The Woman's Side of It

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

When the beautiful Caroline married wealthy Godfrey she thought her dreams had come true. But those dreams soon became nightmares. Torn between the hatred of her stepdaughter and her love for John, Godfrey's secretary, she is above all tormented by a secret that has emerged from her past.

Release date: April 24, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

CAROLINE was stock-taking.

It was not a job that she particularly relished, but being the head saleswoman at Maison Venise it was a duty that fell to her lot at regular intervals.

Madame Venise herself—she had acquired a French accent which went well with her glamorous name, but was really a Mrs. Isenstein of pure Jewish extraction—trusted Caroline as she trusted nobody else in her shop.

Caroline was not only lovely but intelligent. Rare qualities to go hand in hand in a girl of twenty-four, and Madame Venise relied upon her to keep an eye on everything, as well as effect the largest number of sales.

But it wasn’t a morning for stock-taking, thought Caroline, as she went through the big wardrobes and made copious notes in her little book. It was a day to be out of doors. The merry month of May; warm for the time of year—and Spring at its height—mad and enchanting!

Caroline’s feet seemed to rest not upon the thick grey pile of a carpet but in a field of lush green grass. And she was not really in the warm, scented atmosphere of this Bond Street shop, but out in the sweet fresh air with a cool breeze wafting a thousand tantalising scents to her nostrils. A scent of earth after the rain, of fruit blossom, of cherry orchards, and hawthorn hedges bursting into bloom. How she adored the country! How incredibly difficult it was to resign oneself to digs in Earl’s Court and walk upon hard pavements and indulge only in occasional week-ends in the real open spaces—when she could afford it!

And how difficult to concentrate upon this taking of stock! Caroline couldn’t see the exotic dresses in the wardrobe, but only gardens full of Dutch tulips, blue carpets of forget-me-nots, feathery white clouds scudding across the blue sky, and the young corn in the fields, the greenest of all green things that nature can produce!

It was time she had a holiday. Caroline knew that. She was tired and nervy. She had been working hard ever since the beginning of the year and they had had an awful lot to do at Maison Venise this season. There had been that terrible rush to get in black things when the late King died, and now another rush because colours were being worn again, and there was Ascot facing them.

One of the other girls, a tall, languid creature with a platinum head, glided across the saloon to Caroline.

‘Miss Fleet—Madame wants the black Patou model to show a customer.’

Caroline took down the model and handed it to her.

‘There you are, Ireen.’

‘Thanks, dear. And by the way,’ said the girl known as Ireen, ‘I heard Madame on the phone just now to your customer, Miss Langdon. She is coming for a fitting this morning instead of this afternoon. I bet her father comes with her!’

With a little chuckle, Ireen moved with the black Patou dress over her arm, but not before she had seen the colour that rose to Caroline Fleet’s cheeks. Ireen envied Caroline. So did most of the other girls. It was fairly common property that Rina Langdon’s father came with his daughter to Maison Venise for the express purpose of seeing Caroline. And Madame had gone so far as to hint the other day that she might soon be losing her most valuable employee. Mr. Langdon was a wealthy widower, and it was generally thought that he would make a proposal to Caroline before he was through.

Although the girls envied Caroline, they did not begrudge her any success that might come her way, for she was immensely popular with them all. They knew she came of a good family and had had a first-class education, and was a good deal better connected than most of them, and only here earning her living because she had lost both her parents and had no money. But that had not made her at all superior. She was nice and friendly to them all.

‘Jolly good luck to her,’ was what they said at Maison Venise, ‘if old Langdon comes up to scratch.’

Caroline herself, however, although conscious that Godfrey Langdon was an admirer, was not so certain of the ultimate issue as the others who knew about the affair.

This morning as she went through the wardrobes she had been day-dreaming, but not about Godfrey, only about the country and her passionate love for the English Spring. But once Ireen’s chance words turned her thoughts to the man, they were troubled rather than ecstatic ones.

For the last three weeks Godfrey Langdon had been beseeching Caroline to marry him. Nobody else knew that. And particularly not his daughter, Rina. And Rina was the chief amongst many reasons why Caroline did not accept his proposal.

There were ‘fors’ and ‘againsts.’ And so far the latter won. Yet the ‘fors’ remained and they were very tempting. Godfrey Langdon had everything in the word to offer a girl. He was rich, he was prosperous, one of the most reputable financiers of the day, and a director of half a dozen important companies. He was forty-nine—that was almost twenty-five years older than Caroline—but he was still a young man for his years, tall, distinguished, and handsome, with an old-world, gentle air of courtesy about him which Caroline found very attractive. He had irreproachable manners.

Caroline like Godfrey. There was no doubt in her mind that she liked him very much. She admired not only his mental qualities but his general character. He seemed of a kind and generous disposition. He was devoted to Rina, his only child, and those who had known him when his wife, Ursula, was alive, said that he had been an admirable husband.

