“Work!” Pierre exclaimed in puzzlement. “I think it is foolish for people to work their lives away.”
“How do you intend to support your wife?” Aunt Cynthia asked rudely.
Pierre threw out his hands in mock puzzlement. “But Sonia is going to keep working. It could make trouble to have two people in a marriage working.”
Peter’s shoulders shook in silent merriment. Sonia’s eyes met Melissa’s, bright blue and dancing, and she winked slowly. She was demure tonight, in the high-necked black lace dinner gown, until she turned around, exposing her bared back.
“Of course, Uncle Harold,” her mocking tones rang out in the quiet room. “It would really be a lot better if Pierre had a business he could bleed. So much more respectable than living off his wife’s earnings. Don’t you agree?”
Uncle Harold’s face darkened to an ugly red, and he glared at Sonia, but she had turned her back on him, to kneel at the cupboard by the fireplace.
“I remember there should be some CDs in here,” she explained to Pierre. “This place really needs livening up.”
She found what she was looking for and slid the disk into the CD player. The staccato rattle of a Bolero drowned out Uncle Harold’s muttering. The inconspicuous narrow door on the other wall opened and the nurse came in.
She only had eyes for Sonia. She looked more tired than Melissa remembered her; the dark circles of fatigue making her face an unhealthy leaden color.
“Mrs. Hamilton would like to see you for a while, Miss Sonia.”
Sonia looked at Pierre. He smiled his encouragement. She smiled back and followed the nurse from the room. The Davenports fell into a thoughtful silence as they watched her leave. Her uncle in particular had a very unpleasant look on his face.
Peter, an amused glint in his eyes, started to draw Pierre out about the merits of his sports car. Although Pamela joined in the conversation, her parents remained sunk in a gloomy silence.
Melissa heaved a thankful sigh when Sonia at last returned, eyes sparkling. She looked happy enough for Melissa to hope that she had become reconciled with her grandmother. Sonia whispered something to Pierre, took his hand, and led him out.
“Probably kill the old lady,” Aunt Cynthia said with her inevitable sniff, as the door closed after them.
“Won’t do her any good,” predicted Uncle Harold with an obscure satisfaction. “A penniless nobody.”
“I don’t know,” Pamela said. “Might humble her into being civil to Grandmother.”
Melissa took an indignant breath, but Peter patted her hand in warning. She lowered her eyes at the obvious amusement he displayed. She wondered why he wasn’t springing to Sonia’s defense. It seemed odd that he held her in such affection, yet could listen unmoved to the Davenport’s sniping at her. The music livened into a fluid tango, with the swelling murmur of drums in the background.
“Turn that racket down, Pamela,” Uncle Harold ordered. “Once Sonia is here, the place is full of noise.”
Pamela was still by the CD player when Sonia spun back into the room, with Pierre relaxed and pleased at her heels.
“The place is like a morgue. Why are we all so sober?” she asked. She danced over and turned up the sound, hips swaying and fingers snapping
“Surely not even you can dance with your poor grandmother so near to death?” grumbled her uncle.
Sonia straightened up and looked at him and he deflated under her mocking gaze.
“Grandmother would just as soon die to dance-music as the sound of you snorting around like an overweight Pekinese,” she returned.
“That’s no way to speak of your uncle.” Her aunt was shaken out of her chill disapproval into open anger.
Sonia raised her eyebrows and with an abrupt change of mood as the music shifted into a waltz, swayed into Pierre’s arms.
Her aunt flushed an ugly red. “You arrogant little snip! You won’t talk so loud when...” Her husband reached over and gave her a warning tap, and she relapsed into a fuming silence.
“My dance, I think,” Peter murmured as he pulled Melissa to her feet.
Melissa, who had been a stunned spectator to the exchange, rose without a word. She was not sure of her ground in this house. Conventional rules of behavior didn’t seem to apply.
Peter side-stepped skillfully to avoid the gyrations of Pierre, who appeared to be inventing steps as he went along, and swept her through the open window on to the moonlit terrace.
