The Blue Rose (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IT was fortunate for Rose that next morning she was taken out of herself by an appeal from Derek to come and help at the Botticelli. Francie was threatened with a miscarriage and had been told by her doctor that she must stay in bed until the danger was over. Even if she had been very busy Rose would have dropped everything to help her cousin in such an emergency but as things were she was only too glad to rush round there at once.

First she visited Francie in the flat above and found her in a very anxious state. “It’s so unlucky just at this moment when we haven’t yet replaced Shane and are therefore particularly short-handed,” she said, “but nothing is going to interfere with the baby. He comes first. The shop will have to go to pot if necessary.”

“Don’t worry,” Rose said. “Derek and I will manage. And don’t you move. I’ll keep popping up to see how you are and get your meals and everything
...”

“Bless you. You are an angel.”

“Nonsense,” Rose replied. “You’re doing me a service by employing me while Stephen’s away. I shouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise.”

As it was she found plenty to do for the next week. Her job was what Francie’s had been—to fill in wherever there was a gap. At one moment she was helping to prepare the sandwiches, at another she was unpacking and putting out the pastries; during the rush hour at lunch-time she was helping Derek to serve coffee behind the bar, and at all times, while the heat-wave continued, she seemed to be doling out ice-cream. During this lovely spell of weather they had given up serving hot soup, and had put jellied
consommé
and iced tomato soup on the menu instead. Their chief difficulty at this time was to get enough
ice-cream
, since all the shops were having a great run on it.

Rose soon got into the routine and began to enjoy the work thoroughly. With Francie laid up she felt that she was indispensable, and no work can be really interesting unless you feel yourself to be that. All the groceries for the shop were delivered, as well as the ice-cream and pastries, but someone had to go to Covent Garden to get the vegetables. Once a week, the Earles had found, was enough for this, so the next time it was necessary to go Rose took on this job which Francie had done. Francie made her out a list of what to buy. In order to get wholesale prices it was necessary to buy in bulk—a sack of potatoes, a sack of onions, tomatoes by the box, and so on. She took Derek’s old car and got to the Market at half past eight. It was the first time she had ever been there and she was thrilled by its vociferous, teeming life. This seemed to her to be the very heart of London, and she felt that now at last she could claim to be a real Londoner. She made up her mind that she would always come here to buy flowers for the house even though Vittoria insisted on going to their local shops for vegetables.

She was happy and inspired that morning in spite of her underlying worry. The sky was a pale blue; London had a beauty which she felt that she was seeing for the first time. How could she have felt bored and at a
loose end with all the wonder of this city around her? She had a tremendous longing suddenly to explore. She would get to know London really intimately. There was so much of it that she had not as yet even glimpsed.

She returned to the Botticelli to find that the refrigerator had gone wrong. This seemed to her a disaster but Derek was taking it very calmly. At the beginning he would have fussed like anything, he said, but in this business one got used to small calamities. If one took this kind of thing too seriously one would go out of one’s mind. But better not tell Francie, he added. When one was in bed, not able to do anything, molehills were apt to become mountains. The electrician had been sent for, and in the meantime he would take the car round to the fishmonger’s and get a large block of ice.

This weather had its advantages as well as its disadvantages, Derek assured her. Though keeping things cold and fresh was a real problem at the moment (as well as getting enough ice-cream), at least they were saved the perpetual grumble from the staff about their meals. They were quite content while it was hot to have a sandwich or a salad, but in normal weather they were always demanding a proper cooked meal—a joint, two “veg” and a pudding. “And we just can’t do it,” Derek said. “We don’t serve proper meals here even to our customers—and we haven’t the kitchen space to cook for the staff.”

Rose discovered, however, that the staff had plenty of other things to grumble about, but she came to the conclusion that they grumbled more from habit than from anything else, like old soldiers. Perhaps it made their work lighter, but it was a very tiresome habit. At the moment their chief grumble seemed to be their feet, and Rose felt that she would scream if she heard anyone else saying: “Oh my feet, they’re killing me.”

