by Susan Barrie
Mrs. Neville Wilmott looked positively spectacular. Her dress was pearl-colored net which trailed like moonbeams on the floor around her, and a beautiful stole of deep petunia velvet lined with silver brocade was draped about her shoulders. Ann looked pretty and little-girl-like in the palest pink organza, with some finely graded pink pearls about her childish throat; and as for the men, Martin Pope was easily the most commanding figure amongst them, in his faultlessly-tailored evening things, although his son Laurence, with his dark, grave good looks, was by no means an unnoticeable figure lurking in his shadow. Eve could not help but observe the way Ann's eyes lit up when Laurence spoke to her, and when he condescended to help her on with her cloak the quality of the distinction almost rendered her tongue-tied.
They went out to the two cars which waited for them in the drive
— Martin Pope's car, in which Eve and Mrs. Neville Wilmott and Aunt Kate travelled, and a car hired specially for the occasion which conveyed the remainder of the party. As they sped down the drive, through the blue dusk of evening, and far away on the distant arm of the bay the lights of the Stark Point Hotel blazed like a million triumphant fireflies, Eve felt excitement grip her. But it was excitement which had become tempered by nervousness by the time they were half-way there, and by the time they actually drew up outside the hotel she was all nervousness.
But Kate could see it in her eyes as they alighted, and she gripped her arm and whispered:
“Chin up! Remember we’re the party from Treloan!”
Eve managed a smile.
The party from Treloan! That sounded almost imposing! And yet, somehow the thought steadied her nerves, for after all five of that party were guests, and that wasn't so bad for a beginning! Five perfectly presentable, solidly placed guests who might very soon double themselves and become ten! And ten guests might become twenty . . . . - !
She caught sight of a tall man in evening-dress standing just inside the entrance, a light shining down upon his dark head, beautifully brushed and sleek and almost elegant. He wore a white tie and tails, and he was bending to speak with a gushing elderly lady sparkling with rhinestones who was presenting a bevy of sparkling daughters. There was a great deal of bowing and smiling on his part; nothing in the least saturnine about his smile tonight, at least, not until he looked up and saw Aunt Kate offering him her hand. Then, almost instantly, the mocking lift of one eyebrow, the quizzical quirk of a mouth slightly deformed by a quite noticeable scar, and the slow insolent drawl:
“I had no idea I was to be so honored! My bitterest rivals! How nice to see you, Miss Barton!”
Eve felt the color pouring into her face as she met his eyes. It was, she felt certain, hot, scalding, noticeable color, and, worse than anything else, his eyes seemed to be positively dancing with amusement. And yet the clasp of his hand was hard and somehow sustaining. . . .
C H A P T E R T E N
EVE had danced a good many dances with Martin Pope, Dr. Craig, and even Laurence Pope. Being rather out of practice, she felt suddenly tired and footsore, and stole away to the ladies’ cloakroom to repair the ravages to her makeup and take a seat in a corner in order to give her feet a rest.
How packed it was in the ballroom, and what a brilliant throng, she thought, as she smeared cleansing cream on her face —
wonderfully restoring after the heat, and the press, downstairs! Really, the Stark Point had a most magnificent ballroom, and it must always have been used for a ballroom, judging from its dimensions, and in particular the distance between the highly polished floor and the vast open space far away above the heads of even the tallest guests. And it was all so exquisitely decorated, and simply massed with flowers. No expense spared! And the band was a famous one, and living well up to its reputation.
In the glass, as she completed her fresh make-up, she saw Annette Le Frere come into the room, and sail away to a far corner of it, where there was a tall pier-glass. Annette, in a swirling skirt of finely pleated black georgette over peach-pink taffeta, with bare shoulders and a spray of deep pink orchids pinned to the base of her brief corsage, looked absolutely enchanting, and every golden hair on her head shone. But Eve did not wish to be noticed by her just then, and, as soon as the French girl began to fumble in her elaborate vanity-case, Eve rose and tip-toed carefully out of the cloakroom, closing the door very quietly behind her, and stole away down the deserted main staircase before she could be recognized.
