Melissa shivered again, but this time her shiver had nothing to do with the cold wind. It must be horrible to be old and dying, and have the Davenports gathered like vultures, just waiting. Peter seemed fond of her, but Sonia had ignored her existence. Yet, the old lady had raised her. Peter sensed her withdrawal.
“I’ve always been very close to Grandmother, and got even closer to her after my parents died. I think we both have the interests of the business at heart. The Davenports only consider it a source of income, and to Sonia it is just another encumbrance chaining her here when she wants her freedom. Sonia is too like the old lady in temperament to get on well with her.”
He turned and looked at her openly distressed face. One hand traced the delicate line of her jaw and lingered on the soft cheek.
“You aren’t really like Sonia, you know. You have a softer, more vulnerable face.”
Melissa arched her brows and laughed, trying to break some dreamlike spell that enfolded her at his touch.
“I shall have to remember to toughen up for my public appearances.”
The moon went behind the clouds. Peter became a darker blur beside her. She felt his arm go around her as he drew her against him.
“Did you know that you have a tender, compassionate mouth?”
His mouth came down on hers, with a gentleness that disarmed her. She felt herself relax against him. The curious lassitude attacked her again, and the warmth from his lips spread through her body. She sighed, and clung to him as the treacherous weakness swept through her, melting her against him. She felt herself shaking, and outside time and common sense, she was responding.
His lips became more insistent. The warmth from them was no longer a gentle glow, but a burning heat that scorched its way through her body inflaming every nerve ending. She heard herself give an involuntary gasp. She had the curious illusion that she was being consumed by a flame of yearning and wanting flaring through her body. She was no longer able to make a reasoned choice. Her mouth yielded, and the flame inside her pulsed higher.
His lips moved down to the low velvet bodice and his jacket fell off her shoulders. She wasn’t aware of the coldness of the wind on her bared shoulders and breasts, just the thudding beat of her heart, and the scorching, raging heat consuming her. She babbled endearments and pulled him against her with a frantic strength.
She wasn’t quiet, shy Melissa any more. She didn’t identify who or what she had become.
One kiss had turned her into a stranger. She no longer knew herself or her reactions, just that she was being held tightly by the one person in the world who belonged with her.
The moon came out again, flooding the hillside and coastline with a silver radiance.
Suddenly, cold sanity washed over Melissa with its light. ”Oh!” she gasped.
She heard her own ragged breathing and she couldn’t control her shaking. She drew back in an involuntary retreat and made a clutch for the dropped jacket to cover herself. What insanity had suddenly possessed her? Why had she encouraged and responded so wildly to the advances of the man facing her, his breathing as ragged as her own, and his mouth still softened into a sensual, coaxing smile?
The silence lengthened and lengthened. Melissa felt her cheeks burn hot and then fade until she was icy cold, and all the time, she stared at him, unable to control her shaking.
At last Peter stood up, and reached down to pull her to her feet. She rose slowly, her eyes lowered with shame and some other emotion. He adjusted the jacket around her shoulders.
“We can walk back along the path,” he said gently. “The moonlight will show the roses to advantage.”
She nodded, and stumbled beside him, humiliation making her cheeks scarlet again as she hastily pulled up the too-low bodice of the blue velvet dress. To him, kissing her, and perhaps what nearly had followed, was a casual impulsive gesture. He had become aware that she wasn’t ready for his gesture, and he had dismissed it. He was now the perfect host, showing off the rose-garden.
She bit her lip. End of the first lesson. She would be more careful with her responses in the future. They walked up the curving path through the moonlight. The house reared dark and solid ahead of them, lights from the window was streaming golden on to the terrace.
As they went back up the shallow steps a door opened, and a uniformed figure waited, outlined in the light.
“Looks like Grandmother has decided to see you,” Peter remarked.
Melissa felt her stomach muscles tighten. She was in no shape to sustain this curious charade. All she wanted to do was to flee to the refuge of her bedroom. She gave Peter a pleading look. He interpreted it.
“She hasn’t seen Sonia for over eighteen months, and she is a sick old lady.” He raised his voice. “You looking for us, Moffatt?”
The tired eyes under the blue cap blinked. “Just Miss Hamilton.”
They went back through the drawing room. The three Davenports lounged around in front of the fire. There was dislike on their faces as Melissa followed the nurse past them.
“Give my regards to Grandmother, Darling.” Pamela’s voice had a sneer to it.
Melissa arched her brows in what she hoped was Sonia’s most haughty manner and kept on going.
“She has been so much better these last few days,” confided the nurse beside her, as they went up the stairs.
She was a middle-aged woman with greying dark hair, and anxious eyes. Melissa looked at her tired face.
“I’m sure it is due to your nursing.”
“I do my best, but that family every weekend.” Nurse Moffatt broke off, as if realizing she had been tactless, and then said in an apologetic manner, “Takes all her energy.” She opened the door, and waited for Melissa to go through.
The room was spacious and airy, with roses everywhere, and the fire crackled and danced in the hush. Melissa looked at the tiny figure propped up in bed.
