Camellia

by Lesley Pearse

  With hindsight Mel realised Magnus was just being kind, concerned because she wasn't sparkling and afraid that he'd been overworking her. But at the time she just saw it as manipulation. 'If I want a holiday I can arrange it myself,' she snapped without thinking.

  She saw the two men exchange glances and realised she was a little drunk. Afraid she might make a bigger fool of herself she made a feeble excuse about having to have a word with Antoine. Before either of them could protest she got up and left the dining room.

  Fortunately Antoine did need a little help, as the dishwasher had broken down. Mel took everything out and washed and dried it by hand while Antoine dished up desserts.

  By the time she got back to the dining room, Magnus and Nick had retired to their sitting room with a bottle of brandy.

  Sally smirked at Mel as she imparted this information. 'They asked for you to join them,' she reluctantly added.

  Sally was the only member of staff Mel wasn't entirely comfortable with: a tall, thin rather Roedean-ish sort of girl, by day a student at Bath university. Mel had wondered before whether Sally might be jealous of her; now she knew from her sharp tone that she fancied Nick.

  'I'm not feeling too good,' Mel said lamely. 'I think I'll just go to bed. Will you tell them for me?'

  She had just turned onto the last flight of stairs to the top floor, when the door to Magnus's sitting room opened and Nick appeared. When he asked her to come in, she offered the same excuse she'd given Sally and went on up the stairs. Nick followed her, taking them two at a time.

  'What's really the matter?' he asked, catching up with her on the landing outside her room.

  'I told you. I don't feel well,' she lied. Washing up had sobered her up a little.

  'This evening's all been too much for you, hasn't it?' he said. 'Dad's like a bulldozer when he gets going.'

  The understanding in his voice brought tears to her eyes. The softness of it seemed to soothe the troubled place inside her. But as he saw her tears he drew her into his arms.

  'There, there,' he said comfortingly. 'You mustn't mind Dad. He's just afraid of getting too old before he achieves all his dreams. He forgets that some things can't be rushed.'

  It was so good to be held by him that for a moment she forgot her fears, even when his hands moved to cup her face.

  'You're worth waiting for,' he whispered, kissing her nose. 'Sometimes I can be the most patient man in the world.'

  His mouth came down on hers, and for a brief moment she yielded to him, losing herself in the sweetness of those hot, sensual lips.

  But reality came back swiftly and with it absolute horror. She pushed him away forcefully. 'Don't ever do that again,' she said, wiping away his kiss with the back of her hand. 'I told you I wasn't interested. Can't you get that through your thick head?'

  He took a few steps back from her, his face flushing a bright pink.

  'I'd like to say I'm sorry, but I'm not,' he said turning to go back down the stairs. 'I don't know what it is with you, Mel, but I shall find out one way or another. You wanted to kiss me as badly as I wanted it. You don't fool me.'

  As she lay in bed crying, Mel knew she was trapped. All evening she'd seen pointers to Nick's dogged determination, from the child who decided he would be an actor, despite opposition from his family, to the way he'd managed to climb back up that ladder after his initial arrogance had toppled him off. He might have been a playboy in the past, but he wasn't one now. He had decided she was his destiny, and she knew he would persevere.

  'Why do this to me?' she whispered into the dark, to the same presence she'd once thanked for landing her in this beautiful room. 'What have I done to deserve it?'

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mel looked out of Magnus's sitting room window at the heavy, driving rain. It was not quite four in the afternoon, yet it was almost dark. The strong wind had stripped the trees of their beautiful autumn leaves, covering the lawn and terrace with a tawny patchwork. To her it was a poignant reminder of the day she arrived at Oaklands two years ago, and the day last year when she met Nick Osbourne for the first time.

  'When are you going to tell me what's eating you?'

  The growled question startled her. She pulled the heavy tapestry curtains to, then turned back to Magnus. He was recovering from pneumonia. It had started with a bad cold the previous month, turned into bronchitis after an afternoon spent working outside in the rain, and finally to pneumonia when he refused to take himself off to bed.

