'I'm not lying. I—' The tension snapped inside her, and she buried her face in her grandmother's lap as the hot tears filled her eyes and cascaded down her pale cheeks. 'Granny Bridget, I think I love him so much that I feel quite sick inside!'
It was useless trying to pretend to herself that nothing had happened. The discovery of her love for Jason was something she could not ignore. It had taken possession of her so entirely that she knew, without doubt, that she would never quite be the same again.
'I know, child,' Granny Bridget soothed her, stroking Melanie's silky hair much in the same way as she had done when Melanie had been a child. 'I loved your grandfather like that, and sometimes the slightest gesture of impatience used to wound me most deeply.' Her hand ceased its caressing movements. 'Have you had a tiff with Jason?'
'Yes… and no,' Melanie sighed as she sat up and searched for a handkerchief in her handbag.
'My poor Melanie,' Granny Bridget smiled tenderly while Melanie dried her eyes and blew her nose. 'Everything always happens for the best, and these little arguments often help to clear the air.'
Melanie pulled herself together with an effort. 'It wasn't my intention to come here and cry on your shoulder, Gran.'
'I know,' the old woman patted her arm and glanced over Melanie's shoulder. 'Ah, Sister Wilson, you've brought the tea. Melanie and I can both do with a cup.'
The subject was never mentioned again, and Melanie tried to shake off her depression for her grandmother's sake. As the day progressed, however, she found it easier to shift her own problems into the background when she noticed how easily her grandmother tired. On several occasions during the morning she had dropped off to sleep in her chair, only to awaken a few minutes later to continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. It disturbed Melanie to see her like this, but Sister Wilson seemed to take it all in her stride.
Barnaby arrived punctually at three that afternoon, and Melanie let him in. 'My grandmother is resting,' she explained as she led the way, 'but I've had a tray of tea brought through to the living-room.'
'Hm… old, but nice,' he remarked as he looked about him with interest.
'Greystone Manor is rather old, and it needs renovating badly, but…' She hesitated, realising that she was pursuing a hopeless subject, and asked, 'Do you take milk and sugar?'
'Milk and two spoons of sugar, please,' Barnaby replied with an infectious grin. 'I have a sweet tooth.'
'So have I,' she admitted, handing him his tea.
'That's very realistic,' Barnaby remarked at length, gesturing towards the painting above the fireplace. It was of a hunter standing behind a bush, his rifle lowered as he admired the herd of springbok grazing in the veld. 'Is it an original?'
'My grandfather used to do a little painting in his spare time, I believe,' she explained. 'He went on several safaris in his youth, but he hated having to use his gun. He painted that from memory, and it's really quite appropriate.'
'The boss did a bit of hunting as well some years ago.'
Melanie nodded. 'I've seen the mounted head of the lion he shot adorning the lounge of his chalet, and it's quite horrifying.'
'Oh, but he didn't shoot that lion, Melanie,' Barnaby corrected hastily. 'He killed it with his hunting knife. Didn't he tell you?'
Bewildered, she said: 'I know about the lion hunt, but I assumed he'd shot it.'
'No,' Barnaby shook his head adamantly. 'One of the team members was trigger-happy and shot too soon, and the lion was merely wounded. It was one heck of a to-do which ended with the boss and the farmer's son going into the bush after it.' He pushed a bony hand through his hair, looking a little uncertain as to whether he should continue, then, making up his mind, he added, 'To cut a long story short, they walked right into the enraged animal's hiding place, and it attacked the farmer's son. The boss's rifle jammed at the crucial moment, and he straddled the beast, killing it with his hunting knife.'
Melanie understood now why Jason had not wanted to discuss the subject, and her heart swelled with pride. 'He saved a man's life.'
'And has the scars to prove it,' Barnaby added quietly.
'Scars?'
'You must have seen the scars on the inside of his left arm where the lion's teeth had ripped open the flesh during the struggle?'
'Oh!… Oh, yes,' she muttered, covering up her ignorance as best she could. 'Is that why he had the lion's head mounted?'
