A Dream of her Own (38 page)
Frank waited for the girl opposite him to react, to smile at his mother, but instead she turned her head to watch the person sitting next to her. Another girl, just as fair, almost as lovely, but her complexion was pale as though she never saw the sun and, when she half rose awkwardly from her seat, Frank saw that the line of her body was hunched and twisted.
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ the other girl said, and his mother nodded and smiled.
‘And who ...?’ Frank began, and Miss Nicholson’s friend looked at him for the first time. Her eyes met his. He saw them widen. Then she smiled. He felt, his senses stir as they never had before.
‘I’m Constance,’ she said. ‘Constance Edington.’
Chapter Nineteen
The room was warm, stiflingly so. Frank tried to concentrate on the notes he was making but his thoughts kept returning to the girl he had met that morning. Constance ...
After introducing herself she hadn’t said much. He had caught her looking at Valentino keenly but, when she’d become aware of Frank’s gaze, she’d flushed slightly and turned her head away, though not with disapproval. She’d been content to listen to her friend, attentively at first, but as it had become obvious that Nella only seemed to want Constance there as an audience, Frank had seen the other girl relax and almost detach herself from the scene.
Then he had had time to notice the wedding ring and, with a pang, the swell of her body that revealed her pregnancy. But he had also noticed the faint air of ... what was it? Sadness? No, it was not as definite as that. She did not look unhappy but neither did she look happy. Perhaps wistful was the way to describe that look in her eyes. He wished he knew what it was that caused her to look so wistful.
He took a sip of his coffee. It had grown cold. He could go down to the restaurant for another pot, but what was the point? It would soon be time for him to go and help Patrick close up. He picked up his books and took them to his room, then he went to the top of the stairs and looked down.
From above he saw the dark-suited gentlemen and colour-fully attired ladies making their way down to street level. He could hear the clatter of pans being washed and tables being scrubbed in the kitchen, and the voices of the waiters and catering staff rising cheerfully as they ended their night’s work.
He saw Patrick coming up and stopping one floor below. The head waiter knocked respectfully on the door of one of the private dining-rooms. ‘Your cab is here, sir,’ he said.
A moment later the door opened and Patrick stood back respectfully as one of the North East’s leading industrialists came out of the room followed by a much younger, richly dressed woman who was not his wife. ‘The stairs are clear, sir,’ Patrick said, and he preceded the couple all the way down to the exit.
Frank sighed and made his way downstairs. He knew what went on in the private rooms and, as Alvini’s did very well out of it, he knew that he had no right to make judgements. His father had set the tone of the business many years before and his mother would never have questioned his wisdom. Frank knew that such a way of making a living was not for him. But, at the moment, he saw no way of escaping from it.
Just as he reached the next landing one of the other doors opened and he stood back as the guests began to emerge. There were two of them, both young men, with flushed faces and eyes slightly unfocused. He recognized them instantly for they had been here many times before. It was Matthew Elliot and his friend John Edington.
Edington! Of course ... Frank remembered that they’d even dined here alone together on John Edington’s wedding day. Matthew had mentioned the bride’s name. Constance. Poor Constance. Now Frank thought he knew the reason for that look in her eyes.
The weather was warm and, although Constance had shed her corsets long ago and wore only loose-fitting day dresses, she could no longer sit comfortably for any length of time. Even in bed at night, it was getting more difficult to find an easeful position. And as for walking for any distance, that was impossible. The last time she had been any further than the row of shops in the next street had been almost a month ago when she had gone with Nella to Alvini’s Coffee House.
She’d gone to please Nella who had been so happy to have an admirer of her own. A rich handsome admirer who seemingly didn’t care that the object of his devotion was not quite as other women. But, of course, Valentino was not like other men, Constance had realized that at once.
But she had also seen how much his family loved him and wanted him to be happy. His mother had hardly spoken but she had watched over him so tenderly. And his brother, Frank, had watched over both his mother and his brother and seemed to have no thought for himself. Until the moment that they had looked at each other.
Constance remembered that when their eyes had met, hers and Frank Alvini’s, she had seen something there that made her own eyes widen with dismay. But she was not dismayed to see that he thought her beautiful. It was her own response to him that alarmed her. The sharp tug at her senses ... the stirring of a desire that she had no right to feel ...
‘Are you all right, Mrs Edington?’
‘Mm?’ Polly was standing over her and she hadn’t even heard her enter the room.
‘I did knock.’
‘No, that’s all right, Polly. And I’m fine, really, just a little tired.’
‘And sick of yourself and your own company no doubt. Well, cheer up. You’ve got visitors. It’s Miss Elliot and Miss Beattie. Shall I show them in?’
‘Of course.’
‘I hardly know what to say. I have neglected our friendship, haven’t I?’ Rosemary Elliot seemed taller than the last time she had been here, and slimmer and more boyish-looking, Constance thought.
‘Sit down, Rosemary,’ Hannah Beattie told her. ‘You are tiring poor Mrs Edington with all this pacing around.’
Constance smiled her thanks at Rosemary’s companion. ‘Miss Beattie, would you pour the tea?’ she asked. ‘When I lean forward this bump seems to get in the way.’
‘Just sit back and relax, my dear.’
‘Really, Constance!’ Rosemary seemed shocked that Constance should refer so openly to her pregnancy, and she flopped down in a chair by the window and started fiddling with the sash of her white muslin dress. She must be sixteen now, Constance thought, but she was still happy to dress like a schoolgirl.
