East of Barryvale

by Yvonne Whittal

  "Is that all you can say? Ignore it?" she fumed.

  "What else do you expect me to say?" he asked, raising his eyebrows enquiringly.

  "Something—anything—only don't just sit there as though nothing has happened!"

  "Nothing has happened," he stated calmly, holding out his hand for the newspaper she withheld from him. "You merely received a congratulatory card from Tanya, that's all."

  "But—but I don't—" She stopped, searching help­lessly for the correct words. "Surely you cared for her?"

  "Yes, I cared."

  Jacqueline stared into his blue eyes and waited. When no further explanation was forthcoming, she slapped the offending newspaper into his waiting hands and paced angrily about the room.

  "I think I hate you," she said at last, her usually soft brown eyes dark with anger.

  "Do you?" he asked with obvious disinterest, scanning the sports page.

  Tears smarted her eyes as she stopped in front of him.

  "Have you no feelings at all?" she demanded incredu­lously.

  He looked up then, his eyes going over her coolly.

  "You're obviously distraught. Sit down and finish your coffee, perhaps that will calm you."

  Jacqueline wished at that moment she could do him a physical injury as he returned calmly to his scrutiny of the newspaper.

  "I'll come and fetch you at nine tomorrow morning," he said eventually. "You can spend the day with me at Bergvliet."

  "No!"

  A look of surprise crossed his face.

  "I'm sorry, I—thank you, but—I want to be alone on Christmas Day," she ended lamely.

  "As you wish," he said shortly, obviously hurt by her refusal. He glanced at his watch and dropped the news­paper on the floor beside the chair. "I must leave now," he said, getting to his feet. "Perhaps when we meet again you will be in a better frame of mind."

  The door closed behind him and Jacqueline sat staring at the chair he had just vacated. The indentations made by his body were still clearly visible, and suddenly the tears she had withheld all week overflowed, and she cried helplessly until she lay exhausted in her chair, small and pitifully lonely.

  The following morning Jacqueline attended the early morning Christmas service in the chapel situated in the hospital grounds. The interior of the chapel was cool, while outside the flowers seemed to wilt as the sun beat down mercilessly on to their soft petals.

  "When is the wedding to be?" the elderly parson asked as Jacqueline stepped into the sunshine after the service. He peered at her over the rim of his spectacles and held the hand she had extended towards him a moment longer.

  "I—we—we haven't decided yet," she replied lamely, not raising her gaze higher than the white clerical collar around his neck.

  He chuckled, releasing her hand. "Don't forget to come and see me when the date is set."

  Jacqueline nodded and walked on while he shook hands with the other parishioners. She walked on through the hospital gates with one aim in sight, and that was to visit the home she had shared with her father for so many years. It had taken her a long time to build up enough courage to perform this errand, but strangely enough the thought of returning to her old home that morning did not seem to horrify her.

  The house keys weighed heavily in her bag as she walked on down the street. She wondered what the house would look like after standing vacant for so many years. She had not had the furniture removed, only her personal belongings. The intention was that she would return to live there one day, but when Meldon suggested the staff quarters, she had jumped at the chance it would give her to become accustomed to Barryvale without her father.

  It was eight years ago since her father had passed away, she thought as she stopped in front of the double-storied house. Eight years that seemed like yesterday.

  The wooden gate swung open noiselessly beneath her hand and her eyes widened at the sight that confronted her. The lawns had been kept short with the borders neatly trimmed. The roses had obviously been pruned that season and their scent filled the early morning air with sweet nostalgia. Her father had loved roses and had spent hours giving them care and attention. The ivy creeper grew lustrously against the one wall of the house and had been clipped away from the windows which glinted brightly in the sun.

  Jacqueline walked up the path to the front door and after a slight hesitation inserted the key in the lock. The door swung open and she held her breath for the musty smell that was sure to greet her, but there was none, intrigued, she walked into the hallway and looked about her. Someone was obviously looking after the place and she wondered if her father's lawyer was responsible, for he was after all the only one who had a set of spare keys. But somehow he had not appeared to be the kind of person who would go to all this trouble. She shrugged her shoulders, unable to solve the mystery, and removing her hat, she placed it on the Queen Anne table beside her handbag and gloves.

  The furniture in the living-room was covered with dust sheets, yet not a sign of dust was present. She frowned as she walked through the room. It was not going to be such an ordeal after all.

  She wandered through the rooms, leaving her father's study for last. Entering what had been his private domain was going to be difficult, for his personal touch would still be evident unless someone had seen fit to change things about.

  With a sigh she walked down the thickly carpeted stairs and into the hallway. She looked across at the door that was kept closed as her father had always done and taking a deep breath she ventured forward slowly.

