and wines, they discussed the cast of the play, and the stage led to books and books to music. It was a lively conversation, and Andrea was almost sorry when they had to leave for the theater.
The play was brilliantly written and produced, and judging by the enthusiastic comments from people making for the bar during the second intermission, it seemed likely to be the success of the season. While they were talking in a corner of the bar about the superb acting of the leading lady, a plump woman in a skintight satin dress that clashed with her raddled complexion suddenly pounced on Justin with a rush of effusive greetings.
If he was annoyed at her advent, he did not show it.
“This is Miss Fleming, Lois. Mrs. Cassell, Andrea,” he said smoothly.
“How do you do.” Lois Cassell’s
pale
blue eyes swept over Andrea in a comprehensive glance that took in every detail of her appearance, including an estimate of the price of her clothes. “Haven’t we met before?”
“Miss Fleming is a fashion model. You’ve probably seen her photograph in
Vogue
,”
Justin said.
“Oh, yes, that must be it. Tell me, are you related to the Hampshire Flemings? Modeling seems to be quite the most popular hobby for debs these days. I’m afraid we had nothing so exciting to do with ourselves when I came out, but of course, that was
ages
ago.” She gave an exaggerated sigh.
“No, I’m one of the Liverpool Flemings and I model for
a living, not a hobby,” Andrea said coolly. She had taken an immediate dislike to Mrs. Cassell.
“Oh
...
Liverpool?” The inflection suggested that Liverpool was something one did not refer to in public.
“Well, I must fly back to my party. Lovely to see you again, Justin darling. You must dine with us soon. Goodbye, Miss Fleming.”
With an arch glance at Justin and an artificial smile for Andrea she disappeared into the crush.
“Let me assure you that Mrs. Cassell is not typical of my friends,” Justin said sardonically when she was out of earshot. “As a matter of fact I only know her through her brother, who belongs to my club, but I suppose she wanted to find out who you were.”
“So I gathered,” Andrea said dryly, trying to dismiss the encounter with the casualness it deserved. But women of that type—archsnobs who spent their lives retailing snippets of malicious gossip to each other—always infuriated her.
At that point the bell rang and they returned to their seats
f
or the third act.
As they left the theater, Justin asked her if she would like to end the evening at a nightclub.
“I would love to, but I have a very busy day tomorrow. I
t
hink I ought to go home,
”
she said reluctantly.
He did not try to persuade her to change her mind and they drove back to the apartment. Andrea was surprised to find how much she had enjoyed herself, for while she had anticipated that the dinner and the play would be excellent, she had not expected to find Justin such a companionable escort.
“I have enjoyed myself. Thank you very much,” she said as the car slid gently to the curbside outside her door.
He switched off the engine and she tensed, wondering if he would try to kiss her. But instead he got out and came around to open the door for her.
“May I take you to the theater again next week?” he asked as they crossed the sidewalk. “The show at the Coliseum is supposed to be very amusing, if you haven’t seen it already?”
“No, I would like to.”
“On Monday at the same time, then?”
“That would be lovely.”
He held out his hand. “Good night, Andrea.”
“Good night, Justin.”
Jill was sitting up in bed trimming a hat when she came i
n.
“Did the champagne flow? Where did you have dinner? What was the play like?” she demanded eagerly, tossing the hat aside.
Andrea laughed. “No champagne, but some wonderful wines. The Jersey Club. Marvelous,” she said, shrugging off her coat.
“So
you enjoyed it?”
“Yes. More than I expected.”
“What about driving home? Did he pounce?”
“I don’t think I ought to satisfy your morbid curiosity,” Andrea said solemnly. Then, because Jill looked so comically disappointed, she said, “No, my poppet, he behaved with the utmost propriety.
”
“Honestly?” Jill asked in astonishment. “Well, one can’t judge by appearances, but he always strikes me as being a terrific wolf.”
“He seems to have a horrid fascination for you,” Andrea said teasingly.
“Yes, I suppose he has. I mean, one can’t help wondering what it would be like to have a man like that making violent love to one.”
“Probably very dull.” Andrea took off her dress and hung it in the wardrobe.
“Oh, no, I’m sure it would be tremendously thrilling in a rather frightening way. He looks as if he might be quite savage.”
“You mean he’s the kind of man who locks the door on you and snarls, ‘C
o
me here, wench’?” Andrea suggested, managing to keep her voice steady.
“Yes, I think he is,” Jill said seriously.
“Oh, Jilly, you romantic little idiot!” Andrea sat down on the bed and laughed until her eyes began to water.
“What’s so funny?” Jill asked huffily.
“You are. You see too many movies, my girl. People
just don’t behave like that in real life, not even men like Justin who may look that part.
”
“You’re always laughing at me. Anyone would think you were old enough to be my grandmother,” Jill retorted.
In
the weeks that followed,
Andrea went out with Justin Templar more and more frequently. She had an uneasy feeling that she was playing with fire, but it was very pleasant to be taken out by a man who could afford the best of everything, and she avoided thinking about the possible developments of their friendship. There was one side of Justin that she grew to know and like. He was a stimulating companion and had a sense of humor akin to her own, so that they often shared laughter that other
people would have found incomprehensible. But of the man behind the charming, considerate escort she felt she knew nothing, and there were often moments when he looked at her in the enigmatic way that had disturbed her when they first met in Cornwall. He never attempted to make love to her, but she felt sure that he would do so eventually, and in spite of her raillery at Jill’s melodramatic suppositions on the subject, the prospect sent a faint shiver down her spine.
One evening, after they had been to a concert at the Festival Hall, Justin suggested that they should dine at his house the next night, and although she had no convincing reason to refuse the invitation, she was very much afraid that the evening would make a climax in their relationship.
