Peter nodded and put a persuasive arm around her. She held her body rigid, silently fighting the frightening rush of feeling that even casual contact aroused.
“Point taken. After all, it is not your concern. Just give one of Sonia’s evasive answers. You should know her repertoire off by heart.”
Melissa managed a bleak smile. It was odd that the very closeness of him could affect her so much! Her pulse quickened at his nearness, and her heart had started its slow thudding again.
“That’s better,” he encouraged. The wind blew his hair back off his face, which had smoothed out to a younger and more carefree expression. “I’ll handle Sonia when I catch up with her.” He laughed again at the expression on her face. “Do you know, little mouse, you have a telltale face. Do you doubt my ability to bring her to heel?”
Melissa spared a thought for Sonia, self-possessed, willful and determined, and changed the subject. “About the bluebell brooch. I wouldn’t have worn it if I had realized it was an heirloom. Who did it belong to?”
“Typical of Sonia to chuck a valuable brooch in her drawer. It should have been in the safe,” Peter grumbled.
“Who did it belong to?” Melissa repeated.
“The Lady Carstairs. Grandmother gave Sonia the brooch because of the resemblance. A very scandalous lady with a history more lurid than any Sonia could attempt. You can see the brooch in the painting.”
“Her portrait is here?”
“Back in the gallery.”
“I would love to see it,” Melissa pleaded.
Peter’s eyes gleamed as he looked at her. “And so you shall, Melissa. I am beginning to wonder where that resemblance to Sonia has gone this morning.”
Melissa blushed at the teasing note in his voice, thankful for the concealing sunglasses. It was a relief to know that this masquerade was ending soon. She wondered perhaps whether it would have been safer to spend the morning fending off the Davenports, rather than coping with being alone with Peter.
“End of our private beach,” he said.
They stood on the dividing ridge of rock and looked across at the next curve of coastline. The tide was coming in, and angry waves surged up to the bleak rock and hissed into spray at each exposed edge of the reef. The sun had gone in properly, and the water was sullen and threatening under the grey clouds.
Melissa shivered, the grey skies and sullen water matching her mood. She felt suddenly depressed in an abrupt mood change. There were undercurrents of hate and intrigue in the gracious house at the top of the cliff, matching those of the treacherous bay with its hidden reefs.
Peter put a warm arm around her. “After lunch I’ll take you straight home,” he promised, and his voice was kind. They started walking back. He raised an eyebrow at her continuing silence. “No one is going to eat you. Just pay your respect to Grandmother, snub the Davenports while you eat lunch, and then we leave.”
Melissa nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This deception which had started off with such breath-taking simplicity was embroiling her further and further. She was committed to marry Bob some day, and Peter was obviously expected to marry Sonia.
It was dangerous to remember the way she had felt when Peter had held her in his arms and kissed her. She risked a quick look at him. What did he think or feel, this aloof man with the arrogant face and hard appraising eyes?
He was scrambling up the steep and winding track, pulling her after him. Was she only a pleasant diversion? Someone who amused him for a few hours? The humiliation and misery flooded over her again, making her face flame and whiten as she struggled to clarify her emotions.
“Behold the enemy,” he muttered.
He pulled her closer to him, and his arm tightened around her waist. Melissa shook herself out of her reverie. They had reached the top of the steep winding track from the beach. She lifted her head and looked straight into Pamela’s eyes.
She waited on the stone bench, her cigarette smoldering. How long had she been watching them, Melissa wondered? For a few seconds, there was naked hatred in the other girl’s eyes. Then it was gone, and Pamela was just another pretty girl standing up at their approach and laughing, her dark hair blowing in the wind.
“Grandmother sent me down to find you. She wants to see Sonia before lunch.”
“Of course,” Melissa drawled. Somehow it was easy to arch her brows in a very Sonia fashion before the concealed insolence of the girl watching her.
“Do hurry, Darling, or Moffatt will have a pink fit. You know she hates Grandmother to be kept waiting.”
