'You'll do what?’
She did not answer and when he continued, there was unexpected amusement in his voice. You can't be threatening to blackmail me when you've already turned down my offer of an allowance.'
'I'm not threatening anything. You know very well I'd never do anything to hurt Mrs. Ransome. You just happen to have an ability to make me lose my temper.'
'I could say the same thing about you.'
'I wouldn't have thought you capable of temper,' she said coldly, 'you're much too controlled to have any kind of emotion.’
He opened the door of the silver-grey Rolls and waited for her to make herself comfortable before going round to the other side. It was the first time she had ever been in such a car and she looked around curiously.
'It doesn't seem worth all the money,' she said aloud.
‘What doesn't?’
This car.’
It's in the engine. That's something women don't appreciate. They choose a car because it goes with their favourite dress or happens to be the colour of the season!'
'And you?’
'I prefer performance and quality in everything - including women!’
She did not reply and watched as he overtook a car ahead of them. He drove in the way she had expected; with controlled speed, yet agility, and glancing quickly at his profile, she decided that this car - with its hidden strength and power - was very much like its owner.
'I know you live in Bayswater,' he said suddenly, ‘but I don't know the address.’
'Just off St. Petersburg Place. Where do you live?'
'I have a flat in Mayfair, but I spend my week-ends at my place in Dorset.'
A Rolls, a country house and a flat in Mayfair. He must be very successful to maintain so much. Yet he was the sort of man who would be successful no matter what he did. It was implicit not only in his behaviour, but in his personality.
'You must tell me where to turn off,' he said.
She came to with a start. 'It's the next turning on the left.' She gave him the number and he drew up outside the tall, shabby house. 'Thank you for seeing me home.'
'Aren't you going to ask me in?'
She hesitated, surprised by the question.
‘You can make me tea in a samovar,' he went on. There is a samovar, I suppose?'
She smiled involuntarily, and having done so was obliged to accede to his request. They walked up the worn steps and she fitted her key in the lock. She saw him look at the row of bells, each with a name above it, but he made no comment and followed her silently as she walked down a narrow hall and fitted a second key into a faded brown door. It creaked open and she switched on the light.
Dark crimson wallpaper flooded into view and she led the way into the living-room where red-shaded lights threw into relief the mahogany furniture, the signed photographs of ballet dancers and some satin slippers in a glass case.
'It's like a stage set,' Gregory Ransome said.
'Anton says the only thing it lacks is Mitsouko!'
'Mitsouko?'
She smiled. 'It was Diaghilev's favourite scent.'
'I see.' He peered at the faded photograph of a dancer. 'I can't understand the fever that ballet arouses in so many people. To me, it's purely an entertainment. I dislike it being treated like a religion.'
‘With me, young man, it is a religion!'
They both turned in surprise and saw Verenskaya at the door. She advanced into the room, her dignity unassailable, despite her red flannel dressing-gown.
'I'm sorry if we woke you,' Melanie apologized, and quickly made the introductions.
'So you are Timothy's cousin,' Verenskaya said, her black eyes glittering. 'I am sorry you do not like my shrine. I realize it is archaic, but to me it represents the world I love. Transplant me and I would die!' She tilted her head and glared at him. 'But you are too English and unfeeling to understand such emotion!'
He smiled slightly. 'On the contrary, I understand it very well. My aunt also cherishes the past.' He looked at Melanie. 'I feel guilty at having disturbed Madame Verenskaya. I don't think I'll sample that tea after all.'
In silence Melanie escorted him back to the door, and only as he reached the threshold did he speak again.
'If I find anything in Timothy's flat, I'll let you know.'
'Please do,' she said, and waited until he had crossed to the main door and the street before she returned to the living- room.
'I'm sorry I frightened away your suitor!' Verenskaya said.
‘Enemy would be a better word!'
‘He would make a dangerous enemy,' the woman said, 'but a wonderful lover.'
'I'd prefer him as an enemy!' Melanie retorted.
‘You are still young,' Verenskaya said slyly. ‘You may change your mind.'
Melanie burst out laughing. 'You're incorrigible! All that rubbish about the English being unemotional. You were deliberately trying to annoy him.'
‘That is the best way of gaining the attention of such a man.'
'Then I must have gained all of his!'
He careful then. That one is different from the cousin.'
There was no need for Melanie to ask why. Every meeting she had had with Gregory had increased her awareness of his intelligence, sarcasm and rigidity. Timothy's weakness had lain in his changeability - Gregory's strength lay in the exact opposite.
For a long while that night she-mused over all she had learned, still finding it inconceivable that Timothy should have sold his shares to Herbert Fenwick. No matter how much he had wanted the money - her cheeks burned as she remembered the reason Gregory had given - he would surely never have obtained it if the only way of doing so had meant giving control of the company to the man who would have put into practice the very ideas his father had fought so hard to prevent.
Yet there was so much about Timothy she had never understood; even his gambling had been a side to his character she had never seen. And if there was so much she did not know, how could she try and judge his motivations and behaviour?
