The Lonely Heart

by Jacquelyn Webb

  Peter’s face relaxed. He removed his arm from around her body and caught her hand in a warm grasp. Suddenly, he was a different person from the moody enigmatic man she had warned herself against. His eyes were carefree and laughing, the tension and shadows vanished from his face leaving it relaxed and young.

  “Come on,” he teased. “Melissa, meet my favorite beach. Beach, meet my favorite Melissa.”

  She held his hand, and they ran across the beach, the wind whipping color into her cheeks and ruffling her hair across her face. The merriment danced in her grey eyes, and the dimple crept around her mouth. For a few seconds she felt guilty at her inexplicable happiness, remembering her father still in his death-like coma, and Peter’s grandmother slowly dying, and then she looked into Peter’s laughing eyes, and death and tragedy receded to another world.

  She laughed outright, as he paused to show her his favorite pirate cove.

  “I must have dug up every inch of it. I was determined there was treasure buried somewhere.”

  “Treasure is where you find it,” she intoned.

  “Trite, banal and clichéd, Miss Morris. Try telling that to your average run-of-the-mill hopeful eight-year-old.”

  They walked on and on, scrambling over rocks and peering into rock pools. The coast was completely deserted. It was almost as if there were just the two of them in a whole brand-new, freshly created universe, and the rest of the world hadn’t come into existence. Almost as if time itself was enchanted, Melissa thought dreamily. As if her thought had been spoken aloud, Peter looked at his watch.

  “Time to turn back.” They walked back along the pebbled beach, and the high cliffs reared up beside them as if they were guarding their world. Melissa looked at Peter as they swung along, her hand still held in his warm grasp. His head was high, and his face relaxed. He didn’t look like a man who had problems. He had been silent most of the long walk back, but companionably so.

  “It’s so peaceful,” she sighed.

  He gave her an oddly understanding look. “It’s a good place to do any straight thinking,” he agreed. The water surged up to their feet in lazy encroaching wave. Peter pulled her nearer the cliffs and grinned. “The tide is catching up with us. They say it waits for no man.”

  “That’s time,” Melissa corrected.

  “True, my little mouse, so start running.”

  They sprinted for the safety of the rocks and the margin of beach narrowed even as they ran. Melissa was breathless and laughing as he pulled her over the final clump of rocks that distinguished the little bay with its steep path.

  “Look!” he said.

  Behind them the water swept smoothly in, each wave rippling a little further, splashing gently over the rocks. In a few minutes, all trace of their pleasant walk was gone, covered by the moving water.

  Melissa shivered. Peter looked concerned.

  “I’ve had you out too long. Are you cold?”

  His arm was warm around her shoulders as they went up the steep path. Melissa huddled against him, but it was more for reassurance than warmth. The way the water had come up so quickly behind them, blotting out their footprints, seemed an omen, and her earlier doubts about Peter came back more strongly. Spending time with him didn’t solve anything! It only made her less able to make her own decisions.

  Pamela waited on the stone bench overlooking the sea. There was a speculative look on her face as she studied Melissa as if actually seeing her for the first time. She scrutinized Melissa’s face, flushed with delicate color, the way the sun highlighted the gold in the shining brown curls, and the happy light in the large grey eyes.

  Melissa, sensing the antagonism in that gaze, was suddenly chilled and ill at ease, and under Pamela’s cold inspection the color faded from her face, and the light from her eyes, so that she looked drab and colorless again, despite her bright clothes. Pamela seemed to relax, somehow reassured.

  “Peter, Darling,” Pamela said. “Grandmother is asking for you.”

  “Good! I’ll take Melissa up and introduce her,” Peter agreed, his voice easy and amused.

  He hadn’t seemed to have noticed Pamela’s scrutiny, or the subtle dimming of Melissa’s confidence. Pamela’s eyebrows raised a fraction.

  “Might be wiser to leave it for a while. She is hardly well enough to cope with outsiders.”

  “I suppose so,” Peter agreed thoughtfully. “See you back at the house,” he promised Melissa.

