Roberta Leigh - My Hearts a Dancer

by Roberta Leigh

  She gave a wan smile and impulsively leaned forward and kissed the side of his face. 'You deserve the credit for tonight's performance. Without your help I couldn't have danced a single step.'

  'Old dependable they call me,' he said lightly, and then added so softly that only she alone could hear. 'I'm always ready to help you, Melanie, in every way you want.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Exactly five months after leaving England the Company returned home. Melanie's fear that being in London again would revive her love for Timothy was not borne out by events, and more than ever she realized how foolish she had been to believe they had ever had anything in common. He had been her first love and, like so many first loves, it had proved to be an illusion. Her final acceptance of this reawakened all her feelings of guilt, and though she managed to fight it off during the day, when her mind was occupied with work, at night It returned with double intensity, making sleep impossible and sending her pacing the floor of her bedroom for hour after restless hour. Finally, as always, she took the problem to Verenskaya.

  'It's knowing I never really loved him,' she explained. 'That's what I can't forgive myself for.' She looked around the large but shabby drawing-room of the Bayswater flat she had lived in with Verenskaya since the death of her parents. 'It's as though he never really existed - as if it were a dream.'

  'Then stop turning it into a nightmare! Would you feel less guilty if you pretended to a sorrow you did not feel?'

  'Of course not.'

  'Then forget about the past. It's finished and nothing you can do can change it!'

  'I know that. But it still doesn't stop me feeling guilty.' She hesitated, then said: 'Since I've been back in London I keep thinking about his mother. I suppose that's also made it worse for me.'

  'That at least is something I can understand. Of all the people in this unhappy affair, she is the one who has suffered .the most.' Hurt, Melanie turned away and Verenskaya continued chidingly: 'I do not mean to be cruel, my child, but for you the pain will pass. Already you admit it has! But for a mother - that is something quite different. All her life she will live with the heartache of his death.'

  'Don't!' Melanie gasped. 'I can't bear it - and it won't do any good either. There's no way I can help her.'

  ‘You could go and see her.'

  There was a silence so sudden that it heightened all the surrounding noises of traffic, the hiss of steam in the old-fashioned radiators and the steady whir of the grandfather clock.

  'Go and see her?' Melanie echoed. 'I daren't! We've never even met!'

  'All the more reason for you to do so. No matter what happened between you and Timothy, you're still his widow and her daughter-in-law. Think how she must feel; she knows you're in England again yet you haven't even spoken to her.'

  Startled by Verenskaya's surprise emotion, Melanie was forced Into the defensive. If you feel so strongly about it, why didn't you tell me to go and see her before?’

  'I do not want to tell you everything you should do,' came the reproving answer. 'I was waiting for you to feel the need.'

  'But what can I say to her? To try and explain why I left Timothy would be—’

  'Don't explain. It isn't necessary. As far as his mother's concerned all you need say is that Timothy had agreed to let you go on the tour and that he was flying out to join you when he was - when he was killed.'

  'I couldn't go through with such a lie!'

  'Well, you can't tell her the truth. And if you tell her what I've suggested it will at least sound plausible.'

  'I suppose so,' Melanie said slowly. Until I've seen her I won't be able to get her out of my mind.'

  The following afternoon Melanie put on a dark dress and coat and went to see the stranger who was her mother-in-law. Timothy had lived in a flat in Knightsbridge and she had had to look up Mrs. Ransome's address in the telephone book. But even so she was unprepared for the grandeur of the large house off Belgrave Square, with its marble pillars rising regally either side of a beautifully polished mahogany front door.

  Nervously she rang the bell and within a moment the door was opened by an elderly butler, his appearance as imposing as the surroundings she glimpsed behind him.

  'I'd like - I'd like to see Mrs. Ransome,' she stammered.

  'Do you have an appointment, madam?'

  She shook her head, realizing how stupid she had been not to telephone first. 'If you could tell her it's Miss - tell her it's Airs. Timothy Ransome.'

  Well trained though he was, the man fell back a step.

