“We’ll never get down to that task,” stated Lucille, “and there is no one in Mindoa who would tackle it. We should take it to the government offices and let them put it into a safe.” She shrugged away the matter, turned her attention once more to Melanie. “Tell us about yourself. What did you do in England, and how do you like our island of Mindoa?” For half an hour Melanie gave lengthy answers to her inquiries. They found a mutual interest in music, for Lucille also had been an only child and driven to the arts for companionship. There was something about Lucille and Henry that acted like a balm upon Melanie’s distorted nerves. The woman might never have been a stranger, she might have been an old friend just waiting for the moment of need. Lucille Jameson, half aristocrat, half plebeian, loved being a planter’s wife. She cooked and sewed, preserved products that were plentiful, ran a small dairy and an essence-distilling plant. About the latter she was enthusiastic.
“You must see it next time—the big vat into which thousands of flowers are pressed and then heated, the filter, the little containers for the concentrate. It is not economical, but it is the way it has been done in the country districts of France for generations.”
Henry grinned at her and said to Melanie, “Wonderful French accent when she gets excited, isn’t it?”
They were dears, both of them; for some reason they made Melanie want to weep and smile together. Regretfully, she looked at her watch, got to her feet.
“When can you come again?” Lucille was anxious to know. “Can we make a date?”
“I’m afraid not, but if I may, I’ll do this again sometime.”
“Is Mrs. Paget aware you’ve come here?” asked Henry.
“No, but I wouldn’t care if she were.”
“Good for you,” he said quietly. “I told you before that you don’t belong with her kind. You’re like John, and he didn’t belong with her, either.”
They went out to the car with Melanie, thrusting away the inquisitive dogs.
“Next time you must make speaking acquaintance with our little Denise,” said Lucille. “Au revoir, Melanie.”
“Next time ... au revoir.” The words had their own particular music. As Melanie settled in the car and it glided away she would have given anything not to be returning to Port Fernando.
What, she wondered, steeling herself to forget his savage withdrawal last night, would be Stephen’s opinion of the Jamesons? She felt he would like them. He loathed the false, the pretentious. Supposing she had been the daughter of a house like the Jamesons and Stephen had happened along. But no. In his travels and periods in England he had come into contact with all kinds of women, of all ages. He just wasn’t the marrying sort.
Alone in the back of the car with the silent Malay driving, Melanie felt heat rise from her throat into her face. Stephen ... and marriage. She must be crazy.
It was ten minutes to twelve when the car pulled around to the front of the hotel. The lounge was steeped in Sunday somnolence, and even madame, who sat like an overfed crow in the depth behind the reception desk, was hard pushed to keep open her heavy lids. As Melanie passed, however, she stirred ponderously.
“Mademoiselle!”
Melanie stopped, automatically smiled. “Yes, madame?”
“If you will wait a minute.” With heavily ringed fingers she went through a small number of accounts. Melanie’s sinews contracted, her teeth clamped against imminent humiliation. “Ah, here it is. You will please give this to Mrs. Paget, with my compliments.”
The plump woman dipped her head several times, showed good, yellowish teeth in a gracious smile. Melanie gripped the account, nodded in some bewilderment. Madame’s demeanor had undergone a radical change since yesterday.
Up in the bedroom corridor Melanie paused and read the items of the account, the appalling total that, converted into English coinage, amounted to ninety-two pounds. The next moment she saw that the bill had been receipted.
Ninety-two pounds! Elfrida had paid the sum this morning but where had she got the money! Had she dared to approach Senor Perez on the matter during last night’s party? No, even Elfrida was incapable of that. Then what—
A door opened and her cousin came into the corridor dressed superbly in a lilac linen suit.
“I saw the car outside and came to see what you were doing,” said Elfrida. “We promised to leave here at exactly twelve.” She moved closer, glanced down at the paper in Melanie’s hand, and frowned. “Is that my receipt? Why didn’t the woman put it in an envelope and send it up by a servant?”
“Ninety-two pounds, Elfrida.”
“It mounts up, doesn’t it, but now we’ve paid till the end of the month.” Elfrida pushed the bill into her bag. “You’d better wash quickly. I’ll wait downstairs.”
“But where did you get so much money?”
Elfrida made a gesture of annoyance, threw open the door of Melanie’s bedroom. “One doesn’t discuss such things within hearing of half the hotel residents.” She entered the room with Melanie, pulled the door closed. “I’ll tell you where I got the money. I’ve sold the necklace that Ramon gave you. I didn’t get quite so much for it as he paid, but it’s enough to keep us going till we leave for Cadiz.”
“You sold the necklace! How could you, Elfrida!”
“It was the only way. We had nothing else that was worth so much. Yesterday I went to see the man from whom Ramon, bought it, and this morning he collected it and left the cash. It was all very secret, and he gave me his word he wouldn’t talk.” Irritably she added, “Don’t look at me like that. You never wore the thing—you hated it.”
“I ... intended to return it to Ramon.”
“Well, you can’t. If he ever insists that you produce it—which I’m sure he won’t—you must pretend that it was stolen from your room.”
