Romance Classics (142 page)

“Well, you poor child!” gasped Maggie, saucer-eyed, as though he were still that bewildered three-year-old.

Mark said, “Thanks—you’re great.”

He looked at Cathy and said quietly, “See what I mean about matrimonial nets and such?”

Maggie said quickly and earnestly, “But you mustn’t think just because your parents didn’t get along that all marriages are like that.”

“I was married,” stated Maggie quietly, “for twenty-six years, to the best man that ever lived. There just wasn’t ever anybody else for me, and when he went, I knew the best part of my life was over.”

Mark nodded, his eyes warm and friendly.

“I’ve heard of such marriages,” he admitted.

Cathy said unsteadily, “Here—here! You’re letting your dinner get cold, Major. And Maggie’s hot biscuits are something to write home about!”

“And you’re at home, Major—just as long as you care to
stay. Cathy and I’ll be proud to have you, won’t we, Cathy?” said Maggie vigorously.

“Of course,” said Cathy instantly.

Mark beamed at them.

“I like that,” he said happily. “I like it a lot. I’d rather have that than any medal ever turned out. I’ll try not to be a nuisance. Maybe I can make myself useful—odd-jobs man, or something?”

Maggie laughed. “How are you at staking beans?” she asked.

“I’m a fast man at staking beans,” he assured her. “My old grandfather used to say to me, ‘Son,’ he used to say, ‘you’re the best bean-staker—’ “ He broke off and looked at Cathy, puzzled. “How the dickens do you stake beans?” he confessed his bewilderment, and she and Maggie laughed at him delightedly.

Cypressville had a country club. It was a small and unpretentious place, but the self-elected elite of Cypressville was inordinately proud of the long, low-storied white frame house that had once been the farmhouse of a prosperous hundred-acre farm. That same elite had bought the house and thirty acres of land; a fairly good golf course had been laid out, and there were two tennis courts and a swimming pool, and a membership list over which the board fought fiercely and constantly. The fact that the dues were, in the eyes of the members, rather heavy, made it politic for them to accept many members not of the old order in Cypressville, but whose generosity in making up a sizable annual deficit could be counted on.

Friday night was Gala Night at the club. A hard-working local orchestra that made up in noise and vigor for some lack of musical skill slaved from eight until well after midnight providing music for dancing. The kitchens were presided over by a chef of more than local renown, and there was a large
room set aside for those who wished to play bridge or gin rummy. So on Friday night there were many cars parked in the lot beside the clubhouse, and the sound of revelry filled the air.

Maggie and Cathy were not members of the country club. But Mark had been officially welcomed to Cypressville by an invitation to lunch at the weekly meeting of the Rotary Club and had received, as a high mark of honor, a guest membership to the club for the length of his stay.

Anxious to return some measure of the hospitality meted out to him so generously by Cathy and Maggie, Mark insisted that he take them to dinner at the club. Maggie was secretly excited, though outwardly composed and a little disdainful of “Edith Kendall’s gang,” as she called the country club set.

And so on Friday night Mark ushered his two guests into the the club dining room, looking very handsome and well groomed in his dress uniform. Cathy, lovely in daffodil yellow with Mark’s gardenias in a little shower at her shoulder, and Maggie looking distinguished in black lace and more gardenias, made Mark very proud.

After they were seated, there was a slight commotion at the entrance to the dining room, caused by the arrival of half a dozen people in whom the others in the room seemed greatly interested.

Cathy glanced that way and her heart turned over.

For Edith Kendall was leading the group, resplendent in violet lace and diamonds, followed by Elaine Stovall, her hand slipped possessively through Bill’s arm, her blond head tilted back, her lovely, laughing face toward his down-bent one as though they shared some exquisite, intimate joke. Behind them were two other couples, of the town’s most elect.

Maggie said dryly, “Let the trumpets blow and the festivities begin. The Dowager Queen has arrived with her court!”

“So that,” said Mark thoughtfully, “is the Dowager Queen!”

“No one else but,” said Maggie.

“Impressive, no end,” Mark agreed, but there was a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. “Who’s the gorgeous blond babe—not the Crown Princess?”

“Prospective,” said Maggie. “The tall guy with her is the Crown Prince.”