  Then he quickly opened the door wider and beckoned Melanie into a large, marble-floored hall. Please wait a moment,' he said, and crossed over to a door on her left. He closed it behind him but in a few seconds was in the hall again, beckoning her to go forward.

  Melanie did so, and found herself in what she took to be a drawing-room. It was vast in size and elegantly furnished with French pieces, but beyond a fleeting impression of burnished wood and exquisite pictures on pale peach walls, her attention was held by an impeccably dressed woman sitting on a brocade- covered settee beside a fireplace. The lined face with its deep blue eyes was so like an older edition of Timothy's that Melanie felt herself grow faint, and it was more than a moment before she became aware that the expression with which she was being regarded was one of hatred.

  'So you're the girl my son married. Why have you come here?'

  'Because I - I just got back from Australia and it seemed the - the right thing to do.'

  'Since when have you cared about doing the right thing?' The woman's voice was shaking, but her anger still came through it. 'My son is dead. Seeing you only serves to remind me of it. Go away!'

  'Please don't!' Tears rushed into Melanie's eyes. 'I can understand how you feel - I was expecting it. But it isn't fair to blame me. It was an accident.'

  'That's a matter of opinion,' a deep voice said, and Melanie swung round to see a tall man standing by the door. 'I'm Gregory Ransome,' he continued, and stepped forward.

  So this was the cousin of whom Timothy had spoken with such resentment; an orphan since the age of ten, he had been brought up by his aunt and uncle, and had done his best to make them consider him their elder son. 'The mind of a computer and the emotions of an iceberg,' had been Timothy's description of him, and seeing the narrow face and steel-grey eyes under heavy brows, she could well believe it. But he was younger than she had expected, and totally unlike Timothy, having thick black hair and stern lines running down either side of his mouth.

  'If my cousin hadn't been chasing after a runaway bride,' he went on, 'he'd still be alive today.'

  Melanie caught her breath. So much for Verenskaya's hope that she could pretend nothing had gone wrong between Timothy and herself! Yet determined to see if she could retrieve the situation she tried to bluff it out. 'Timothy knew I was going on the tour. He agreed to it.'

  That doesn't tie in with what he said when he telephoned me the morning after you'd married him,' came the sarcastic rejoinder. 'He was practically out of his mind.'

  Dismayed, Melanie was silent. To explain her actions would mean smirching Timothy's memory, and with his mother directly behind her, it was something she found impossible to do.

  'Well,' the man said, 'where's your great defence?'

  Clenching her hands, she turned to look at Mrs. Ransome, but the woman's face was marked by tears and Melanie knew it would be better for her to say no more. How stupid she had been not to consider the possibility that Timothy had told someone else of her sudden departure. Told them of it, yet omitted to give the real reason.

  'It's no use my explaining,' she said tonelessly. 'It was silly of me to have come here. I'm sorry.'

  Quickly she ran from the room, the dislike of the two people behind her so strong that her one thought was to escape from it. She raced across the hall, opened the front door and hurried down to the pavement. A bus drew into the kerb on the other side of the road and, lifting her arm to stop it moving off without her
, she began to run towards it. Too late she saw a motorbike swing round the corner. It swerved to avoid her as she advanced into its path, but the edge of the wheel caught against her hip and sent her spinning to the ground. Her head struck the kerb, there was an agonizing flash of pain and she knew no more.

  An incessant aching throb was her first conscious thought, and with an effort she opened her eyes. Everything was a blur of darkness edged with blinding light, but as it faded and the darkness turned to daylight, she saw she was lying in bed in an unfamiliar room. Its expensive furnishing and tall, graceful windows told her she must be in the Ransome house and she struggled to sit up, her one thought being to leave as quickly as she could. But the sudden movement caused another sharp stab of pain in her head and she gave an involuntary cry. The sound brought a white-robed figure to her side.

  'So you've come round at last!' a nurse said. 'That's excellent.' A firm hand raised her head and glass of tepid liquid was touched to her lips. Only then did Melanie realize how thirsty she was and she drank eagerly.

  'How long have I been here?' Although she spoke in a normal tone she was surprised that the sound that emerged was a cracked, barely audible whisper.

