The Lonely Heart

by Jacquelyn Webb

  Henry, who was the silent old man who had served the meals, waited behind the wheel of the battered grey Mercedes. Peter put her case in the boot and handed her into the back seat. He held her hand for a long second, looking intently down at her. Melissa waited; she was not quite sure for what. The tension between them grew as the silence stretched.

  “I don’t know, little mouse,” he whispered. “We do appear to have unfinished business.” Then he shrugged, and closed the car door carefully.

  He turned his back on her and walked towards the front steps. The car purred into life and moved away.

  Melissa turned for a last glimpse of him. She watched him go up the steps. Pamela was silhouetted against the lighted doorway waiting for him and then the turn in the drive had them out of sight.

  It was a long drive back. The driver was as silent in the car as he had been in the house. Melissa huddled in the back seat, her mind going around in circles. Was there unfinished business between her and Peter Darcy? Was Peter going to marry Pamela as her parents seemed to expect? It would after all, give him the extra shares to control the business, or would it? Melissa remembered Pamela’s hard green eyes. What had Peter meant by unfinished business? Melissa sighed and Henry gave her a quick glance in the rear mirror.

  “Tired, Miss? Soon be home.”

  Home, Melissa thought, defeated. What was home? Home was where the heart was, and she had to remind herself that her heart had strayed into forbidden territory. At last the car pulled up outside the flat. Henry opened the car door for her, got her case out of the boot, and walked her up the steps to the front door.

  She waved Henry off and opened up the door. Well, she had had her impulsive weekend away, and what had it achieved? She was right back to square one with her confusion and dilemma still unresolved.

  She turned the light on, dropped her case and picked up a discarded coffee-cup by the armchair. Life still went on, she thought drearily. Whoever had said it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, had never tried it!

  Eight

  It rained for the next fortnight, falling with the soft persistence of a wet English summer. Melissa felt as subdued as the grey skies above her, despite the bright colors of her new clothes.

  She was supported through her listless routine by the unchanging pattern of her life: work and the weekends visiting her home, the hospital and her brother’s grave. She felt detached and remote from any human contact. Her father slept in his coma, and her mother waited, and the memory of her vital laughing brother faded into a dreamlike past.

  She endured her existence through a succession of grey unchanging days. Sonia was still away, whether still at Longleat or working she wasn’t sure. She often looked wistfully at her mobile during her long lonely evenings, but it remained uncaringly silent. She wondered what had happened since the death of Sonia’s grandmother, and tried not to think of the enigma of Peter Darcy and the curious constraint of their parting.

  Saturday at noon, the rain stopped. The sky became miraculously blue and cloudless, and the sun shone down warmly, sweating men out of their jackets, coaxing flowers into blossoming and women into flimsy summer dresses.

  At last her phone rang. Melissa grabbed it eagerly.

  “Sweetie!” demanded Sonia’s voice, vibrant and laughing. “What are you doing for the weekend?”

  “Going home. How was the funeral?”

  “Grandmother would have enjoyed it,” came the reply.

  The respectful expression of sympathy Melissa had ready to offer was immediately lost in an upsurge of amused exasperation. Her lips curved in to its first smile for the past fortnight.

  How very like Sonia not to grieve her grandmother’s passing. Although perhaps she was right. The old lady, organizing her family’s life with her last breath, was ready to die, and probably shared Sonia’s sentiments if she knew of them.

  “You still there?” Sonia asked. “I need some help with my packing. I’m moving out, bag and a lifetime of baggage. Can Peter collect you from your mother’s place and bring you down for the weekend?”

  Melissa hesitated. It was like Sonia to assume she had nothing better to do than rush down to Cornwell just to help her pack! And what about Peter? Did she want to face him again? She stared at her reflection in the hall mirror.