Mark’s eyes went swiftly to Cathy and back to Bill, who was not yet aware of their presence. He was still bending, absorbed, above Elaine, who was using her hands in little fluttering gestures, to illustrate some story she was telling.

“So that,” observed Mark thoughtfully, “is the guy.”

Cathy looked swiftly at him and their eyes tangled. The color surged upward in her face and she said breathlessly, “I—I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Mark struck a match, watched it burn, and deposited the end in an ash tray, his eyes apparently absorbed in the tiny, brief-lived flame. “You’d be surprised how much I know about him—his name, for one thing, is Bill—”

The orchestra blared forth with a blast that, as Maggie, jumping a little, complained, almost blew the soup out of her plate. A moment later the floor began to fill with couples. Among the first on the floor were Bill and Elaine, and it was as they began to dance that Bill glanced incuriously around the room and his eyes found Cathy.

She had been watching him, and when he saw her, there was not time for her to turn her gaze away. For a moment they looked straight at each other; then Bill’s eyes went swiftly to Mark, to Maggie, and back to Cathy, and even across the room, Cathy could see the change in his expression.

She was not at all surprised, and she had had time to brace herself a little, when Bill danced Elaine to their table, paused and said with every evidence of surprised delight, “Well, Cathy—this
is
a surprise. Hello, Maggie.”

Elaine looked with cold, unfriendly eyes at Cathy as Bill presented her; Mark, on his feet, was eyeing Bill with a curious intentness, but his manner was cordial as the two men shook hands.

“Won’t you join us?” asked Mark politely.

“Thanks, we’re with a party,” answered Bill, and looked down at Cathy. “How about giving me a dance, Cathy?” He glanced at Mark and said politely, “Do you mind?”

Mark said, his eyes on Elaine, “Not a bit—provided you don’t mind Miss Stovall’s giving me a dance?”

Elaine’s eyes had gone over the officer appraisingly, lingering on the insignia on his shoulder, and now those limpid blue eyes were warm and friendly.

“I think that would be lovely,” she said, and her voice was musical.

Mark said, “Then what are we waiting for?” and held out his arms.

As Mark and Elaine moved away, Bill looked down at Cathy and said, “As the major has just asked—what are we waiting for?”

Cathy looked almost piteously at Maggie, and Maggie said gruffly, “For goodness’ sake, go on and dance. I’ve reached the age where good food that I didn’t cook myself holds more charm for me than dancing—or companionship either.”

Cathy got up. Bill’s arms went about her, and she set her teeth hard. She wasn’t at all sure that she could endure the exquisite strain of being in Bill’s arms, here in public, remembering to dance when all in the world she wanted to do was to creep close to him and be held there for the rest of her life.

Bill said when they had gone halfway around the floor:

“He’s quite a guy, Cathy.”

“He’s—wonderful,” she said huskily.

Bill’s arms tightened a little. “I don’t seem to care much for the way you say that,” he said.

“Miss Stovall is—beautiful,” said Cathy huskily.

Bill’s jaw hardened.

“Miss Stovall is very beautiful and very cloying, and a mental lightweight not to be taken seriously for an instant,” he said sharply.

A little of the tightness that was almost pain loosened in Cathy’s heart and she smiled at him, though with tremulous lips. Bill, looking down at her, murmured under his breath:

“Oh, darling—darling. Don’t look at me like that—unless you want to be kissed, right here in public.”

“I don’t think I’d mind,” she told him unsteadily.

“But when there’s a moon outside, and the roses are outdoing themselves, kisses are too precious to be wasted in public,” said Bill under his breath. A moment later he had danced her to one of the long French doors that stood open to the silver-white beauty of the night.

Beneath the thick darkness of a giant live oak, his arms drew her close and hard against him, and for a long, long moment they were silent, savoring to the full this exquisite moment.

“Darling heart,” said Bill very low, “my dearest darling.”

“I love you, Bill,” said Cathy huskily.

His arms tightened. “Soon, sweet—very soon, now,” he promised, and with that she was content. There was room in her heart only for the perfect beauty of this moment, when Bill’s arms were tight about her and when Bill’s kisses on her warm mouth were flooding her again with that ecstasy beyond anything she had ever known.