  She opened the study door and once again was struck by the obvious lack of cobwebs. It was plainly evident that this room had also been cleaned and aired at regular intervals. She drew the heavy curtains away from the window and looked about her.

  It was a masculine room with wooden panelling on the walls and one entire wall was lined with book shelves. The furniture, unlike the other rooms, had no protective coverings over it. The heavy chairs were padded and comfortable, and the large mahogany desk stood facing the window, still exactly where her father had placed it. The books in the shelves were neatly stacked and free of dust. Someone, she wondered who, had gone to a lot of trouble to keep the house in perfect condition.

  The rays of the sun coming through the window caught at the diamond ring Meldon had placed on her finger the night of the Hospital Ball, and thoughtfully she admired the magnificent stone. If only her father were still alive to solve her problems! If only . . . She moved about the room, restlessly touching this, touching that, letting the aching misery flow out of her fingers. If their engagement were real and Meldon cared, there would be no limit to her happiness. It did not matter any more if Meldon and Tanya had been lovers. Nothing mattered, except that she loved him.

  "So you came at last!"

  Jacqueline swung round to face the object of her thoughts. Meldon stood in the doorway,- with a grim expression on his face and an air of determination about him that frightened her.

  He glanced about the room as he walked towards her and Jacqueline took an involuntary step backwards. Her lips moved but no sound came as she stared at him. His eyes met hers, then strayed down to where a pulse was beating with suffocating intensity at the base of her throat. One dark eyebrow lifted questioningly.

  "Did I frighten you?"

  "What are you doing here?" she counter-questioned accusingly.

  He shrugged and smiled, his teeth flashing white against his tanned face, and some of the tension left Jacqueline.

  "I had a feeling you would come here today, so I waited."

  "Why?"

  "Why did I have a feeling you would come? Or why did I wait?"

  "Both," she said firmly.

  "I had a feeling you would come," he supplied toler­antly, "because it's Christmas, and a time when everyone wants to be surrounded with familiar things, like your own home. I waited because I wanted to give you this."

  He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and ex­tracted a small parcel which he held
out towards her. Jacqueline recoiled from it as though it were something lethal.

  "It's yours," he insisted. "Take it."

  "I can't." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Besides, I didn't get you anything."

  He smiled then, taking her hand and placing the package in it.

  "You can give me a present later," he informed her, and then when she made no move to open his gift: "Aren't you going to look inside?"

  Jacqueline undid the wrappings and lifted the lid of the small velvet-lined box. Her hand flew to her throat as a strangled cry escaped her, for in the box was the most beautiful diamond and emerald bracelet she had ever seen. She stared at it, horrified that he should give her such an expensive gift.

  "No!" she cried, holding it out to him. "I can't take it. Please!"

  Meldon took the box from her and calmly lifted the bracelet from the cushiony surface. He clasped her slender wrist firmly between his strong fingers and fastened the bracelet to her arm.

  "Merry Christmas," he said, drawing her into a close embrace. Jacqueline stiffened as his head came down, and willed herself not to respond as he kissed her lingeringly on the lips.

  She freed herself from his arms and stepped away from him.

  "Thank you very much for the bracelet, but it wasn't necessary to kiss me like that," she said angrily. "No one was watching, so your pretence was unnecessary."

  Meldon laughed comfortably and sat down in the leather chair at the window.

  "It's Christmas Day and I refuse to fight with you."

  Jacqueline looked down on to his smooth, dark head with the sprinkling of grey at the temples and became acutely aware of the longing to run her fingers through his hair. She turned away, blinking at the tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes, and walked towards the window. She stared with unseeing eyes at the well kept garden and fought to control her quivering emotions.

  "Who has been taking care of the house and garden all these years?" she asked eventually, filled with curiosity.

  "I have," he replied evenly. "Once a week I send a few of my labourers along to mow the lawn and clean out the flower beds. Their wives normally volunteer to come along and do the house. It's a pity to leave such a lovely place to become ruined by neglect."

  "Where did you get the house keys?”

  "From the lawyer."

  Jacqueline nodded as understanding dawned. She turned to face him and watched as he lit a cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling.

  "I'm now more than ever indebted to you," she said slowly, wonderingly.

  "What do you mean?" he asked sharply, a frown creasing his brow.

  She took a deep breath and explained.

