So Brett had come in time for the wedding after all! She had longed so much to see his dear face again that now he was within touching distance, she was filled with such emotion that her whole body trembled.
As Melanie's voice, clear and sweet, fearlessly repeated her marriage vows, Loris felt tears in her eyes and blinked them away. As the solemn words were uttered in the stillness of the crowded church, and Melanie and Dickson swore to love each other for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, Loris silently echoed the words to herself, feeling in that instant as though she and Brett were the only two people in the world.
Oh, my darling, her heart cried out, if only it were you and I—in sickness and health; oh, Brett, my love, I would work for you and nurse you—for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse—nothing would matter except that we would love each other and find our greatest riches in that.
But as Dickson placed the ring on Melanie's finger and she turned to kiss him, Loris's dream was shattered and she came back to reality again, nervously clutching the two bouquets and refusing to turn even a little for fear she might encounter Brett's penetrating glance.
When he had seen Loris walk up the aisle, Brett had thought her a thousand times lovelier than he had ever remembered, although, with the perception of a lover, he was instantly aware of her fragility. The soft pink of her gown tinged the whiteness of her skin with a pearly radiance, but beneath the drooping brim of her hat he saw that her eyes were shadowed and there were hollows in her thin cheeks. He realized she was unaware of his presence until she turned to take Melanie's bouquet. Then he saw the startled look leap into her eyes and felt, rather than heard, the sharp intake of her breath. She had immediately avoided his gaze, but he was poignantly aware of her eyes, brilliant with unshed tears, and the tremulousness of her soft, red mouth as she listened to the words of the marriage service touched him as he had never been touched before.
The ceremony over, the bridal procession went into the registry and then wended its way slowly back through the church. Melanie and Dickson were driven off immediately, and Loris, who followed in the next car with Mr. and Mrs. Loftus and the children, laughingly shook the confetti from her dress, and hugged and kissed Timothy and Gillian as a reward for their subdued behaviour during a ceremony which, to them, must have been tedious and long.
Arriving at the house, they made their way into the garden, where a huge marquee had been set up to house the buffet, in the middle of which stood a great four-tiered wedding cake. The guests began to arrive, champagne corks started popping, and Loris found a great many people shaking her hand, congratulating her on her escape from the fire and her rescue of Melanie, for this was the first time most of them had seen her since the accident.
Mrs. Loftus moved among the guests hot and excited, her grey hair slightly dishevelled and the feathers of her hat bobbing against her cheek. "Oh, Loris, I'm so hot—I'd give anything for a cool drink. But I can't stop to get one, with all these people to see to."
"Can I get you something?" Loris asked.
"Oh, would you, my dear? How sweet of you. I'll stay where I am, so you'll know where to find me." And the harassed hostess turned to greet a new arrival as Loris started to make her way towards the bar.
"What can I get you, miss?" the white-coated bartender asked.
Not knowing what Mrs. Loftus would like, Loris ordered the first thing that came into her head. "I'll have a champagne cocktail, please."
"So you're still fond of champagne cocktails?"
With a start she turned round and came face to face with Brett. Their eyes met and Loris's heart began to pound. Had his face always been so tanned and lean, his hair always so vividly dark? How could I have forgotten how tall he is, she thought, how broad his shoulders are! Oh, Brett, my love, you are the only man in the world for me. She half-turned away from him, afraid that he might read the secret in her heart. But to the man watching her she seemed quite calm, her eyes veiled, her face composed.
"The drink isn't for me," she explained, hoping no tremor in her voice would give her away.
"Oh? And who is it for, may I ask?" he smiled.
"Mrs. Loftus." She took the proffered glass from the bartender, marvelling that her hands were steady and before they could say any more to each other, a group of people surrounded Brett, thumping him on the back and asking where he had been for so long.
With a little sigh of relief, Loris turned and wended her way back through the crowd to Mrs. Loftus, who took the drink gratefully.
"You'll never know what a boon, this is, my dear—I was gasping! By the way, Melanie's been looking for you—I think she's ready to change into her going-away clothes."
"I'll go up to her, then," Loris excused herself and hurried across the lawn, through the empty lounge and up the wide stairs to Melanie's bedroom, pausing on the threshold at the sight of Melanie in Dickson's arms. She made a slight sound as she entered, and still in each other's arms they turned towards the door.
Dickson grinned, quite unabashed. "Have you come to help my wife? My wife…" He repeated the words with lingering satisfaction, looking at Melanie with such adoration that Loris felt a lump come into her throat.
"Break it up, you two," she said gaily. "Melanie'll never be ready in time for you to catch the plane unless you leave her alone, Dickson."
"O.K., O.K., I'll go and change—I feel a bit of a fool in this rig anyway, and it's darned hot, too."
He went out, and Melanie threw her arms around Loris's neck. "Oh, I'm so happy."
They laughed and clung together for a moment, then Loris broke away. "Now come along, darling, let me help you change."
She removed the filmy veil, unhooked the satin gown and slipped it off, and in a matter of moments Melanie was dressed in her going-away clothes, a lemon-coloured shantung suit with white hat, handbag and gloves.