Most of the staff arrived in the morning with some kind of complaint—either about the traffic or the heat or the way so and so was behaving—and Rose deplored the universal habit of watching the clock towards the end of a shift. But the two so-called “Society” girls who were working as waitresses were much the worst. They put on a bored manner to the customers as if they were doing them an honour in serving them, and their boy friends and parties of the night before and their hangovers seemed to be their only topics of conversation. Moreover their drawling voices jangled horribly on the nerves, and they were extraordinarily clumsy and slow into the bargain. Rose found herself pitying their husbands—or would they change after they had fulfilled their one ambition, which seemed to be marriage to one of the Guards’ officers they were constantly talking about? And they were the worst clockwatchers of all.

But there was one girl on the kitchen staff who was a pure joy. A bright little Cockney with fingers as deft as a surgeon’s and movements as quick as a bird’s, Rose felt that she could always rely on her. What a wife she would make, what a mother. Good-tempered, obliging, attractive, a marvellous worker, a lovely sense of humour, she had everything to recommend her. Rose drew strength from this girl and became great friends with her. Her life at home was a very difficult one, with a father who drank and a brother who was more than a little bit wild, and she made Rose feel ashamed of her own inadequacies of character. She, who had so much, was not really happy, whereas this girl, who had nothing in comparison, was not only happy in herself but, much more important, spread happiness around her.

II

Rose was daily, and then hourly, expecting a cable from Stephen to say when he was coming home, and she had left her telephone number with Antonio who was to let her know directly the cable came, so when Derek called out to her one afternoon to say that she was wanted on the telephone she was quite sure that it must be Antonio with news, but to her great disappointment it was only Robin Johnson.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m at the Botticelli. You know? My cousins’ coffee bar. I’m helping out because they are short-handed.”

“Stephen not back yet?”

“No, but I’m expecting to hear at any moment now when he’s getting back.”

“Have you heard from him at all?”

She had to say that she had not. “He said he wouldn’t write,” she added quickly. “There wouldn’t be time.”

“Gai’s gone to Brighton for a few days to recuperate
—
she hasn’t felt well since that go of flu—so we are both on our own. How about having a spot of dinner with me this evening, or to-morrow evening?”

“I’d love to. Now let me think. I can get away better this evening than to-morrow evening. I could get away by eight.”

“Splendid. Where would you like to go? How about the Mirabelle? We can eat out there.”

“Oh, no, not there—anywhere but there.” It was most ironical that she should have been asked twice to go to the Mirabelle since Stephen had been away.

“All right. What about the Caprice?
...
You know, in
Ar
ling
ton
Street
...
Perfect, I’ll see you there at eight then.”

She was excited to be dining with Robin if only to be able to talk about Stephen. Surely Robin, if anyone, might be able to give her the clue to Stephen’s character. He might throw out some illuminating little fact that would make Stephen’s whole nature clear to her. Of course she wouldn’t tell him a word about her scene with Clive Frenton. She hadn’t even said a word to Francie about it, although she had seen Francie every day and had often longed to confide in her. She had tried as far as possible to put that unpleasantness with Clive at the back of her mind
—
it was impossible to forget it altogether—and she had fiercely fought down the temptation to question Miss Davies about the business which had taken Stephen to New York. She had made up her mind that she wouldn’t even say anything to Stephen about Clive’s accusations when he returned, though she realized how awkward it was going to be when she had to see the Frentons again; but she rather hoped that by that time Clive would have recovered from his brain-storm and they could all go on as before. She was quite prepared to make no further reference to it if Clive was. As for the possibility of what Clive had said being true
...
? Well, of course, it might be true as far as Clare was concerned—she might quite well be in love with Stephen—but she would have to get over it as best as she could. It was not Rose’s concern, or Stephen’s. It was entirely between the Frentons themselves. Of course, Clive’s accusations against Stephen was utterly preposterous—but she could see in a way how Clive had come to make himself believe it. It would be less hurting to his pride to believe that Stephen had made advances to Clare
...