She spent a restless night and found it hard to concentrate on her work the next day. For the first time in her modeling career she was fifteen minutes late for an appointment, and the photographer for whom she was posing complained that she was thinking about something else. With an effort she pulled her thoughts back to the vivid play clothes that were to illustrate a holiday plans feature in the April issue of a teenager’s magazine.
By the time Justin called for her she was inwardly tense with nervousness, but as they drove toward Mayfair his manner seemed so normal that she began to wonder if she was imagining a crisis where none existed.
She had often used Syon Place as a shortcut from Park
Lane to Bond Street and had admired the tall Georgian houses, most of which were still privately owned and not, like so many Mayfair mansions, converted into offices and service apartments. During the day typists and clerks ate sandwich lunches on the benches in the square gardens and the curbs were close packed with opulent cars, but after dark it was possible to recapture the atmosphere of Regency London, when the blaze of chandeliers shone down onto the cobbled street and liveried flunkeys stood beneath the graceful porticoes, bowing to guests in the satins and silks of a bygone century.
Now, stepping out of the car and standing still for a moment, she could imagine herself in another age, arriving at a rout with the tinkling music drifting down from the ballroom and the clatter of hooves as a carriage lurched around the corner.
“What are you thinking?” Justin asked, seeing her absent expression.
“About this square; a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Does the Regency period appeal to you?”
“Yes, although I would probably have been a kitchen maid in those days.
”
“And I a merchant, so we’d both have been outside the bounds of polite society.”
“Oh, hasn’t the house always been in your family?”
“No, my grandfather bought it at the turn of the century.”
He led her up the steps and opened the front door. The hall was carpeted with dove-gray pile and dominated by the wide curving staircase. The paneled walls were painted white with gilded moldings. A magnificent crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.
Helping her off with her coat, Justin said, “The drawing room is upstairs, but I think we will be more comfortable in the library.”
He indicated a doorway on their right.
The library was a long, narrow room with windows at either end, curtained with rich folds of pale gold velvet. A fire was burning in the hearth and the room was lighted by a lamp on the leather-topped writing desk and another on an elegant Sheraton console. The walls on either side of the
marble chimneypiece were lined with bookshelves; most of them held sets of leather-bound volumes, but one shelf was filled with modern editions in bright dust jackets. It was more richly furnished, but in atmosphere the room reminded her of Mr. Everard’s study where she had first met Justin.
“
Come and sit down,” he said.
She sank into a deep wing chair covered with faded turquoise velvet while Justin pulled an old-fashioned bellrope by the fire.
“I think this is one of the most peaceful rooms I’ve ever been in,” she said appreciatively.
“My sister has a mania for interior decoration. She wants to refurnish it in a contemporary style,” he said, handing a silver cigarette box to her.
“Oh,
no
!
That would ruin it. Surely you won’t let her?”
“Certainly not. I prefer it as it is.”
There was a tap at the door and an elderly manservant came in with a decanter on a silver tray.
“This is Miss Fleming, Hubbard.”
“Good evening, madam.”
“Good evening.”
“We will be ready in about ten minutes,” Justin said.
“Very good, sir.” He bowed to Andrea and withdrew.
“What a delightful old man,” Andrea said when he had closed the door. “I didn’t know white-haired butlers existed nowadays.”
“Hubbard was here when I was a boy. He’s never admitted his age, but I should think he’s well over seventy,” Justin said, pouring two glasses of sherry. “I suggested that he ought to retire some years ago, but he was very offended, so I let him carry on.”
He handed her a glass and set his own on the mantelpiece.
“What a pity all the houses in Mayfair aren’t like this. It seems such a waste to turn them into offices,” she said.
“After dinner I’ll show you the other rooms. The kitchen and bathrooms are the only ones that have been modernized.”
“I would like to live in an old house,” she said reflectively. “Modern ones have no atmosphere.”
“You are a curious mixture of materialism and idealism, Andrea,” he said, watching her.
She smiled. “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”
“Heaven forbid. I detest all this pseudoscientific jargon that people bandy about. Nevertheless, people’s attitudes to life are an interesting study.
”
“Surely one’s attitude is conditioned by one’s circumstances.”
“Not necessarily. For example, you are not what one would expect of a successful young woman who must be the envy of thousands of less successful girls.”
“What did you expect?”
“That you would
be conscious of your looks, for one thing.”
“But I am. Not in a vain way, if that’s what you mean. After all, it’s purely luck if one is born with a good face and figure. But I am well aware of my looks as a business asset. Although they have their disadvantages, too.”
“You mean people admire you for your appearance and overlook your other qualities?”
“Partly that, yes.” Her mouth curved. “For instance, would you take me out if
I
had spots and protruding teeth?”
An answering glint of humor lighted his black eyes.
“I doubt it. Would you come if I were a stout old party with a bald head and rheumy eyes?
”
She laughed. “As you said, I am a materialist. A good dinner and pleasant surroundings might be sufficient inducement.”
“Is that why you come—because I can provide good food and entertainment?”
“That is one of the
reasons,” she said frankly.
“You are refreshingly honest. What are the other reasons?”
Before she could reply, Hubbard reappeared to say that dinner was served. It was not until they had returned to the library that Justin said, “Now, tell me why I am permitted the pleasure of your, company?
”
Andrea finished her coffee and replaced the delicate Spode cup and saucer on the tray that Hubbard had put beside her chair.
“Because, so far, I have always enjoyed myself,” she replied lightly.
He tossed his half-smoked cigar into the fire and stood up, a strange expression on his dark face. For a minute she wondered if she had annoyed him. Then he turned from his contemplation of the glowing logs and looked down at her.