  He was sitting in his high-backed leather chair, close to the log fire, wearing old grey flannels and a maroon smoking jacket. The tea tray she had just brought in sat on a small table beside him. He'd never been ill in his life before and he made a very bad patient, constantly getting out of bed, and delaying his recovery still further. But he was on the mend now, and next week Nick would be taking him off to the Canaries to convalesce in the sun.

  'There's nothing eating me,' she lied. 'I was only thinking how depressing autumn can be.'

  'I may be getting old but I'm not blind or senile yet,' Magnus retorted with a disbelieving snort. 'Come and sit down here.'

  Magnus had been aware for some months that Mel wasn't quite herself, but he had put it down to overwork. The hotel had been busy all summer and they had been short staffed. During his period in bed however, he had sensed there was something more than the need for a holiday. She was deeply troubled.

  Her smiles no longer seemed to reach her eyes, even though she still chatted and made jokes. Her brisk efficiency hadn't changed, and she was still every bit as pleasant to everyone, but the light inside her had dimmed. Now as she moved across the room to take the other armchair by the fire, he saw that the spring was missing from her step. Her whole body seemed tense.

  Magnus poured tea into the cups, added milk and passed Mel's to her.

  'Well?' He gave her a penetrating look, daring her to change the subject. 'What is it, Mel? And don't lie to me. I want the truth.'

  Mel gulped. She had known for weeks now that she was going to have to leave Oaklands, but she had hoped she could keep it under her hat until Magnus was completely well again. She knew how much he depended on her, and they had become even closer during his illness. But she had too much respect for him to try fobbing him off now with a lame excuse.

  For a whole year she had lived like a yo-yo: up, as long as Nick stayed away, down, the moment he returned. Wanting to see him, yet panicking the moment his battered red MG drew up in the drive. She'd prayed he would lose interest in her, find a job on the other side of the world and never return.

  Last November he had joined a repertory theatre in Birmingham and for a few months she'd managed to fool herself he'd found someone else to focus his attention on. But at Easter he'd moved on to the Playhouse theatre in Weston-super-Mare for the summer season and he began to drive over to Bath at least once a week.

  Magnus wanted to see each play Nick was in and he always asked her to accompany him. She had to go, to refuse would have hurt his feelings. But Magnus had no idea what agony it was for her.

  Sometimes after a matinee the three of them would go down on the promenade for an ice cream and a walk, but just a brush of Nick's hand against hers, a kiss on the cheek would start her heart pounding. She was trapped in a hopeless, desperate situation, forced to display feigned irritation and exasperation whenever their conversations became personal.

  Yet despite her pretended indifference, their mutual attraction flourished. His eyes followed her, just as hers followed him. On nights when he stayed at Oaklands she could almost hear his heartbeat through closed doors, feel his body against hers and imagine his kisses so vividly it shamed her.

  She was safe surrounded by staff and guests; it was the chance encounters when they were alone she had to guard against. She was terrified of allowing herself just one moment of weakness. Nick was back in Birmingham now, but he would be coming home soon to take his father away, and after that she knew he meant to get work in Bath.


  'Tell me, Mel?' Magnus's growl faded to a plea. 'You are far, far more to me than an employee and you know it. Don't have secrets from me now.'

  Mel sipped at her tea, mentally dredging through all the explanations she'd invented and discarded, trying to find one which was plausible.

  Everything she'd accomplished in her life had been learned here: bookkeeping, cooking, her knowledge about wine, how to drive – above all, self-respect. She could take her skills and use them elsewhere, but no other place would feel like home. She could hardly bear to think of life without Magnus.

  'I don't know how to tell you,' she said, and she could feel her eyes filling with tears. 'You see I want to leave.'

  'Why?' he asked, eyes widening with shock. 'Have Sophie and Stephen been getting at you again?'

  It appalled him that his two older children continued to resent his affection for Mel; they couldn't seem to grasp that she had earned it. Mel did the work of three other people, and again and again guests returned because of her. She was the glue that kept everything together, just as Ruth had been.