Melissa glimpsed Sonia and Pierre swaying around each other in a stately measured ritual and the Davenports disapproving faces, including the frozen fury on the face of Pamela.
The music swelled into an old-fashioned love song. Suddenly, her discomfort at the unpleasantness of the evening evaporated. All she was aware of was the cold air against her hot cheeks and Peter’s arms warm around her as they danced along the terrace.
“This is a lot more pleasant,” Peter whispered.
Melissa’s heart quickened at the note in his voice. It was dangerous to slip so heedlessly under the spell of the moonlight and the music. Was it just illusion, or something more real? How could she feel so intensely over something that wasn’t real? Her mother’s words came back with a sharp clarity.
“When you are in love, you will know without doubt or question.”
She was so lost in her thoughts that she stopped dancing. She stared into Peter’s eyes. It was really that simple! An expression of something like bewilderment passed over Peter’s face. His arm tightened more firmly around her. She was again in that dreamless, timeless world as they looked a question into each other’s eyes.
He muttered something that Melissa didn’t hear. Then his lips came down on hers, and her arms went around his neck as she responded. Through her singing pulse, and the exhilaration sweeping through her entire body, she knew! This was the way it was meant to be, just the two of them together in the moonlight! The music stopped. She felt the tremor of his arms and he suddenly released her.
“You and the moonlight are a dangerous combination, Melissa.”
She just stared at him, still shaken by the emotion and the certainty that had swept through her. Peter’s face was troubled, tense and remote. Cold sanity swept back over Melissa. Again she had made a fool of herself by responding so whole-heartedly to his casual kiss. The music started again.
In the brief second of silence she had experienced an entire lifetime of emotions, love, heartbreak and humiliation. Without a word, she turned and walked towards the safety of the light streaming from the open French window.
Sonia and Pierre were doing an intricate version of a tango. Melissa crept to her chair in the corner of the room and watched them. She tried to quiet the raging confusion of her own emotions. A forlorn misery made her heart ache and her throat choke up. Why did Peter’s kisses mean so much to her that her world spun, and her values tottered at his nearness? Yet to him she was only a casual diversion. She wished she had an excuse to go home immediately and not drag out the travesty of the weekend.
Peter sauntered into the room and pulled Pamela to her feet. Melissa watched dry-eyed as Pamela nestled into him, lithe body matching every step. They looked like a couple who had danced together often.
“They make a nice couple,” Aunt Cynthia said. Her face had relaxed its high-nosed disapproval as she watched, and she leaned across to prod Melissa for her attention.
“Yes,’ Melissa agreed, in her most colorless voice.
They did make a well-matched couple. They were both tall and moved fluidly together with the ease of long practice.
“They will get married from here.” Aunt Cynthia darted a sharply watchful glance at Melissa as she made the announcement.
“I’m sure Pamela will make a lovely bride,” Melissa managed through stiff lips.
“It has always been their grandmother’s wish that Pamela and Peter marry,” Aunt Cynthia continued with a complacent smile.
Melissa could almost see Aunt Cynthia’s thoughts. She obvi
ously assumed that she was present because she was Sonia’s flat mate, and not because Peter Darcy was interested in her. And she was right, Melissa thought miserably. She was no competition to the elegant assured Pamela.
The music went on and on. Melissa retreated into her tight little shell and watched. She was bewildered by the pain she felt. Peter had not committed himself in any way, so why did her treacherous, uncontrollable heart yearn after him so much?
She belonged to him. It was as simple and uncomplicated as that! Of course his grandmother would want him to marry in the family and quickly, before she died. It was odd how she couldn’t think of Sonia’s grandmother as Mrs. Hamilton, or resent her efforts to control her grandchildren. All she could remember was the warmth and sympathy that had sprung up between them when they met.
“Melissa!” Sonia’s voice sounded worried. “You’re as white as a ghost, Sweetie. Do you feel all right?”