Pamela held Peter back with one possessive hand as Melissa walked on ahead. She heard Pamela’s voice raised in a caressing drawl.
“Just five minutes, Peter. Daddy does want a decision on that production schedule.”
Melissa glanced back for one last look. Peter stood watching her, and beside him Pamela clung to his arm, her face raised to him like a vivid flower. There was an indefinable air of belonging in the way she nestled against him. With a fresh awareness Melissa realized that the other girl loved him. This made her hatred of Melissa as her rival quite understandable. The interesting thing was how was Sonia, who wasn’t interested in Peter anyway, handling Pamela?
When she reached the terrace she paused. It wouldn’t do to show her lack of familiarity with her surroundings. One of the French windows opened. Nurse Moffatt stood there waiting, her disapproval obvious in every line of her posture.
“Miss Sonia, do hurry up. I want to get her settled again. She is getting quite exhausted.”
Melissa went through the door. Nurse Moffatt closed it firmly behind her. Inside was a charming little sitting room with a bright fire burning. The old lady was propped up with pillows in a wheelchair. The nurse padded over, and went out quietly by the other door.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Melissa apologized.
A frail hand, weighted down with heavy rings stopped her. “Been with Peter, have you?” The blue eyes were lively and dancing this morning, the specter of ill health, age and death pushed into the background by her alert vitality and intelligence.
“We went for a walk down the beach.” Melissa warmed to the kindness of her tone.
She made no move to remove her sunglasses. She felt they were a protection from those alert eyes, which would be quick to recognize an imposter in the daylight. Somehow it seemed very important not to upset or disturb this old lady who was so like Sonia.
“He’s a good boy, Peter.” The white head nodded approval.
There was a silence. The fire crackled cheerfully loud in the room. Melissa waited, hands folded. The lids had shut and the old lady drowsed in one of the quick naps of age. The nurse came back quietly, and was collecting the pillboxes and bottles on the small tray, when the blue eyes snapped open.
“There’s no need to tiptoe, Moffatt. I’m not dead yet.” She turned the battery of her mocking eyes on to Melissa who stiffened her spine and sat hardly daring to breathe, eyes downcast. “We won’t fight any more, Sonia.”
The thin hand came out in an involuntary appeal, and Melissa grasped it.
“No, Grandmother.” She kept her voice low.
The blue eyes blazed as they studied her. “You do love him, don’t you?”
Melissa held tightly to the thin hand for a long stricken moment, and the old lady gave a painful rasping rattle.
“You’re a good girl.” The thin hand gave a dismissing pat, and Melissa leaned over and kissed the wrinkled cheek.
The nurse held the door open for her, so she went out without a backward glance. She had reached the stairs when the booming laugh of Uncle Harold came clearly through the partially open door of the dining room. She glanced in. The table was set for lunch, and the Davenports and Peter sat around it. She tensed her stomach muscles and walked in to join them.
Peter rose to pull out her chair. The older couple stared at her with disapproval as she sat down. Pamela raised a questioning eyebrow and smiled, but there was malice
in her eyes. Melissa was appalled by the dislike that showed so plainly on the three faces watching her.
She looked at the soup set in front of her. It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize for coming in late, but it would have been out of character for Sonia to apologize, so she shrugged and picked up her spoon.
During the meal, Pamela addressed herself to Peter, and Uncle Harold boomed on about the business, with his wife punctuating with ‘quite so’ at intervals. By the time Peter pushed back his chair as a signal he was finished, she decided she had never put in such an unpleasant mealtime.
“I’ll get my case,” she said.
Uncle Harold pulled down at his bottom lip. “Not so fast, my girl.” His voice was loud, bullying. “What about this new safety measure we have to vote on?”
Melissa paused in the doorway, and raised her eyebrows in Sonia’s best manner. “Naturally, I’ll vote with Peter on it if you insist.”
“Perhaps dear, you could leave it until Sonia isn’t in such a hurry,” suggested his wife.
