Then Elfrida was crossing the lounge with a long, elegant stride, standing before Melanie and smiling gently and with charm.
“So here you are, my dear. Are you ready?”
Startled and relieved, Melanie answered, “Yes, I’ve been looking for you.”
“I was in the writing room, got started on a letter but hadn’t time to finish it.” As Melanie moved beside her, she examined her approvingly.
“You’re pretty tonight.”
“How nice,” murmured Melanie inadequately.
Out on the terrace they paused. A long, cherry-colored car was parked at the steps and a dark, well-shaped head glistened under the hanging lamps.
“Well, Ramon!” cried Elfrida gaily. “As usual, you are absolutely on time. You don’t know how much we have been looking forward to spending this evening with you and your father.”
Ramon scintillated. He bent over a hand of each and with extravagant courtesy saw them seated. He drove with his usual abandon, cast laughing remarks at the two ladies in the back of the car.
Frankly bewildered, Melanie was silent. For all the camaraderie and goodwill with which the car was bursting she had a premonition of calamity, a prescience of disaster.
CHAPTER SEVEN
STRANGELY, THE DAYS FLED BY on gilded wings. Melanie’s fears were shelved, her sense of security lulled. If Elfrida complained of headache it was the genuine sort that yields to aspirin and half an hour’s quiet; mostly she was disposed to be agreeable and occasionally a compliment slipped out like a bright blossom on a summer zephyr. She never spoke of the plantation, and she had given up inserting into her observations those acid little reminders of Melanie’s’ dependence upon her and her own narrowing resources. Indeed, one would have been forgiven for conjecturing that Elfrida had secretly and recently come in for a nest egg.
One morning she went to the large store with Melanie and insisted on buying for her a length of willow-green chiffon for evening wear. She suggested making it up at once, and sketched with amazing dexterity a design of sophisticated simplicity. The gown materialized, and the first time Melanie wore it she was breathless with elation.
They had been invited to dine at the Perez villa with several others, and to go on later to a show at the Tiran Palace, which was a spectacular building on the edge of a square, lily-strewn lake. That evening Melanie had first helped Elfrida to dress in a black brocade that was strapless and billowed out into a crinoline skirt. When her cousin had been satisfied, she hurried to her own small bedroom.
There the dress lay in its filmy glory. Melanie took a shower and reverently drew the cool chiffon over her head. She brushed her hair till it stood out in a silky mass of short, honey-gold curls, used powder and a couple of strokes of coral lipstick. The girl who looked back at her from the mirror was fair and dainty and sweetly flushed.
In the corridor Elfrida gave an approving nod. “You pay for dressing, child. Here, you may wear my white fur cape. I’ll have the squirrel.”
As they passed through the lounge heads turned and whispered comments were exchanged. The two Paget women! What an exquisite contrast—the tall, dark and lovely widow, the pale, virginal young cousin.
As there would be other guests tonight, Ramon had sent the car with the Malay chauffeur. He took them up out of the town into the winding residential avenue. Palms waved lazily against a violet-hued sky, the air was heavy with night scents. They came to Stephen’s house. Though Melanie had never been inside it she knew from Elfrida’s description that it was huge, with polished parquet floors, ornate pillars, massive furniture and wonderful rugs. Melanie thought of Stephen in there, surrounded by barefooted, silent servants.
She had not seen much of him lately. His diggings had started inland and he seemed to spend most evenings at home. On the weekends he swam and boated, and sometimes he would drop in at the hotel for a drink. Once, he had taken both women out to Colonel Davidson’s bungalow, but only Elfrida had been invited when he entertained in his own home. At least, that had been Elfrida’s version, and Melanie had no reason to disbelieve it. She had the deflating impression that Stephen had finished bothering with her.
The wide, illumined facade of the Perez villa ahead rushed toward them. Ramon helped them from the car, greeted Elfrida with smiling respect, slipped an arm under Melanie’s and held her tight to his side as he led her into the long, magnificently furnished lounge where others were drinking.
