by Jane Corrie
It was the only answer that made sense to her. She was sure that he was well aware that she hated the evening after-dinner sessions when they circulated among the other guests, all personal friends of his, and didn't attempt to shield her from their natural curiosity, making her feel if she had been pushed out to sea on a small raft to brave the heavy waves of the ocean as they swept over her.
She certainly had cause to be grateful for Celia's insistence on her purchasing several evening gowns, all of which stood up well against the richly dressed women around her. She was well aware that, as Julian Cridell's wife, she had to accept more than her fair share of interest in her appearance. She was also conscious of the fact that she didn't wear make-up. Her skin was clear and unblemished, and she had never used lipstick, hence Mrs Hounslow Holmes's remark about her looking like a games mistress, which was not so very far from the truth, Melanie had to concede later when she had had time to recall the remark. She would have been more gratified to have heard another of that astonishing lady's remarks,
which had likened her to a rambling rose set against a variety of hot-house orchids!
At first, she wondered what she should tell the more curious ones who enquired how she had met Julian, and on putting this to him, got the reply that the more they kept to the truth on these matters, the better it would be in the long run. She was to say that she had been employed as tutor to Celia, and let them take it from there. Melanie recalled herself flushing at the picture this was sure to present to most of the sophisticated women around them of a love at first sight, entailing a whirlwind courtship!
There was also the bald fact that her sudden appearance among them as Julian's wife had doused many hopes in that direction, particularly a few rich, bored divorcees, who consequently looked upon Melanie as an outsider who had had the temerity to plunder on their preserve. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, her unsophisticated manner and unadorned features must have caused much irritation, and seemed a positive insult to their beauty salon expenses.
After her first debut, Melanie could see how right Julian had been when he had advised her to tell the truth about their association. That way she couldn't be expected to have a lot in common with his friends, and the conversation would automatically drift on to other channels, making life a lot easier for her.
There remained only one little matter to worry her, and that was the fact that so far, no one had actually asked when they had married, and she could see a wretched time ahead should the actual date be known, for although Julian was attentive to her in company, it was hardly the kind of attention a man would give his new bride at such a time. Whatever else she felt able to
seek advice on, this question was certainly not one of them, and she was only too grateful that he hadn't thought of it himself, for should he make any attempt to act the lover, Melanie didn't know how she would cope. Basically honest, she could no more go through that stage of deception than she could put up with the detestable man her aunt had married. Not that she put Julian Cridell in that class, but the state of miserable embarrassment that would ensue in such a situation would be just as acute.
The days of that first week on the idyllic island drifted by, and each day, Melanie and Celia would go down to the beach. Now that Celia had teamed up with her friend Podge, Melanie had nothing much to do except get a good sun-tan, for Julian had business connections on the island, and was also part-owner of the hotel, and spent most of his time at various board meetings, joining them only when he was free from other commitments.
Melanie wasn't sure how it had all begun, but within two days of beach lounging, she found herself obliging several of the mothers by keeping watch over their children. At first it was a case of a mother forgetting to bring something out from the hotel, and asking Melanie if she minded her leaving her small son with her while she went back to collect the missing article, and of course, Melanie had no hesitation in agreeing.
Soon, no excuse was given by the mother, who automatically made a beeline towards Melanie with little Michael in tow, and would, after a brief chat to her drift off on some errand, leaving the child with Melanie. Human nature being what it was, it wasn't long before other mothers started taking advantage of this very useful method of dumping their offspring for
most of the morning while they enjoyed a complete break.
Celia, after coming back to join her on the third day, and finding seven little ones grouped around Melanie while she told them a story, asked in amusement if she was starting up a kindergarten on the island, and Melanie had smiled, and replied that it was an idea that was worth thinking about. To tell the truth, she was enjoying herself. The children were no bother at all, and she supposed it must be her teacher's nature that made her feel so much at home with them; it never occurred to her to look on the task as anything but enjoyable. For the first time since her arrival on the island, she felt useful, and actually began to look forward to the mornings and taking her 'class' through the adventures of old-time favourites, the stories of which were brought by the grateful mothers for Melanie to read to them.
She was in the middle of a particularly rousing story the following morning when she happened to glance up and saw Julian striding towards them, and she caught her breath for an instant in time at the sight of the tall, well-tanned man, whose physical stature dimmed all other males in the vicinity. She felt a peculiar sinking sensation in her stomach at the thought that this man, although still a stranger to her, was her husband.
His cold glance went from her to the children squatted around her as he reached them.
`Celia's over by the canoes,' said Melanie helpfully.
Julian didn't even bother to glance in that direction, but concentrated his hard stare at her. 'What is this?' he demanded, sweeping an imperious hand over the collection of tots around her.
'Oh.' For a moment Melanie was nonplussed at his obvious displeasure, then, collecting herself, she said brightly, 'Well, this is James, and his sister Tina,' she nodded towards the two smaller children in the group, 'Mr and Mrs Salmon's children, and this is
That was as far as she was allowed to get before Julian interrupted with a cold, 'I believe I know who they belong to. What I want to know is why you've been landed with them.'