“There’s no hurry about it,” Pamela remarked. She looked at Peter. “Unless you want to push the issue?”
The question hung in the air for a few seconds. Melissa waited, bewildered. There was an air of constraint about them all. Peter was tense, with a watchful aloof expression on his face, and Uncle Harold was too eager, leaning forward as though he was about to spring.
“Always next week,” Peter said with a shrug. His tone was casual. He glanced across the room at Melissa and for a second, approval showed in his eyes. “Hurry up, Sonia.”
Melissa ran up the stairs, and had one last look around the pretty blue room before scooping up her case and hurrying back down. She nearly collided with Peter at the foot of the stairs. He took her case, pushed her ahead of him down a curving side passage, and then up some more stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“To the car eventually. I thought you would like to have a look at the infamous Lady Carstairs.” The mocking, teasing glint was back in his eyes.
They came to a long gallery. There were a series of long windows facing the front drive, lighting the oil paintings in serried rows along the wall opposite.
“Guess who?” Peter said.
Sonia’s mocking blue eyes and high-arched brows stared down at her. The long dead artist had caught the haughty tilt of the chin and the shine of the blonde hair as it curled across the bared shoulders.
Glinting in the gauzy draperies scarcely covering the high, full breasts, the sapphire brooch stood out with startling clarity, each rosette of the intricate filigree work carefully detailed.
“She’s beautiful,” Melissa sighed.
Peter grinned, and took her arm, leading her back down more stairs that led into a back corridor opening into the paved courtyard. He threw her case into the back of his car and opened the door for her.
Melissa buckled her seatbelt and thought about the Lady Carstairs and Sonia. She was trying to puzzle out exactly what the likeness was between the two women, so widely separated by time. Apart from those eyes, was it something in the turn of the head and the tilt of the chin?
“Yes,” agreed Peter. He did seem to have an uncanny knack of reading her thoughts. “More a matter of identical personality than actual physical resemblance. Our Sonia is a handful, too.”
The car threaded its way down the narrow road that led past the village. Peter was whistling softly to himself as he drove. His moodiness had disappeared as soon as they had left the house, and presumably the Davenports, behind.
“About the brooch” Melissa questioned.
Peter chuckled, green eyes glinting in genuine amusement. “You women,” he teased. “Don’t you love a secret? Well, once upon a time,” he began.
The trip back to London hardly seemed far at all. Melissa listened enthralled as he wove out of the old family history the tale of passion and intrigue surrounding the gift of the bluebell brooch to Lady Carstairs.
“The portrait was painted before the scandal broke, because she never wore the brooch again.”
“And what happened to her?”
Melissa’s face glowed with eagerness, and the traffic of London thundered by unnoticed. Her imagination was captured by the leisurely period of the centuries before, and the men and women brought so vividly to life by Peter’s story.
“She settled down to being a dutiful wife.”
Melissa was thoughtful, remembering that vivid, high-spirited face.
“She didn’t look the dutiful type to me.”
Peter laughed outright, as he slowed the car into the kerb. “The men in our family are noted for their ability to handle their women.”
Melissa felt herself blush and was grateful for the dusk that hid her face. She waited as he came around and opened the car door. He picked up her case, and escorted her up the steps.
“Thank you for a very pleasant weekend, Miss Morris.” His voice was formal, but his eyes danced as he waited for her to answer.
Melissa fumbled with her key at the door, eyes downcast. “I hope you find Sonia,” she managed.
The door swung back. Peter gave her a casual nod and sauntered back to his car. Melissa waited in the gloom of the flat’s hallway and watched the white car accelerate into the traffic.
She shut the door and went into the living room, staring blankly at the familiar surroundings. His casual departure had left her with a sense of loss, although in all fairness she couldn’t think how she expected him to take his leave. Perhaps with a promise to see her again, a small voice at the back of her mind dreamed.