'No,' Barnaby grinned mischievously. 'It was a gift from the farmer, and one which the boss couldn't refuse.' His expression sobered instantly. 'Very few people know of this incident, Melanie.'
'And my husband doesn't like discussing it either,' she summed up the situation swiftly.
'No.'
'I can understand that,' she spoke her thoughts out loud. 'But it was an extremely courageous and wonderful thing to do. Not many people would have risked their lives to save someone else's.'
Barnaby fingered his chin. 'I think it embarrasses him to talk about it.'
Why should it embarrass him? she wondered silently. Was he perhaps afraid that people might suspect he was human after all? There were so many things she did not know about the man she had married, Melanie realised yet again. At first she had not cared, but now, loving him as she did, she was filled with an insatiable curiosity.
'How long have you been working for my husband?' she questioned Barnaby.
'Six years or so.'
'You must know him quite well, then?'
Barnaby nodded thoughtfully. 'I think so, yes.'
'I suppose it came as a surprise to learn of our marriage,' she remarked after a slight hesitation, guiding the conversation in the direction of the subject which perturbed her most.
'I'll say it did!' Barnaby laughed.
'Most especially, I suppose, because of my husband's friendship with Delia Cummings?'
Barnaby's bony face stiffened in the chair opposite her. 'You know about her?'
'Yes.'
'I don't suppose it was as serious as we all thought,' he said evasively, glancing at his wristwatch.
'What's she like, Barnaby?' she continued to question him, eager to know more about the woman who was so certain of her hold over Jason.
'She's very beautiful.'
'Is that all?' Melanie laughed disappointedly.
Barnaby looked away. 'I must get back to the office, Melanie, much as I enjoy chatting to you.'
Melanie sighed inwardly as Barnaby got to his feet. She would get nothing more from Barnaby, and her curiosity would have to remain unsatisfied.
'You're very loyal, Barnaby,' she said quietly, throwing her coat over her arm and smiling up at him. 'I hope some of that loyalty extends my way too?'
To her amazement he flushed a dull red before going absolutely white. 'Whatever we've discussed, Melanie, will remain only between us, but I have a confession to make.'
Melanie felt herself grow tense and said a little unsteadily, 'You make it sound terribly serious.'
'It is serious.' He avoided her eyes and stared down at the carpet. 'I know about the money your father borrowed from the boss.'
'Is that all?' she demanded quietly, keeping a rigid control on the wild thoughts racing through her mind.
'No,' he shook his head, and there was a silent plea in the eyes, that met hers now. 'I met a close friend of yours one evening, and I'm afraid I told him about it.'
Melanie went cold. 'I presume you're referring to Adrian Louw?'
'That's right.' His expression was grim. 'I had no intention of giving him this information, but…'
'It all sort of came out after a couple of drinks,' she finished for him dryly as she recalled her conversation with Adrian the previous day.
Barnaby stared at her quizzically. 'How did you know… about the drinks, I mean?'
'Never mind,' she said, forcing a smile to her lips. 'Thank you for telling me, and don't give the matter another thought,'
Barnaby was contrite, but she managed to make him snap out of it by
the time they arrived in the city, and he was his usual smiling self when he eventually left her on the doorstep of the penthouse.
The telephone was ringing in the study when she entered and, dropping her coat over the back of a chair, she went through to answer it.
'Melanie, I've been trying to reach you all day,' Adrian's voice came over the line.
'I've been out at Greystone Manor most of the day,' she replied, and her voice was cool with the effort to suppress her anger. 'What did you want, Adrian?'
'I wanted to apologise for some of the things I said yesterday, and I was hoping you would have tea with me one afternoon next week.'
Melanie's fingers tightened on the receiver. 'As a matter of fact, there is something I would like to discuss with you, so it would suit me fine.'
'Shall we say next week Tuesday at the Carlton, then, at about three?' he suggested, sounding a little surprised that he had had no difficulty in persuading her.
'I'll be there.'
'Good!' he said happily. 'See you then, my dear.'
