by Pamela Kent
He felt her quiver in his arms—in fact, her whole slight body trembled so that he had to draw her closer still to quiet her trembling. And then he saw the reproach in her eyes, and she made an eager movement with her own arms and wound them about his neck.
“I love you, Rick,” she told him unsteadily, “now and for always! Now and for always!” she repeated.
“And I love you,” he breathed, against the lips that came close to his. He said it solemnly, as if he was making a vow. “I love you, and I’ll make you happy—I swear it! Do you believe me, my darling?” his dark eyes flaming into hers.
“Yes, yes, I believe you!” she answered, without a moment’s hesitation. And she thought: It won’t always be easy, but it will be perfect! It will be what we make it, a heaven of happiness for two people. A wide heaven filled with stars! ... We’ll build a stairway to the stars!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Two weeks later gleaming black and silver Jaguar car turned in at the ornamental gates which guarded the approach to the Vandraatons’ Long Island home.
Looking out at it from the comfortable interior of the car—seeing it, perhaps, with new eyes now that she knew she had a right to be coming here, accompanied by a husband who would support her on every possible occasion—Melanie was struck not so much by its opulence as by its beauty. It really was a beautiful house, a dignified house, a welcoming house. When she first saw it there had been cars standing on the broad sweep before the porticoed entrance, and Mrs. Vandraaton had caused her a faint sinking feeling in her stomach because her hair was so beautifully ordered, and it had a lavender-blue rinse.
But today there was no Mrs. Vandraaton waiting to receive them—at least, she was not actually waiting for them on the drive—and there didn’t seem to be a human soul about the place. It was serene and gracious, surrounded by its cool lawns and flowerbeds, but the windows had a blind, unseeing look—unless it was Melanie’s imagination.
She allowed Rick to help her from the car when it stopped outside the porch, and as he smiled at her she looked up at him half fearfully.
“Rick! Are they—are they expecting us?”
“They’re expecting us to arrive some time today, but as we didn’t know ourselves what time that would be they haven’t got the flags out. Darling,” as he felt her shrink nearer to him, “don’t looked so scared! My mother may be a great one for fashionable weddings, but she isn’t a cannibal! She won’t eat you!”
She smiled rather shakily.
“Of course I know she won’t eat me!”
“And, in any case, I wouldn’t let her.” He put his arm about her and held her close to his side. “Anyone who wants to eat you will have to devour me first—whole!”
Then they walked up the steps to the front door.
The heavy silence that hung over the place struck even Rick as strange. But the door was opened to them immediately by the dignified manservant Melanie remembered. He was an importation from England, with the inimitable Jeeves manner, and he was all ready to receive them.
“This is a very happy day, Mr. Rick, sir,” he said. “We’re delighted to be the first to welcome you back to Long Island—you and Mrs. Rick.” A couple of maids were standing in the hall, whom Melanie also remembered, and there was even the head gardener, beaming and affable, although he loathed anyone helping themselves to his flowers. Rick turned his arrogant dark head quickly to all sides, and then inquired with a faint frown:
“But my parents? Where are they?”
“In New York, Mr. Rick.”
“Aunt Octavia?”
“Staying with friends, Mr. Rick!”
“Then—” Rick laughed a little incredulously—“there’s no one here at all to receive us? None of the family, I mean!”
The butler most impressively handed Rick an envelope.
“Perhaps when you’ve read this, Mr. Rick, you’ll feel less astounded. Mr. and Mrs. Vandraaton were insistent you should have it the instant you arrived.”
Rick walked into the library, taking Melanie with him. He said over his shoulder:
“Whatever bad news this contains you might as well bring us some drinks, Meadows. We shall probably need them if it’s very bad news!”
But once they had digested the contents of the letter—and Melanie did so peering over her husband’s slightly upraised arm, as he held the sheet of typescript in front of him—they knew that they weren’t going to need the bracing effects of a couple of well-mixed drinks. In fact, Melanie felt such relief that her knees grew slightly weak, and although this was merely postponing the evil moment she was so grateful for the postponement that her eyes began to shine. She expelled a breath of relief.
And perhaps when the evil moment arrived at last it wouldn’t be so evil after all—if this letter was anything to go by!
“My dear children,” it began—and this must have been Mr. Vandraaton, going all soft and sentimental—“your mother and I both want you to enjoy your honeymoon undisturbed, and for that reason we are clearing out and leaving you the place to yourselves. We’re not so old that we can’t remember how we felt when we took each other for better or worse, and if there’s a time in your life when you don’t want people around it’s when you’ve just got married!
Make the most of it, Melanie and Rick—remember you only have one honeymoon in your lifetime, and this one’s got to provide you with some memories. When you’re ready to let us offer our personal congratulations you can let us know, but don’t feel you’ve got to hurry because I’m taking your mother for a trip to Paris she’s been pestering me to give way about for ages, and if the holiday mood really gets me we may go on to Italy and see Rome and Naples and die—although I hope we won’t do that!
Love to you both,”
And it was signed Lucas Vandraaton.
Rick fell into one of the deep comfortable chairs, and pulled Melanie down on top of him. He felt her relax blissfully in his hold, and breathed softly into her hair:
“Now you can stop worrying for the first time today! And be happy! Remember, we’re on our honeymoon!”
When his long, urgent kiss had ended, and she had succeeded in getting her breath back, she muttered contentedly close beside his ear—contentedly and a shade apologetically:
“It wasn’t that I was really afraid of your mother, Rick. But she must be disappointed—terribly disappointed! And I couldn’t honestly think how she could prevent herself from showing her disappointment.”
“Well, now you know. She’s going to work it off in Paris! The old man will buy her an entire wardrobe of new clothes, and she’ll be thoroughly happy when she gets back!”
Melanie could partly understand that. She had an entire wardrobe of clothes herself—some of them collected in Paris during a never-to-be-forgotten week-end—and she could sympathize with the other woman’s point of view. She even thought that one of these days they might like one another reasonably well.
That night, while Rick occupied the bathroom that was a part of their suite—surely the most luxurious suite the house contained?—she walked to the window and stood looking out at the sleeping sea. It was a dreamily beautiful sea, tranquil and languid, with stars wallowing like diamonds in the trough of each incoming wave. There was no moon, but flowers gleamed palely in the garden below her, and behind her flowers were banked up in the room. The combined scent of them caught at her nostrils ... She felt that life had suddenly become unreal. Beautifully, wonderfully unreal!
Rick came up behind her and caught hold of her shoulders, that were only lightly covered by a filmy negligee.
“What is my wife dreaming about?” he asked, his voice very low and deep, his fingers biting just a little cruelly into the soft flesh.
But she put back her head and rested it against him with a happy sigh.
“I wasn’t dreaming! I was trying to believe in a wonderful dream!”
“Then come away from the window,” he said huskily. He drew her well away from the window, and then his ar
ms lifted her. “I’ll prove to you that it’s no dream!”
THE END
