She looked up into the attractive, boyish face. "Of course not." The music stopped and they walked off the floor. "About the—the date, Dale, I'm not sure. Will you ring me tomorrow? "
"I certainly will. What's the best time to—?" He broke off with an exclamation of mock disgust as Brett approached. "Looks as if I'll have to surrender you to our host right now, but don't forget I'll be waiting."
Loris stepped into Brett's arms with a calmness she did not feel and they danced in silence. He held her loosely, an eloquent space between them, until she stumbled a little and his grasp tightened as he drew her closer.
"That's an unusual dress you're wearing, Loris."
"An unusual dress for an unusual girl," she retorted, and then with an archness foreign to her and due to the potent drinks she had had, she added: "It's the first time you've seen me in anything so sophisticated, isn't it? Do you think it suits me?"
"Very much." His lips formed in a half smile, but his eyes were grave.
"I'd have preferred a little more skirt and a lot more top," she went on naively, "but Madame Thérèse liked it this way. I gather you don't?"
"Loris, don't talk like a fool." He gave her a little shake. "I believe you're a bit tight."
"I've had several champagne cocktails," she admitted.
"That accounts for it, then. You're not to have any more."
"You've no right to tell me what to do," she said hotly. "I'm not your fiancée, you know."
He did not answer and they finished the dance in silence, coming to rest by the bar.
The sight of it spurred her to an act of defiance.
"I haven't drunk your health yet, have I, Brett? You must at least allow me the pleasure of toasting your engagement."
"You don't want any more to drink," he said curtly, "you've had quite enough already." Never had he seen her in such a mood. She puzzled and excited him as never before, and while part of him wanted to shake her, the other part wanted to gather her close and kiss away the hurt bravado and pain in her eyes.
But she ignored his remark and ordered two champagne cocktails from the bartender.
When they were handed to them, she raised her glass and clinked it against his, marvelling that her hands did not tremble. "Here's to your marriage, Brett. May you have all the happiness you deserve. You have a wonderful home here, and I'm sure Elaine will grace it for you."
She drained her glass, set it down sharply on the bar and then, with an incoherent exclamation, turned and fled.
"Loris, wait—" He moved as if to follow her, but Elaine's voice, cool and amused, stopped him.
"Brett darling, where are you off to?"
He paused and looked down at her, suddenly wondering how, even in the most turbulent state of mind, he could ever have asked her to marry him. As friends they were ideally suited, but as the woman he wanted for his wife, the one person he would have chosen to share his life and be the mother of his children, she, like the rest of her type, fell lamentably short. Not that he did not like her—on the contrary, she amused him with her gaiety and wit. But there was about her the same sophistication and brittleness which he had distrusted in all the other women he had met.
Brett had always told himself he would never marry unless he found the woman of his choice, and he had never been willing to compromise, for the idea of second best was abhorrent to him. In Loris he believed he had found what he had been looking for all his life, and the discovery of her duplicity and deceit had only made his disillusionment the more complete. But now he realized that no matter how much Loris had mocked his ideal of her, no other woman would assuage his need and longing for her, and looking down at Elaine knew he could not go on with this farce of an engagement any longer.
But although he realized that by leaving the engagement even for another day he was only delaying something which would be more unpalatable to her the longer it was put off, he could not bring himself to tell her in the middle of the party being held to celebrate it; at the same time cursing himself for the weakness which had prevented him from telling her before the party had had a chance to take place at all.
"Brett, I've been talking to you and I don't believe you've heard a word I've been saying!" Elaine accused.
He forced his wandering thoughts back to her. "I'm sorry, my dear. What was it?"
"Nothing of any importance," she said lightly, although secretly annoyed at his lack of interest. "Do you know you've only danced with me twice this evening."
"I'm sorry," he said again, "but there were all sorts of duty dances and I—"
"Oh, I know that," she pouted, "but don't let's waste time now. Dance with me, darling."