  He turned his back on them and sprinted up the path. The silence between the two girls lengthened. Pamela inspected Melissa slowly. Melissa felt herself shrink at the dislike in her face.

  “I think you’re wasting your time down here, Melissa.”

  Pamela’s meaning was unmistakable. Melissa felt the telltale flush burn her cheeks. She wished she had Sonia’s stinging gift of repartee to control Pamela with. There was a serious look in her grey eyes as she measured glance for glance with Pamela. She was determined not to let Pamela walk all over her. Once she would have, but that was in pre-Sonia days.

  “I think that’s my business.”

  Pamela’s mouth thinned. She turned and walked back up the path without answering. Melissa followed more slowly, turning on to one of the other paths. It was too early to go back into that house and be trapped under the cold scrutiny of the Davenports until lunch was ready.

  She explored the summerhouse and followed the winding, overgrown track that eventually led around to the front drive. She hesitated, standing by the heavy shrubbery. The front grounds were more formal, if just as overgrown as the gardens in the back, but lacked the charm of the unexpected beds of flowers.

  A well-kept but very ancient Packard car was packed in front of the cleared space at the entrance to the house. She inspected it with amusement. It looked a genuine vintage car, and was in beautiful condition, the black duco gleaming, and the running board as solid as the day it had been built. A battery was strapped on to it with fresh leather straps.

  Melissa started forward to examine it more closely, when the front door opened, and the heavy figure of Uncle Harold stepped out. Melissa moved back into the shelter of the shrubbery. There was no reason to stay concealed, but in her present mood the thought of the unpleasant, pointed questioning of the older man with his unfriendly darting eyes filled her with aversion.

  He escorted a bowed old man, dressed in a well-cut dark suit, with the light flashing off wire-framed glasses, to the car. The old man went with the car, Melissa decided. He was obviously the same vintage.

  The car choked into life, and turned in a dignified circle towards the long winding driveway to the front gates. Uncle Harold watched for a few seconds, rubbing his hands, glanced around, and then went back inside. The front door shut after him.

  The car drove slowly around the curve of the drive past where Melissa stood. She watched as the driver peered short-sightedly through the windscreen. She shrank back again, but he didn’t see her. The car negotiated the bends of the drive and slowed almost to a stop as it started to edge through the gates.

  Behind her, Melissa heard the sound of running footsteps. She turned, and caught a glimpse of Nurse Moffatt, face flushed and panting heavily, sprinting with all the unexpected agility of a much younger person. Then she was gone, the shrubbery closing behind her. Melissa followed a few steps after her, curious to see where she was going.

  The vintage car had stopped. The old gentleman leaned his head out the open window talking to the nurse. Melissa wrinkled her brows in puzzlement. There was urgency in every line of the nurse’s body, as she stood with one restraining hand on the car.

  The car was started again, and backed off the driveway into the shrubbery. Next, the old gentleman reappeared, carrying a leather briefcase. He took the nurse’s arm, and they both disappeared on the other side of the drive back into the shrubbery.

  Melissa was still staring at the shrubbery and wondering about the incident when she heard Sonia’s chuckle behind her. She turned. Sonia and Pierre had com
e up along the path behind her. Sonia was eye-catching in a bright yellow clinging jumpsuit, and Pierre equally dazzling in a bright orange satin shirt over his shabby jeans.

  “Been looking for you, Sweetie,” Sonia exclaimed. “Peter said he had left you in the garden.” She put a friendly arm into Melissa’s and continued their progress towards the front of the house.

  “Where are we going?” Melissa asked. She was suddenly reluctant to face the Davenports.

  “Time for lunch.” Sonia pushed the front door open, and the three of them went through to the dining room. Uncle Harold appeared to be in a very good mood, and for some reason Sonia’s appearance pleased him even more. He rubbed his hands and wheezed in a rusty imitation of a laugh as soon as she walked through the door.

  “Did you actually show your new husband the old park we are going to use to store the industrial wastes?” he asked.