  Her grey eyes stared back, reproving her. She had to be honest! She didn’t have anything better to do, and she had missed her bright flat mate and her flippant attitude towards the problems of life. She tried to suppress the treacherous pleasure that she felt at the anticipation of seeing Peter again.

  “Love to come,” she agreed.

  “See you.” Melissa put her phone down with a sigh. It was like Sonia not to bother about organizing a time or place. Where and when was Peter supposed to collect her from? After lunch she dressed in her lavender suit and her new white voile blouse and packed her case with a sudden uplift to her spirits. It was wonderful that the summer had arrived at last, and she owned pretty clothes to wear.

  Her sense of elation and pleasure lasted the long train journey down and the short bus ride to her home. The house was empty when she arrived. She looked at the time on the heavy grandfather clock. It was well after the afternoon visiting-hour, and her mother was usually home preparing her early dinner. A faint worry invaded her mind. Her inexplicable light-heartedness was quenched. Her mother’s routine hadn’t altered since her father had been admitted to hospital, all those interminable months ago.

  After lunch on Saturday, she went to the hospital and stayed for the afternoon. Then she returned home, had an early dinner, and went back to the hospital for the evening.

  Melissa put down her case and rang the hospital.

  “It’s Melissa Morris here. Has there been any change in my father?”

  “If you will wait a moment, please?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone sounded impersonal and disinterested. Melissa sat down on the stool and examined a scuff mark on the edge of the heel of her purple and lilac shoe. Perhaps her father had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Why hadn’t her mother called her? She would have rushed straight down.

  The phone played piped Muzak. She waited and waited, dread rising. She shivered, suddenly cold despite the warm sun through the window. She gazed out unseeingly to where the white sports car was pulling up in front of the house. The piped Muzak cut off.

  “Miss Morris?” The voice on the phone now was an authoritative, warm one. “The doctor would like you to get over here as soon as possible.”

  “Is he...?” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  She was remembering her father before the accident. Not the remote sleeping stranger of so many terrible months, but as he used to be, his friendly twinkling eyes, his ready laugh, and his vitality. He just couldn't be dead!

  “The doctor is waiting here to see you. Everything is all right!” The warm voice was soothing, and the phone clicked off.

  Melissa picked up her handbag and flung open the front door. There was usually a taxi at the bus terminus, and if she hurried she could be at the hospital in less than ten minutes. She collided with the figure in front of her with such force that she staggered.

  “Steady on,” warned a well-remembered voice, as his arms went around her.

  “I’ve got to get to the hospital,” she explained, noticing without surprise that it was Peter Darcy.

  “You’ll have to direct me,” he agreed as he opened the car door for her to get in.

  It took less than ten minutes. He followed her in as she hurried into the small reception room where the doctor waited. Her heart lightened at the sight of his face. Surely he wouldn’t be looking so pleased if it was bad news.

  “He’s regained consciousness,” he said baldly. He put up a warning hand at the expression of delight on her face. “It’s not as simple as that, Melissa. There’s some brain damage. He will have to relearn a lot of things, and it will take months, but apart from a few gaps he should end up
all right.”

  “He’s going to be all right,” Melissa gasped. She turned to Peter, her face transfigured with joy. “He’s going to be all right!”

  “You’d better go in. Five minutes only,” warned the doctor.

  Melissa rushed into the ward with Peter still behind her. She hesitated at the foot of the bed. Her mother looked up. Her face was transformed with happiness. Peter, standing back discreetly, was surprised at the resemblance between Melissa and her mother. They both wore the same sweet expression in the slightly tilting large grey eyes and shared the same oval shaped face.

  Melissa looked at her father. His eyes were open and actually seeing her; her curly short hair, her ruffled white voile blouse and best lavender suit. His tired face broke into his well-remembered smile.

  “Hello, lass.” His alert eyes traveled over to where Peter waited and twinkled. “This your young man?”

  “Peter Darcy.” Melissa made the introduction shyly.