There was a knock on the door, and Dickson poked his head in.
"Ready? Fine! We must make a dash for it if we're going to get that plane."
Although they had hoped to leave unnoticed, crowds of people assembled in the drive and showered them with good wishes and more confetti as they drove off, and Loris stood waving and calling until the car turned the bend in the drive and was out of sight.
Soon afterwards, the guests began to leave and slowly the house and garden took on the deserted, dishevelled air that is the aftermath of any party. Empty glasses were scattered on the tables and plates of half-eaten sandwiches dotted the long buffet table in the marquee. And standing alone on the terrace, Loris wondered if anyone else felt her sudden pang of sadness. Then she straightened herself. I'd better watch out, she thought wryly, or I'll begin to get like the spinster aunt who always cries at family weddings!
Mr. and Mrs. Loftus were in the hall bidding goodbye to some more people, and Loris wandered across the lawn, idly wondering what had happened to Timothy and Gillian. Her stroll led her to the rose garden, and she sat down on a wooden bench, her hands in her lap, looking around her at the heavy blooms and breathing in their perfume.
It was here that Brett found her, and thought that with her skirts billowing around her like pink petals, she looked far lovelier than any of the beautifully scented roses. His feet made no sound on the grass, and it was only when he was a few feet away from her that Loris became aware of him.
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up. "Oh—I thought you'd gone."
"Would you have preferred it if I had?" he asked softly.
She did not answer his question and her voice when she spoke was formal and polite. "I haven't seen you Since the fire, so I haven't been able to thank you for saving my life." He shrugged, and she went on: "I want to thank you for the flowers, too—they were so beautiful and lavish that they created quite a sensation among the nurses." She laughed lightly. "I expect they miss having them in their rooms now I've left."
"In their rooms—did you give them away, then?"
"Oh, I don't mean that," she said hastily
. "But you sent so many that it seemed a shame to keep them all for myself, and after I'd had them in my room for a day, I shared them with the nurses." For a moment she wondered whether to make any reference to his broken engagement, but was so sensitive where he was concerned, that she did not wish to invite a snub, and cast about in her mind for something to say. "Did you—did you have a nice time in New York?"
"I did not," he said bluntly. "I was so busy I had no chance to have a nice time."
Remembering the lonely evenings he had spent in his hotel room, dreaming about this girl who was now sitting so calmly before him, more desirable than ever, his tone had a forcefulness of which he was entirely unaware, and Loris recoiled at it.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know. But I'm glad you managed to get back for the wedding." There was a pause, then: "Don't you think Melanie made a lovely bride?"
"Yes. Nearly as lovely as her bridesmaid."
Loris hid her hands in the folds of her dress lest he might notice their trembling. "This is a lovely dress, isn't it?" she murmured.
"I wasn't referring to the dress, Loris. I—" He broke off at the sound of voices, and glancing up over the hedge saw Mr. and Mrs. Loftus and their few remaining guests strolling across the lawn towards them. "We can't talk now. May I call for you this evening and take you out to dinner?"
She looked away. "I—"
"Loris, please." He caught her hand so that she was forced to look into his face, and a little thrill of joy ran through her at what she saw there.
"Yes," she whispered, "I'll come."
"Good. I'll pick you up at eight."
He turned on his heel and a moment later she saw him pause and exchange a few words with the group on the lawn before disappearing into the house.
Loris sat on a little while longer in the rose garden, refusing to allow herself to read too much into Brett's invitation. After all, he probably realized she would be lonely now that Melanie had gone, and what could be more natural than out of the kindness of his heart, he should invite her to dine with him that night? But a little voice whispered against this cold reasoning and she felt excited and tremulously happy.
Going to her own room to change for the evening, she looked through her dresses dubiously, wishing she had something new to wear. All the clothes she had bought before Brett's party were now too big for her, and the only suitable one which fitted her was a simple afternoon dress in pale lilac, perfectly plain except for a narrow embroidered belt. But it suited her very well, giving her eyes a violet tinge and making her hair glow more darkly.
When she was ready, she went into the lounge and sat down on the couch, idly turning the pages of one of the glossy magazines piled on a small table in the centre of the room. The clock in the hall was just chiming eight when she heard a car coming up the drive, and a few seconds later Brett appeared in the doorway.
Loris got to her feet and gathered up her handbag and gloves, and watching her Brett wondered whether the hours had dragged for her as they had for him, but her composure told him nothing.
He took her coat and held it out for her. "You'd better put this on. It's getting chilly."
As he helped her into it, both of them were intensely aware of each other, and Brett felt a sudden impulse to put his lips to the nape of her neck where the dark hair curled in tendrils.
They walked through the hall and down the steps to the car. The hood was up against the cool night air, and they did not speak as they got in and drove off in the direction of Hollywood.
Brett was the first to break the silence. "Have you ever been to Don the Beachcomber?"
"No. Who is he?"
Brett chuckled. "It isn't a person, honey, it's a restaurant."
Loris's heart leapt at the endearment and she wondered whether it had slipped out automatically or whether he had been aware of using it.
"Isn't that rather an odd name for a restaurant?"