“There’d be no pretense about that! You did steal it.” Melanie had backed to the window. “You’re about the most despicable creature that ever lived, Elfrida. I believe there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for money.”
The dark eyes narrowed unpleasantly. “I shouldn’t take that line. You’re living on the proceeds of the necklace as well as I. It’s a trifle, anyway, compared with what’s coming to you as soon as you’re officially engaged to Ramon. And don’t forget that I shall be the one you’ll have to thank for that. Now hurry and wash your hands. We’ll be late.”
“I’m not going.”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course you’re going.”
Perhaps it was her morning with the Jamesons that gave Melanie courage, or maybe this last act of Elfrida’s was all that had been necessary to tip the balance. A dampness came to her temples, but there was nothing feverish about it. She knew exactly what she meant to convey.
“You can go without me, and you can explain my absence however you please. I’m going to the Perez villa just once more, to make it plain to the senor that there has been a mistake, and to apologize. And I don’t consider myself bound by any promise to you, Elfrida. I won’t embarrass you in any way, but neither do I wish to have anything more to do with you—”
She was completely unprepared for what happened next; Elfrida’s flare of maniacal temper, her scream of hate. Instinctively, Melanie pushed back against the window and a hand flew up to guard her eyes. There was a crash, glass splintered dose to her cheek, something fell with a thud to the floor and dazedly she saw that it was her mother’s photograph in a smashed frame.
Then the door slammed and the key snicked in the lock.
Melanie’s arm dropped, brushed blood onto her dress. Stiffly, she bent to retrieve the photograph and flick the splinters from it. Her neck and cheek smarted; a warm runnel of blood soaked into her collar.
Presently, she filled the sink and bathed her cuts. Her arm had numerous small scratches, there were others along her jaw and a more serious incision at the side of her neck. She dabbed iodine from the small bottle in her case upon them and, hardly wincing from its burning, pressed a bandage over the wound on her neck.
>
Carefully she dragged off her dress, drew back the bedspread and lay down. Her only sensation was of utter weariness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THOUGH IT WAS STILL early November, all over the island hurricane shutters were being renewed and repaired. Those of the government offices and other buildings on the Marine Drive were massive slabs that fitted into special steel sockets, and the windows and doors of the white people were protected picturesquely and strongly. In the crowded Indian quarters, however, the stormproofing was bizarre and often crude. They hammered together any bits of wood and tin that might be lying around, and in some cases light and air were completely excluded from bedrooms for the whole of the rainy season.
There were murmurs that this year would be a bad one for cyclones. Had not the sacred cows died in the grounds of the Tiran Palace? And was it not true that an albatross nested at Carimari?
The hotel proprietress became worried. Always there were certain travelers who came to Port Fernando, but where was the benefit of that if the pig of a hurricane kept away the customers? Madame frenziedly tested her shutters and appealed to the white-hot sky. She did not ask much—only that at least twelve of her sixteen bedrooms should be occupied—preferably by tourists—all the year round.
She caught a glimpse of Elfrida on her balcony; a fine woman that, with an almost Latin beauty. Quite certainly she would get a second husband, and who would blame her for taking her time?
“Mrs. Paget,” she called. “Mademoiselle is not there with you?”
Elfrida gracefully shook her head. “She is in her own room.”
“The poor child improves, yes?”
“Oh, yes. Scratches heal quickly in the young.”
“It was unfortunate that she slip so near the window last Sunday. That imbecile boy use too much polish. I will not, of course, charge you for the repair.”
“You are generous, madame.”
“There is nothing mademoiselle requires?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
The woman panted into the lounge. Yes, it was unfortunate about Miss Paget; a sweet girl, and she bad certainly gained the eye of the young Spaniard—more than his eye, chuckled madame to herself. How he strutted when he called, how he demanded to see the senorita! He was hot of blood, that young one, and he was anxious to infuse with a similar heat the pale young Melanie Paget. These lovers, madame exclaimed to herself indulgently; how pleasing they were! But swiftly, like an eagle returning to its prey, her mind veered again toward the uncertainties of the Mindoan climate and its threat to her business.
The usual seasonal winds swept the island, whipped the sea into creamy peaks. At high tide the whole reef was awash, and between tides the coral swarmed with fishermen in loincloths. There was seldom a cloud in the sky, nothing but the meteorological reports and the comments of ships’ crews to presage change.
In her bedroom, Melanie knew hardly anything of the preparations. Most of the time she sat near her window reading. Now that she had decided on a course of action she felt fatalistically calm. By next weekend the little scars would be gone, and she would be ready to go up to the villa. And after that visit was over she would present herself at the government offices and state her case. How good it was going to be to stand alone, even if she had to work her passage in a ship’s sewing room.
She knew that Ramon had come several times to the hotel and presumably been dealt with by Elfrida, that her cousin was watching her movements as a snake watches its victim. As usual, Mrs. Paget was underestimating Melanie’s courage and determination. It would be quite easy to slip out in the evening while Elfrida, secure in the knowledge that women do not go out in the dark without an escort, was taking her bath before dinner.
And that, actually, was what happened.
