Loris's first instinct when she received her invitation was to refuse it. But the party had been fixed to coincide with Melanie's twenty-first birthday, and rather than hurt her, Loris braced herself to go through the ordeal of watching other people toasting Brett and Elaine's happiness. It was only loyalty to Melanie that had stopped her from returning to England immediately.
But if at times her homesickness and unhappiness about Brett threatened to overwhelm her, Loris was determined to look her best at his party and decided to go to one of the many lovely stores in Hollywood or Los Angeles for her dress. However, Mrs. Loftus gave her the name of her own couturière and assured her the woman would make her a far better dress than she could buy ready-made, and not wishing to appear ungracious Loris went to Madame Thérèse.
"You leave it to her," Mabel Loftus urged. "Once she's seen you she'll know the exact style to make. But I'd better warn you not to argue with her! She's a Frenchwoman with a very artistic temperament and nothing . annoys her more than being told what to do."
Nevertheless, although she left the styling of the dress entirely in the Frenchwoman's capable hands, Loris insisted on the colour being black, hoping she would then be able to wear it in England.
Returning from a fitting at the dress salon late one afternoon a few days before the party, Loris went up to her room to find Melanie pinning her hair before having a bath.
"You've been a long time," she remarked as Loris came into the room. "Is your dress nearly ready?"
"Just about. But if I have another prick from a pin I'll tell her to keep it! Next time I want a new dress I'm having one off the peg," Loris said ruefully.
"Nonsense," Melanie grinned. "If you want to be smart you must pay the price."
"I don't know that I want to be all that smart."
"Well, if you're going to follow in the footsteps of the stars you'll have to wear something different every day—and at least three wedding dresses!"
"What, for the same man!"
Melanie laughed. "That's your vicarage upbringing coming out again, darling! Of course not for the same man—three different ones!"
"I'm not sure I want to get married at all, let alone three times." Loris took off her coat and hung it in the wardrobe, her voice muffled against the clothes.
"Every girl wants to get married," Melanie said complacently, "and you'll want to marry someone one day as well." She leant against the dressing-table, her expression reflective. "Loris, do you remember the talk we had about Dickson and me a few weeks ago?" She paused and Loris nodded. "Well, I've decided not to see Miguel or any of Dickson's friends any more—unless I'm with him, of course—because that's how it'd be if I were married to Dickson, and I want these next few weeks to be a sort of trial."
Loris's face lit up. "Oh, Melanie, I'm glad you're going to give it a chance! I'm sure that if you and Dickson are together more often you'll understand each other better and won't want to be with him again, to hear his voice and touch him and—" Suddenly she could not go on and turned away, groping for a handkerchief.
It was the first time Melanie had seen Loris cry and she stared at her in consternation. "Loris darling, whatever's the matter?"
"N—nothing. I'll be all right in a minute. It's probably nerves."
"It's more than nerves," Melanie said firmly. "Come on, out with it. I know there's something wrong and I'm not leaving you alone till you tell me what it is."
It was as if Melanie's words broke the dam of Loris's self-control, and the tears rained down her cheeks as she gave herself up to the blessed relief of crying—crying for all the past unhappy weeks and for a future which, as far as she could see, would be a lonely, empty one.
With an exclamation Melanie drew her to the bed and sat with her arms around her until at last the sobbing ceased and there was silence.
"Is it Brett?" Melanie asked gently. Tears welled up in Loris's eyes again and she turned her head away. "But, darling, I never dreamed you still cared. I thought it was just an infatuation that petered out when you both left the ship."
"For him, perhaps, but not for me."
"Oh, Loris, I'm so sorry! How terrible to have to see him with Elaine. It's bad enough now, but before, when you were working for her, it must have been awful." A thought struck her. "You only stayed because of me, didn't you? If things had been right between Dickson and me you'd have gone home long ago and might have forgotten Brett by now." She stood up in distress. "The whole thing's my fault!"