Then there was his home, Lychgate Manor. That made Caroline’s heart beat a trifle faster whenever she remembered it. She had only seen it once. When Rina was away with friends, Godfrey Langdon had driven her down there to lunch, and she had come away enchanted by the beauty of the Elizabethan house with its rosy mellow bricks, its marvellous tiles and Tudor windows, and the breath-taking gardens, clipped yews, stone-paved terraces, shining ponds, green velvet of perfect lawns.

It was one of the ‘stately homes of England.’ An historic, romantic place such as one read about, dreamed about. To Caroline, who loved the country, it had seemed heaven. And she had heard about it long before she met the Langdons or saw Lychgate Manor, for in her parents’ lifetime they had had a little Sussex cottage only ten miles from the village of Lychgate itself.

And all this Godfrey Langdon was laying at her feet, with his heart, he said, his life. He was desperately in love with her. In love as only a man of his years can be with a girl much younger than himself. He had fallen in love with her, apparently, from the first day he entered Maison Venise with his daughter, who was ordering a bridesmaid’s dress for a fashionable wedding, and Caroline had served them. And since that morning he had not been able to keep away from the shop. There were always flowers for Caroline now, invitations to lunch and dinner, a dozen and one evidences of his feelings. And finally, three weeks ago, his proposal of marriage.

But Caroline was not going to be swept off her feet by the Big Man and his possessions. She was a practical person but at the same time incurably romantic. She wanted the luxuries of this world as much as any normal girl wanted them, but love came first with her. She must be in love before she could marry.

There had only been one man in her life so far. That had been a disaster which had been over and done with a year ago, and which she tried not to remember.

Godfrey Langdon came into her life at a time when she was fancy-free and ready to respond to the real thing when it turned up. But the question in her mind was—did she love Godfrey? Was it real love that she had felt for him when he took her in his arms and kissed her for the first time the other night? She had been thrilled, certainly. And she was flattered by his attentions and the thought that he wished to marry her. But was she in love? Was she quite sure that if he lost every penny in the world, she would be willing and eager to walk barefoot, in rags, beside him to the ends of the earth? That was how a woman should feel about a man if she really loved him.

And then there was Rina. Rina was a very sore point—a delicate subject around which both Caroline and Godfrey walked in rather furtive fashion as though both dreaded an open discussion about it.

Rina was barely twenty; only a few years younger than Caroline herself. And Rina quite definitely didn’t want a stepmother. Nobody knew that better than Caroline. Rina, since she had left her finishing school in Paris two years ago, had been, ‘running wild.’ Not that either of her parents had suspected it. Godfrey was much too busy to realise what his daughter was doing behind his back, and her mother, while she was alive, had been a lovely but inefficient creature who had spoiled her only child hopelessly.

Never had Caroline known a more palpable case of the harm that over-indulgent parents can do to a girl. No doubt there was plenty of good in Rina. But through too much pampering and petting, she was now selfish, self-centred, and uncontrolled. She went to too many parties, wasted too much money on clothes, on race meetings, on everything. She had her own sports car, a large allowance, and complete freedom. And once her mother died, she made little or no attempt to stay at home and be the dutiful daughter.

Possibly Godfrey Langdon had begun to notice in the last few months that Rina was out rather too much and too late at night, and that her fresh beauty was beginning to dim before she was even of age. Perhaps that was why he had told Caroline that ‘the child needed a stepmother,’ but he remained the indulgent parent, seeing little harm in his daughter and a great deal of good.

Caroline, knowing the sort of reputation that Rina Langdon really had among the Bright Young Things, always came to a dead end when she thought about her. How could she marry Godfrey and be a stepmother to that child? Rina would hate her, resent her horribly. There was bound to be trouble. Already Rina was being ‘upstage’ with her because it had come under her notice that her father was forming a friendship with Caroline. No, Rina did not want anybody to step into her mother’s shoes. Of that Caroline was certain. And so Rina remained the chief reason why, so far, Caroline could not bring herself to accept Godfrey Langdon’s offer.

She sighed a little as she fingered the dresses. Such lovely creations, some of them. She would like herself in that gorgeous organdie which was for Ascot, or in that chic little yachting suit of blue linen, or that slinky white satin evening dress—and the silver-fox cape that went with it.

After eighteen months in this job, Caroline was more or less used to seeing the heavenly expensive creations, the variety of lovely rich materials and furs and masterpiece designs of Molyneux, Chanel and Digby Morton, and all the models that she had learnt to recognise. And used to it all without being in a constant state of envy or discontent because her own modest wardrobe was exceedingly small and shabby. Except for the occasional dress which Madame let her have at less than cost price in order that she should look smart in the shop.

But Caroline would not have been human if she had not thrilled to the thought that she could order as many of these things as she wanted if she was the wife of a man like Godfrey Langdon. As many as Rina ordered. And Rina’s account at Maison Venise was enormous.

Godfrey denied his daughter nothing and was always supplementing her allowance. Caroline could imagine him being equally generous to his wife.