When they turned to go back into the clubhouse, she gave a little soft laugh and said unsteadily, “I’d better go and do things to my face, or everybody will read our secret the moment we step into the room!”

Bill kissed her and said, “Is your lipstick kissproof?”

“I’ve never had the chance to try it out before,” she answered him gaily. “But you look quite all right. You look wonderful to me, Bill.”

He reached for her again but she laughed and slipped away, going in through the main entrance across the lobby to the powder room. Bill selected a cigarette and lit it before going back through the French door to the dining room.

Cathy had the powder room to herself and was shakily glad for that. It gave her a moment to pull herself together. She sat on a bench before the dressing table and put her face in her shaking hands, savoring the loveliness of those precious moments with Bill. Her heart was singing; Bill loved her, and everything was going to be all right soon, now, he had said—
very
soon!

Cathy laughed and leaned toward the mirror to smooth her lipstick and to brush her straight nose with a dust of powder. Behind her the powder room door swung open and Edith Kendall marched in.

“Oh, here you are,” she said curtly to Cathy.

Cathy went on smoothing powder on her nose, touching her fingers; amazingly, they were not trembling, she was pleased to note. Mrs. Kendall stood looking down at her with angry eyes.

“I might have known,” she said thinly. “But I thought you’d behave like a lady in public, anyway.”

Cathy snapped shut the lid of her compact, dropped it into the small yellow bag that hung over her arm, and stood up. She faced Mrs. Kendall calmly, with her head back.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking
about,” she said coolly. “And I’m even more afraid I don’t care.”

She started to brush past Mrs. Kendall, but that lady’s hand shot out and closed over her arm, to Cathy’s startled anger.

“I’m talking about you slipping out of doors with Bill the minute he arrives,” said Mrs. Kendall furiously. “Knowing that he is engaged to Elaine—”

Cathy stood very still, for a moment forgetful of the woman’s hand closed tightly over her arm.

“Engaged?” she repeated incredulously. “Bill is engaged to Miss Stovall?”

And then she barely managed to smother a little laugh. Did Mrs. Kendall think she could make her believe that? But of course, Cathy reminded herself, Bill’s aunt had no way of knowing that Bill and she were married.

“I’m giving a tea Sunday afternoon to announce their engagement,” said Mrs. Kendall sharply. “It’s a most suitable marriage and the two are simply mad about each other. You—you’ve always been a bad influence for Bill, but you’ve got to leave him alone, do you hear me? I do not propose to stand by and watch you mess up his life.”

“I quite understand that. You much prefer to mess it up yourself,” returned Cathy. For a moment Mrs. Kendall was still, blinking a little as though astounded at Cathy’s words.

“How dare you—” she began, on an almost strangled note. And then she pulled herself together and said sharply, “Don’t fool yourself, my dear. Bill knows on which side his bread is buttered. Bill’s been desperately poor; he knows what it means, and he has no intention of risking his financial security by going against my wishes. Bill will do as I wish, because he knows the cost of opposing me.”

Cathy studied the other woman curiously.

“Mrs. Kendall, you are fond of Bill, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

Mrs. Kendall was obviously puzzled, both at the question and at its quiet tone.

“Certainly I am fond of him,” she answered. “Bill is like my own son. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

“Except let him live his own life, and find his own happiness,” said Cathy quietly.

“By which you mean let him marry you!”

“Bill is grown and of legal age—and a bit more,” Cathy pointed out. “You have no right to
let
Bill do anything—or to attempt to stop him. Nor has he any reason to permit you to interfere in his life.”

“I interfered, as you put it, in Bill’s life at a time when he was in desperate straits, just after his mother died.”

“I’ve always wondered why you waited that long to step in,” said Cathy frankly. “You were right here in town, you knew that she and Bill were having a grim time of it. I wonder that the luxury and comfort you were enjoying while they starved didn’t seem to bother you a bit.”

Mrs. Kendall’s plump chin went up and her eyes were frosty.

“Bill’s mother was foolishly proud. She would accept nothing from my husband.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t believe that.”

Mrs. Kendall’s face became congested with angry color.

“Do you dare call me a liar?” she gasped in outrage.