“Oh,” she said in astonishment. Sonia’s mocking eyes danced back at her, the blue deepened by the ribbon in the snowy hair.
“And about time, my dear. Come here where I can get a good look at you.”
Melissa went towards the bed slowly. It was incredible. It was Sonia in another fifty years; the high arched brows mocking her, the determined chin, and the narrow nervous hands.
She bent over and kissed her. This old lady was no stranger. She had seen those blue eyes concerned when she was sick, and teasing when she was depressed. She suddenly felt as if she had known and loved the old lady through a lifetime.
A familiar dimple danced up beside the mouth, creasing the sunken cheeks.
“Dear me, we are getting friendly,” the old woman said but there was pleasure and affection in the voice.
The thin hand reached out for Melissa as she sat down. Melissa held her hand and waited.
The old lady’s eyes closed, and she nodded in the sudden sleep of the very old and weary, the fine skin seamed with a thousand wrinkles, and the bones standing out gauntly in the small face.
Suddenly, the eyes blinked open, alert and dancing, and impending death receded from the vitality that looked out.
“Wearing your bluebell brooch?”
Melissa started. One hand went to the brooch sitting loosely in the too-low neckline of her dress. She had completely forgotten about it.
“Matches my dress,” she explained.
The old lady chuckled, a husky painful rattle, and in the corner of the room, the nurse started to fidget.
“Matches you. The original owner was a hussy too.”
She had tired herself again, and there was silence as she lay back with her eyes closed.
Studying her, Melissa could see the remnants of her beauty still clinging to her, through all the ravages of age and illness. It was in the shape of her large eyes, even with their network of wrinkles, and the fine bone-structure that not even age could alter. The blue eyes snapped open again. They were keen and darting,
“Well, Miss. Cat got your tongue?’”
“I don’t want to tire you,” Melissa faltered.
“What about my suggestion?”
Melissa looked a question at the nurse hovering by the door. So far the conversation had been fairly connected, but it was possible that the old lady was wandering. The nurse shrugged slightly. Melissa waited, hoping the old lady would drop into another of her quick dozes.
The sharp blue eyes looked at her. These were not the eyes of a rambling old lady. They were quick and alert.
“Dear me! You flounce out of here nearly two years ago without giving me an answer. I thought, Missy, you had recovered from your fit of sulks when you came back.”
Melissa gently unfolded the clawlike fingers from her hand. “Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow?”
The nurse came forward, and started to smooth down the pillows. “You are tiring yourself. Talk to Miss Hamilton tomorrow.”
The old lady relaxed back on her pillows darting a keen look at her supposed niece standing by the door. Then the blue eyes filled with mocking humor and started to dance.
“If I still have a tomorrow I’ll see you, Miss. Off you go.”
Melissa closed the door quietly behind her and waited on the landing, thinking. Below, she heard the low murmur of the voices of the others, and light from the open drawing-room streamed into the hall. There was no real need for her to go back down there and face them. Keeping to the character of Sonia, her action in going straight to her room was perfectly logical.
Mind made up, she went into the pretty blue bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.
Tomorrow she would ask Peter what was the proposal that had sent Sonia away in such a temper that she hadn’t contacted her grandmother since.
Melissa took off the brooch and put it back with the tangle of ribbons in the top drawer.
Perhaps Peter would also tell her about who the brooch originally belonged to. She hung the blue velvet dress back on its hanger.
It had been all along, a totally surprising and upsetting day. Unbidden, her mind went back to the dreadful episode in the garden, when she had responded with such total abandon and insanity to what had started out to be a casual kiss. She put her hands to her hot face as she relived the emotions she had felt. What had caused the strange perplexing feeling that had flooded through her when he had kissed her? Bob’s kisses never made her feel like that. She examined her tired face with its hot cheeks reflected in the mirror.
Bob, who was going to be her husband one day, was a kind-hearted practical young man. When his shop was sufficiently on its feet to support a wife, they were going to get married. He certainly wouldn’t dream of kissing a girl he had just met in the moonlight. His kisses were like him, sober and uninspiring.
She put the blond wig under her pillow and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She thought about the humorous quirk that played around a mobile mouth, softened into a sensual, coaxing smile. She shivered deliciously at the thought and tried to think of Bob.
Bob represented stability and security, and of course she loved him. Of course she loved him, she told herself sternly, but was it possible for a man to have too little humor in his makeup? It was a puzzling problem.
She yawned, and immediately fell into a dream-haunted sleep, where she ran down endless corridors, chasing a bluebell sapphire brooch.
Three
Melissa woke to the sound of the soft knocking on the door. For a few seconds she was disoriented, blinking sleepily at the strange surroundings.
Recollection flooded back. She grabbed at the wig from under her pillow and pulled it on, huddling beneath the bedclothes as she called. “Who is it?”
The door opened, and a young girl came in carrying a tray. “Mr. Darcy said he would meet you in the summer-house in half an hour.” This came out in a fluttered rush, as she put the tray beside the bed and hurried out again.
Melissa ate the bacon and eggs thoughtfully, settling back with her cup of coffee. This morning, her worries about not lasting out the weekend seemed ridiculous. Peter had promised to drive her straight home after lunch, and he was taking good care that she was not going to have too close contact with the Davenports.
