by Jane Corrie
What she couldn't understand was why she should feel so completely devastated. This was what she had hoped for, wasn't it? Now she could get on with her life, although doing what, she had no idea. She quickly thrust this thought aside. Time enough to think of that in the lonely days ahead, she told herself as she made her way to the old nursery for the morning's lesson, acknowledging Celia's, 'Won't be long!' call, as she disappeared in the direction of her father's study.
Melanie could guess what Celia was up to. She was going to make an attempt to get her father to change his mind about Melanie going on the trip to Venice with her, but she would be wasting her time, Melanie thought dully.
She sighed deeply as she arranged the books for the lesson. Celia ought to have been put into the picture earlier, she thought. As it was, she had no idea that Melanie would be gone by the time she arrived back from Venice.
It was not Melanie's place to tell her, either. Perhaps her father would? Perhaps he was telling her right now? Melanie wondered, and coward-like, certainly hoped he wouldn't, for it would be a very subdued Celia who would return to the schoolroom.
She shrugged. Celia was young. She had the resilience of youth on her side. Give her a few weeks with Leonora back, who, in all probability, would become her stepmother as soon as the annulment was through, and she would soon forget her.
When Celia did arrive for the lesson, she was, happily for Melanie, not a bit subdued, but somehow elated, and this puzzled Melanie. It was plain that
whatever excuse her father had given for Melanie's exclusion from the trip had completely satisfied her.
All through the lesson that morning, Melanie's mind wrestled with this enigma. Had Julian told his daughter the truth? Had he put the plain and simple fact to her that Melanie was unhappy and never would be happy in an environment that was alien to her?
She almost nodded. This could be the only answer. Celia, for all her youth, was a sensible girl. Told it like that—that Melanie would be happier if released from her obligation—she would heartily endorse her father's action.
Julian was not present at lunch, and Celia told Melanie that he had gone up to town for the afternoon, and wouldn't be back until the evening. Although Melanie was grateful for a little relief from his presence, she was certain that he would be seeking her out that evening to discuss the terms of the annulment.
After lunch, Celia collected her cardigan and called out to Melanie that she was off to Leonora's, and a slightly surprised Melanie advised her to take a raincoat as it looked as if it might pour down at any moment, judging from the darkening sky.
Watching her slim figure disappear around the side of the house, Melanie wanted to weep. Only a day or so ago, Celia had been assuring Melanie that she would get on with Leonora, and how certain she was that they would become friends. If she had been in any doubt of Julian's intentions, this would have settled them for once and for all. It was as if she had never existed! Life would go on at Oaklands, with the arrival and departure of Miss Greensmith treated as that of another member of staff who had given in her notice.
Hot tears stung behind her eyes, but she determinedly held them at bay. This was nothing but self-
pity, and really, she had nothing to moan about. This was what she had wanted to happen, and she was only fooling herself if she tried to pretend otherwise.
She had got too soft. That was what was the matter with her. This environment of luxury had corrupted her. She squared her slim shoulders. This evening it would be all over, and she devoutly hoped that she wouldn't make a fool of herself by showing Julian that she cared for him. That would be absolutely dreadful, for both of them.
Her eyes turned to the woods in the distance where Celia was heading. Julian was probably closeted with his solicitor right now, giving him instructions on the terms of the annulment.
She drew in a swift breath. He would be generous. He could afford to be, of course. Well, she would accept some money from him—she would have to, until she found herself another job—but she would repay all of it later, no matter how annoyed this would make him, and to save argument, she wouldn't tell him what she had in mind. Simply send him a cheque when she had saved enough.
Her thoughts went to her aunt at this juncture. Thank goodness she had not sent her that letter. There was no reason now for subterfuge, so that was something good that had come out of the whole charade.
For a while, she simply stood by the drawing-room windows, gazing out, her mind flitting from one thought to another, and not concentrating on anything. It was rather like a state of shock, although Melanie was unaware of it.
At last, she made an effort to pull herself out of the lethargy she had fallen into. She needed action of some kind, and decided to start packing her belongings.
She would make it easier for Julian when he called on her that evening, as he would find her already prepared for the move. It would save him the embarrassment of giving her her notice.
As she passed the hall, she saw a letter on the hall table which must have come by second post. All mail was placed there to be picked up by Julian on his way to the study, but this letter was addressed to her and, picking it up, Melanie recognised her aunt's scholastic hand. She was probably wondering why she hadn't written, Melanie thought as she took the letter off to her rooms to read.
The contents of the letter, however, had nothing to do with Melanie's tardiness in corresponding with her aunt, and her eyes widened as she read the letter, in which her aunt told her that she had parted company with Mr Makin, the 'Mr' holding a somewhat ominous ring. Melanie surmised that her aunt had found him out at last.
Her first thought was of relief for her aunt, of whom she was very fond, and her second thought was one of relief for herself, for now she had somewhere to go, and would not have to go through the tedious business of finding herself lodgings.
Melanie replied to the letter straight away. Not exactly sympathising with her aunt, for she would not care for that turn of phrase at all, but told her that she hoped soon to be back in London again, as her job had ended, and she would like to take her up on her earlier invitation to stay with her while she looked for other work.