  She hardly supposed that Peter qualified as her young man, but her father wouldn’t remember that it was Bob she had been going with when the accident happened. Peter grasped the older man’s hand and smiled at him.

  There was a silence. They stood around and just looked at him. Her father looked at his wife. She smiled and held his hand again. The nurse came over and checked his pulse.

  “I think that you have all stayed long enough for now,” she warned.

  “See you tomorrow, Dad,” Melissa said. Her mother looked back as the nurse ushered them from the ward.

  “Come on, Mum,” Melissa said gently. “Peter can drive us home.”

  Her mother looked at her watch. “Of course dear. I’ll get us some dinner and come straight back. You will stay and eat?” she asked Peter.

  Peter agreed. Melissa’s mother got into the back seat of his car, and he drove them back to their home.

  “Do you still want to come down and help Sonia pack?” he asked.

  Melissa reviewed her weekend. It would be fairly late by the time they arrived, but in the morning she could help Sonia organize herself and her packing and perhaps Peter could drop her back at the hospital before the afternoon. Sunday night she would go back to the flat. Also the doctor wasn’t very keen on too many visitors yet, so she wouldn’t go back with her mother this evening anyway.

  “Is that all right with you?” she asked her mother.

  “Yes, dear. Now set the table. This is almost a celebration dinner.”

  It was a happy meal among the three of them. Melissa bubbled over with happiness, and her mother was her old self, happy and alert. Peter sat at the head of the table, his face boyish and relaxed.

  “I like your young man,” her mother whispered to Melissa as she cleared the table. “I thought you had broken off with him?”

  Melissa looked at her mother with affection. “That was a different one,” she tried to explain.

  “I like your mother,” Peter remarked as they drove away.

  Melissa chuckled. Peter looked at her. It seemed so easy to laugh the way she felt at this moment. Her mouth kept turning up all the time, and happiness and relief fizzled exhilaration through her like champagne. “She likes you, too.”

  For some reason, she thought she sounded witty and started to chuckle again. Peter drove fast along the deserted road. Around them the fields undulated gently into the soft distance, and the sun slanted long warm shadows across the road.

  Melissa took a deep breath of sheer happiness and wished their drive would go on through eternity. Whatever was to happen in the future, at this moment, she was as happy as she had ever been in her life. She would remember the beauty around her forever.

  Peter chuckled also. “You are a frivolous wench tonight, my surprising little mouse.”

  Melissa thought that was witty, too, and giggled. She relaxed against the seat. Not even the thought of facing the Davenports could spoil her pleasure with her world at the moment. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they were companionably silent, as Peter drove through the enchantment of the lingering twilight.

  Peter’s eyes were warm as he glanced at her and broke a contented silence. “Are you going to ask me about the funeral?”

  Melissa was sobered, but the reassurance of her happiness remained. Peter had been so bitter and unhappy the last time she had seen him and now it was all over. She wondered if he was grieving his grandmother’s passing, but remembering Sonia’s flippant reaction, hesitated to offer him any sympathy.

  He read the expression on her face and one hand covered hers quickly. “I will miss her, but I don’t intend to mourn her death. She wouldn’t have liked it.” He concentrated on his driving. “Grandmother would have loved the funeral. Sonia had a fight with the minister and with Uncle Harold. She ended the day by picking a fight with Pamela that developed into an undignified all-out brawl. I think Pierre was rather shocked.”

  “Sonia did say she thought your grandmother would have enjoyed the funeral,” Melissa admitted. She thought about the Davenports. Had Sonia routed them at the funeral, or were they still at the house? “Are the Davenports still there?”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you, my little mouse?”

  Melissa stiffened at the mockery in his tone and then saw the laughter in his eyes.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting them all again,” she said primly.

  Peter roared with laughter, and he was still laughing as he turned the car into the winding drive that led to the house. Melissa looked at the gracious front entrance, and warmth swept over her. She decided that she had become attached to this house. There was something welcoming about it. Despite all the things that had happened to her here, there was an air of timelessness and grace to it.