“Melanita, my eyes burn with the sight of you,” he whispered. “You are so very sweet.”
She smiled at him. The throb he could infuse into his voice was quite exciting and he really was absurdly good-looking.
He took the short white cape over his arm. “You wish for a drink, chica?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then we will leave this big warm wrap in my father’s study. Come with me.”
She would as soon have waited for him in the lounge, but he still held her compellingly. So she went with him along the corridor and into the room where his father pursued his scholarly interests. She would have liked to run an eye along the bookshelves; in fact, she did move toward them. But Ramon was at her back, pinning her arms to her sides and laughing almost inaudibly.
“Not books, Melanita—they are dull and lifeless.” A pause. “I have a little gift for you. Mrs. Paget has seen it, yesterday, and approves of my giving it to you. Look.”
She turned and saw a case open in his hands; a superb necklace of small rectangles of polished amber linked with tiny, platinum-set diamonds. Instinctively, she stiffened. “Ramon, I can’t accept a thing so valuable.”
“But I got it especially for you from a very wise jeweler. Mrs. Paget helped me to choose it.” He raised the necklace from its white velvet bed. “It is, after all, only a trinket. Your cousin said she was sure it would suit you and I think she is right.”
“You don’t understand.” Melanie’s heart was beating uncomfortably fast. “Elfrida couldn’t have realized how... how expensive it is. I’m so sorry—”
He was not put out. The necklace dangled from his fingers as he asked softly, “What would you have me give you—a beaten gold bangle such as the poorest Indian woman wears, some silk and tinsel for a sari? To me you are above every woman on this, island and I could not give you less than the best that is procurable. Let me fasten it for you.”
“No!” She backed a pace. “Keep it. Give it to me some other time.”
“What a shy little bird you are. Surely you do not think that the object makes so much difference? It is my nature to give presents, and I counted myself fortunate to be introduced to this jeweler who carries a stock from Switzerland. First, of course, I spoke to Mrs. Paget, and when she pronounced it in order I went a step further and asked her to accompany me to his office. I can assure you, Melanita, that this harmless little necklace has your cousin’s complete approval. Indeed, it has also the approval of my father.”
“Your father?” she echoed in a maze.
“There you are!” he exclaimed, humorously triumphant. “Does not that demonstrate how everything is correct? Mrs. Paget and my father consider that it is permissible for me to give and you to receive this poor little piece of feminine adornment.”
After that there seemed to be nothing for Melanie to say. She felt the cold platinum settling at her throat, Ramon’s light touch at the clasp in her nape. For a moment his hands held the fine bones of her bare shoulders, and then he was facing her again, offering his arm with a courteous inclination of his head that was reminiscent of his father.
For a while Melanie could not forget the thing that glittered around her neck. She saw Elfrida glance at it, caught her reassuring smile. She spoke to the old senor and he appeared not even to notice it.
The dinner table was gay with flowers and laughter, the food and wines were incomparable, and Senor Perez was the perfect host. There could be no lingering over coffee. Women hurriedly repaired their complexions, gathered their wraps and went out to the cars
. This time Melanie sat beside Ramon, while Elfrida and his father shared the back of the car.
The Tiran Palace was set high on the hill at the southern end of the bay. The road to it passed the Miramar and the houses of the island’s few well-to-do Indians. There is nothing more arresting than a dazzling white piece of Eastern architecture in the moonlight. The graceful minarets guarding the domed center of the Tiran were etched against the deep sky, the flowers along the lake edge were sheathed in silver and onyx, and the lilies lay like waxen fluted bowls upon the great, strong leaves that spread out over inky water.
The big central doors of the Tiran were open, letting out a stream of light that beautified the tiled patio. It was here that they met Stephen. He got up from a carved stone bench, flicked away his cigarette and gave an economical bow.
“Ah, Stephen,” said Senor Perez cordially. “So you could not get to us for dinner?”
“My apologies, senor. I arrived home too late, and decided to atone by reaching the Tiran Palace before you.”
“Always you are a busy man. I thought these months were to be a kind of holiday!”