She replaced the receiver and stood for a moment contemplating her decision. It was perhaps not wise of her to have accepted his invitation, but she was determined to tell him exactly what she thought of him and, to do that, she had to meet him face to face.
During the next few days, as Barnaby drove her to and from Greystone manor, she discovered that, contrary to what she had suspected, Jason had been spending many hours at the office working on a tender for the new steel plant which was to be erected on the East Rand. It was comforting to know that Delia Cummings was not the cause of the irregular hours he had kept, but it did nothing to alleviate the tense situation which had developed between Jason and herself. He remained cool and polite whenever they were together, making it impossible for Melanie to get close to him, and she was beginning to despair that she would ever be able to reach him.
It was at the end of that week, at a banquet for business men and their wives which was held at the home of one of Jason's associates, that Melanie met Delia Cummings for the first time, and it was not difficult to see why Jason had been so captivated.
Tall, dark, and incredibly slender, she was the most beautiful woman Melanie had ever seen, and her 'Jason darling!' rang out only too clearly above the noise as she made her way towards them. The shimmering black off-the-shoulder evening gown suited her colouring, and clung to her figure in a way that made many of the women glance at her enviously. But Melanie was more interested in her heavily lashed liquid-brown eyes beneath perfectly arched brows, and the sensuously curved red mouth which was pouting slightly as she slipped her arm possessively through Jason's.
'How good it is to see you again,' she purred up at him, but those beautiful eyes had lost a little of their warmth when they met Melanie's. 'Do introduce me to your wife, darling.'
No one would have guessed that they had so much as spoken to each other before, and Melanie could not help but admire Delia for her acting ability while Jason introduced them formally. He made no effort either to shake off those slender, manicured hands clutching at his arm, and Melanie had the horrible feeling that several pairs of eyes were observing them with interest and a great deal of curious speculation.
'My dear, I've been dying to meet you, and we must get together some time for a chat. Jason and I are, after all, such old friends. Aren't we, darling?' Delia demanded, the warmth in her voice as she gazed up at him suggesting a certain intimacy that sent a stab of unaccustomed jealousy tearing through Melanie.
'You're slipping, Delia,' Jason accused lightly. 'There was a time when you would never have used the word "old" when referring to yourself.'
'You're a brute, darling, and I don't know why I take these little jibes from you,' Delia retorted calmly as she released his arm. 'Be a dear and fetch me a drink.'
Jason's eyes sought Melanie's. 'I won't be a moment.'
She nodded stiffly, suppressing the desire to follow his tall figure across the room as she experienced a rush of panic at the thought of being alone with this woman who no longer made any pretence of friendliness.
'I gather you never told Jason of our telephone conversation?'
'No.'
'That was very wise of you, my dear,' Delia smiled with satisfaction, a glimmer of triumph in her cold eyes. 'Men never like to think that their actions are predictable to women.'
'You still seem very sure that he'll come running back to you.'
'There's no doubt about it, darling. I know him too well to be mistaken about that,' Delia stated with a confidence that filled Melanie with cold despair. 'You haven't the qualities to hold a man like Jason,' she continued, her glance contemptuous as she took in Melanie's small slenderness in the flowing cream-coloured silk. 'Before very long he'll tire of your appealing, childlike innocence, and he'll realise that only a woman like myself could satisfy him completely.'
Melanie clenched her hand at her side as she felt the rising urge to slap that smug look off Delia Cummings' beautiful face. This woman was calculatingly clever, and for the moment she had the upper hand, leaving Melanie defenceless and painfully aware of it.
Jason made his way towards them through the crowd, and Melanie almost cried with relief as she spotted him, but she controlled herself hastily as he reached their side.
'Your drink, Delia.'
'Darling, you're an angel!'
Their hands touched as Delia took the glass from him, but Melanie felt certain that it was a deliberate action on Delia's part to drive home the validity of her statements, although Jason appeared not to notice anything out of the ordinary as he glanced across the room with interest.
'If you'll excuse us, Delia, I'd like to have a word with McAlister.'