  Like Ruth, Mel too hid a great deal of herself. She rarely pushed forward her opinions, she didn't flaunt her many abilities, she preferred compromise to confrontation. She even concealed her beauty with subdued, often prim clothes. Yet behind her gentle manner and soft voice he knew there was a great deal more. No one could have such a deep well of understanding for others without having scraped the bottom of life.

  Mel closed her eyes and clenched her fists willing herself to be strong enough to say what she had to and insist that he let her go.

  'No, it's nothing to do with Sophie or Stephen,' she said quietly. 'I just feel I must move on.'

  In the golden light from the log fire she could glimpse the younger Magnus as he appeared in that old photograph taken with her mother: a lean, craggy faced adventurer, who managed to look tough and powerful even dressed in a dinner jacket and black tie. Now that mane of unruly fair hair had turned to silver, his strong jawline was concealed by a white beard, grown just recently when he was too ill to shave. His once hard, muscular body was finally succumbing to old age, but his charisma, humour and keen mind were unchanged.

  'I thought you were so happy here,' he said, alarmed by the tight sensation around his heart.

  'I was, but not any longer.' She faltered, knowing this wasn't enough to convince him. 'It's Nick. I can't cope with him any longer. Please don't say you'll talk to him, or even stop him from coming here. That isn't the answer.'

  She waited for the expected outburst, but surprisingly none came. He sat gripping the arms of his chair, his chin slightly uptilted, a proud, almost aloof look in his eyes.

  'Do you understand?' she asked hesitantly. 'I can't ever be what he wants. It's better that I get out of both your lives.'

  'It isn't better that you get out of my life,' he said, and to her dismay she saw a tear trickling down the deep groove in his cheek. 'It's better that you tell me the real reason you can't be what Nick wants. Because I know you are in love with him, however much you claim not to be interested.'

  Mel felt faintly nauseous now. Although she hadn't managed to convince Nick they weren't meant for one another, she had thought his father had lost all his romantic illusions about them. 'That's ridiculous,' she said fiercely. 'I like him a great deal, but not in that way.'

  Magnus looked at her steadily, his eyes calculating, unblinking. When he didn't respond immediately she felt even more uneasy.

  Long seconds passed while he studied her.

  'What is it you are hiding, Mel?' he said eventually. 'Are you married to someone else? Have you a child somewhere you haven't told us about? Or a disease you can't admit to?'

  'No. Of course not,' she said indignantly.

  He sighed, his eyes showing deep sorrow and some exasperation. 'I have to admit that when you first arrived here I had a strong feeling you'd come for a special purpose. As all the theories I had were proved wrong in the first few months, I put them aside. But while I was ill, with time to ponder why you were so troubled about Nick, one of those initial ideas came back to me. It seemed too far fetched at first, but the more I thought about it, the more likely it became.'

  He paused, looking right into her eyes. 'Tell me now, are you Bonny Norton's daughter?'

  Mel felt dizzy with shock at the question. For two years she had lived with the hope that one day he would mention Bonny's name. When he hadn't she had almost convinced herself it wasn't important to him.

  The wind was howling round the house, like a vengeful wraith trying to get in. She couldn't deny it.

  'Yes,' she whispered. 'Yes, I am Camellia Norton.'

  His face blanched and he slumped back into his chair. 'Why didn't you tell me this two years ago?'

  'At first because I was afraid to, later as I got to know you better, because I didn't want to hurt or embarrass you.'

  'She sent you here?' There was horror and fear in his voice.

  'No, of course not,' she said hastily. 'I told you that first Christmas I was here that she was dead. She never told me about you. I found some old letters from you.'

  His expression was that of a man who'd just had a huge bandage ripped painfully from an old wound. His eyes were wide open, his lips trembled and he clutched his hands together as if to prevent them shaking.

  'You'll have to start at the beginning, Mel. You see when you said your mother had committed suicide, I knew, or thought I knew you couldn't possibly be Bonny's daughter. She wasn't the type to take her own life. Aside from that I'd always imagined her child to be blonde.' He hesitated, a tick in his cheek making it twitch. 'You'd better tell me everything.'