Melissa looked at Sonia’s concerned face. It wouldn’t do for Sonia to have any suspicion of the way she felt towards Peter. She made an effort and laughed.
“Just dazzled by your brilliance at the tango.”
Sonia looked relieved. She turned back to the collection of CDs, but Pierre was still studying Melissa.
“I think it is late to keep dancing. Melissa looks tired.”
Sonia pouted but put the CD’s back in the box and switched off the player. The Davenports yawned and stood up, and Pamela smiled brilliantly at Peter, as she followed her parents out.
Peter turned back to speak to Melissa. For a numbing second she wondered what he was going to say, and then Sonia was bustling her up the wide curing staircase, arm in arm with herself and Pierre.
“Come on. Sweetie. You do need some beauty sleep.”
Melissa forced herself to smile at them as they went into Sonia’s blue room, and then she tiptoed to the end of the passage to the pretty gold room with its carved four-poster bed. She shut the door with relief. It was nice to be alone at last.
She pulled the drapes back to stand and gaze at the moonlight-drenched garden below
Everything was flooded by the serene silver, with trees and shrubs throwing shadows so black by comparison that the gardens looked like a cut-out picture of silver and black.
Moonlight was treacherous and dangerous, arousing such uncontrollable emotions. Why had she fallen so whole-heartedly in love with someone who didn’t care about her? The way she felt about Bob had not even been a tepid imitation of what burned inside her like an insane fever!
Why had she got herself involved in the first place? Peter Darcy’s face stayed vividly in front of her. She tried to forget the way his hard, wary eyes lit with such understanding and warmth and how his face softened to tenderness when he looked at her. The memory tormenting her the most though, was her swirling rapture each time he had kissed her. She should have been more wary, she wailed to herself, but it didn’t help to control her emotions.
Melissa shivered at the memories flooding through her. She decided she felt physically sick. She pulled her clothes off hastily and huddled under the bedclothes, escaping the seductive moonlight by burrowing her head into the pillow. She desperately wished that the nightmarish weekend was over.
Despite her despair, she became drowsy as she got warmer. Another face flashed before her. The original owner of the bluebell brooch mocked her with haughty raised brows and a willful tilt to her chin. Lady Carstairs had loved not wisely but well, but had still lived out a tranquil full existence.
For some reason which Melissa was too muddled to analyze, the thought of that face soothed and comforted her, until she fell dreamlessly asleep.
Seven
Melissa was woken from her surprisingly refreshing sleep by a soft knock on the door.
It was the same young girl who had brought her breakfast the time before. Melissa smiled her thanks as she took the tray, deciding that perhaps breakfast-trays were the custom in this household.
After she had finished the piled plate of sausages, eggs and tomatoes, she leaned back on her pillows, daydreaming over her coffee. The haughty face of the Lady Carstairs in the portrait with the bluebell brooch lingered in her mind.
Refreshed, and feeling more practical after her good night’s sleep, Melissa decided she could learn a lot from that face. All women needed pride, self-control and dignity to stay in control of their own emotions. From now on, she was going to treat Peter with the wariness that such a lethal threat to her peace of mind deserved and act with aloof dignity while he was around.
After she had her bath, she put on the new swinging blue and gold plaid skirt, the matching soft gold jumper and slipped her feet into the soft black brogues. After she had made up her face, she was satisfied with her reflection. She looked bright-eyed and glowing, certainly not at all like the drab female who had crept into bed last night in such a defeated manner.
She went downstairs. The house was very quiet, as if everyone was still sleeping. The only sound was a murmur of voices from the kitchen. Even as she looked, the door swung open, and the same young girl smiled shyly at her as she edged past with another laden tray.
Melissa immediately felt apologetic about rising so early. She tiptoed stealthily down the passage, deciding to escape into the garden and explore it at her leisure. She was nearly at the door opening out on to the courtyard, when she paused at the shallow winding stairs.