  'Three days,' came the reply.

  Three days}'

  That's right. And this is the first time you've been conscious.’

  Melanie tried to raise herself again, but the sharp pain in her temples made movement unbearable and she lay back on the pillow. Three days. It was unbelievable. Even worse, it was untenable. The moment the throbbing eased in her head she would get dressed and leave; to stay here any longer was out of the question. Perhaps if she closed her eyes for a moment the pain would lessen. Of one thing she was certain: it certainly could not get worse.

  When next she opened her eyes bright sunlight was streaming into the room and the nurse was standing by the bed.

  ‘What a long sleep you've had! Feeling better?’

  Gingerly Melanie moved her head. The pain had lessened considerably and even when she sat up it barely increased. 'Much better, thanks. I'll get up now.'

  'Get up?’ The nurse looked horrified. 'You can't do that for at least a week. The doctor would never allow it.'

  ‘What doctor?'

  'Dr. McAllister. Mrs. Ransome called him when you were brought here after your accident. Don't you remember seeing him? The first time you were unconscious, but yesterday he was here and spoke to you.'

  'Spoke to me yesterday?' Melanie said incredulously. 'Did I answer him?'

  ‘You certainly did! Most agitated you were too. Going on about having to leave at once and no one was going to stop you - not unless they knocked you unconscious again!' The nurse smiled. 'Still, don't worry that you've forgotten. It often happens in cases of concussion. You're lucky you're not worse. Heads weren't meant to hit kerbs, you know!'

  Melanie sank back against the pillow. 'I can't stay here any longer. It's out of the question. If you could telephone Madame Verenskaya for me she'll ask one of the girls in the Company to collect me.'

  'There's plenty of time to do that next week,' the nurse said soothingly. 'Right now you must stay in bed and do as you're told.'

  Unexpectedly an overwhelming tiredness robbed Melanie of the energy to argue, and she closed her eyes. She was aware of the nurse moving about the room and found the sound of the starched apron strangely comforting. If only she were not in the Ransome home she would be content to stay in bed for ever. For ever and ever. 'What a funny thing to want,' she thought, and was puzzling over it when she fell asleep again.

  Each time she awoke she felt increasingly stronger, but it was not until the fifth day, when she opened her eyes and saw Madame Verenskaya sitting by her side, that she felt almost her normal self.

  'Thank goodness you're here. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me.' She held out her hands and Verenskaya patted them. Even in old age the woman still had the gracefulness of the ballerina assoluta she had been in her youth, and this elegance of movement contrasted oddly with the long black dress and dangling gold necklaces and bracelets which was her standard uniform. At the best of times she looked eccentric and exotic, but in this perfectly appointed room she looked so much like an ancient hippy that Melanie could not help smiling.

  'And what is amusing you?' Verenskaya asked.

  'Nothing,' Melanie said quickly. 'It's just that I'm pleased to see you. I hope you've come to take me home?'

  'The doctor wants you to rest a few days longer.'

  'I can rest at home. If we went back in a taxi I wouldn't even need to get dressed.'

  'Maybe. But you're not going back in a taxi. Mrs. Ransome wishes you to remain here.'

  'I hate being here,' Melanie expostulated. 'I should never have come in the first place.'

  'You did your duty. When you leave, you'll be able to do so with a clear conscience.' Verenskaya looked at Melanie critically. 'It was a good thing you hurt your head and not your feet. By the end of the month you will be able to dance again!'

  'That must be a relief to you,' Melanie laughed. 'If anything happened to stop me dancing. I don't believe you'd even bother to come and see me any morel'

  'Do not try to gain my sympathy,' the old woman said brusquely. 'Knocking your head has made you even sillier than usual. We will talk no more about it. When you come back you will have to rehearse twice as hard to make up for the time you have lost'

  Til work night and day.’

  The day will be quite sufficient' Verenskaya stood up. 'Go to sleep again, my child, I will come and see you tomorrow.'

