The Blue Rose Read Free

naturalness; that’s why they came together. With a man like Derek you can be yourself. With him familiarity never breeds contempt. He has seen Francie looking untidy in the mornings and he still loves her as much as ever. He isn’t always very tidy himself if it comes to that! They are just not very soign é e people but they are heavenly and I love them both and I mean no disloyalty to them in analysing them like this. I just want to try and understand the secret of a happy marriage. The point is that all men are not like Derek. Mr. Frenton is probably much more like his wife, that’s why they were attracted to each other and have been so happy for fifteen years ... Well, I shall see to-morrow ... When I marry, will it be someone like Derek?”
    She thought of Tony back in her old home who wanted to marry her. He was rather like Derek. She was fond of him but not in that way. She didn’t feel ready yet for marriage. She wanted to see something of the world first. She had never met any man yet whom she could imagine being married to—but perhaps that was because she had never been in love. No, she didn’t feel that she would ever be able to marry Tony. She had certainly given him no hope or encouragement except as a friend, but she had turned him down so gently that she had not hurt him too badly. If only one could go through life without ever hurting anybody.
    She went to sleep with her heart full of deep affection for these dear friends of hers—Francie and Derek and Tony—and now Mrs. Frenton who had been so very sweet to her. Would she ever be able to call her Clare? Would it ever feel natural to do so?

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    ALL day Rose had been excited at the thought of the party that evening and of meeting Clare Frenton again. She was too interested in other people and thought too little about herself to suffer much from shyness. That morning there had been the first hint of spring in the air, which had intoxicated her, and she had bought Francie a bunch of mimosa off a barrow. She had also bought for herself a new skirt to wear that evening. Fortunately she was almost exactly stock size so had always been able to buy her clothes off the peg. The skirt as usual would need taking in at the waist—that was the only alteration that was ever needed—but as to length it fitted her perfectly. It was a figured cotton skirt—the background colour a glorious kingfisher blue with a raised pattern on it in gold. With it she intended to wear her plain black jersey top with the three-quarter sleeves. As she wanted to wear the skirt that evening there was no time for the shop to do the alteration but it would be quite easy to do it herself. She had some commissions to execute for Francie, but she got back to the flat at four o’clock and decided to wash her hair and alter the new skirt while she was drying it.
    She always washed her hair at home and had never been to a hairdresser in her life. Long before it was fashionable to do so, she had worn her hair in a chignon. When loose it came half-way down her back. It was lovely hair—very fair and silky, and she had been brought up to good habits of brushing it regularly and rinsing it, when she washed it in lemon juice.
    When Francie and Derek came home to change for the party they found Rose already dressed in her plain black jersey and the new skirt, but she had not done up her hair yet and it was falling in a golden canopy round her shoulders.
    “Goodness, what a picture she makes!” Derek exclaimed involuntarily.
    Francie kissed her. “I’m very proud of my little cousin,” she said.
    Rose blushed. “Do you like my new skirt?”
    “You look ravishing.”
    And indeed she did. The full, rather stiff skirt emphasized her tiny waist, and the plain, black jersey with only a thin gold chain round the neck set off the fairness of her hair; while her eyes seemed to have taken on the kingfisher blue of the skirt.
    She gathered up her hair at the back preparatory to twisting