She showered and then dressed in the red velvet slack suit, and brushed her wig carefully.
In the dull light of the morning her eyes were their usual shade of grey. She picked up the concealing sunglasses. Would it look odd if she came out of her room wearing sunglasses?
Mind made up, she donned them. After all, the sun was trying to break through the heavy cloud cover, and the household could always put it down to some eccentricity of Sonia’s. She opened the door. The house seemed very quiet this morning.
She got as far as the landing. Nurse Moffatt opened the door opposite and came out. Melissa wondered if she had been waiting for her.
“Miss Sonia!”
Melissa smiled and kept on going down the stairs.
“Later,” she promised.
She reached the darkened hall and paused in indecision. Which door led out to the terrace? She followed the hallway around the corner of the stairs, and down some uneven steps. The passage narrowed and darkened, and a line of light outlined the partly open door.
She went through. It opened on to the paved courtyard where the cars sheltered under the old stables: one large black sedan, one white sports car, a shiny new American car, and a battered grey Mercedes.
There was a narrow gate set in the high wall. Melissa went through and found herself back on the terrace. The garden spread out before her, lawns velvet and green, the shrubbery and trees immaculately pruned into formality.
A narrow paved path led from the terrace. Melissa followed it around the clumps of lavender and the well tended rose-garden. The path dropped three steps, turned a corner past the barrier of a golden ash, and swung around into the summerhouse.
Peter sat on the bench waiting, shoulders hunched forward as he stared across at the clump of rhododendrons behind it. He turned at the sound of her footsteps and stood up, his hard eyes softening.
“Escape from the house all right?”
Melissa grinned at the memory of Nurse Moffat. Today she felt light-hearted and carefree. Perhaps some of Sonia’s irresponsible personality was wearing off on her.
“With my life, and only just.”
Peter took her arm, and they went together down the steep steps and along the stepping stones that curved around the sweep of shrubbery. The path became narrower and overgrown, and Melissa tinglingly aware of Peter’s nearness as he shouldered aside the heavy branches and helped her down the steep path.
“Who are we hiding from?” she asked.
“The Davenports,” he explained. “We’re staying in hiding until we leave straight after lunch.”
They came out to the paved clearing and the stone bench overlooking the coastline. It was where they had sat the night before. Melissa felt her cheeks go pink. She hurried into conversation.
“Your grandmother expected me to visit her this morning. She wants an answer to the question she asked Sonia last time she was down here.”
Peter gave a short laugh, and steadied her as they edged down the steep track that led to the beach.
“That’s Grandmother! Still hammering away about us getting married!”
Melissa kept her eyes on the steep path. So that was the reason Sonia had stormed out and refused to come back! Peter must be in love with her, and Sonia was not going to let herself be tied down. Having lived with Sonia and her views on marriage for quite a while, she understood her reaction to the demand that she should marry when she was ordered to.
“Grandmother thinks it would simplify the problem of inheritance. Through marriage Sonia and I would have the majority of votes through the shares, and she probably will inherit Grandmother’s share of the business, which would give us control of the business.”
“If I agree with your grandmother, Sonia would be furious.” Melissa pointed out. “And any opposition might cause your grandmother to have a rela
pse.”
“Just do what Sonia would do,” Peter advised.
Melissa looked at him doubtfully. His eyes had an unpleasant glint in them and his lips were curled in a sneer.
“Upset your grandmother?” she prompted.
“Grandmother can take it.”
Melissa felt herself stiffening with rage and indignation. “Your grandmother is a very fragile old lady.”
Peter looked down at her, hard green eyes softening in amusement. Under his gaze she felt the color rise in her face.
“Dear me. What have we here? Does the mouse have teeth?”
“You said you were fond of your grandmother. I should think you would want to shield her from any unpleasantness.”
Peter shrugged. His tight mouth twisted into a wry grin. “All right, my soft-hearted Melissa. Grandmother the dragon is a reformed old lady. I would have said that Grandmother and unpleasantness go hand in hand.”
Inwardly Melissa fumed, but she didn’t know either the old lady or Peter well enough to get involved in any discussion. They walked along the beach in silence, watching the waves surge into the wet sand, devouring more and more of the shoreline.
“I think …” Melissa faltered at least, speaking her thoughts with some diffidence. “That your grandmother is a lonely old lady. It can’t be much fun to be old and sick and have the Davenports hovering.”
She broke off. She didn’t like to voice what she thought. The Davenports danced a dutiful attendance like a flock of vultures that had caught the sour stench of death and would wait with endless patience for the end.
“Like vultures,” he finished.
Melissa gave him a frightened look. The way his mind followed hers was uncanny. He laughed in open amusement, shaking off his brooding bitterness.
“Well, do your own fighting, my pet. If you don’t oppose Grandmother, you will run against Sonia, and she can be an unholy terror.”
“I just don’t want to tell any lies,” Melissa protested hotly. “You said I just had to put in an appearance. Not complicate my life with a lot of deceit.”
The Lonely Heart Page 3