"Of course it isn't," Loris interposed. "It wouldn't have made any difference when I went. The minute I met him it was too late for me to run away."
"Do you still love him so much, then?" Loris nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and quick tears of sympathy welled up in Melanie's eyes. "Is there anything I can do? I mean, if you'd rather not go to the party we could think up some excuse—pretend I'm ill and that you had to stay with me."
In spite of herself Loris laughed. "Don't be silly, darling. I wouldn't dream of spoiling your party."
"But it's Brett's engagement too and they're sure to make a hullabaloo of it. Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay behind?"
"Quite sure. After all, Brett isn't going to be the only person there. I shall probably enjoy myself in spite of him."
Melanie was silent for a moment, then burst out: "I can't understand his preferring Elaine. He must be out of his mind!"
"She's very beautiful!"
"You're not exactly an ugly duckling yourself, and if you spent as much as she does on clothes you'd knock her into a cocked hat!"
"Evidently Brett doesn't think so."
"Then he's crazy!" Muttering darkly to herself, Melanie bent and kissed Loris and went into her own room to change.
Now that someone shared her secret Loris felt less lonely in her unhappiness and thought ruefully that whoever had said a trouble shared is a trouble halved had certainly been right. The knowledge of Melanie's sympathy made it easier for her to meet Brett on a casual and distant footing, and she no longer disappeared when he called but remained downstairs in the lounge or out in the garden with Dickson.
For his part Brett maintained an impersonal, aloof attitude towards Loris, and did his utmost to conceal his jealousy of Dickson. Sometimes looking down at the boy as he lay in his invalid chair, he wondered whether Dickson had ceased to love Melanie and transferred his affections to Loris. He was aware that Melanie spent more time with her fiancé now, but could not decide whether it was because she sensed the danger of losing him to her friend or whether it was a genuine desire to be with him, and one afternoon he watched her for some time, unnoticed, as she sat on the lawn with Dickson. The sight of her slim figure made him ache with longing and he knew that if he had hoped to find peace with Elaine, it would never be more than a fleeting oblivion.
Elaine, on the other hand, was more than satisfied with Brett, for he was docile and gentle, and if at times she experienced a faint twinge of conscience, a glance at the large, flawless emerald on her finger served to remind her of all she would stand to lose if she gave him up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The evening of the party arrived and there was great excitement as the family got ready, an excitement heightened by the arrival of exotic sprays for the women—a present from Mr. Loftus and Dickson. Melanie was in such high spirits that she ran in and out of Loris's room continually, first for her hair to be approved, then for her nails to be varnished and finally her dress to be fastened; and when at last she was ready, flushed and eager in a white dress spangled with silver stars, Loris felt a catch at her throat at the sight of so much fresh loveliness.
Satisfied that she could not improve on herself, Melanie turned her attention to Loris. "Heavens, you're not nearly ready yet," she chided.
"With you popping in and out all the time I don't see how you could expect me to be," Loris replied with a twinkle.
"Well, now it's my turn to help you. I can't wait to see you in your new dress."
Loris looked
dubiously at the black gown lying across the bed. At her last fitting she had been startled to find that what she had envisaged as a simple dinner dress suitable to wear at the vicarage was a sleek, tight-fitting sheath that would have shocked the good people of Roxborough.
But when she had protested, Madame Thérèse had brushed aside her doubts.
"Nonsense, ma chère, you look absolument charmante. Perhaps it is different from anything you've had before, mais alors, it's the style you should wear. Ma foi!" she glanced down at her own bulk, "if I still had a slim figure like yours, I would show it!"
Loris had protested no more, although now, surveying herself in the full-length mirror, she wished she had, for the material clung revealingly to every line of her body.
The dress was strapless, its bodice boned and heavily encrusted with black jet beading which glittered darkly as she moved. It was more sophisticated than anything she had ever seen, let alone worn, and although she had to admit that it flattered her, found herself wishing the skirt did not fit so tightly.