  Peter stopped the car. The front door opened. Sonia came flying down the steps to greet them.

  “Sweetie! I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my whole life!”

  Melissa hugged her warmly and smiled at Pierre, who had followed her down the steps and was reaching for her case.

  “And I’m very glad to be here. Sonia! He has regained consciousness!”

  Sonia didn’t need to be told whom she was talking about and hugged her with delight. “Fabulous,” she uttered, and there was a world of pleasure in her voice. She immediately became businesslike. "Pierre, take Melissa’s case up to the gold room. Melissa will want something to drink and to relax for a while after the drive.”

  Sonia led the way towards the double doors of the drawing room. Melissa hesitated for a brief second, and Peter laughed down at her as he ushered her through. The Davenports sat in their usual chairs: Uncle Harold sat by the fire, although it wasn’t lit; his wife opposite him, and Pamela graceful and assured, on the red padded Victorian sofa.

  Aunt Cynthia nodded an acknowledgement of Melissa’s presence and Uncle Harold inspected her with cold darting eyes before slumping back into his chair. Pamela was the first to speak.

  “Hello, Melissa. You must be tired after your trip down! Peter, do pour her a drink.”

  Although Pamela was trying to keep the conversation going, there was an atmosphere of constraint in the room. Sonia seemed pre-occupied, and apart from smiling her thanks at Peter when he handed her a drink, ignored the Davenports. Peter was the only one who seemed untouched by the unpleasant tension of the room. He was good-humored as he kept up a conversation about car races with Pierre and a casual commentary on the merits of ski resorts with Pamela.

  Melissa drank her sherry dutifully and was relieved when she could excuse herself and flee to the refuge of the gold room. She stood at the window, admiring the view. Nothing seemed to have changed since the last time she was here. There were still freshly cut tightly budded yellow roses in the yellow vase on the dressing table, and the moon flooded silver over the tranquil garden. The Davenports were still here, waiting out some unknown purpose. Pamela still turned her face up to Peter with the same air of belonging; and it still hurt Melissa to know that her love for Peter Darcy was ho
peless.

  Yet something was changed! She felt different in herself, and it seemed to color how she felt about everything. Probably it was due to the changed condition of her father, she decided as she got ready for bed. He had looked at her! She was once again armored and invincible in his love. Her vulnerability to the barbs of the Pamela Davenports of this world was over. Pamela Davenport was an object of pity. She had the burden of Harold Davenport and Cynthia Davenport as parents.

  She became sleepy, and her thoughts more disjointed. A vagrant thought scooped her up into awareness again. She had just realized that her bewilderment and confusion about her uncertain relationship with Peter Darcy had evaporated. She loved Peter Darcy and she always would, but she had come to terms with the fact that he didn’t feel the same way. She was content.

  Some much-to-be-pitied human beings went through their lives from birth to death without knowing the ecstasy and the rapture of love. She had experienced such a love and was prepared to pay the price for it in heartache and pain. It was something no one could take away from her.

  She became drowsy again. Perhaps whoever it was who had said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all did know what they were talking about after all!

  Nine

  “I think that should be the last of it,” Melissa said with a sigh.

  She looked across at Sonia. The pretty blue room still looked as if a whirlwind had hit it. From early morning, she and Sonia had been sorting out and packing the accumulation of Sonia’s belongings. The crammed wardrobes and cupboards had disgorged all the hoarded treasures that had sign-posted Sonia’s progress through life.

  Decisions had to be made on toys, first ballet slippers, hockey sticks, tennis-racquets and ice-skates, a riding-crop and a saddle-blanket, chemistry notes and water-color sketches, a colorful cascade of gymkhana ribbons, and dried-up bouquets. Sonia had suddenly developed a sentimental streak, and most of the mementos of her childhood ended up securely crated for forwarding on.