  "If it hadn't been for your insistence, the Hospital Committee would never have agreed to accept my application, and I wouldn't have been able to come to Barryvale." Meldon's eyes glittered dangerously, but she pressed on. "No wonder you pounced on me each time I made a slight error. When I got stuck in the mud, you rescued me and not only returned my car the next day, but also had it cleaned. When I was ill you sat with me through the night and afterwards gave up your time to call and check on my progress. Since we entered into this bogus engagement you've showered me with gifts. Now I learn that you sent your labourers along to keep my house and garden in order, and for this service you no doubt paid them out of your own pocket." She shook her head slowly. "Truly, Meldon, I'm so indebted to you I don't know how I shall be able to repay you for all you've done."

  "You could marry me," he said quietly, his face expressionless.

  "Don't tease, please," she begged, close to tears. "That's the only thing I still don't understand. Why did you insist on this farce of an engagement and how long must it continue?"

  His eyes met hers and she was mystified by the in­decision she saw in them. He looked tired, she thought, noting the deeply etched lines on either side of his mouth and the unusual grey pallor showing beneath the healthy tan on his face.

  After what seemed like hours, he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and got to his feet. He paced the floor restlessly, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his trousers. Jacqueline watched him with a growing sense of alarm, her hands clenching until the nails bit into her palms.

  He stopped in front of her suddenly, his eyes brooding, his shoulders hunched.

  "Jacky, I'm tired of this cat and mouse game we've been playing. You have had me running round in circles ever since the day you arrived, and it has got to stop."

  There was a curious harshness about his voice that puzzled her, but she waited with bated breath for him to continue.

  "This is not the time nor the place, but I can't wait any longer." His hands gripped her shoulders painfully, causing her to wince inwardly, while his eyes seemed to burn into hers. "I love you and I want to marry you. I realise you don't love me yet, but you aren't entirely indifferent to me either."

  Jacqueline's heart leaped, stopped, and then raced on at a suffocating rate. She could do nothing but stare at him open-mouthed as though she found difficulty in filling her lungs with enough oxygen. She could not have heard him correctly, she told herself. This must be a dream! But the reality of his fingers biting into her shoulders made it all the more confusing. The room tilted slightly and blinking rapidly she shook her head to clear the dizziness.

  "You don't know what you're saying," she whispered hoarsely, almost pleadingly.

  "All I ask is the chance to make you love me just a little," he continued, shaking her slightly.

  She felt herself weaken and then, remembering what Tanya had told her about the little interludes Meldon indulged in, she freed herself from his grasp and put as much distance as she could between them.

  "What game do you think you're playing, Meldon?" she asked angrily, facing him across the room. "You know our engagement is just a farce and that Tanya is the woman you're going to marry."

  "What are you talking about?" he stormed.

  "You know what I'm talking about."

  "I'm afraid I don't." His voice had gone dangerously quiet. "Would you please explain?"

  Something was dreadfully wrong, Jacqueline decided as she faced him across the length of the room. But now there was no turning back and she had to continue with what she had started.

  "You were unofficially engaged to Tanya for quite some time before you sprang this surprise engagement on me."

  "Who told you this?" he asked sharply.

  "Tanya."

  "And you believed her?"

  "Was there any reason why I shouldn't?"

  Meldon considered this for a moment. "Perhaps not. Go on."

  "There's not much else to say, except that I can only come to the conclusion that you and Tanya quarrelled, and by announcing our engagement you hoped to make her sufficiently jealous to want to return to you."

  He stared at her solemnly but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  "You most probably thought that while you had to wait you might as well have an affair with me. But, Meldon, I'm not going to have you playing fast and loose with my emotions to enable you to pass the time until Tanya returns."

  There was absolute stillness. The only other sound in the room was Jacqueline's own pulse-beat, drumming at her temples until she felt she could scream.

  Meldon walked slowly towards her, the expression in his eyes unfathomable.

  "Is that what you think of me? That I could make love to one woman while I'm engaged to another?"

  She stared fascinated at the muscle working visibly in his cheek.

  "What else can I believe when you refuse to give me any explanation?"

  Once again there was a long silence while they stared at each other defiantly.

  "Then I'm afraid we have nothing further to say to each other," he said finally, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  For some indefinable reason, Jacqueline knew that if she allowed Meldon to leave now, it would mean the end of everything between them. 'Listen to your heart,' Aunt Ellen h
ad said. 'Listen to your heart.' Before she could stop herself, she had crossed the room and with wildly beating heart almost ran into the hallway just as he had opened the front door.

  "Meldon, wait!"

  He turned towards her with a look so filled with cold indifference that she stopped in her tracks, her courage almost deserting her.

  "Won't you please . . . stay?" she managed halt­ingly.

  A look of disbelief crossed his face.

  "You surely don't expect me to stay for the inquisition you have in mind?"

  "No!" she almost shouted before continuing more calmly. "I'm sorry, I had no right to say the things I did. No right at all."