Roberta Leigh - And Then Came Love Read online

  Roberta Leigh - And Then Came Love

  They were an ill-assorted pair — Stella Percy, cool, aloof lady of leisure, with every quality needed to live a life of luxurious elegance except money; and Matthew Armstrong, bluff, honest Yorkshire, who believed in calling a spade a spade, but had plenty of 'brass' which he was proud to think had all been earned by his own hard work.

  From the first he had made no secret of his attraction to Stella, and when she accepted his proposal she was at least honest enough to admit that it was for the sake of his money. So began their curious relationship.

  With so much honesty all round, it might well have succeeded — and as Matthew had hoped, love might have grown between them eventually — if Stella could only escape from the memory of Charles Heyward, the symbol of her former life.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MATTHEW Armstrong lounged against the marble mantelpiece and wondered irritably why he had come to Violet Taunton's, cocktail party. It was obvious she had only invited him because her husband had told her to do so. His eyes moved over the chattering crowd: women in the latest fashions — most of them ridiculous; men looking either like tailor's dummies in correct lounge suits or like long haired pop singers, and all of them with the same affected voices and unnatural laughter. What did he have in common with them?

  As he shifted his weight a hard knob of marble dug into his spine, and he turned round to see the head of a fatuous cherub perpetuated in marble. Damn it all, there wasn't even a chair to sit on! How did the Tauntons expect thirty people to squeeze into this cramped lounge when there was barely space for a dozen? Sipping the mediocre sherry he wondered why Robert Taunton couldn't sell his business over an office desk instead of making a social affair of it. But then these people never liked to call a spade a spade — they dressed everything up as if they were ashamed of money; either of making or losing it.

  Idly he swilled the sherry from one side of his glass to the other, then tiring of this, edged his finger round his collar. Lord it was hot. He moved to the window and bent to open it, but it was stuck tight and he looked longingly out at the garden, shrouded in October mist. The atmosphere in the alcove was clearer than by the fireplace, and he turned back to watch the people.

  His eyes ranged round the room, pausing as they fell on fie figure of a tall girl, moving away and then coming back to rest on her again. He wondered why she had bothered to come, for she made no effort to hide her boredom. Dressed without pretence to fashion, she was the only woman in the room with no jewellery; her silvery fair hair was drawn back with a wide velvet band and her face was almost devoid of makeup. The man at her side was leaning forward to catch her interest, but her expression did not change and Matthew thought no woman had the right to remain so impervious to the attention being paid her.

  "There you are, Mr. Armstrong!" It was his hostess. "Would you like another drink?"

  "No, thanks."

  Violet Taunton racked her brains to find something to say. If Robert had to sell the business, why couldn't he find a more presentable buyer, instead of this crag of a man who obviously couldn't — or wouldn't — mix at a party? But she chattered aimlessly until, with characteristic bluntness, Matthew interrupted her.

  "Who's the girl over there? The one with fair hair."

  "Stella Percy — Mrs. Edgar Percy's daughter, you know."

  "Never heard of Mrs. Edgar Percy," came the blunt reply. "What's she famous for?"

  "Her husband — her late husband I mean — was in the Foreign Office."

  "Not the sort of man I'd have .been likely to meet," Matthew chuckled. "But I'd like to meet the daughter. Will you introduce me?"

  "Of course." Relieved that he was taking himself off her hands, Violet Taunton led him across the room. "Stella dear, a most distinguished visitor of ours wants to meet you. He's a friend of Robert's, so do be nice to him."

  She flitted away, clutching the neglected young man by his arm, and Matthew laughed. "I'm afraid Mrs. Taunton forgot what she came for and didn't introduce us. I'm Matthew Armstrong." He put out a large hand and caught the girl's in such a strong grasp that she winced. "I'm sorry — did I hurt you?"

  "A bit." Her voice was as cool as her smile.

