by Susan Barrie
- both verbal ones entrusted to Mrs. Edgerley and on a card attached to the flowers — and a carton of hot-house grapes, all borne by the housekeeper herself, who had the air of one deriving a certain amount of pleasure from this additional duty that had been imposed on her.
Sir Luke seemed mildly surprised by the sight of the flowers, but the old doctor looked as if he were not in the least surprised when he heard that it was another of his well established patients who was expressing his sympathy in such a satisfactory manner.
‘Ah, young Vidal!’ he exclaimed. ‘I happened to run into him on my way home from here yesterday evening, and he was most concerned when he heard about you, Melanie! Said something about telephoning you straight away—’
‘As a matter of fact, he did telephone,’ Melanie admitted, looking self-consciously at the housekeeper, ‘and Mrs. Edgerley took the message. The flowers are lovely, aren’t they?’ she added somewhat hurriedly, and buried her face in them.
Sir Luke stood beside the high white mantelpiece and regarded her with a slightly cold mixture of quizzicalness and humour in his regard.
‘An admirer, Miss Grainger?’ he inquired, with a formality that took her aback for a moment
‘Well, er ... no, not exactly,’ she denied, although she knew it was quite untrue and her cheeks turned faintly pink on the cheekbones. ‘I’ve known him for years and years—’
‘But an admirer just the same,’ Dr. Binns declared emphatically, beaming at his patient’s slight confusion. ‘I can tell you, Sir Luke,’ turning to him, ‘that Miss Grainger and Martin Vidal have been expected by the entire neighbourhood to announce their engagement at any moment for the last couple of years at least, and we’re all still expecting it.’ Once again he lightly touched the girl’s cheek with a fatherly forefinger, and recommended that she got Mrs. Edgerley to put her flowers in water. ‘I’ve no doubt the young man himself will be paying you a visit before long,’ he said, ‘and the fact that you’re not in any danger of becoming a cripple will relieve him considerably.’
He took a somewhat effusive farewell of Sir Luke - whom he looked upon as a worthwhile future patient of the paying variety - waved a hand to Melanie and said he would look in upon her the following day, and followed the housekeeper out of the night nursery. No sooner were they alone than Sir Luke, after bending to add another log to the fire and dusting his hands on an immaculate linen handkerchief which he produced from the pocket of his hacking-jacket, turned with a slightly critical and mildly displeased air to the girl in the chair, and asked her why she had denied that she had an admirer when the whole village, apparently, knew that exactly the opposite was the case.
Melanie decided to dismiss the village gossip as nonsense. After all, as she said to herself afterwards, her affairs were really nothing to do with him. And she had no intention whatsoever of marrying Martin Vidal, so the fact that he sent her flowers and fruit was of no particular significance.
‘Martin is an old friend,’ she said, ‘and as a matter of fact it is he who is looking after Lady, my mare, for me until I can find some other accommodation for her. He is very kind,’ she added, looking demurely down at her hands, ‘and I don’t know what I would have done without him when it became necessary to remove Lady from your stables.’
Sir Luke appeared unimpressed by her confession of the dilemma she had found herself in.
‘You know perfectly well that Lady could have remained where she has apparently spent the better part of her life already,’ he observed.
She fluttered her eyelashes and looked at him in mild astonishment.
‘That wasn’t the impression I received when you first heard I had a horse to stable,’ she returned.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly, impatiently ... and as always, when he was feeling impatient, he took another turn or two about the roam.
‘If young Vidal sends you flowers and puts himself out to be of assistance to you he must have quite an interest in you,’ he remarked. ‘But there is absolutely no need for him to go on being burdened by your horse, and if you like I will get in touch with him and tell him that the horse can be brought back here. It would certainly be the sensible thing to do because we have plenty of stabling here, and although I have no real idea what your financial position is like, I shouldn’t think you will find it an inexpensive luxury feeding and quartering a horse. If, of course, you can afford it—’
‘I can’t,’ she admitted simply.
‘Then we’ll get Lady back here at once. I’ll contact Vidal myself.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ she said, with an air of decision which obviously surprised him.
‘Why not?’ and his dark eyebrows arched.
‘Because I can depend on Martin.’ She flushed faintly as she met his eyes. ‘I don’t mean that I can’t depend on you, Sir Luke,’ she added hurriedly, ‘but the reason I left here so - precipitately
- was because I realized that I had absolutely no right to go on taking advantage of your hospitality, and in fact in future I must make my own arrangements and look after myself. I refuse to be dependent on anyone, and therefore I must go back to the Bell as soon as Dr. Binns says I can put some weight on this foot.’ She wiggled it slightly. ‘I feel an absolute fraud putting you out like this, and if you would be so good as to call a taxi for me—’
‘I’ll do nothing of the kind,’ Sir Luke said firmly. ‘And you’ll stay here until your ankle is completely well again.’
She began to feel genuinely perturbed. ‘But that’s nonsense,’ she declared. ‘At the Bell I would be well looked after ... at least, as soon as I can hobble about. . . .’
‘And once you’re hobbling about in earnest do you intend to return to that appalling cottage?’ her host inquired as if he would be prepared to doubt her sanity if she answered in the affirmative.