She got home in time to change that evening into one of her new dresses—the copper-coloured wild silk which she liked the best of the four. With a little alteration she could have made this dress into what felt like “her own”, though she supposed that the bits she would alter were the very bits that made it “smart”.

She had thought a great deal about that last remark of Stephen’s about her hair. Did he really want her to grow it again—to do it in the old way? She would love to go back to the old way herself. She had learnt to manage it in its new form up to a certain point but she could no longer wash it herself at home. As it was now it meant a weekly visit to the hairdresser which was not only a great expense but a great bore. (It outraged her that they charged an extra shilling for a lemon rinse, and then only used about a quarter of the lemon.) She had tried washing it herself but it had been a great failure because the ends, which had been permanently waved, had gone into a horrid frizz, and she couldn’t get the wave right in front because as He
n
ri did it it went against her own natural wave.

When she got to the Caprice she found Robin waiting for her, and they went straight into the restaurant with its red silk walls and the branched candlesticks on the tables. It was one of the most fashionable of London restaurants and there were nearly always some celebrities from the stage there to give it an added interest, but it seemed that Robin did not want to look at anyone that evening except Rose. Indeed he was looking at her so intently—almost drinking her in with his eyes—that she began to feel uncomfortable and almost to wish that she had not come.

“Let’s get this business of ordering done quickly, shall we?” he said. “I don’t know where this convention has come from of only being able to meet one’s friends at meal times or drinking times. You agreed to come and
dine
with me, but what would you have said if I’d asked you to come and spend the afternoon with me lying on a rug in the park?”

“To-day I couldn’t have come because I was working,” she replied. “But if I’d been free I would have liked it just as much.”

“And come just the same? I rather feel that you girls would go out with anyone for the sake of a free meal.”

“That’s most unjust.”

“Well, Gai says that she would go out with a man who pays for
her
when she wouldn’t go out with him if
she
had to pay for him, or even go Dutch.”

“I suppose there is a little truth in that.”

“But you’re not dining with me to-night because I’m paying for you?”

“I shan’t even answer that rude question
...
I’m so sorry that Gai isn’t feeling well yet. I hope Brighton will do her good. But I expect her holiday will set her up. Where are you going?”

“I’m not going.”

“Not going? Why?”

“Gai and I have broken with each other.”

“Oh, no!” She was really dismayed. “Poor Robin.”

“It’s not poor Robin. I’m afraid I’m responsible. I feel like a murderer, to tell you the truth, but it’s better now than later, isn’t it? Everyone of course will have to know that we’ve broken with each other, but I’m not telling anyone but you that it’s come from my side. Everyone else is going to think that she’s given
me
up. It’s easier for her that way. But to
you
I’ve got to tell the truth
...
You know why, don’t you?”

At that moment she did know why and she was utterly horrified. He could see that she knew the truth. “Well, there it is,” he said a bit helplessly.

“Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry. It’s the last thing I wanted to happen.”

“Is it? I didn’t somehow feel that it was the last thing you wanted that evening when we sat in the garden together. You were happy with me that evening—happier than you’ve been since you got back from your honeymoon.”

“Was it because of that evening that you broke with Gai?” she asked, aghast at the mischief she had done.

“No—but I suppose it was that evening that gave me the courage to do it. I should have done it ages ago. I’ve never really been in love with Gai. Oh, I thought I was at the beginning, but long before you came on the scene
—
before I ever met you (do you remember that musical party of Stephen’s when I first met you?), I realized that I wasn’t really in love—but I just hadn’t got the guts to hurt her. It had been going on so long
...
And then, as I got to know you better
...
You were always terribly sweet to me but when you got back from your honeymoon—the first time I saw you and Stephen together after you had got back—and I realized that all wasn’t well with you
—
well, it was then I began
...
And then I saw so much of you—you were always asking me
—
and you were so sweet and I saw that you and Stephen weren’t happy together
...”

“Oh, this is awful,” Rose put in. “What have I done? You are his best friend
...”