Melanie blinked. 'I don't mind,' she began to explain, 'and it does let their parents have some free time,' she added with a smile.
'Well, I do!' Julian said grimly. 'I'm not having my wife made into a standin nanny. They can get someone else to watch over their children,' he stated emphatically.
It was unfortunate for Melanie that Mrs Hounslow Holmes happened to be within earshot, and seeing her nod of agreement with Julian's remarks, Melanie felt extremely cross. What did it matter what she did? Julian had been too busy with his business affairs to worry over how she had been occupying her time—not that she had expected him to keep her company, but she did object to what she felt was just a show of male arrogance over his domain.
Celia then strolled up—she had seen her father approaching—and joined the group, and his next words were directed at her. 'Couldn't you have done something about this?' he demanded angrily.
Celia looked as surprised as she felt, and blinked at her father. 'Melanie doesn't mind,' she said vaguely, and cast a speculative eye at her, wondering if she had complained.
'And I don't,' Melanie got out. 'They're no trouble at all, honestly, Julian.' She still felt uncomfortable
using his Christian name, and no matter how hard she tried there was always a slight hesitation when she was forced to use it.
She knew that this irritated him, and it did again, and didn't help the situation at all, for he glared at her. `No trouble or not, I'm not having it. Is that clear?' he ground out harshly, and stalked off in high dudgeon back to the hotel.
Out of the corner of her eye Melanie saw Mrs Hounslow Holmes gather up her numerous belongings and thrust them at her maid as she sidled off her lounger, as they, too, made off for the hotel. Hotfoot, no doub
t, to report that little scene to all and sundry, Melanie thought angrily. There was no love lost between James and Tina's mother and the old woman, who would lose no time in passing on Julian's angry comments.
Celia's attention was on her father's stiff retreating back. 'What's got into him?' she asked Melanie with raised brows. 'It's not like him at all to act that way. Perhaps he's been overworking?' she suggested.
Melanie was just in time to stop James from crowning his little sister with his spade, and then she looked up at Celia and sighed. 'I don't know,' she said. `I wouldn't have thought that it mattered all that much.'
With a shrug that echoed Melanie's words, Celia gathered the children up. 'Come on, you lot,' she said, `let's see if we can get some ices,'—a suggestion that immediately took their minds off the uncompleted story that they had been hoping that Melanie would finish. But before they left, Celia turned back to Melanie. 'Well, I suppose it was getting a bit much,' she commented. 'I mean, at this rate you could qualify as the Pied Piper, couldn't you? They have rather
loaded them off on you. I should, as Dad said, have kept an eye on things.'
Melanie didn't see it that way at all. She was feeling distinctly mutinous as she walked back to the hotel.
CHAPTER FOUR
BACK in the hotel, Melanie's ruffled feelings slowly petered out as she acknowledged the reason for Julian's annoyance. The trouble was that she had forgotten her position, and, looking at things from his point of view, it was small wonder that he had been so put out.
She sighed as she waited for Celia to come out of the shower so that she could take one herself. She still didn't really think the incident warranted the arrogant display that Julian had put on, but he was an important person with a social position to keep up, and she was being no help at all.
Her blue eyes wistfully caught her reflection in the mirror opposite her. In spite of her smart sundress, she was still plain Miss Greensmith acting as Mrs Cridell, and she didn't look the part at all. No wonder she had caused such a stir among this grand assembly of socialites! Even Julian Cridell must be regretting his somewhat impulsive action in taking her for the part.
At this point, Celia emerged from the shower and, rubbing her hair dry, said brightly, 'Cheer up! You look as if it's the end of the world! Dad will forget all about it, you'll see.'
Melanie wasn't so sure. 'Well, he was right, wasn't he?' she said slowly, and sighed. 'Do I look like a doormat?' she asked.
Celia burst out laughing. 'Of course not!' she said, and gave Melanie a hug. 'You're kind, you see, and
everybody takes advantage of kind people, didn't you know that?'
Melanie looked at Celia; here was another of those profound remarks that was so much at variance with her age, and that constantly surprised her. She gave a light shrug, collected her towel and went in for her shower, coming out a few minutes later, her hair springing out in a thick mop of waves and curls.
`Why don't you leave your hair loose instead of tying it back the way you do?' Celia asked. 'It's really something, you know.'
Melanie sat down at the dressing table and surveyed her hair. 'Wait till it dries properly,' she said. look like a walking bush. I'll never be able to do anything with it, but I can keep it tidy if I push it back.'
Celia studied her with her head on one side. 'Why not have it cut close to your head ?' she suggested. 'It would be manageable then, wouldn't it? The hairdressers here are really top class,' she added.
Melanie considered this but wasn't too keen. She had always worn her hair this way. `Oh, I don't know,' she replied slowly, although she had to admit that it did need some attention; it was getting a bit too long.
`Go on!' urged Celia. 'Be a devil ! It will suit you, honestly, and a little make-up won't hurt,' she added thoughtfully.
Melanie looked hard at her. 'Are you trying to tell me something?' she asked with raised brows.