She was on the threshold of sleep when she was jerked into complete wakefulness by a sudden memory that sent her starting up in bed. Her love letters! How could she have forgotten the letters she had written to Timothy each day of their courtship? What a fool she had been to suggest that Gregory search the flat without realizing that as he did so he would be certain to find them. Remembering the way she had poured so much of her heart into what she had written, her cheeks burned at the thought of Gregory - with his cold, logical mind - reading them, and she decided that first thing in the morning she would go to the flat and get them.
CHAPTER SIX
Melanie's intention to retrieve her letters from Timothy's flat was unexpectedly thwarted by Verenskaya's decision to call a full-scale dress rehearsal for one of their ballets.
Although Melanie tried hard to concentrate on her part she found it so difficult that she kept making mistake after mistake, and finally Anton called her over to one side and asked her what was wrong.
'I didn't sleep much last night,' she prevaricated.
'Sleepless nights haven't affected your dancing before.' He looked at her keenly. 'What's wrong?'
To disclose the real reason would have meant telling him what she had learned about the sale of Timothy's shares, which she had promised Gregory Ransome she would not do, and because of this, she tried to dismiss the question by feigning a yawn. 'There's nothing to tell. I'm just tired.'
'I don't believe you. Verenskaya said Ransome saw you home last night. Has he done something to upset you?'
'No. And I wish you wouldn't keep questioning me.'
'I'll question anything that affects your dancing. Every time you see either of the Ransomes it makes you so edgy you dance like an elephant! If you keep on as you are we won't dare put the new ballet in the repertoire.'
'Then find someone else to dance it.'
‘Don't give me that!' he said angrily. 'The part was created for you.'
She put her
hands to her head. 'I'm sorry, Anton, I just can't concentrate today. Everything's such a muddle.'
'Tell me what it is, and I'll try to help. You weren't reluctant to ask for my help before.'
She acknowledged the truth of the remark with a sigh. 'Gregory's going to Timothy's flat,' she confessed. He's looking for something, and I'm afraid in case he—' she hesitated and said in a rush: 'I used to write Timothy silly little notes each day and I couldn't bear If Gregory read them.'
'Then go to the flat before he gets there.'
That's what I intended to do. But then this rehearsal was called and I couldn't.'
Anton glanced up at the wall clock. We'll nip along now. We can make it there and back in an hour.'
'Do you think so?' she said eagerly.
I'll have a word with Verenskaya. Hurry up and change and I'll meet you outside.'
There's no reason for you to come with me,' she said quickly.
'I don't fancy you going to Timothy's flat on your own - not in the state of nerves you're in,' he gave her arm a squeeze. The sooner you have those letters in your hands, the quicker you'll be able to get your mind back on the rehearsal!'
It was not until they were in a taxi speeding towards Kensington that Anton referred to Gregory again. 'If you didn't want him to go to Timothy's flat before you got there, you could easily have stopped him.'
'It wasn't until the middle of the night that I remembered the letters.'
‘What does he want to go to the flat for anyway?'
The question was so point-blank that Melanie found it impossible to lie. After all, she had only promised Gregory not to tell Mrs. Ransome that Timothy had sold his controlling shares to Herbert Fenwick; it would make no difference if she told Anton the truth.
As briefly as she could, she recounted her entire conversation with Gregory, ending with her own belief that Timothy would never have willingly sold his shares in such an underhand way.
'I know he had faults,' she concluded, 'but he adored his mother. He would never have done anything to hurt her.'
'But he needed money to buy you things—' Anton held up his hand as she went to interrupt - 'Don't bother telling me you never asked him. I know that for myself, but it did give him a reason for wanting to raise some cash.'
'I thought of that, too, but I don't think he'd do it that way.'
Before Anton could reply, the taxi drew up outside the block of flats where Timothy had lived.
'I haven't got a key,' Melanie exclaimed.
‘Don't worry. I'm sure the porter will recognize you and let you in.'
Luckily Anton was proved right, and using his pass key, the porter escorted them up to the third floor and into the flat at the end of the corridor.
It was the first time Melanie had been here since her wedding day and as she entered the narrow hall tears gushed into her eyes, and with a muttered exclamation, she ran across to the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
It did not matter whether she had loved Timothy deeply or not. All she could think of at the moment was that he had died needlessly and too young and the tragedy of it was so overwhelming that it was several moments before she was able to compose herself sufficiently to go into the living- room.
As she came through the door Anton turned from the small bureau, a bundle of letters in his hand.
'Are these what you want?' he asked.
'Yes. Where did you find them?'
'In the desk. I hope you didn't mind my looking for them? I thought it would save wear and tear on your nerves.'
Gratefully she accepted the packet of envelopes, thrust them into her bag and followed him quickly from the flat. As they reached the front door he stopped and looked at her.
'Are you sure there's nothing else you'd like to get?' he asked.
'Nothing,' she said firmly. 'It was never my home - I never even thought of it as his.'
'You were upset enough when we first got here,' he replied, and closed the door shut.
'Only because it brought back memories of Timothy. Made me realize the tragedy of his death.'
Without answering he pressed for the lift and in silence they waited for it and in silence went down to the ground floor. Only as they reached the foyer did they see the rain pouring down like a torrent.