They were playing a waltz in the ballroom, and the strains of it came softly to her ears as she slipped out into the great glassed-in verandah, which looked out over the sea, and felt a sensation of relief well over her because it was empty. Empty, and wide, and cool, and moonlit, apart from the wall lights glowing in a subdued fashion, like pale
tulips, above the discreetly arranged groups of chairs and tables. Eve sank down into a little wicker arm-chair and, leaning her elbows on a green painted table, looked towards the shimmering line of sea and the stars that were twinkling away up in a wide arc of deep night sky.
What a wonderful night it was! And what a perfect place this was to sit, and reflect, and . . .
''Don’t tell me, Miss Petherick,” said an amused voice behind her, “that you're trying to emulate Cinderella? Or a wallflower! Not in that dress, and when I've seen you being whirled off your feet by that energetic gentleman we rescued from the ocean not many nights
ag°?”
Eve spun round as if shot, and looked at him, startled. In the dim light her skin looked extraordinarily clear and pale, and her grey eyes were wide and distended.
“Commander Merlin!”
“Don’t you think we might dispense with the formality of the “Commander?” he asked as he seated himself beside her. “After all, I’ve met you — let me see, five times now? and we’re such near neighbors, and business rivals, and so forth. Most of my friends call me Roger, but then, of course, in view of the fact that we are rivals, you might possibly feel... ”
What she felt was that he was laughing at her, choosing to be amused by the complete absurdity of classing her as a business rival, when the truth was that she could never hope to compete with him in anything at all that required financial backing, profound knowledge, and even profounder experience. He had the advantage of her all along the line when it came to the question of running an hotel, and he must be very much amused by her puny efforts to turn Treloan into a thriving establishment of that sort. The party from Treloan! Five guests, and almost the entire hotel staff, compared with the brilliant planning, the years of thought and risky venture, the splendor and opulence of Stark Point! No wonder he laughed at her!
“I don’t think you need me to tell you that we shall never be business rivals,” she replied with a stiffness that made her voice sound frigid.
“Don’t I?” He offered her his cigarette-case, and then applied a match to the end of her cigarette. In the uncertain flame his eyes seemed to be watching her closely and through slightly narrowed lids. “But you do aspire to become an hotelier, don’t you?”
“I aspire merely to make a living out of a house that was left to me by my uncle,” she told him, giving careful emphasis to each word. “With the help,” she added, “of my aunt.”
“Ah, yes, of course, we mustn’t forget the excellent Miss Barton!” He was lying back lazily in his chair, his eyes still flickering over her. “And I really do think she’s a woman of extraordinary character, and extraordinarily able, as well. The other night, for instance, when those people from the yacht were suddenly forced on you, the way she rose to the occasion was really admirable. I couldn’t help feeling a great deal of admiration for the astute method in which she marshalled all her
— or, rather, your forces, and saw to it that they were made thoroughly comfortable in as short a time as possible. I’m sure they were tremendously grateful.”
“They were,” she agreed, but unable to free her-voice from that note of stiffness. “And I think they’re staying on as a mark of their
gratitude,” she added with disturbing honesty.
“Oh, I don’t know.” There was a faintly whimsical note in his voice as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. “You’ve got quite a lot at Treloan, you know — even apart from the house and its setting. The place has atmosphere, for one thing, and then you’re probably quite a charming hostess. Mr. Martin Pope is probably not unappreciative of that fact.”
“What do you mean?” She looked at him with wide, challenging eyes.
“Oh, nothing very much.” He shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“But Mr. Pope is, I believe, almost if not quite a millionaire, with few ties, and therefore able to suit himself and linger on in one spot for as long as it pleases him to do so. He not surprisingly has found Treloan to his taste, and as a result of that his friends have also found it to their taste — for if there is one thing a rich man can do it is command the obedience of his friends! And you and your aunt find yourselves fairly busy, which is all to the good, for you may yet be busier still!”