  Left alone, Melanie puzzled upon Airs. Ransome's insistence that she convalesce here, for she was certain that her presence in this house was as unpleasant for her mother-in-law as it was for herself. The woman had not come to see her even once, and though the nurse said she made daily inquiries as to her health, Melanie was sure they stemmed from a desire to maintain a front, rather than from a genuine concern over her welfare. Yet she did not feel bitter about it Her actions immediately after her marriage had been judged from a false premise, and if she were Timothy's mother she would probably feel equally bitter. She was still conjecturing over the reason for Airs. Ransome wanting her to remain here, when the woman herself came into the room. She was as elegantly dressed as on the first occasion they had met, but this time her expression was softer and there was no bitterness in her eyes.

  'Good afternoon, Melanie,' Airs. Ransome said hesitantly. 'How are you feeling?’

  'Much better, thank you. But I'm sorry to have been such a nuisance.' Melanie's voice was shaky, her body trembling so much that she was afraid it would be noticed. 'I feel an awful fraud staying in bed. I'm sure I could get up and go home.'

  'There's no need to hurry away. As - as Timothy's widow you have every right to stay here.'

  The unexpectedness of the remark startled Melanie into tactlessness. That wasn't the impression I got the last time we spoke.'

  Mrs. Ransome turned red. 'I'm afraid my nephew and I were rather hasty. It was unfair of us to blame you for - for the way Timothy died. Madame Verenskaya has told me the reason why you went to Australia.'

  'She what?

  Airs. Ransome did not appear to notice the horror in Mel- anie's voice. 'Yes. She explained that you'd given your word to go on the tour and that Timothy had agreed to it. It was wrong of him - though quite understandable, of course - to have changed his mind at the last minute. It must have been difficult for you too. As you'd given your promise, you couldn't very well break it.’

  ‘No,' Melanie said huskily. I couldn't. But I'm glad you understand. I hated to feel that you were - that we were enemies.'

  'I could never be an enemy of the girl my son had loved.'

  This was the first statement Mrs. Ransome had made that was not based on Verenskaya's distortion of the truth, and Melanie was able to respond to it without any feeling of guilt.

  'I was afraid you might have been annoyed that Timothy had married me without waiting for you
to come back to England.'

  'I was hurt,' came the admission, ‘but not surprised. I always expected Timothy would do something like that. He was very Impulsive.'

  'I asked him to wait until I came back from Australia, but he wouldn't.'

  'I don't blame him. He probably wanted to make sure you wouldn't be stolen by some millionaire sheep farmer while you were away!' Mrs. Ransome put out her hand in a gesture of warmth. I hope you'll forget our first meeting. I don't blame you for his death - I assure you of that. It was a tragedy for both of us.' She sat down in the chair Verenskaya had vacated. I'd like to think you'll look on this house as your home. Timothy would have wanted it that way.’

  ‘You're very kind.'

  'It isn't a question of kindness. You loved Timothy and so did I, and that gives us a mutual bond.'

  Once again Melanie found it impossible to comment, but Mrs. Ransome took the silence as one of emotion and changed the subject by lifting up a leather album she was holding.

  'I thought you might like to see some photographs of Timothy when he was a child.' She turned to the first page. 'He was only a month old when we took that one.'

  The hour that ensued was one of the most nerve-racking Melanie had ever endured. Though she had accepted that what she had felt for Timothy had been infatuation and not love, seeing all the pictures of him - which ranged from babyhood to manhood - gave her such an intense feeling of pain that she wondered whether their marriage might not, after all, have been successful if she had not discovered him making love to another girl. But as always it was a question she could not answer, and she forced herself to put it from her mind.

  For the rest of the week Mrs. Ransome was more In Melanie's room than out of it, regaling her with a succession of anecdotes about Timothy as a toddler, a child and then a young man.

  ‘You must have been very close to him,' Melanie commented one afternoon when Mrs. Ransome was again in her room with yet another album of photographs.

  ‘Not as close as I would have liked. In the last few years he was restless and unable to settle down. I suppose that's why I turned to Gregory. He's been as much my son as Timothy, and because he's older I've talked to him more about my problems.'