A few nights ago, when she had dined and danced with him at the Mayfair Hotel, he had said:

‘You don’t know what a thrill it would be to me to have somebody young and lovely like yourself to spend my money on. And go about with. Poor Ursula was ill for so many years before she died. It seems a long while since I had a companion. Of course there’s Rina, but naturally she has her own friends. I don’t see much of her. It would be marvellous to have my own wife. Or would I be a bore to you? Am I too old for you?’

She had answered without hesitation that he didn’t seem old to her—not at all old—and that he wouldn’t bore her. And she had meant it. But still she had withheld the assent for which he begged and had gone home troubled and uncertain—of herself more than of him.

She realised how enormously flattering his offer was. She saw no reason why he should have picked her out amongst all the vast numbers of women friends and acquaintances which the Langdons must possess.

She finished her stock-taking, and with the thought of Godfrey Langdon still troubling her, walked across the saloon on her way to the office. As she did so there were a number of tall shining mirrors to reflect her and show Caroline Fleet exactly what she was like. Godfrey called her ‘lovely.’ Well, perhaps she had some claims to beauty. She knew that she had a lissom, graceful body and a perfect skin—that rather warm, white skin and the rich colouring that belong to the real brunette. Her hair, the hue of copper-beech, was not cut short, but parted in the centre and brushed smoothly, Madonna-wise, over either ear, and finished in a little knot at the back of her neck. It gave her an air of distinction, a rather serene beauty. She had firm, sweet lips and grey, heavy-lidded eyes with very long lashes. Rather sleepy eyes, which men found particularly attractive because they gave nothing away. Possibly Caroline’s most alluring quality was that quality of reserve, almost secretiveness. She rarely showed her feelings except when she was deeply moved. But that was an agony to Caroline rather than an asset, in her opinion. There were times when she longed to express herself fully and could not, and when she felt shy and lonely and drawn into herself. Times when she felt afraid of love and of life itself. And yet she was passionately glad to be alive and appreciated all that the world offered.

She could not always understand herself, but she did know that she envied girls like Ireen, or one or two others whom she knew, who could just dance merrily through life extracting whatever enjoyment there was to be got out of it, and finding words to express their pleasure without effort. Caroline could not belong to the ‘too, too divine’ and ‘simply marvellous’ brigade. And she knew that she could never be content with second best. Perhaps that was half the trouble about her feelings for Godfrey Langdon. She could not just fling herself into his arms and take what he held out regardless of the real Caroline deep down inside herself. The Caroline who had so much to give, but only to the right person.

There was that other man—that other first lover for whom the real Caroline had come to life, but only to regret it, to suffer desperately and draw back deeper than before into her shell.

Was she going to come out of it—for Godfrey Langdon? Wouldn’t she be a fool to refuse him? Wasn’t she being too idealistic, too serious? One could be too serious. And soon she would have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and end it all. She could not keep Godfrey Langdon hanging on indefinitely. It wouldn’t be fair for him or for herself.

She must make her decision—today!

IREEN was right. Godfrey Langdon made a point of coming with his daughter to Maison Venise when she had her fitting.

Godfrey sat alone, smoking a cigarette, while the women disappeared behind velvet curtains, and there came only the murmur of voices, amongst them the low, distinctive one of Caroline which made his heart beat faster when he heard it.

‘You look charming in this colour, Miss Langdon,’ he heard Caroline say to Rina.

And then came the higher-pitched tones of the French fitter exclaiming that Mademoiselle presented a picture truly ‘ravissante.’

Rina came out to show her father the new dress. She was incurably vain and liked admiration from any man, even the one whom she secretly looked upon as a ‘deluded parent,’ since she was perfectly well aware that he was blind to most of her glaring faults.

Godfrey Langdon was warm in his praises, and indeed, he thought the child looked amazingly pretty. She was of the boyish type, slender, small, with dark hair cut short and done in a halo of fashionable curls. She used far too much make-up; her lips were startingly red, and her lashes black and sticky, framing a pair of flashing dark-blue eyes. Eyes set a little too close for real beauty. Rina was more spectacular than anything, but she had an unfailing fascination for men.

To Godfrey Langdon she was still the little girl he had idolised since her babyhood. But to others less oblivious she was a foolish headstrong girl, burning the candle at both ends. Already there was that burnt-up, restless quality about her, that fraying of nerves which comes from too many late nights, too many cigarettes, too many cocktails.

The new wine-red chiffon evening dress with its tight jewelled belt suited her dark gipsy looks. She struck a dramatic attitude in front of her father, one hand on her hip, her head thrown back, and said:

‘Aren’t I divine?’

‘Lovely, darling,’ said Godfrey Langdon warmly.

Then his lips mutely repeated the word and his eyes became suddenly soft and passionate as he looked over his daughter’s head at the young vendeuse who walked into the saloon. Caroline! His beautiful Caroline! Already he thought of her as his. He was confident of winning her.

Rina followed her father’s gaze and at once her lips took on a sulky curve and without a word she picked up the train of her evening dress and marched back to the fitting room. If there was one person in the world she disliked, it was t. . .