“Even on holiday one can become absorbed, senor.”
Senor Perez smiled. “Absorbed in the soil when there are such ladies here?” He looked indulgently from Elfrida to Melanie. “My son and I deem ourselves fortunate. Our departure is postponed indefinitely.”
“That’s good news,” Stephen answered imperturbably. “Shall we go inside?”
The vast central hall of the Tiran was cool and white, with an artistically patterned stone floor and ornamental columns supporting the blue, star-jeweled dome. The seating was arranged in a horseshoe shape around the center, which left a wide opening for the entrance and exit of performers. The first row of cushioned wicker chairs had been reserved for Senor Perez’s party, the next rows were filling with a mixture of French, English, Chinese and higher caste Indians. The cheap accommodation, right at the back, comprised long wooden planks on trestle supports; these were already occupied by coolies and their women. The place smelled of incense and joss sticks.
Melanie, placed with Stephen on one hand and Ramon on the other, felt like a pigeon between a hawk and a raven. On Stephen’s other side sat Elfrida. Melanie leaned forward to draw off the white cape, saw Stephen negligently take possession of it and drop it over his knees. She heard a sharp breath from Ramon. Really! That young man was becoming altogether too proprietary. Thank heaven Stephen gave most of his attention to Elfrida; though there was something rather unpalatable about that, too.
The cross-legged flutists began to play a wild, wailing melody of which nobody took a scrap of notice. But when the gorgeously robed and turbaned master of ceremonies stalked in, the bedlam in the back rows hushed to a murmur. The man spoke at some length in Tamil.
“The first turn is a local magician,” Stephen translated succinctly.
The magician wore a fez, a red monkey jacket and baggy green trousers drawn in with white puttees. He threw things into the air that never came down, snipped a strip of silk into a thousand pieces, waved a stick over the heap and converted it into one piece again. The acme of his achievements smote Melanie with awe. A young Indian woman, apparently sleeping, lay on a wooden platform within full view of the audience. The magician undulated his hands above her body, and, slowly she began to rise, still horizontal, still apparently sleeping. Several times the man passed a hoop along the whole length of her body, and at last he threw aside the hoop and waved her back to her hard couch, from which she roused gracefully and gradually to make an obeisance and drift away. The applause was prolonged.
Next came four seemingly boneless dancers, who were followed by a team of acrobats. Then an intermission was announced.
Everyone was standing, moving toward the exits. Melanie, drugged by the perfumed smoke, the weird music and the extraordinary spectacle she had just witnessed, was not quite sure how she had emerged into the moon-laden night. She was with Stephen; Elfrida and Ramon were nowhere around.
Stephen said, “Let’s give the crowd the slip for ten minutes. This way.”
He led her down a wide flight of steps, along a paved path.
At the end was a parapet in full moonlight, and here they stopped, leaning their backs against the ornamental stone and viewing what could be seen through and above the trees of the Tiran Palace.
After a moment he asked, “How have you been doing?”
“Fairly well,” she said. “The time is going too quickly.”
“Mindoa suits you. You’ve changed a bit since the voyage.”
“Have I?” This was vaguely unpleasant hearing. “In what way?”
He shrugged. “On board you were just a nice kid who occasionally, when Elfrida wasn’t looking, showed a burst of spirit and independence. Now you’re so moon-eyed with infatuation that you haven’t any character worth speaking of.”
“I’d almost forgotten that forceful approach of yours,” she retorted. “You’ve just said that Mindoa suits me.”
“So it does. Your looks have improved.”
She knew that this was not intended as a compliment. Stephen was the most aggravating and elusive of men. Before she could answer his fingers brushed her shoulder, moved around to the back of her neck and gave a sudden twist to the necklace. Her hand flew up to her throat.
“Stephen! That hurt.”
“Surely not,” he said mockingly but with steel in his voice.
“How could Ramon’s diamonds hurt? But maybe the little blocks of amber have sharp corners. Did you go shopping with him and hold the thing in a pale palm while you crooned how marvelous it was? That method got results before, and the Spaniard is easier meat than I, and reckless with his father’s money.”