She slipped into his arms and they began to move around the floor, but Brett danced automatically, his eyes continually straying in search of Loris.
"Brett, you're still miles away," Elaine spoke with some asperity. "What's the matter with you?"
"I was just wondering how Dickson's getting on," he lied. "I've been so busy looking after everyone else that I'm afraid I've left your family to take care of themselves. Do you know where he is?"
"The last I saw of him was in his chair on the terrace. He refused to let anyone wheel him down—said he didn't want to look conspicuous. For all I know he's still there."
"Is Melanie with him?"
Elaine shrugged. "I don't know, and I really don't care. If Dickson's silly enough not to make the most of the little he can enjoy, that's his business."
The dance came to an end and they left the floor. "If you don't mind, Elaine, I think I'll go up and see how Dickson's getting on."
She made a little moue of protest. "If you must leave me so soon—"
With an apologetic smile Brett moved away and her eyes followed him speculatively across the lawn pondering on the reason for his sudden remoteness.
From a distance the terrace appeared to be deserted. It was faintly lit by the glow of the barbecue fire at the top of the lawn and the air was pervaded by a delicious Smell of roasting meat and venison. Brett sniffed it appreciatively and looking at his watch, saw it was nearly time for supper.
He walked up the terrace steps and seeing the wheels of the invalid chair in the far corner, moved towards it, his footsteps resounding faintly on the flagstones.
"Hi, there!" he called. "How're you getting along?"
Dickson, who had been watching the people below him on the lawn, looked up with a start. " 'Lo, Brett, You'd never believe how crazy people look at a party! Wonder if I used to behave that way—all that smirking and simpering and idiotic laughter?"
"That's easily answered—you did! Where's Melanie?"
"She was with me until a few minutes ago, but I told her to go and have some fun. It wouldn't be much of a party for her having to sit with me all the time. I guess she's dancing by now. Didn't you see her on the floor?"
"No, but there's quite a crowd, so I probably missed her. It's getting a bit chilly already—I'm glad I had the barn fixed for sitting-out."
"Mind if I draw up a chair and keep you company for a while?" he went on.
"Thanks, but I'm O.K. here alone. I don't expect to monopolize the host."
"Nonsense," Brett said equably. "I've done more than my duty already this evening, and I think I've earned myself a rest." He drew up a chair and sat down. "Cigarette?"
"Thanks." Dickson took one from the proffered case and they smoked together in companionable silence.
Melanie meanwhile was enjoying herself on the dance floor and was whirled from one partner to another until, flushed and breathless, she slipped away to tidy her hair before returning to Dickson. She walked through the copse, humming the tune to which she had just been dancing, but was only half-way through the trees when there were footsteps behind her and she heard her name called. With a start she turned to see Miguel coming towards her.
He caught her by the arm. "Melanie, I have been looking for you all the evening," he said reproachfully. "Can it be that my little darling has been avoid
ing me?"
She gave a strained laugh. "I didn't even know you were here. Anyway, I've been with Dickson nearly the whole evening—as a matter of fact, I'm on my way back to him now."
"You cannot go back to him yet—I want to talk to you," he said decisively.
Melanie looked uneasy. "I can't stop now, Miguel. What did you want to say?"
He came a step closer. "Never before did you ask me what there was for us to talk about. What has happened between us, my little one? At one time I think you were only happy when you were with me, but now I have not seen you for days and days. When I ring you up you will not speak to me, when I call I am told you are not at home, and when I write to you my letters are never answered." He flung out his arms dramatically. "All I hear is silence, silence, empty silence!" Melanie glanced anxiously around, for with every pas-sing moment he was becoming more impassioned and eloquent.
"What is it between us, Melanie, my little dove? You are so strange and cold, I cannot understand you any more. I thought we were in love."
Melanie looked at him aghast. "But you know I'm engaged to be married!"