As Melanie sealed the letter, she felt that at last, things were going her way. The blackness had somewhat lightened, and at least she had somewhere to go. After living in a dream world, she needed the
company of someone like her aunt, with her no-nonsense attitude to life; and it wouldn't take her long to get herself straightened out and able to face the real world again.
Melanie started her packing. It didn't take her long. She had no intention of keeping the expensive clothes that Julian had paid for for her use in the role of 'Mrs Cridell', and she would have no use for such finery as evening dresses.
Her wardrobe was sparse, and it didn't take her long to fold the clothes into her suitcase, leaving only the things that she would need for her night's stay, and her light jersey wool suit to wear the next morning if things turned out the way she thought they would. In which case, there would be no need to post the letter that she had written to her aunt, for she would be on her way to see her the following morning.
She then carried her suitcase into the small sitting-room and placed it in a position where Julian wouldn't fail to see it.
Celia returned just before dinner, and Melanie found to her annoyance that Julian wasn't expected back until late that evening. 'I told you so,' Celia sighed. 'I said he'd be late. I expect that he's dining with some of his business colleagues,' she added.
Melanie had to swallow her resentment. All her preparation and mental bolstering up for the evening's showdown had been in vain, and she would have to go through it all again tomorrow.
What did he care about keeping her waiting? She was only his daughter's paid companion.
If Celia noticed her annoyance she didn't comment on it, but chatted away happily about her visit to Leonora. Leonora this, and Leonora that, until Melanie could have screamed, and when she did get a
; word in, asked her if she was going to Venice.
'Oh, yes,' Celia said. 'Once Dad said I could go, I knew it would be all right. We're off next weekend.'
Melanie's spirits sank at the news. It looked very much as if she would have to wait until that date, or very soon afterwards, before she would be able to get away from Oaklands. It would be at the Cridells' convenience, not hers!
She was still angry when she went to her rooms early that evening, leaving Celia to watch a serial she had been following on the television, after which she promised to go to bed.
After a while, her anger abated. It was only a week, when all was said and done, and only a very short time ago she had given up all hope of any release from a position that was becoming more irksome as each day went by, so what was one week?
She frowned as a thought struck her. Why should it be that long, anyway? If Julian was seeing his solicitor, there was no reason why she should be kept hanging about. Her frown deepened—there would be if Julian hadn't told Celia the truth!
At last things began to make sense. Celia had no idea that Melanie would be gone by the time she got back from Venice. It was all going to be neat and tidy. No scenes, no tears, no goodbyes!
Melanie sighed. It was better that way, of course; she would hate an emotional scene, and finding herself having to make promises of keeping in touch with Celia that she knew that she couldn't keep.
She ought, she told herself firmly, to be grateful to Leonora, that paragon of all the virtues, by Celia's reckoning—and obviously by her father's, too for her timely arrival on the scene.
The shadows were darkening as she wandered over
to the window seat and sat with her arms propped on the sill and her hands framing her face. There was nothing to stop her from leaving any time she wanted to, she thought, and she wished with all her heart that she was not bound by circumstances that forced her to accept Julian's rules.
As it was, she was in his employment, and had entered into a contract with him, and she would keep her side of the bargain. She could well imagine his taunt of 'Coward' should she revert to any other course of action.
She bit her lip. That was in the past. He no longer taunted her. Just suffered her presence, she thought wretchedly, then straightened her slim shoulders. Only one more week, and it would be all over.
At breakfast the following morning, Julian's previous irritation and occasional tetchiness seemed a thing of the past; he was very attentive to both Melanie and Celia, reminding Melanie of their days on the island.
When Celia gave him the date fixed for their trip to Venice, he nodded in a pleased manner, but made no other comment, sparing Melanie the embarrassment, she presumed, of having to listen to arrangements in which she would be taking no part.
`Did you remember to ask Leonora to dine with us tonight?' he asked.
Celia nodded. 'Around six-thirty, I said, but you know Leonora,' she added with a laugh.
Melanie's attention went to her coffee cup. So she had to sit through another dinner, this time with Leonora, no doubt talking over old times. She couldn't imagine a more uncomfortable evening, certainly one to be avoided if at all possible.
`Don't look so worried, Melanie,' said Julian with a
hint of teasing in his voice. 'You should never judge a person on first appearances. Celia was right when she said you would get on with Leonora. She doesn't usually dress up for the occasion, you know, and she was probably wanting to live up to your expectations last night.'
Melanie stared at him, then looked quickly away. Did he realise how hurtful a remark like that was? In other words, Leonora wouldn't have bothered to wear a Paris creation had she known that Julian's wife was a mouse of a schoolteacher!
`I'm sure there will be another occasion when I can get to know her,' she replied stiffly, 'but I do think that it would be nice for you both to have a cosy chat with her. I have some correspondence to see to, so if you don't mind
That was as far as she got, for Julian was suddenly back to the angry state again. 'Your letters can wait!' he all but shouted at her. 'I'll take no excuse for your ducking out of your responsibilities!'