She gazed at him, stupefied, saw him cool and cruel in the white moonlight, his teeth closed in a malicious smile. Her breath caught.
“The ... little amber carving. You remember it?”
“It’s hardly history, yet. You seem to have a weakness for amber.”
“Stephen—” It was odd how desperately urgent it had become to have truth between them. “I want to tell you about that carving.”
“I know already. You gave it to Elfrida—pretended you had bought it for her.” Evenly, he explained, “She showed it to me on the Tjisande.”
“You didn’t say.”
“I didn’t say because I didn’t care. I don’t care now. Forget it.”
It was as if every light in the world had gone out and left her groping. If he didn’t care why was he so icily angry? Did he think her a cheap liar for her own gain.. .and did he really believe that she had been glad to accept the necklace from Ramon? How was one to shake a man like Stephen, compel him to see her clearly and sympathetically?
He bent around to look over the parapet and spoke without expression. “How far have you been outside Port Fernando?”
It was fully a minute before she could reply naturally. “We went for a picnic to Pointe Douce one day. We haven’t swum much because various people have told us it’s dangerous.”
“Been out to the reef?”
“Elfrida doesn’t fancy the canoe trip.”
“What about you?”
“I’m hoping someone will take me, one day.” But she couldn’t think about the reef while her neck still stung from that vicious little twist. “Stephen, I didn’t want this necklace. I tried not to take it.”
“But you’re wearing it—and why shouldn’t you? In your shoes I’d stick hard to Ramon. Go on playing your cards well and he’ll marry you.”
She swallowed painfully. “You’re so horribly cynical. One would think you’d never known a decent woman in your life—only those who are out for a good time or a rich husband.”
His mouth was sarcastic. “Are there any others?”
“Yes, there are! Lots of them. But you’ve never stayed in one place long enough to meet them.”
“Don’t get heated up ... chica.”
Now he was baiting h
er, but not companionably. She strove to ignore his hard undertone, to persuade the conversation into less harrowing channels.
“What does chica mean?”
“It depends on the way he says it, little one. The shades of meaning are all in the tone. Inserted into an ordinary sentence it merely conveys ‘my dear.’ But when Ramon breathes it close to your ear he’s calling you ‘darling.’ And in case you should wish to use the-masculine form, it’s chico.”
“When I call a man ‘darling,’” she said, “it’ll be in plain English ... and I hope he’ll be an Englishman.”
“Cheers,” he said with soft derision. “That’s what I call patriotism.”
He was infuriating, and woundingly inconsiderate of her feelings. Melanie was silent, watching the people who passed the end of their lane. Then she moved a little, and Stephen became the focus of her vision. His shadowed face looked carved from teak, his nose was unbearably intolerant, and she knew that the gray eyes gave back the cold shine of burnished stones.
He was not hard and careless with Elfrida. For her benefit he exuded charm and he spoke with her in a language that had all the cadences of sophistication. They understood each other, each was aware of what the other was after, and patently the next step was with him.
“Elfrida will be wondering where we are,” she said.
“I suppose so.” He straightened. “The intermission must be nearly over, anyway.”
As they walked back to the palace, he said conversationally, “You’ll have to go out to the reef one day or one evening, rather, the best sights are after dark. Shall we make a date?”
“Will you take me?” she demanded incredulously.
“Why not? You’re keen on fresh experiences, I believe,” he replied with mockery. “I’m a different man on a coral reef.”
“If you’re in command, Elfrida will be willing to go, too. When, Stephen?”
“One night next week. Don’t say anything to Elfrida till I’ve made the arrangement. I’ll let you know.”
Ramon came up to them, took Melanie’s arm and looked at her anxiously. “You are recovered now, Melanie? Mrs. Paget told us that you were overcome by the thickness of the atmosphere, the noise. Would you like to miss the rest of the performance? I will stay with you in the gardens or take you to our house.”
Stormy Haven Page 6