On a sudden impulse, she went up them. She decided she wanted to have another look at the face that had haunted her dreams. The long gallery was in semi-darkness. Melissa looked at the windows shrouded in the heavy velvet drapes and bit her lip.
Surely no one would mind if she opened the drapes. She wasn’t doing any harm. All she wanted to do was to study the faced in the portrait. Whether it was because of the story Peter had told her, or the strength the painter had shown in the face, it was beginning to intrigue her.
She opened up the drapes along the full length of the gallery, and the morning light streamed through the four long windows. She turned back to study the portrait with a feeling of satisfaction.
On closer examination, it wasn’t as strong a resemblance to Sonia as she had thought. There was just some indefinable likeness in the tilt of the chin, and the same amused and mocking expression in the eyes. Despite the soft roundness of youth, the face had a lot of character. It showed in the steadiness of the gaze and the firm set of the mouth, painted in what was definitely a Sonia-style simper.
“I thought I might find you up here.”
Melissa turned in sudden shock. She had been so immersed in her study of the portrait that she hadn’t heard Peter come up behind her. This morning he was dressed casually in a high-necked jumper and slacks.
“You’re being very elusive this morning,” he continued. “The kitchen staff thought you were outside, and I even searched the garden for you.”
She recognized the faint self-mockery in his tone. His green eyes had an enigmatic gleam to them as he looked down at her. Her heart turned over at his nearness, and her eyebrows rose in indignation at the treachery of her own responses.
“Kindly lower those eyebrows, my little mouse. The resemblance is too dangerous.” He slid an arm around her, guiding her away from the portrait and back down the stairs. “I thought we might take a walk along the beach. When we come back, I will introduce you to Grandmother.”
“Do you think she will recognize me?” Melissa’s heart pounded and the treacherous waves of weakness spread over her again. She tried to pull away from the casual arm holding her too closely.
“Hardly,” Peter said, tightening his arm so that they stepped in disciplined unity down the stairs. “She has Sonia now, and she is failing fast.”
Melissa stopped fighting the implacable arm holding her against him. It was almost as if he were scared she would vanish if he let her go, but of course that was a ridiculous fancy. She decided that only an aloof dignity could save her now. She would pretend to ignore the closeness that had her hear
t pounding until she was breathless.
There had been a bitter note through the mockery in his voice. Melissa couldn’t stop herself from wondering whether he was being pressured into marrying Pamela to keep the old lady happy, or whether he would marry her anyway to secure the controlling share of the family business.
The silence lengthened as she worried at the facts as she saw them. Where did she fit into Peter's plans? Or didn’t she? The physical fact that she was tucked so tightly against his side so that their steps were linked was no reassurance.
They walked along the winding path, past the massed display of the rose-garden, and the wind blew cold and fragrant across it, the rose-scented perfume cutting sharply into her. They followed the terraced steps past the rhododendrons and the stepping-stones that led to the small patio overlooking the coastline. Then they were stepping, entwined like lovers, Melissa mocked to herself, down the steep path to the beach.
He still hadn’t broken the silence. She sneaked a look at him, and was thrown into confusion by the way he watched her. His arm steadied her down the steep track, and his closeness made her forget all her practical sensible resolutions.
She tried to steel herself against the insidious warmth that glowed through her body. She wondered if he could feel it. It made her fingers and toes tingle, her knees feel boneless, and her stomach melt. She knew that it had flushed her face to a burning pink.
She attempted to think logically about the situation. Why had he seconded Sonia’s invitation for her to come down for the weekend, if he was engaged to Pamela? Was he only being polite? Had he really wanted her to come? Just trying to analyze his motives had her confused. The whole family seemed a law unto themselves.
The tide was out and a wide expanse of pebbled beach spread out around them. The sun kept appearing through the ragged, fast moving clouds, so that the wet beach and rocks glowed as the waves of light moved across them. The wind was fresh and exhilarating. She felt it blowing away her apprehension, caution and her sensible resolutions.
The Lonely Heart Page 7