  "I've been watching you from over there" — he indicated the alcove — "and you're the only one who had the courage to look as bored as I felt. What made you come?". .

  Stella's eyes widened at the directness of Ms question. "Why does one ever come to parties? I could ask you the-same."

  "Business," he said promptly. "That's the only thing that'd bring me to a do like this."

  "What sort of business?" she asked, for want of something to say.

  "The business of making money!"

  "There you are, Armstrong!" They both turned as Robert Taunton came up. "Hullo, Stella, so you've met our Yorkshire lion? Trust him to pick the prettiest girl in the room."

  "I don't know about that," Matthew put hi, "but she's the only one I fancy."

  Stella coloured, but Robert Taunton's fingers tightened warningly on her arm. "You're frank, Armstrong, that's what I like about you. A business man should always be frank."

  ''Then what about you being frank enough to have our little talk?" the Yorkshire man demanded.

  "Not here, old boy. Come to my office in the morning."

  "My train leaves at nine-thirty, so it'll have to be before that or not at all."

  "But my dear fellow, you can't go back without settling things!"

  "I haven't been the one who's been dallying. You have a business to sell and I came down to buy it. All I got was an invitation to this party."

  “I didn't think it was so urgent," Taunton said lamely.

  "It isn't for me, but I thought it was for you"

  Stella edged away. "If you want to talk business —"

  "We can't talk here," Matthew said quickly, "so there's no need for you to go. I'll expect you at my hotel at eight in the morning, Taunton. If you can't manage it, there's no more to be said."

  "I'll be there, Armstrong. On the dot." With a glance at Stella that spoke volumes, Robert Taunton moved away to join another group of people.

  "Do you usually conduct your business like that, Mr. Armstrong?" Stella's voice was cold with distaste.

  "What did I do wrong?"

  "Everything. I don't think anyone's spoken to Robert like that in his life!"

  "More's the pity. If someone had he mightn't be selling his business now. Don't look so upset, lass. It won't do him any harm."

  "I'm not upset, only amused by your behaviour."

  "Well as long as I’ve amused you, I don't mind." He took a leather case from his pocket, extracted a cigarette and put the case back.

  Not until he had done so, did Stella speak. "Do you think I could have a cigarette too? If you can spare one, that is."

  His eyes narrowed but in silence he offered her one and lit it with a long, curling flame from a metal lighter.

  "Make these myself," he said, snapping it shut and holding it out on his broad palm. "A thousand a day we turn out, and reckon they last a lifetime."

  "I thought it was a dying business," she remarked coolly. '

  "People will always smoke. They'll find a safe cigarette before long. There's too much money at stake for them not to!”

  "You seem interested in money."

  "Aren't you?" she shrugged, and he continued: "Here's nothing wrong with money, as long as you come by it honestly."

  "But it's such a boring subject."

  "Not to me," he grinned. "But I'll talk about something else if you prefer. What about letting me treat you to dinner?"

  "I'm glad you aren't inviting me to go Dutch," she
said dryly.

  He reddened. "We talk, differently where I come from. I didn't mean—"

  "I know," she said quickly. "I was only teasing."

  "Then how about it?"

  "I'm afraid I can't. I'm — I'm busy."

  The smile left his face. "In that case I might as well get the night train back to Leeds. I can't see Taunton keeping an eight o'clock appointment. He doesn't look an early riser to me!"

  "But he's promised to come. You can't not be there!"

  'I've wasted enough time as it is."

  Stella wondered wildly if she could signal Robert that his guest was leaving, but he was nowhere to be seen — not even Violet was visible in the throng of people — and she turned back to the Yorkshire-man with a smile that was as appealing as she could make it.

  "Will you stay overnight if I have supper with you?"

  His heavy face lit up. "That's a temptation I cant resist."

  "All right. I'll get my coat and meet you in the hall."

  Powdering her nose in Violet's bedroom, Stella reflected that Robert would certainly have to stand her a drink for this. Why in heaven's name had the man taken a fancy to her? From his gusty conversation she would not have considered herself the type to appeal to him.