She still could not be sure whether or not he was merely mocking her, and when he laughed suddenly, a low, rather pleasant, and definitely humorous laugh, and leaning forward laid one of his lean, brown, well-cared-for hands very lightly over both of hers, that were resting idly in her lap, and patted them gently, she was so astonished that she could only stare at him almost in disbelief.
“I want to apologize,” he said, “for the other night, and shutting you up in my car. On reflection, I have decided that you had every right to feel resentful. After all, as you remarked, Jocelyn mighthave taken a dislike to you, although I can’t imagine either him or anybody else doing anything quite as positive as that! ”
All at once the tension she had been so strongly aware of in his presence went out of her, and with an extraordinary feeling of thankfulness, even gratitude, for this abrupt alteration in his manner, she relaxed, lying back in her chair and smiling up at him very faintly.
“Oh, I wasn’t in the least afraid of him — not really. But he growled every time I so much as shifted my foot, and then when he fell asleep he snored. I’ve never heard a dog snore like that before” she confessed.
“Haven’t you?” He laughed again, more heartily. “Oh, Jocelyn’s quite a character, and one of the most misleading things about him is that despite the pugnacity of his appearance, he’s really extraordinarily lamb-like. In fact, I don’t think he could ever be persuaded to do anything so violating to his feelings as bite anyone, although his growls, especially on the back seat of a car, are admittedly rather alarming. But he knew that I wanted you kept
there, and so there you stayed!”
“Yes; there I certainly stayed.” She found herself joining in his laughter, for the first time seeing the humorous side of a situation that had kept her a prisoner for over an hour with an unseen canine jailor who probably would not have offered any real objection had she been sufficiently strong-minded to suddenly leap out of the car and defeat him.
“All the same, I hope you’ll accept my apology, and — my apologies for a certain amount of rudeness on my part at the beginning of our acquaintance!”
“Oh!” This took her so much aback that a pulse like a small, startled bird began to flutter wildly in her throat, and a curious feeling of excitement sped up and down her veins. “We did have rather a — bad beginning didn’t we?”
“We did,” with a certain amount of grimness in his tone. “But that was largely because I’ve never been accustomed to being thwarted, and I’d rather set my heart on acquiring Treloan. But it’s your house, and you’ve a perfect right to hang on to it if you want it.”
“Even though it’s not my true background, and I never really knew my Uncle Hilary?” a little dryly.
“Even though I don’t believe you’ve ever been to Cornwall until this spring, and I think it’s almost certain you’re going to run into big difficulties in the way of running it as an hotel, guest-house, private house, or whatever you may have decided upon — before you’re finished!”
“That’s rather a gloomy prediction, isn’t it?” she asked, studying his face in the moonlight and thinking that, despite the scar his face in the moonlight and thinking that, despite the scar and the faint red mark over his left eye where he had received that further injury on the night of the storm, his was a strangely arresting face and a by no means unattractive one. Indeed, with those extraordinarily brilliant blue eyes under almost feminine eyelashes, and that square chin, and well-cut mouth, and faintly-arrogant nose, it was a face it might be difficult to forget —if one ever wanted to forget it! And he certainly looked remarkably well in evening-dress, clean-limbed, and beautifully groomed, and broad-shouldered.
She looked away from him rather hastily, afraid he might think that she was studying him deliberately (which, as a matter of fact, she was), and he tossed away the end of his cigarette and mechanically lighted another.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I’m afraid you’ll discover too late that I really know what I’m talking about!”
“All the same,” she replied, “having made up my mind, I decline to be put off. It’s one of my failings that I seldom
listen to advice, and I particularly object to having advice thrust at me. And I’m afraid that my aunt has those failings as well.”
“And your uncle certainly had them! But he hadn’t red hair, like you.”
“Is it red?” She looked up at him with her serene grey eyes, and her red lips had a tantalizing little upward quirk of a smile clinging to them.