And that was precisely what she did do.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Where else is there for me to go? I can’t afford the Bell indefinitely, and I mean to make the cottage my home. It will be really attractive by the time I’ve worked on it and spent a little more money on it, and you can take it from me that, nothing - and no one! - is going to make me change my mind about Rose Cottage!’
Sir Luke maintained an expression that gave away little, but she did think there was a curious, antagonistic glint in his extremely dark eyes. She had already come to suspect that he was a man who disliked to be thwarted about anything ... and even when it didn’t really concern him he liked to prove awkward.
However, he was her host at the moment, and he was being very kind to her. She smiled at him.
Sir Luke met the gaze of the dark blue eyes for rather a long moment, and then he turned away.
‘If there is anything you require you have only to ask Mrs. Edgerley for it,’ he informed her curtly. ‘And if you will take my advice you will treat that ankle of yours with respect, and not subject it to any strains while we still don’t know how extensive the damage to it really is.’
He let himself out at the door, and a short time afterwards Mrs. Edgerley came in looking like a satisfied hen with a favourite chick, and said Cook was preparing something rather special for Miss Melanie’s lunch. And if she would like to join the guests in the drawing-room that afternoon Dickson would carry her downstairs. Sir Luke seemed to think she might be dull in her own room, and it would be entertaining for her to join the rest of the house-party downstairs for at least a short time.
Melanie looked at her as if she were amazed that she should even imagine she would wish to join Sir Luke’s guests in the drawing-room ... which was the only really sacrosanct room in the house where anyone with an injured ankle and very little in the way of background would hardly be welcome.
But the next morning Dr. Binns arrived early, and he was so pleased with the condition of her ankle that he, somewhat unwisely, gave her permission to wander about the house if she felt like it. By ‘wandering about the house’ he no doubt meant the corridor in w
hich the night nursery was situated, and it probably never even occurred to him that she would succeed in hobbling down the back stairs and making her way out into the garden.
Actually, it was the sheltered south terrace she made her way out on to and it was such a lovely morning that she felt really pleased with herself when the effort was accomplished and she was out in the warm sunlight and the gentle breeze of a delightful spring day. The terrace commanded a magnificent view across shaven lawns to an ornamental lake with a decorative island floating in the middle of it, and beyond that the great trees of the park marched solidly to join a misly line of woods and the rich farmlands that surrounded Wroxford
Priory. Melanie always found this prospect both soothing and exciting, and today - after being incarcerated in a bedroom for two whole days - she felt like someone who had been freed suddenly, and was seeing all the beauties of the outside world for the first time for months.
But at the same time she felt a little wobbly, and every time she put any real weight on her ankle it was decidedly painful, and she knew that Dr. Binns was probably right in suspecting a fracture. He had said that he was arranging for an X-ray, and her heart sank as she thought of the possible result. At the moment the strapping half-way up her leg was giving it support, but once that was removed how would she feel . . . ? And how long would it take to mend if she had sustained a fracture?
She had provided herself with a stick, and she hobbled towards a long cane chair that had been set out on the terrace, and was just about to ease herself into it when Sir Luke came round an angle of the house with the two female members of his house-party, and he looked so astonished at the sight of her that, if she hadn’t been feeling rather shaky because of her efforts, she would undoubtedly have been amused.
‘What on earth are you doing out here?’ he demanded, and he left the two ladies who were accompanying him and strode swiftly forward until he reached the side of the long rattan chair.
Melanie looked up at him from the depths of the capacious, comfortably cushioned chair and smiled at him a little wanly.
‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she assured him. ‘I wanted to try out my foot, and it - it’s all right, I think....’
But she winced as she spoke, and Sir Luke stood literally glowering down upon her.
‘You are the most absurdly independent young woman I’ve ever met in my life!’ he told her, and there was an explosive note in his voice. ‘I issued strict instructions to Mrs. Edgerley that you were not to be allowed outside your room until there was someone on hand to help you if you needed help, and she gave me her word that she would see that you didn’t wander. And yet there you are ... and apparently you engineered the whole thing yourself! I consider you gravely irresponsible!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Melanie was dimpling slightly, and the colour was flooding back into her face because she was comfortably installed in her chair, when Mrs. Larsen left her daughter’s side and inquired with real sympathy whether she was feeling better.
Mrs. Larsen was wearing a very smart - in fact, rather too smart - outdoor outfit that had been created for her by a French couturier and recommended as ideal for the English countryside, and her daughter was wearing something even more chic and definitely unsuitable for muddy lanes and an excursion across country. But both ladies had flawless complexions and were beautifully made-up, and Inga in particular looked really startlingly lovely with her fair hair and remarkable cairngorm eyes. Just looking at her made Melanie almost painfully aware of her own limitations by comparison, and she knew she would never, never possess -or was reasonably certain that she wouldn’t - a pale cream suit trimmed with costly sable, a little sable hat and shoes of python with fascinating buckles.
The day before, from her window, she had glimpsed Miss Larsen in scarlet thigh-length boots and a scarlet cape — also trimmed with something that looked like sable. She had been hatless, and her silken pale hair had been flowing round her shoulders, and she had been showing all her little white teeth as she laughed and clung tightly to Sir Luke Charnock’s arm.