  Picking up her worn fur coat, she went downstairs to find lie stocky figure waiting for her. In a heavy top-coat he looked even broader, his hands in their leather gloves larger than ever as he propelled her down the steps to a waiting cab.

  "I thought we'd go to the Savoy. Would you like that?"

  "Anyone would like it."

  "I dare say you go there often?"

  She shook her head and he climbed into the taxi beside her. "I'd have thought a girl like you went out a lot. The men in London must be blind!"

  "Not blind, Mr. Armstrong. Hard up!"

  "Well, there's no shame in poverty. I was hard up myself once, so I know what it's like." She shifted slightly and he peered at her. "Not boring you, am I?"

  "No. I moved because I was in a draught."

  "You wouldn't feel the cold if you had a bit more fat on your bones."

  "I wouldn't get taken to the Savoy either."

  He laughed — a loud laugh that boomed in the confined space of the cab. "Rubbish! I like a woman with a bit of fat on her."

  "Your taste isn't universal!"

  "I'm pretty good at knowing what the public wants. That's made me a success."

  "You're talking business again!"

  "Sorry." He glanced out. "We've arrived. Once you've got a good meal inside you, you won't feel cold."

  In the restaurant, a whispered word with the head waiter brought them to a table by the window some distance from the orchestra.

  "I hope you don't mind sitting I here," Matthew apologized, "but I hate being played at while I eat."

  "As a matter of fact I prefer it when I'm not dressed."

  For a moment he did not understand her. "Oh, you mean evening dress. Never mind lass, you look fine to me."

  He turned his attention to the wine list and Stella studied him as he bent his square face over it, the light glinting on the grey in his hair. The blunt fingers that held the card proclaimed him a man who had worked with his hands, while the heavy gold watch round one powerful wrist bore witness to his success. Looking at the set of Ms wide mouth and the lines down each side it, she knew she would not like to come up against him in the business he spoke about so freely; yet when he glanced up at her he seemed so kind and unaffected that she could not help wanting to him.

  "That's better, lass. It's the first time you've smiled since we arrived. You've no idea how it changes your face."

  "Does my face need changing?"

  "Of course not. It was just my tactless way of talking."

  Yet there was an indifference about her that struck him as unnatural, and he was pleased to see it change to animation as she enjoyed the good food set before her.

  "Smoking a bit much, aren't you?" he asked as she lit another cigarette. "It's a pity to spoil hands like yours."

  She looked at the nicotine stains on her fingers. "They're useless hands anyway."

  "You're too young to feel useless. What do yon do with yourself?"

  "Nothing."

  "No wonder you're bored! Don't you work?"

  "No. Mother's the type who thinks girls ought to marry, not go out to work."

  "Did you never want to do anything?"

  She regarded her hands. "I wanted to be a pianist, but finances wouldn't run to it."

  "I thought folks like you had plenty of money."

  She smiled. "Appearances are deceptive. I think most of the money has gone North!"

  His laugh boomed out and she glanced round self-consciously, relieved to see that no one appeared to notice.

  Suddenly he stood up. "That reminds me of something. Will you excuse me a minute?"

  She watched him make his way across the dining-room and wondered why he wore such heavy suiting when he had obviously gone to the trouble of having it well tailored. It made him look heavier than he probably was. She was stubbing out her cigarette when he loomed up beside her and thrust a package into her lap.

  "What is it?"

  "Open it and see — that's the. quickest way to find out."

  With embarrassed furtiveness she did as he said and the paper fell back to disclose a huge bottle of scent. Chanel No. Five. Obviously.

  Scarlet-faced she re-wrapped it and handed it back. "I can't accept this, Mr. Armstrong."

  "Why not? All girls like perfume."

  "That's beside the point. But I don't know you — I couldn't accept such a gift."