“Not at this moment,” studying her over the glowing end of his cigarette. “At this moment it looks rather more like a misty web of moonlight; but in daylight it’s quite flagrantly red — or that’s the way I’d describe it. You probably prefer to hear it described as Titian?”
Her smile increased.
“So it’s my red hair you object to ?”
“I don’t object to anything. I’m merely trying to advise you.”
“That’s really kind. But I’m afraid I’m already committed.”
“You mean that that fellow Pope, with his superabundance of idle
wealth, is willing to ------------------------- ”
They both heard footsteps away at the far end of the verandah, and within a matter of seconds the footsteps had come flying towards them, tap-tapping lightly over the floor. Annette Le Frere looked like a flaxen-headed wraith in the moonlight, but her expensive Paris perfume had no connection with wraiths. Her expression was a trifle petulant, as if she was not too pleased, and she looked at Eve with rather coldly upraised eyebrows, plainly surprised to find that it was she who had been detaining the owner of the place and keeping him from his guests.
“I could not think where you were, Rogaire!” She stuck out her scarlet lower lip and frowned down at him as she seated herself lightly on the arm of his chair. “It is time now for our next dance, or it will be very soon! And I think it better to come and find you!” “What a pest you are, Annette!” he observed, a little coolly, although Eve did not fail to notice that his upward glance at her was tolerant, amused, and rather more than affectionate. “I told you earlier that I’m not dancing any more with you tonight. You try to inveigle me into new and barbaric steps which I know nothing about, and I absolutely refuse to make another exhibition of myself in the middle of my own dance floor. Now run away, like a good child, and find someone younger to amuse yourself with.”
“But there is no one . . .” pouting afresh.
“On the contrary, there are at least half a dozen young men here tonight who are simply dying for the opportunity to dance with you, and you know it. Away with you!”
“Well, there is Laurence Pope” — Eve was surprised that Laurence had lost so little time in getting acquainted with her—”and he is dark, and quite good-looking, but, oh, so grave! But even so, he dances well, much better than you, Rogaire!” giving him a playful push with her white, scarlet- tipped fingers, and then running those same fing
ers with a slow, caressing movement down one side of his dark, slightly swarthy face.
“Well, that’s perfectly all right by me,” he answered. “I’ve told you I don’t want to dance.”
“But you-will perhaps dance with Miss Petherick?” looking at Eve suspiciously.
“Well, now, that’s quite an idea!” Commander Merlin answered. He looked across at Eve, one of his dark eyebrows lifted questioningly
— a little quizzically, too, she thought. The strains of dance music readied them from the ballroom, the softened, seductive strains of an old-fashioned waltz tune, and suddenly he stood up. “What about it, Miss Petherick?” he asked. “Have you any objection?”
“Why, I-” she was beginning, when she saw Annette turn away
with a very French gesture of her shoulders, followed by a small stamp of her foot, after which she flew away from them again down the length of the verandah and burst through the swing doors into the hotel proper. They heard the swing doors clash together, and then once more there was silence, broken only by Roger Merlin’s short laugh.
“These Continentals!” he observed. “They have too much Latin temperament.”
Eve felt uncomfortable. Annette might have been really angry.
“Will you dance?” he asked, looking at her keenly. “Or have you had too many dances already?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I----------“ She stood up. “Yes,
thank you, I would like to dance.”
“Good!” he exclaimed. He slipped a hand lightly inside her arm and guided her away down the length of the verandah, and when they reached the fringe of the ballroom floor he took her in his arms. Eve went into them with an unaccountable feeling like breathlessness.
It was not true, she thought, as they circled the floor, that he was a bad dancer. He was almost a perfect dancer, and their steps matched in such a way that it was a joy to have him for a partner. Her head reached almost to his black-clad shoulder, her swirling green skirts drifted against him as they glided, in perfect harmony, to the tune of the seductive waltz. When she lifted her head and looked up at him his eyes were watching her, deep blue, unfathomable eyes with a tiny spark of humor lurking somewhere at the back of them.