Delia accepted this gracefully, and Melanie felt his hand beneath her elbow as he guided her across the room towards the elderly gentleman who stood nursing his drink beside the potted fern in the corner. The introductions were made, and Melanie knew at once that this short, rather stout man was the one whose decision would determine whether Jason gained the contract for the new steel plant or not.
'I can see now why Jason was in such an infernal hurry to give up his bachelor days,' he remarked, his admiring glance making the colour return to her pale cheeks. 'If I were thirty years younger he might have had severe competition.'
'It's kind of you to say so, Mr McAlister,' she smiled, disengaging her hand from his as she became aware of Jason's mocking glance.
'Mac, can we talk business?'
'Certainly, my dear chap,' McAlister said agreeably, and Melanie decided tactfully that it was time for her to melt away into the distance.
'I think I'll take a stroll out on to the terrace,' she excused herself, and walked away quickly towards the french windows.
Drawing her wrap closer about her shoulders, she stepped out on to the terrace and shivered as she felt the coldness of the night air wafting against her body. There was hardly a moon in the sky, and the darkness seemed to envelop her as she strolled further along the terrace to where the honeysuckle ranked profusely on a trellis which formed an adequate partition. She slipped behind it quickly, relishing the seclusion it offered from the noise inside, and from Delia Cummings who was in the midst of it, making a determined effort, no doubt, to make Jason aware of what he had relinquished by marrying someone else.
It had been a humiliating experience meeting Delia, but she supposed it had had to happen some time. Now she at least knew exactly what she was up against, and something told her that Delia would not give up easily.
Melanie sighed, brushing aside the unpleasant thoughts which disturbed her so much, and making an effort to regain the composure she had lost so completely in Delia's presence. There was one thing which was very clear to her, however. Jason must never guess how she felt about him!
Lost in her thoughts, she had no idea how long she remained there on the terrace, but she was certain that almost half an hour had passed when the sound of a woman's clear voice brought her shar
ply back to the present.
'Delia Cummings looks younger every time I see her. I wonder how she manages it.'
'And that figure!' her female companion exclaimed.
'Yes, but then she seldom does more than nibble at her food.'
'I suppose that if you're a model, and you want to stay at the top of your profession, you just have to be careful what you eat.'
Melanie was in a quandary whether to show herself, or not, when the first woman said something which made her shrink deeper into the shadows.
'I wonder how it must feel to come face to face with your husband's mistress?'
Melanie held her breath as the woman's companion stressed, 'Ex-mistress.'
'I wonder…' mused the first woman. 'Things have been pretty hot between them during the past two years, and I can't see Delia giving up without a fight.'
Melanie wished fervently that she had shown herself before the conversation had gone this far, but there was nothing she could do at that moment except remain where she was if she did not want to humiliate herself further.
'Jason's wife is very pretty,' the conversation between the two women continued.
'Yes, but she's not much of a match for Delia,' the lady with the clear, precise voice argued. 'Delia has plenty of experience to draw on and, quite frankly, I wouldn't want to be in Melanie Kerr's shoes right now.'
'Do you think Delia has plans to break up their marriage?'
'I don't just think it, I know it. Didn't you see the clever way she got Jason away from old McAlister and lured him into the garden a few minutes ago?'
Melanie felt as though someone had delivered a fatal blow to the most vulnerable spot in her midriff, and she clutched at the wall behind her as her legs began to shake beneath her.
'No, I didn't,' the conversation went on.
'Well, you can be sure it wasn't just for a friendly chat they sought the seclusion of this enormous garden. I only hope that his wife never saw them leave.'
They moved away from Melanie's hiding place, but even so, she was no longer listening to what they were saying. Jason was somewhere in this garden with Delia, was all she could think of, and she groaned inwardly at the visions that sprang to mind. Delia had wasted little time in her pursuit of Jason, and he had apparently offered little resistance to the prospect of a few amorous moments in the secluded garden with the woman who had once been his mistress… and who, perhaps, would continue to be his mistress if he received enough encouragement.
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