  "Don't be stupid! I bring stacks of this stuff down with me. They make nice presents for manufacturers' wives. Now no more arguing. You're to keep it."

  Silently she placed the package beside her handbag. How crude the man was. Offering her a gift in public and then ranting on about his manufacturers' wives. It served her right for accepting Ms invitation.

  With an effort she forced herself to listen to his conversation, and though she made the right responses at the right time, she was glad when he suggested - they leave.

  "Where do you live?" he asked, helping her into a cab.

  "Kensington."

  "You look the type to have a country mansion."

  "We did have, years ago."

  "What happened?"

  "Death duties and taxes."

  "That was crazy. A good accountant could have —”

  "My father never thought about it," she interrupted.

  "More's the pity." He leaned towards her. "Do you have any family apart from your mother?"

  "My brother Adrian." Resenting his inquisition she " made her reply brief, though he did not take the hint

  "What does he do?"

  "He's still at school."

  "Tell me about him."

  "There's nothing to tell. He's eighteen and wants to take up music."

  "Anything stopping him?"

  She hesitated. "A matter of money."

  His reply was cut short by the cab drawing up with a lurch.

  "Please don't bother to see me up — stay in the cab and he'll take you back." Hastily she stepped on to the pavement and held out her hand. "Goodnight, Mr. Armstrong."

  "May I ring you when I'm in London again?"

  She smiled but did not reply, and he watched her mount the steps.

  "Goodnight," he called. "Ill be seeing you." Then to the driver: "Back to where we started, lad, and make it snappy. I’ve an early call in the -morning."

  He settled back into the corner with a sigh and closed his eyes. Stella. Stella. A star, cold and distant. Yet her very aloofness filled him with desire.

  Strange that he, a man of. forty, should suddenly meet a girl who could attract him so strongly.

  The cab swung into the Strand and with a thud something fell against his hand. With an exclamation he picked it up and saw that it was the perfume he had given her. For an instant he fel
t an upsurge of anger, then gave a chuckle. For all her aloofness she had a mind of her own. It would be a pleasure to get to know her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOOKING back on her evening with Matthew Ana-strong, Stella knew she .had met a man-to whom social convention meant nothing. But after a few days she forgot about him and slipped back into her aimless routine of meeting friends, going to the cinema during the afternoon and occasionally — under protest — visiting a hairdresser.

  "Who's to know whether I wash my hair myself or have it set?" she argued with her mother. "It always looks the same in the end — straight and soft."

  "Because you don't take pride in yourself. Honestly, Stella, you don't care how you look. You aren't still pining to study music, are you?"

  "After all these years!" Stella looked at her hands. "I probably didn't have it in me anyway."

  "What's to stop you practising?"

  "Practising won't help. It's too late. But I'm not" worrying about myself, Mother, it's Adrian. What's going to happen to him? It's bad enough for me, but I may get married; he's got to have a career."

  Mrs. Percy's face sharpened with concern. "I want Adrian to be a pianist as much as you do, but we simply can't afford it."

  "We could economize more. In dress, for example."

  "And save a hundred pounds a year? Even if Adrian got a grant for the Academy, it would cost much more to keep him there. Besides, it would be years before he could fend for himself."

  "But he leaves school at the end of this term. He must do something."

  Mrs. Percy sighed deeply. "H only your father had made some provision for us…"

  "Didn’t you ever talk about money with him?"

  "Certainly not. I always assumed we had enough."

  "But you were always complaining about being hard up."

  "We had to live on a fixed income," came the tight-lipped protest, "but we could always do what we wanted within reason." A pencil-thin eyebrow rose above a pale blue eye. "If only you could make a good marriage. What's happened to Martin Randall?"

  Stella laughed. "The chinless wonder of Chelsea! I know you want me off your hands, darling, but you don't want to sacrifice me, do you?"

  Mrs. Percy sighed. "If only Charles were in a better position. I can't understand him. Most lawyers can afford to marry once they're in practice."