Melanie had thought she looked exactly like a doll - an
enchanting blonde doll dressed to make the most of her golden appeal, and not for the first time in her life she had wished that she, too, was blonde, that her income would permit her to wear scarlet in just that way ... and that she was the type of girl who clung instinctively to a man’s arm when it was offered to her, instead of putting up a fight to retain her independence, and no doubt going steeply downhill in the opinion of the man who offered the arm.
If there was such a man who would offer such an arm!
Today, on top of her recent exertions and the slight, nagging pain in her foot - and the fact that Sir Luke looked annoyed with her - she felt her spirits ebb as she met Miss Larsen’s eyes. Her mother was easy enough to cope with, and obviously a very maternal woman at heart, but the daughter ... no!
Always and for ever ‘No’, Melanie thought, as the slightly basilisk golden gaze flickered over her, and she knew that the principal guest resented her presence on the terrace very much indeed. And more than anything she resented the fact that Sir Luke had thought it necessary to desert her side and protest about the other girl’s activities.
‘You do look a bit peaky, I must say,’ Mrs. Larsen remarked, after she had received from Melanie an emphatic assurance that she was almost as good as new again. ‘But then I expect it was a very nasty fall you had, and it might have been so much worse if Sir Luke hadn’t found you and brought you here.’
She directed at Sir Luke a wholly admiring smile, as if she had long ago decided that his qualities were quite exceptional.
Miss Larsen interposed bleakly:
‘It was certainly very lucky for you that Sir Luke did find you when he did. But people who take risks on step-ladders are a bit of a liability to themselves.’
Melanie was quite sure that what she meant was that people who took risks on step-ladders were a bit of a liability to other people.
Sir Luke repeated his demand to know how she had got herself downstairs, and she exhibited for his benefit the stick that had made the venture possible, and explained that the doctor had removed his embargo on her remaining in her room.
‘He said I could take a little gentle exercise,’ she added demurely, and Sir Luke tightened his lips and shook his head at her.
‘By which of course he meant make straight for the staircase and the outside world,’ he remarked with maximum dryness. ‘I’ll have to have a word with Dr. Binns when I see him next. But now I think you could do with a drink. You look to me as Mrs. Larsen so aptly phrased it, a little “peaky”.’
Mrs. Larsen, who had apparently walked half-way across the park and become exhausted in the process, said eagerly that she, too, could do with a drink, and she dropped into another of the vacant chairs and disposed herself to be waited on. It was so lovely on the terrace that everyone agreed it would be a sin to go indoors, and Inga walked to the far end of the terrace and gazed dreamily out over the sun-dappled lawns to the distant woods, and was still surrounded by an aura of remoteness and slight untouchability when Horton appeared carrying a tray of drinks in the wake of his master, and Sir Luke made a point of inquiring of Melanie before anyone else what she would like.
She felt vaguely uncomfortable because she had permitted herself to become the centre of attention when it was the last thing she desired - and the last thing Inga Larsen desired, she was quite sure . . . and said hurriedly that if she could have a soft drink. . . .
‘Nonsense.’ Sir Luke’s tone was crisp. ‘You’ll have a small brandy.’
‘I’d rather you made it sherry.’
‘Brandy.’ He spoke firmly, and Horton advanced toward her with the glass of spirit advocated by his master.
Melanie took a sip at her drink, and certainly felt a little better. Mrs. Larsen lay back luxuriating in the superbly comfortable rattan chair and rhapsodized about the beauties of the countryside, and in
particular the charm of Wroxford Priory and its extensive grounds. Every time she said something in praise of the Priory she glanced towards the end of the terrace where her daughter had elected to hold herself a little aloof from the rest — although as soon as he was free Sir Luke joined her there - and a very pointed note invaded her voice, as if she wanted to get it across that Inga should display a little more interest in her surroundings in order to please her host.
But from the intimate conversation the two of them indulged in, while Inga leaned gracefully against a stone vase and Sir Luke let his eyes rest on her as if he found her an entrancing study decorating his terrace, there was no particular need for Inga to get anything across to the host. Or so Melanie decided, as she watched them covertly.
A short while after this they were joined by the three men who made up the male contribution to the house-party, and Melanie was instantly surrounded by them, and Richard Culdrose in particular paid her a good deal of attention.
He was offering to carry her back upstairs when she wished to return to her room when Martin Vidal’s car came sweeping round a bend in the drive and drew to rest at the foot of the terrace steps. Martin himself alighted - since Melanie’s accident he had had to pay a visit to London, and she had not seen him since she fell off the steps in her cottage - and, practically ignoring the rest of them, he strode up the steps and made straight for Melanie and her group of supporters. He didn’t even pause to nod at them before grasping her hands and looking his anxiety at her, and she could tell that he was genuinely concerned by the dark look in his eyes and the faintly horror-stricken note in his voice.
‘You look as if you’ve been ill!’ he declared. ‘And Edgerley said you were better!’
‘I am better.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I can walk now, and I even managed to walk downstairs this morning.’