But Melanie thought otherwise and clapped her hands in rapture. "I never knew you had such a lovely figure, Loris—you look gorgeous! Wait till Elaine gets an eyeful of you—she'll be green with jealousy!"
"You don't think it's too tight?" Loris asked anxiously.
"Of course not—that's the style. I wish I could wear something like it, but I'm not tall enough—or sophisticated enough—and by the time I am, I shall probably be too fat! Now let me put some more lipstick on you—you haven't enough."
"No, thanks, dear," Loris said hastily. "I'm not a film star, you know."
"Rubbish, you must look your most glamorous at a party. Sit down on the stool and I'll make you up properly. Now don't argue—I'm not going to let you spoil the ship for a ha'porth of tar!"
"Well, just make sure it is only a ha'porth," Loris warned.
Melanie ignored the remark. "I'll leave your cheeks pale and put just a touch of eye-shadow and mascara on. Oh, what lovely long lashes you've got!"
Knowing it would be useless to protest Loris submitted meekly to her ministrations, and afterwards peered anxiously into the mirror, relieved to see that Melanie had heeded her warning.
Mrs. Loftus had insisted on lending her a fur jacket, and she carried it on her arm as she followed Melanie out of the room, but half-way down the stairs she remembered her handbag lying on the dressing-table and ran back to fetch it.
The family were waiting in the hall as Loris came downstairs again, moving slowly and carefully on the high heels of her silver sandals, the front of her dress slit on one side, revealing fleeting glimpses of slender, nylon-clad ankles. Her hair was swathed on the top of her head, showing her perfectly, shaped ears, the lobes of which sparkled with diamante ear-rings matching the narrow gleaming criclet round her throat, and as she came towards them each member of the family had a different impression of her.
Dickson from his wheel-chair gave a long, low wolf-whistle which his father, had he been younger and less dignified, would have echoed. Mrs. Loftus regarded her with the complacent satisfaction of a fairy godmother, while Melanie, watching Elaine, felt a thrill of elation at the disconcerted look on the indolent face.
"Isn't she lovely?" Mrs. Loftus murmured. "She didn't want to have that dress made, but I persuaded her."
Secretly disturbed at Loris's undeniable beauty—who would have imagined the self-effacing English girl could ever look like this?—Elaine could cheerfully have consigned her mother to the depths of the Pacific Ocean at that moment. But she grudgingly agreed. "Come along, Loris," she called impatiently, "you're holding us up."
They all moved down the steps and waited while Mr. Loftus and the nurse manoeuvred Dickson into the car, Melanie hovering anxiously in the foreground. At first Melanie had been afraid her presence might embarrass him and that he would prefer her to keep away at times like these, when he was at such a disadvantage, helpless and dependent on others, but now she knew this to have been false reticence on her part and realized that the sooner they treated his paralysis in a normal way the better it would be for both of them.
Within a few minutes they were deposited at the brightly lighted entrance to Brett's large, white house.
Gleaming cars were parked close together in the driveway and the sound of music emanated from somewhere behind the house.
Brett greeted them as they descended the terrace steps and kissed Elaine lightly on the cheek, commending her upon her appearance. He was equally gallant to Melanie and Mrs. Loftus and it was only when he came to Loris that the smile on his face became set. The rest of the family were already moving away and greeting their friends, and for a moment Loris and Brett were on their own.
His eyes travelled over her figure, taking in the lovely contours of her body and lingering for a moment on her white throat and pink lips.
"So you did come to my party after all," he drawled. "I wasn't sure whether you would."
The white dinner jacket he wore accentuated his height and the breadth of his shoulders, emphasizing the deep tan of his face and the blackness of his hair. His firm lips were lifted in a quizzical smile, one eyebrow sardonically raised, and Loris dug her nails into the palms of her hands, refusing to flinch beneath his scrutiny.