‘You'd better hang on here,' Anton said, 'while I get a taxi.'
'You'll get soaked. Can't the porter phone for one?’
'In the middle of his lunch!' Anton joked, and with a wave of his hand disappeared through the swing doors.
Melanie sat on one of the settees near the wall and waited, forcing herself not to think that this place could - indeed would have been her home - if some unhappy fate had not intervened and changed the course of her own life at the same time as it had ended Timothy's. Nervously she stood up, conscious of the weight of letters in her handbag, and wishing she were back home so that she could hide them and never see them again. Or perhaps it would be better to destroy them? But even as she thought of this, she dismissed it; no matter what her emotions were today, the feeling she had once felt for Timothy was still too near to allow her to do such a thing. So deep was she in her thoughts that she did not notice the tall figure of a man crossing the carpet until he was by her side.
This is an unexpected encounter,' a deep voice drawled.
Startled, she looked up and saw Gregory. As always he was perfectly groomed - no rain would dare touch him, she thought - and his expression as he watched her held more than a hint of curiosity.
If I'd known you were coming here,' he continued, 'I'd have brought you.'
Feeling illogically guilty, she blushed. 'I didn't know - I only decided this morning. There were some things I had to collect. Personal things.' Even as she said the words she turned pinker, hoping he wouldn't read a deeper meaning in them.
'I understand.' His voice was cool and he half looked away from her.
'You don't understand at all.' Without knowing why, she was suddenly desperately anxious that he did not get the wrong impression. 'I'd written letters to Timothy… I wanted to get them.'
He stared at her fully again. 'You don't owe me an explanation. I'm not your keeper, you know.'
‘I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. You've already got far too many about me.'
'I'll accept the fact that your relationship with my cousin was platonic until your marriage,' he replied without expression.
'It was never consummated at all!'
The words were out before she could stop them, and seeing the look on his face she would have given anything in the world to have been able to retract them. But it was too late now and she was forced to continue.
'I was never - never his wife in the real sense of the word. The Company was - we were flying to Australia the morning afterwards and there was… there were so many things to do… the packing and the…' It was impossible to say any more, and she stopped again, hoping that this time he would say something. But the silence continued, and she suddenly realized the iniquitous position she had put him in. 'I must have been mad,' she thought miserably, and looked at him from beneath her lashes. To her surprise there was a faint smile on his face, but it was not the smile of contempt with which she had come to associate him; this smile was soft and tinged with compassion.
'I suppose that explains your attitude to Timothy,' he said slowly. 'I often wondered what caused it.'
'My attitude?' she queried. 'What do you mean?’
'It's changeable. One moment I have the feeling that - that you genuinely loved Timothy and then I get the impression that you never cared for him at all.'
She longed to tell him the truth, but knew that this was not the time nor the place. Anton would be back with the taxi at any moment and she was suddenly anxious for Gregory not to know that she had come to the flat with anyone.
'I must get bade to the theatre,' she said quickly. 'We're rehearsing and I'll be late.'
'If you could wait a few moments until I've been up to th
e flat I can drive you back.'
'I haven't time. Anyway, you might be longer than you think.' Before he could reply she rushed out into the rain, running down the street in the direction Anton had taken. Almost immediately she heard her name called and she glanced up as a taxi drew into the curb, splashing her ankles with mud.
‘Why on earth didn't you wait inside?' Anton said irritably, opening the door for her.
Without answering, she jumped into the cab and slammed the door, drawing a breath of relief as the taxi swung round in a Circle and took them back into the West End.
A couple of days later Gregory telephoned her at the flat to nay he had not found anything of interest among Timothy's papers.
'I went through everything In the desk and I even spoke to Timothy's lawyers, but as far as I can make out he sold his shares willingly.'
'Then there's nothing you can do.'
‘No.'
How long will you be able to stop Mr. Fen wide from making the changes that he wants?’
'I'm not sure.' He hesitated as if about to say something else. 'It's tricky,' he said slowly, Very tricky.’
Again she felt that he was keeping something back and the knowledge made her sarcastic. ‘What about your charm? Aren't you still using that on him?'
‘You can see for yourself if you like. Fenwick's dining with my aunt on Sunday and she hopes you'll come along.'
The idea of a formal dinner terrified her .'I'm not sure I'm free.'
That's a better excuse than saying you've nothing to wear I Make yourself free - it's the least you can do for your mother- in-law.'
He rang off abruptly and Melanie went into her bedroom to look through her wardrobe. If she did decide to accept the invitation it would be the first time she had met Gregory socially, for he had deliberately kept out of her way whenever she had gone to the house in Belgrave Square. But there had been a friendlier tone In his voice and though she could not have described it as warm, It at least had the merit of not holding its usual sharpness.
Idly she looked through her clothes. Several of her prettier dresses had been bought for her by Timothy - gifts which he had lavished on her despite her protests, but somehow she felt she wanted to wear something that she herself had chosen, a dress that held no memories of the past. She shrugged. Why shouldn't she buy herself something new? Since she had been given larger roles to dance she was now earning more money. It was ridiculous not to spend some of it
Roberta Leigh - My Hearts a Dancer Page 9