Celia stared at her father, and there was a small but very pregnant silence following this order, then she said hesitantly, 'I expect Melanie's a bit shy, Dad. Leonora did go to town in the dress line, didn't she? I was waiting to see her, so I peeped over the banisters.'
Julian took a deep breath. He was having some trouble holding his temper, but when he did reply, he had got himself well in hand. 'I thought that I had explained that,' he said coldly, before he slapped his napkin down on the table and rose to take his leave, giving Melanie a look that said plainly, 'You'll do as you're told, my girl, or else!'
A very subdued Celia followed Melanie's stiff back to the old nursery for the morning's lesson, and did her best to pour oil on Melanie's seething emotions.
Various remarks were made at odd times, but they only stirred the cauldron of Melanie's feelings, instead of having quite the effect that Celia was hoping for, `Dad's got a lot on his mind,' being one of them, and another, 'There was a time when he had some trouble with Leonora.' All very vague, but certainly adding up and making sense to Melanie.
Leonora had turned him down, that much was certain, she thought later that day when dressing for dinner. This, then, was Julian's way of getting back at her, and he could hardly carry out his plan of arousing jealousy in Leonora if Melanie was taking dinner in her private suite. No wonder he had been so angry with her!
There had also been confirmation of another fact. Celia was to be kept in the dark. She didn't know what Julian had in mind, and she wasn't to know, hence all that play-acting at the breakfast table. It was Celia that mattered in Julian's eyes; her happiness came first.
Melanie was in the act of fastening a brooch on the lapel of her silk suit when a thought struck her that made her fingers fumble with the catch, nearly tearing the material. Surely he wouldn't? Her lovely eyes widened. But he would! What does a man do when he wants to make a certain woman jealous? He makes a fuss of someone else right in front of her!
Her hand groped for the dressing table stool, and she sat down shakily. He hadn't been exactly backward in putting on a show for his ex-wife, had he?
It was the thought of Celia's presence that saved the day for her. Julian was not likely to indulge in any show of affection towards Melanie in Celia's presence. Fortunately for Melanie, it didn't occur to her that Celia's presence would last only until nine o'clock.
As Celia had predicted, the six-thirty dinner took place at seven, owing to Leonora's lateness in arriving, full of apologies and 'Doesn't time fly?' exclamations.
Melanie was now in the position of feeling overdressed, for Leonora wore a simple white blouse over trews, her hair pulled back in a ponytail style that emphasised her lovely classical features.
Her grip, though, on Melanie's hand was firm and welcoming, and proved to Melanie that during the long cosy chat that she had had with Celia the previous afternoon she knew very well how things stood between Julian and his wife. In all probability, she felt sorry for her, Melanie thought, with a spurt of anger towards this cool beautiful woman who could afford to be magnanimous towards the plainer version of womanhood.
At last dinner was under way. The delicious courses that were served, beginning with prawn cocktail, followed by cold roast turkey, with salad Romana and jacket potatoes, ending with a mouth-watering raspberry gateau, might have been more appreciated by Melanie had she not found herself the centre of attention throughout the whole meal.
Leonora demanded to know all about her. She sympathised with her for being an only child—she was one herself, and had often longed for a brother or sister. She wanted to know about Melanie's family, and try as she might, Melanie simply could not turn the conversation to other matters.
Julian was no help to her either, for he appeared as interested as Leonora was in Melanie's background. Of course, he would have to be, Melanie told h
erself caustically; it would look extremely odd if he weren't, especially if he wished to arouse Leonora's jealousy.
By the time dinner was over, it was Celia's bedtime,
and for the first time it struck Melanie that she would be alone with Leonora and Julian for the rest of the evening, and there was nothing that she could do about it.
After Celia had said goodnight, they drifted into the lounge. Melanie made for her usual seat over by the French windows, but was halted in mid-stride by Julian's soft but imperative, 'Come on, darling, sit here with me.' He pointed to the chaise-longue, while Leonora made herself comfortable in the armchair directly opposite them.
On meeting Julian's eyes while he made the request, Melanie's had held a definite warning in them to watch his step or all his plans would come to nothing.
Not, she thought angrily, as she moved a fraction away from his close proximity, that he would take any notice of her wishes. She was just there to make the number up.
The conversation drifted on to subjects other than the one that had predominated at the dinner table, much to Melanie's relief, and in spite of herself she found Leonora's accounts of her past travels, prompted by Julian, full of interesting anecdotes.
Now she was able to understand why Celia was so fond of Leonora. There wasn't a vestige of cultural snobbery in her comments, and she was apt to play down her peculiar talent where paintings were concerned. Her thoughts on the matter were that it was a happy coincidence that she had taken after her father and had his gift for weeding out the wheat from the chaff, and Melanie felt herself warming to this undoubtedly clever but entirely unpretentious woman.
She had been so caught up with the conversation that she didn't notice that Julian's arm had slid unobtrusively along the edge of the chaise-longue and
now rested lightly around her waist, and when realisation did come, she was trapped in the position. Her body stiffened as she felt his arm tighten and draw her towards him.