It was Saturday again. All day a heavy wind had raged in from the sea. In the south the sky was banked, slate colored and menacing, and swift showers dashed horizontally over the port. Toward evening the clouds advanced, black and shot with lightning, and the heat died from the wind, leaving it cool and bracing.
But walking in it, with her thin dress pasted flat against her body and the breath whipped from her lungs, Melanie realized that “bracing” was scarcely the correct adjective. The wind buffeted, snatched at her scarf, stung her unprotected legs with grit. There were few people around, fewer as she battled her way higher and higher up the avenue. The distance between the houses grew greater, for the palatial residences had extensive grounds. Trees bent and creaked, palms threshed madly, and all the time the wind kept up a continuous roar.
Now she was alone with no lights to guide her. The wide earth road was one gigantic whirl of dust, and Melanie was beginning to think her escape had not been so smart, after all. Somewhere here was Stephen’s house, but not a speck of illumination pierced the darkness. After that it seemed an age before she came to the white gates of the Perez villa.
The house, which generally blazed into the garden, showed a single light from the ceiling of the veranda. Somehow Melanie reached the porch, and for a minute she gasped in its comparative shelter. The windows and door, she could see, were shuttered; sand was already collecting in the crevices. She grasped the wrought-iron bellpull and gave it a tug.
The door opened, she sped into the hall, and heard an instant thud and the slide of bolts. The servant, to his credit, showed not the least astonishment at the sudden appearance of this wild little ghost from the wind-racked night.
For Melanie the relief was so intense that she merely stood with a hand on the ornate back of a chair and breathed several long, shuddering breaths, with her eyes closed.
“Memsahib?” came the polite query.
“The senor?” she managed.
“The master is in his room,” he began, but was interrupted by Ramon.
“Melanita!” He hurried to her, put an urgent arm around her. “How did you get here in this wind? No, don’t speak yet. Come and rest in the lounge.”
He was thoughtful and very anxious. He put two pillows at her back, drew forward a footstool and would have unknotted the scarf from her hair if she had not pushed it down around her neck.
“This is wicked,” he said. “I would have come to you. Anything rather than have you out in such weather. Are you alone?”
As though, thought Melanie hysterically, I ought to have remembered to fill my pocket with a chaperon! She nodded weakly.
“I came to have a talk with you and your father.”
“My father is resting in his bedroom. The knee troubles him again. Melanie, it is so wonderful to see you, but you have been foolhardy, especially after spending a week in bed.”
“I haven’t been in bed—only keeping to my room.”
He dropped to the divan beside her. “Your cousin told me it was the shock. Just faintly I see the marks. I reprimanded the old French madame and she apologized, but what good was that once you had been hurt?”
He went on speaking rapidly, and Melanie had the despairing impression of herself lounging comfortably at his side with her hair disordered. She had to interrupt him.
“Please may I see your father, Ramon?”
“But I have told you—he is a little indisposed.”
“This is important. I won’t worry him again.”
“But, my dear one, there can be nothing so vital between you and my father. It is more necessary that I arrange to take you back to the hotel.”
“Would I have fought my way here on foot simply for the pleasure of having you drive me back?” she demanded vexedly.
“You did not think,” he said. “For you to come here alone is an indiscretion that almost anyone would forgive, knowing how young and warm of heart you are. But I am wiser, and as your future husband it is my duty to protect you from gossip.”
She sat up straight, pulled her feet down from the stool. “All right, Ramon. If you won’t bring your father you’ll have to hear it without his support.”
“Hear what, my little Melanie? How strang
e are you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said tensely, “but there’s been a ghastly mistake. I’ve never given my consent to marrying you—and I’m afraid I never will.”
He didn’t take it in; or if he did, he misconstrued her meaning.
“Please, Melanie, you must not become distressed about that other. I have not made love to her, ever! It was a contract between parents two years ago, and has nothing to do with either of us.”
She stared at his excited, working face. “What are you getting at?”
He hastened on, trying passionately to convince her. “It is as your cousin has told you. My father made with Carmela’s father a contract of marriage. It was agreed that I should travel before we married, and now, on the last stage of my travels, I have met you, and for me there is no other woman in the world. I swear it.”
“But the contract,” she said hazily. “What’s it all about? Isn’t it binding?”
“Can the heart be bound with red tape?” he asked hotly. “Even my father would not wish to do it.”
“But two years ago you were twenty-four. You must have agreed to marry this girl.”
His shoulders lifted, his hands went out in an alien manner. “In Spain it happens that way. Carmela is the daughter of my mother’s old friend and a suitable match. I consented because I did not then know you or that such a thing as this love of ours could exist. Can’t you understand, Melanie?”
“Yes, I think I can,” she said slowly. “This girl in Spain is the reason you’ve been so ... circumspect?”
“Of course. My father has communicated with my mother, but he could not give his sanction to our official engagement till this other matter is ended. Everything will come right. Do not fear.”
Melanie was silent for a moment. Then, “Was Elfrida aware of all this?”
“But certainly. I myself put it very clearly to the senora, and my father is too honorable a man to deal in subterfuge. It was only just that you should be acquainted with the whole position. The senora is your guardian—”
“She isn’t but ... oh, Ramon, I’m so terribly sorry.”
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