  Sonia smiled back at him. Her blue eyes were artless. “Every foot of it, Uncle Harold, and don’t count on it being a storage dump yet.”

  Her answer seemed to amuse him, because he wheezed again, and his wife shot him a sharp suspicious glance.

  Pierre pulled out a chair for Melissa and then Sonia. Melissa sat down and spread out her serviette, keeping her eyes lowered. She was very much aware of the two empty places. She wondered if Peter was still with his grandmother, or were he and Pamela together somewhere? She could think of no way of making it sound like a casual question and ate her meal in silence.

  After the meal was over, they all drifted into the pleasant drawing room. Sonia took over pouring out the coffee. Melissa sat and just endured. Pierre winked broadly at her, and she managed a slight smile back. Uncle Harold looked at a massive fob watch and pulled at his lip.

  “Where did Pamela get to?” he grumbled. “This business of missing meals is just plain rude."

  His wife looked smug. “She and Peter went off somewhere for a walk. You know what young people are like.”

  Melissa kept her face blank and stirred her coffee with unnecessary force. She thought of the caress in Pamela’s voice whenever she spoke to Peter, and the way her eyes followed him around. The family assumed they belonged together. Yet Peter had spent the morning with her, teasing and relaxed. She gave a very tiny sigh. His actions seemed so inconsistent. She became aware that Sonia was watching her. There was a thoughtful expression in her eyes.

  “I don’t suppose Pamela has kidnapped him,” Sonia said. Her voice was dry. “If he isn’t back by the time we leave, you come back with us, Sweetie.”

  Melissa forced a smile to her face as she thanked her. She didn’t know why she felt so bitterly disappointed. It was a trivial enough thing for him to perhaps take Pamela somewhere and forget the time.

  There was the sound of a door opening and voices. Her heart began to beat more quickly. She couldn’t stop her face from lighting up as she looked towards the door. Pamela came in first, poised and satisfied, laughing back at Peter as he followed. His face was good-humored and unreadable. He glanced around the room and smiled at Melissa.

  Pamela moved over to the fireplace and drawled out an apology. Peter had taken her to see the new retaining wall the contractors had built. There had been some doubt on the specifications, and she had wanted to check it over in person. It had been such a long walk back. Her eyes were triumphant as she looked at Melissa.

  Her father was not mollified. “You should watch the time.”

  “I did,” Pamela said, and gave her father a reassuring smile.

  A quick look passed between them. Melissa suddenly had the odd fancy that his complaints were a pretense, put on for the benefit of an audience. Every line of his face was still deepened into the unpleasant gleaming triumph that seemed caused by the appearance of Sonia at lunch.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Aunt Cynthia had a small satisfied smile on her face. “She can have something to eat when we get home.”

  Peter lounged across the room and gave an imperceptible nod to Sonia who grinned broadly. Pierre caught the exchange and he looked puzzled. Melissa wondered with exasperation what was going on between them.

  There was the low murmur of voices outside the door. Peter reached the door in one quick stride and opened it. Melissa caught a glimpse of Nurse Moffatt, her face grave. A white-haired, thickset man with a high color stood beside her.

  “Doctor Patey,” Peter said. His voice was muffled as the door closed behind him.

  Sonia looked worried. “Grandmother must be taking another turn.”

  Uncle Harold, who had been lifting himself out of his chair, settled back again. His wife leaned her head against the high wingback chair she was in. There was a calculating expression on her face.

  Sonia huddled closer to Pierre, as if for comfort and warmth. Her face was sober and worried. “She is such a tough old lady,” she said to the room at large.

  “She’s not as young as she used to be.” There was a malicious reproof in her aunt’s voice.

  The room settled to a tense waiting silence. The house seemed to have come to frantic life. There were hurrying footsteps and the murmur of voices as people went up and down the stairs. The afternoon wore on, and they waited and listened. It seemed a long time before Peter came back again. He looked tired and somber as his eyes went around the room.

  “She’s barely holding her own. She wants to see you, Sonia.” His command was harsh.