  Mel had long since wiped out any suspicion that Magnus could have played a part in her mother's death. But the shock in his eyes as she described that day eight years earlier would have proved it beyond all doubt.

  'I found the letters the next morning,' she explained. 'I don't know now why I didn't let the police have them. I was just too devastated by them to think clearly.'

  Magnus nodded. He moved his chair nearer to her and took her hand, listening as she spoke of the funeral, the shame, the gossip and slander.

  'I was so young, a big fat lump of a girl whose mother was the town's tart. I just wanted to get away from Rye and start a new life. I shut the letters away in a suitcase, and it wasn't until I was much older that I began to want to find answers.'

  She described how she came to Oaklands and her reasons for not telling him then who she was.

  'I was happy just being close to you, Magnus. But when I met Nick last year, suddenly everything changed.'

  Silence pressed in on them. The wind continued to howl and the rain battered the windows. Mel was trying to find the right way to reassure Magnus that what she'd told him would never leave these four walls. Magnus was staring off into space, forcing himself to look at a part of his life he'd buried.

  'You see why I have to go, don't you?' she said eventually. 'I can't stay under the circumstances. But first will you just tell me something about you and Mum? I've pieced together part of the picture, but there's so much missing.'

  'Yes, I understand how you feel,' he said slowly. 'It's impossible for me to justify myself. I won't even try. You are intelligent and worldly enough to understand that even adult, normally responsible men can behave recklessly sometimes.'

  He cleared his throat and grimaced. 'I met Bonny at a time in my life when I was at a crossroads,' he said carefully. 'Behind me was my youth, and the war. I was forty-two, and there were several possible routes I could take. I could have gone back to Yorkshire, to Ruth and the children, but that would almost certainly have meant getting involved again with Craigmore, our family estate, and as I've often told you I had very little time for my elder brothers. Another possibility was teaching English and Geography, but there again the adventurer in me rebelled.

  'Everything was so grey and grim in that postwar period. All the major cities were ravaged, and men who'
d fought bravely for their country were coming back to find they hadn't even a home any longer. There were shortages of everything, from food and clothing to building materials. The government was dragging its feet, talking of rebuilding England, yet doing nothing at all about it.

  'A golden dream was beckoning me, Mel. It might sound fanciful now, especially to children like you who never knew the deprivations of the thirties and forties. But I was incensed by the apathy all around me, and I felt compelled to use the little money and influence I had, and my knowledge of building, for the common good.

  'I had just managed to get that first plot of land in Staines the day I met Bonny. I'd gone on to Oxford to meet an old RAF chum to celebrate. I certainly wasn't looking for a woman: I was happily married and I'd never been a womaniser anyway. But Basil and myself had rather a lot to drink, and we met these two dancers.'

  He paused, looked at Mel and smiled wryly. 'If not for her I might've just organised the building work, then gone on home to Ruth, Sophie and Stephen. But she literally danced into my life and turned me upside down and inside out. She was just seventeen, and completely beautiful and I spent four wonderful days with her. In my naïveté, I actually believed I could have those four days, then forget her, but of course I was wrong. She whirled into my life bringing a kind of colour and passion I'd never known before and I just couldn't break away.'

  Magnus lapsed into silence, remembering all those months of back-breaking work at the site in Staines. He chose the discomfort of hard physical work out of guilt. Yet if he had chosen the softer route and simply overseen the project he would never have accomplished all that he did.

  'You really did love her then?' Mel could see he was struggling with painful memories.

  'I always try to think that true love is what I had with Ruth: a peaceful warmth built on deep affection, sharing a life together,' he said gruffly. 'I never had that kind of peace with Bonny, it was more a kind of dangerous, destructive madness. She was travelling around, dancing in one town, then moving to another. Our affair was just snatched hours here and there. Yet it was love, for all that. She gave me something special, infected me with her spirit and daring. Giving her up was the hardest thing I ever did.'