Hannah Beattie, wearing a sensible lightweight grey walking costume, had poured the tea, and Constance took her cup and carefully eased herself back in the chair. Now, in her seventh month, there was no disguising her condition.
‘I really am sorry, you know,’ Rosemary said after she had sipped her tea and nibbled at a coconut macaroon. ‘I should have called to see you without having to be reminded by my brother.’
‘Reminded?’
Hannah Beattie pursed her lips and Rosemary had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Well, yes, I mean your husband had mentioned to him that you might be feeling lonely and would appreciate a visit from a friend.’
‘I see.’ And Constance did see, and more than the girl could realize. She remembered her wedding breakfast when John’s cousin Esther had hinted that Rosemary Elliot’s friendship might not be sincere. Or rather that her friendship, even if it were sincere, would be short-lived. What was it Esther had said? ’...
She will forget you as soon as she takes up with another of her lost causes ...’
She will forget you as soon as she takes up with another of her lost causes ...’
Lost causes ...
Had she, Constance, been simply a lost cause to the rich young woman? She had arrived at the Elliots’ house in the middle of the night, distressed and dishevelled and with nowhere to go, and Rosemary had been kindness itself. But even at the time Constance had suspected that the girl had been moved by the romance of the situation, a friend of her brother’s marrying a servant girl, rather than any genuine desire to make a new friend.
Had she, Constance, been simply a lost cause to the rich young woman? She had arrived at the Elliots’ house in the middle of the night, distressed and dishevelled and with nowhere to go, and Rosemary had been kindness itself. But even at the time Constance had suspected that the girl had been moved by the romance of the situation, a friend of her brother’s marrying a servant girl, rather than any genuine desire to make a new friend.
Constance suppressed her irritation. She wasn’t annoyed with Rosemary; she supposed she had known all along how immature she was in spite of her obvious intelligence. No, she was annoyed with John, who must have urged Matthew to persuade Rosemary to call and see her. John’s motive may have been admirable but she didn’t want friends who had to be reminded of her existence.
However, that part of it wasn’t Rosemary’s fault so she summoned up a smile. ‘Well, I’m pleased you are here now,’ she said, ‘but you mustn’t feel that you have to come and see me, you know.’ She hadn’t realized that she was going to say that and she bit her lip as she watched the girl’s discomfort.
Hannah Beattie rescued the situation. ‘In fact, we will not be able to call for some time. We are going up to the house in Coquetdale for the rest of the summer so that Rosemary can have time to think about her future.’
‘I have decided that I don’t want to be presented, you see,’ Rosemary added.
‘Presented?’ Constance looked questioningly at Rosemary, who was scowling.
‘Young women of Rosemary’s class are expected to be presented at court and to take part in all the traditional rituals of a London season—’
‘The purpose being to marry you off to some suitable young man and - oh, Constance, I don’t know if I do want to get married. At least not for ages and ages!’
Hannah Beattie smiled. ‘She’s getting herself in a pet again,’ she said to Constance, ‘but there’s no need. She has the kindest parents in the world. They don’t mind being considered eccentric by the rest of society and they won’t force her to do anything against her will. They have simply asked her to think very hard about what she wants to do. And they think it best if she does this thinking in the seclusion of the house in the Borders.’
‘And what do you think you want to do?’ Constance asked the girl.
‘I don’t
think,
I
know!
I want to go to university, I want to travel, I want to be independent. Above all, I don’t want to have to answer to some man!’
think,
I
know!
I want to go to university, I want to travel, I want to be independent. Above all, I don’t want to have to answer to some man!’
‘And, of course, Rosemary is lucky enough to have the means to live however she wants to.’
Constance looked at Beattie in surprise. She had actually sounded waspish and out of sympathy with her young charge for once.
Rosemary got to her feet clumsily. ‘But perhaps we should go now. We mustn’t tire Constance with my worries. She has enough cares of her own, what with the ... the expected event and with moving house.’
‘Moving house? What do you mean?’
‘You didn’t know?’ The girl looked mortified. ‘Oh no, it must have been a secret. Beattie, what have I done?’
‘I’m not sure what you’ve done,’ Beattie said drily, ‘but sit down, girl, and tell Constance what you know. It will only vex her more to know half a secret.’
‘Very well.’ Rosemary flopped down again but then she suddenly reddened and shot an anguished glance at her companion. ‘Beattie, I can’t ... I mean, you know what I said!’
Beattie sighed. ‘Very well, I’ll do my best to explain.’ She turned to Constance. ‘When Matthew asked Rosemary to come and visit you she said—’
‘No, Beattie, don’t!’
‘Rosemary made some remark about the inconvenience ...’
Constance saw Rosemary’s astonished expression and guessed that the truth was being doctored.
‘The inconvenience of visitors in this little house.’ Beattie stopped and looked embarrassed.
‘I see,’ Constance said, and although she could guess the true nature of the spoiled girl’s response she added, ‘That was thoughtful of her.’
Other books
Flight Dreams by Michael Craft
Silver Dew by Suzi Davis
False Allegations by Andrew Vachss
thevirginchronicles by Willows, Jennifer
Lawked Flame by Erosa Knowles
The Way to Wealth by Steve Shipside
Bellona (Part 1.5 of The Saskia Trilogy) by Aoife Marie Sheridan
Baby Love by WALKER, REBECCA
The Dragon's Son by Margaret Weis