  Sonia pulled Pierre out of the room after her.

  “What’s she taking him in for?” Uncle Harold demanded. For a few seconds his gloating triumph had dimmed, and his mouth pulled down in temper.

  Melissa looked at the way his jaw jutted out so aggressively, and not for the first time decided he had an unpleasant manner of speaking. To her surprise she heard herself replying.

  “He’s her husband. Why shouldn’t she take him in with her?”

  Uncle Harold subsided. After a while, Sonia came back. The anxious expression was gone from her face, and she looked serene, even with the tears trickling down her face. Pierre was close behind her, compassion in his brown eyes.

  “She wishes to meet your guest, Peter,” he announced.

  In the silence, Pamela’s sharp intake of breath sounded unnaturally loud. As Melissa followed Peter out of the room, she felt the hard suspicious eyes of the three Davenports boring into her back.

  “Why does your grandmother want to see me?” she asked Peter, as they went up the curving stairs.

  “She’s curious,” Peter explained with a shrug.

  Melissa looked at him in a last appeal, but he gently pushed her ahead of him and through the door into the bedroom. The nurse waited by the bedside. She was calm, but her face had a sad expression on it. The doctor gave them both a sharp look.

  “Only a few seconds, Peter,” he warned.

  Peter nodded. He and Melissa went over to the big four-poster bed. Melissa was shocked by the change in the old lady. She looked tinier and more frail than ever, and her features had sharpened. She was struggling for each breath, her chest heaving with each gasp, but her eyes were still sharp.

  “Peter.” Her voice was a painful whisper.

  “I’m here, Grandmother.”

  “You will marry Sonia? She does love you.” The whisper was barely audible.

  “Of course, Grandmother. Try to rest.”

  The old lady’s eyes closed, and in the silent room there was only the sound of the painful rasping of each struggled breath. The doctor waited, one hand on her wrist. The old lady’s eyes blinked open again. She looked straight at Melissa.

  “Sonia,” she gasped.

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Melissa answered steadily.

  “You will marry him?” The voice was so faint that Melissa had to learn over to hear.

  “Of course, Grandmother,” Melissa replied.

  The eyes closed again, and the doctor waved them away.

  “Good girl,” the old lady whispered.

  Melissa turned and smiled, although she felt the
tears trickling down her face. She and Peter went back down the stairs. Peter held her arm tightly before they went through into the drawing room. His eyes were somber.

  “She’s sinking fast. Do you mind waiting, Melissa?”

  She nodded agreement, not trusting herself to speak. She went into the drawing room and sat down quietly. Peter followed her in and stood by the fireplace. His face was dark and brooding. Melissa ached for him. She wished she had the right to smooth the lock of hair away from his tense face and comfort him. There was an aloof, cold look to his face, and she wondered what he was thinking that gave his face such an unpleasant look.

  The time passed. The shy little girl who had brought up the breakfast-tray in the morning came in with a tray of afternoon tea. Aunt Cynthia dispensed it in silence, and they drank it without comment.

  It was getting quite late in the afternoon by the time the doctor came in. He looked tired and bad-tempered. The faces around the room turned to him with one question on them all.

  “Yes,” he agreed. There was bitterness in his voice. ”This time she has slipped away on me.”

  He rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder for a brief second and then turned to face the barrage of questions. Uncle Harold seemed to have the most to say, and his booming voice filled the room, with the acid comments of his wife and the drawled remarks of Pamela rising over all.

  Sonia leaned dry-eyed in the shelter of Pierre’s arms watching them. Her mouth had a scornful twist to it. Melissa was thankful when the quiet voice of Peter spoke to her about her return to London.

  “I have arranged for Henry to drive you back,” he explained. “There will be a lot of family business to attend to, and I think you are better off out of it.”

  Melissa gave a wistful smile. “Thank you for the weekend Peter. I’m glad to have had the privilege of meeting your grandmother before she died.”

  The house seemed hushed and very quiet. Melissa checked she had packed everything and looked one last time around the bedroom before going downstairs.