Celia broke into a delighted gurgle of laughter. 'No, silly! I was just trying to cheer you up a bit, that's all,' she said.
Melanie wasn't convinced. Perhaps Celia was of the
opinion that she ought to make some effort to play the
part of her father's wife in looks as well as clothes!
The final result of that conversation was a hair
appointment being made for her in an hour's time with a not too confident Melanie deciding to take the plunge.
If Celia's, 'That looks great,' comment on Melanie's arrival back in their room later was anything to go by, Melanie had done the right thing. She felt almost naked, shorn of her thick tresses, her hair now cropped close to her head. It gave her a boyish appearance, to her way of thinking, but Celia's judgment had been right. It did suit her and, far from her own opinion on the matter, gave her elfin-like features a prominence that highlighted her large pansy-blue eyes. But Melanie saw none of this; she only knew that she felt distinctly un-`Miss Greensmith', and that like everything else that had happened to her, this wasn't really happening at all!
The only consolation that she could give herself when she dressed for dinner that evening in a white sheath-styled dress was that Julian Cridell would at least see that she was trying to fulfil her side of the bargain after her lapse of the afternoon, and she had to admit, when she had put a little colouring on her lips, that she did look more the sort of woman he would have married.
When she was ready to leave the bedroom and join Julian in the lounge of their suite where he always waited for her before they went down to dinner, she wished Celia was there to give her approval of her final preparations, but Celia was with Podge in the hotel's recreation room listening to music after a high tea, which they preferred rather than waiting for the late dinner hour.
At first, Melanie's arrival in the lounge went unnoticed by Julian, who was immersed in mail that he hadn't had time to look at earlier owing to a heavy
work schedule. Becoming aware of her presence at last, he looked up briefly to say 'hello', but his greeting stopped suddenly as he took in her appearance. 'What on earth,' he began, his lips tightening in anger, 'have you done to yourself?'
Melanie's eyes widened. She had been so sure that he would appreciate her attempt to look the part of his wife that his sudden, almost ferocious attack took her breath away. 'Don't you approve?' she asked timidly. `I just thought '
That was as far as she got. 'In future leave the thinking to me,' he said harshly. 'I have no wish to see you turn yourself into a caricature of the other lounge lizards. You couldn't compete, anyway,' he added cruelly, 'and you can wipe that stuff off your face as well. You look like a painted butterfly. It's too late to do anything about your hair, but that's as far as it's going, do you understand? I don't ever want to see you like that again. Your job was outlined to you, and I advise you not to overstep your position. I realise it's hard for you in this company, but I should have thought you would have had enough sense not to let things go to your head !'
Melanie stared back at him. She was shocked to the core. He had never spoken to her like that before, and she really didn't think she deserved such treatment. Her only wish was to play her part, not to ingratiate herself with what he might just as well have called her `betters', but she said nothing, simply turned on her heel and went back to the bedroom to wipe off the offending make-up. She hadn't used much anyway, she thought dully, her mind still whirling from his hard words. Ought she to change her dress, too? she thought, as she stared down at the silky sheath that clung to her slim figure, but at that moment Julian's
impatient voice asked her to hurry—he was hungry and wanted his dinner—so with a heavy heart she decided she had no choice but to wear the dress, and she rejoined him directly.
As Melanie walked silently beside the man she had married barely a week ago, and stood at the dining-room door to be conducted to their table, her emotions were held on a tight rein. She had gone into this arrangement with open eyes, and it was small wonder that Julian had torn her off a strip. She had overstepped the mark
, foolishly listening to a child of thirteen's advice against her better judgment. That was the last time that would happen, she thought firmly, and wished that she could somehow explain her actions to the stern-faced man seated opposite her, now studying the menu and ordering for both of them.
She drew in a deep breath. He was in no mood for explanations, that was certain, and surely he had summed it up pretty accurately anyway, only he hadn't given her much benefit of the doubt that she had meant to be helpful and not to ape the society beauties around them.
When the starter, a prawn cocktail, was placed before her, Melanie tried hard to put all thought of that devastating scene behind her, but she failed miserably, and her appetite deserted her. However, not wanting to cause any more tension between them, she struggled gamely on with it, and very nearly choked as it came to her that more could be read into Julian's anger than first met the eye. His cold advice against her not overstepping the line now had another and more intensely embarrassing meaning.
No wonder he was furious, she thought unhappily as she managed to finish the starter and stared down at
the plate of veal chops nestling in juniper, rosemary and vermouth sauce. The appetising dish would have awakened her taste buds were it not for the fact that she didn't see how she could be expected to enjoy a meal with a man who had thought fit to give her a lecture on keeping her distance, and who had told her that if she had any other ideas on improving her position, to forget it; she just wasn't in his class!
In a desperate move to push these unwelcome thoughts away from her, Melanie glanced around the room, and caught the eye of Mrs Dalton, one of the socialites that Julian no doubt thought she was attempting to copy, and who had made an effort to join them at meal times, saying how much she hated eating alone. Julian had positively vetoed any such arrangement, but she was not so easily discouraged, and now waved a careless, heavily ringed, manicured hand in greeting towards Melanie.