She remembered again that he really loved Sonia, and the desolate ache rose in her throat. She was only a casual weekend substitute, someone to amuse and entertain him until Sonia was around.
He had entered her life abruptly and violently, and somehow in the space of two days had left both her life and herself changed; and she reminded herself firmly, she would never see him again.
Four
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Sonia’s voice demanded.
The light was switched on. Melissa blinked in the sudden glare. Sonia was a vision in purple tweed, scattering cases, bags and a hat in her progress across the room. She paused at the mirror, and gave her blonde curls an approving pat.
“What a weekend!”
She swung around in a light-hearted pirouette to face Melissa, and the tweed skirt flared gracefully around her long legs. Melissa tried to smile a welcome. It was very easy to understand why Sonia’s grandmother was so determined to match Sonia up with Peter Darcy. They obviously belonged together.
“Something’s wrong. Didn’t Bob like your new image?”
At the sympathy and affection in Sonia’s voice, Melissa gave a forlorn sniff. The mist of French perfume enveloped her as Sonia sat beside her.
“Tell Auntie Sonia all about it,” she suggested.
Melissa took a deep breath. Sonia was going to have to know all about her weekend anyway. She started from when Peter had practically abducted her to the deception he had talked her into. The only thing that she kept back was that he had kissed her, twice, and the frightening way she had responded.
“And there must be something happening in the company business, because your Uncle Harold was very keen to push Peter into a corner over some safety measure,” Melissa finished.
Sonia chewed at the edge of a long pink fingernail. “Any new equipment would have the safeguards built in. Sounds like Uncle Harold wants to renovate the old machines, instead of investing in the new machinery.”
Melissa looked at her in surprise. This didn’t sound like her scatter-brained flat mate!
“The Davenports like to pocket profits, not put them back into the business,” Sonia explained in reply to the surprised look. “Peter and I try to block them as much as possible. With Grandmother’s deciding vote, we usually manage to run things our way.”
“Your cousin did say something about that,” Melissa agreed. “But it was
still a dreadful weekend.”
Sonia was unrepentant. “Who would have thought that our resemblance could have proved so convenient?” She stood up and swept into the kitchen in a swirl of skirt. “I’ll get the dinner, Sweetie.”
From habit Melissa started setting the table. “Do you think you should go and see your grandmother soon? She looks very frail.”
“Plenty of time,” the voice from the kitchen assured her.
Not for the first time, Melissa thought that Sonia with her carefree attitude was rather heartless, then she suppressed the thought as disloyal. Sonia had been very supportive and sympathetic when she had needed help. She had no right to criticize anything Sonia did.
“What if Peter Darcy turns up again?”
“What if!” Sonia mocked. “I’m going to be away for the next five days. I’m safe.”
I’m not, Melissa thought to herself as she sliced bread and refilled the salt and peppershakers. Even thinking about him makes me nervous. How could Sonia be so immune to his charm, and hold out against the family arrangement of marriage for so long?
Sonia came into the small dining room with two steaming plates. She laughed at Melissa’s doubtful expression.
“Peter is really my very favorite person, Melissa, but overbearing. Can’t call your life your own with him around. Now sit down and tell me what you think of my new recipe for omelets.”
Melissa sat down obediently. It is your heart you can’t call your own, mourned the voice at the back of her mind, and the memory of Sonia’s overbearing cousin haunted her the entire dull and conscientious week at the import agency where she worked.
The following Saturday was foggy. Sonia had not yet returned, and Melissa sauntered through the street arm in arm with Bob Williams. Bob, his face alight with enthusiasm, was telling her about his new shop.
“It is going to be a beauty! Ideal position too. Of course, I’ll have a bit of competition from the supermarket, but I will be able to handle it.”
‘That sounds wonderful,” agreed Melissa.
For some reason, life seemed flat and flavorless. Of course, she had been alone all the week. Sonia was away and Bob too preoccupied with chasing after his new shop to even give her a phone call. Bob cleared his throat, and she looked at him.
The Lonely Heart Page 4