"Of course I came, Brett. Nothing would keep me from celebrating—Melanie's birthday and engagement."
She started to move across the lawn and he fell into step beside her. "I hope you won't refuse me the pleasure of a dance later on?"
"Why should I?"
"No reason," he said stiffly. "I just thought you might be too busy with all the other men."
Loris faced him angrily. "I notice that even an occasion like this hasn't sweetened your temper."
"I'm sorry." Brett's mouth twitched. "It wasn't necessary for me to be so unpleasant."
By this time they had crossed the lawn and Loris stopped and looked around for Melanie.
"I expect you'll find most of the guests on the dance floor down by the barn," Brett said, as if reading her thoughts. "I'm afraid I'll have to stay up here until everyone's arrived, so if you'll excuse me—"
"Don't let me detain you," Loris said softly.
With an inclination of his head Brett turned and went back towards the terrace, and Loris made her way through the copse to the clearing, where a large dance floor had been laid down in front of the barn. On a low dais to one side a band was playing, and on the other side groups of people stood around a long bar, talking and laughing as they sipped their first drinks of the evening.
Loris was conscious of interested stares in her direction and was beginning to feel embarrassed by them when a young man detached himself from one of the groups and came up to her.
"My name's Morgan—Dale Morgan," he said, with a friendly smile, "and you're Loris—I know, because Dickson's told me so much about you. Now, what'll you have to drink?"
"I don't really know. To tell you the truth, I hardly ever drink at all."
"In that case I'm afraid I can't get you your usual buttercup of nectar, but I can recommend a champagne cocktail."
Loris hesitated and then nodded. "I'd love one."
"O.K. But don't disappear into the woods, Diana."
He turned away to give the barman his order, and a few moments later rejoined her with two brimming glasses.
He handed her one and held his own aloft. "To Loris the lovely!"
Loris smiled her thanks and sipped. "H'm, delicious!" She took a gulp.
"Hey, go easy! It's got a kick like a mule."
"Tastes like a mixture of lemonade and cider to me."
Dale clapped his hands to his head. "Holy-mackerel, you can go on thinking that, but just don't drink it as if it was!" He took her by the arm. "Come on over and let me introduce you to the gang."
Leading her across to a small group of people standing at the edge of the dance floor he introduced her briefly and informally. They all seemed pleasant and friendly, interested to meet an English girl earnin
g her living in the States, and would have kept her talking about her home and her opinions of their own country if Dale had not propelled her quickly on to the dance floor as the orchestra began to play a tango.
"If I don't dance with you right now I might not get a chance later," he murmured as they moved away together, and he was proved right, for no sooner had they finished their dance than one of his friends approached her and Loris found herself dancing with one man after another, responding lightheartedly to their easy banter and trying not to remember the occasion they were supposed to be celebrating.
Another drink was pushed into her hand and she drank it quickly, conscious of a pleasant headiness, until after an interval during which she seemed to be dancing the whole time, she found herself in Dale Morgan's arms again.
He held her more closely this time and in her unusual state of elation Loris did not find his proximity unpleasant.
"I'm sure glad I found you," he said, putting his cheek against hers, "and I'm not going to let you disappear now we've met. Imagine Dickson being engaged to one lovely girl and keeping another up his sleeve all this time! But I'm going to change all that. How about a date with me tomorrow night?"
"Because I'm a small, untwinkling star?" Loris asked softly.
"Because you're lovely and I've fallen for you in a big way, honey."
Honey! The endearment echoed in her heart and twisted the knife of memory. How long ago it seemed since Brett had held her in his arms and called her that! Hearing someone else use a word she had always associated with him made her realize that although they quarrelled bitterly every time they met, the love born of that fleeting nebulous episode on the boat could not be rooted out.
Glancing down, Dale Morgan was surprised at her expression. "Hey, hey, don't look so solemn! You're not scared of me, are you?"
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