"Just deceptive. It was started by a man who went over to Hawaii. He thought the food and atmosphere there so perfect that he thought it would be a success here. And it certainly has been—usually it's so crowded that unless one books in advance, one has to wait in a queue."
Loris laughed. "I didn't think there were such things as queues in America. What's it like—the restaurant, I mean?"
"Wait and see."
They were silent again, and Loris leaned back and closed her eyes, tired by the excitement of the day. When she opened them again, Brett was bringing the oar to a standstill in a car park and he helped her out and led her over to the dimly lit entrance of the restaurant. There was a small crowd of people waiting outside, and the dark little vestibule was guarded by a swarthy Philippino who allowed them to pass when Brett gave his name.
As the door closed behind them, Loris found herself stepping into darkness, but when her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw that they were in a large room so faintly lit that she could barely see to the other end of k. The walls and ceiling seemed to be composed of bamboo, latticed like a native hut, and the only illumination came from small hurricane lamps on the tables.
"Let's go up to the bar and have a drink first," Brett said, "you can look around afterwards."
They made their way through the crowded tables to the bar at the far end of the room, and perched themselves on high stools, while a white-coated Philippino bartender stood with pencil and pad ready to take their order.
"You'd better leave the choice to me, Loris. There aren't any champagne cocktails here!"
Before she could reply, the bartender, his dark eyes bright and eager, put in: "We can get you a champagne cocktail, sir, if the lady wants one."
"Oh, no, thank you," Loris replied hastily, and glancing at Brett in amusement, saw an answering smile in his eyes.
A few moments later two large glasses were placed before them and Loris regarded hers with awe. She sniffed it uncertainly. "Is it rum?"
"Yes. But don't make a face until you've tasted it. I'll bet my bottom dollar you'll like it."
The glass had a huge, cone-shaped piece of ice jutting out above the rim, and Loris remarked on the size of it.
"I've never seen ice that shape—or size—before. What'll happen when it melts—won't the drink spill over?"
Brett grinned. "You're supposed to have finished it by then, honey." He handed her a plate. "Here, have a lambstick."
"A what?" She looked at the long, flat dish he was offering.
"They're the bones of chops—at least what's left of them when the meat's been taken off. Rather than throw them away they hit on the idea of roasting them and serving them up like this. Take one. Yes, you'll have to use your fingers."
Loris took up one brittle end and bit into it. It crunched between her teeth. "Delicious," she said, and picked up another. And they sat sipping their rum drink and munching contentedly until the waiter came to tell them their table was ready.
"Is it near a wall?" Brett asked the man. "Yes, sir!" came the sibilant and eager' reply. They followed the little dark-skinned man to the far end of the restaurant, and turning to lay her coat over the back of her chair, Loris saw that their table, although apparently set against the wall, was in fact separated from it by a sheet of plate glass about a foot away from the wall itself. Artificial rain slid down the outside of the glass and looking through the mock downpour, she could dimly discern the outer wall, its bamboo surface twined with large green leaves. The dim lighting, the sound of the rain, and the steady stream of water down the glass, dripping off the leaves of the imitation trees, gave the impression of dining in a jungle.
"This place must be unique," Loris exclaimed, as she sat down.
"It is. And I hope you'll find the dinner I've ordered just as unusual."
"I hope I can see to eat it!"
"I'll take the shade off the lamp, if you like."
"No, I prefer it as it is," she replied hastily, glad of the dimness.
A few moments later the waiter set up a small table next to theirs and started to se
rve their meal. "I didn't order hors d'oeuvres," Brett said. "I hope you didn't want any?"
She shook her head. "American meals are so large anyway that I probably shouldn't have been able to get through it if you had."
"But you ought to eat more, you're too thin."
As he spoke the waiter set down a heaped plate in front of her, placing several bowls of food on the table at the same time.
"What is it?" she asked, looking down at her plate.
"The connoisseur's delight—wild pressed duck, unlike any other pressed duck in the world. They keep the skin on to give the dish more succulence—that's why it's so rich and crisp. Those are Hawaiian pea pods, and that's wild rice. Help yourself."
Loris obeyed, and they began to eat.
"Like it?"
"Love it! It's the most wonderful flavour I've ever tasted."
As they ate Brett pointed out one or two celebrities dimly discernible in the gloom and they gossiped about them casually. Desert consisted of pineapple flavoured with rum and set alight, and fresh paw-paws, and they finished the meal with black coffee. Loris noticed with a faint tremor that although Brett took out a cigarette, he did not offer her one, and wondered that he had remembered she did not smoke. While he smoked she watched him covertly, studying the firm line of his jaw and the aggressive chin, and wondered why she found it so difficult to keep the conversation going when there was so much she longed to say to him.
"You're not tired, are you?" he asked suddenly.
"Not a bit. What made you ask?"
"Only that you've been looking at your watch."
"Have I?" she said lamely.
He signalled to the waiter for his check. "We've been here long enough."
He helped her on with her coat, and then, with his hand under her elbow, guided her out.
Loris breathed deeply as they walked into the cool air. "I didn't realize how hot it was in there."
The Widening Stream Page 17