"Pouf, such a silly convention! You love me, Melanie, not your American boy. He is a baby who cannot appreciate you."
"But, Miguel, I don't love you." She was growing desperate. "I don't love you and I never said I did."
"There are some things it is not necessary to say," he whispered passionately. "When you let me hold you in my arms and kiss you there was no need for words between us."
"I know I let you take me out," she said, flushing, "but it was only because you were amusing and—and different."
"And you still find me amusing and different, my little one," he said ardently. "You cannot deny it. We are made for each other."
"Don't be ridiculous, Miguel." For the first time Melanie realized how deeply she had involved herself with him and searched for the right words with which to extricate herself. "I'm—I'm surprised you should have taken a few kisses so seriously. I thought someone as—as sophisticated as you would have realized how little they meant."
Miguel opened his lips to protest, but the determined expression on her face showed him that to argue with her in her present frame of mind would be useless. Always before this he had been the one to grow tired, never had anyone tired of him, and his vanity was sorely wounded.
"You cannot let us part without giving me a chance to tell you what is in my heart." Then placatingly: "It is too cold for us to talk here—come into the barn for a little while." He was sure it was only her conscience which made her afraid of admitting her love for him, sure that the moment they were alone together and she was in his arms again he would be able to kiss away her doubts and protestations. "Please, my little one, do not deny me this one thing," he pleaded.
"Oh, very well," Melanie said shortly, "but I hope it won't take long. I must go back to Dickson." Exasperated at the turn of events, she followed him unwillingly back through the copse, afraid that if they stayed near the clearing one or two guests might hear what he was saying. If Miguel was determined to make an exhibition of himself, better if he did so unobserved by anyone else.
When they reached the barn the ground floor was already occupied by several couples, laughing and flirting together, and they made their way up the wooden stairs to the little gallery which ran along one side. Although it was dark up here they could discern a few wicker chairs along the wall, and Melanie sat down on the first one she came to, eager to get the interview over and return to Dickson.
"Well, Miguel, I'm listening," she said severely.
Miguel took her hand, surprised when she drew it quickly away. "But, darling—"
"No, Miguel, it's all over between us. You must understand once and for all that I love Dickson and I'm going to marry him."
"You never reminded me of that when I used to kiss you," he said reproachfully.
Melanie bit her lip. "I admit I was wrong to let you and I'm sorry if it gave you the impression that I—that I was—" she hesitated, finding it difficult to explain.
With an exclamation Miguel knelt at her feet. "I have searched the world for someone as lovely as you. In my own country I never met a girl who would not open her arms to me, but all of them—" he snapped his fingers, his eloquence running away with him, "all of them are as nothing compared to you. Your innocence, your beauty, the magnetism of your elusiveness, have set me on fire, and if you do not return my love you will break my heart."
Melanie's eyes softened. "Oh, Miguel, I'm not worthy to be loved like that! I went out with you and let you make love to me when I had no right to do so. I used you as an escape from boredom—to help me when I was unhappy—without realizing that you'd take it so seriously."
"But Melanie—"
"No, no." She touched his face with a gentle hand. "I blame myself for everything and I can only ask you to forgive me."
"But no, I cannot let you go like this!" he flung his arms wide. "First I must drink to our parting and to your happiness. Madre de Dios, I have not even drunk a toast to your birthday! That at least you will not deny me, I beg you. Sit here and wait while I go down and bring up two glasses of champagne. We will drink to the day that brought you into the world, to the sorrow of parting, and to—maňana!" And with a flourish he turned on his heel and went down the stairs.
Melanie watched him walk to the door and when he had disappeared sat back with a sigh, lost in thought, unaware of Loris sitting in the shadows at the other end of the gallery.
When she had run away from Brett Loris had been too miserable to go on pretending to a gaiety she did not feel, and had hidden herself away where there was least likelihood of being disturbed. She had seen Melanie and Miguel come up to the gallery and had shrunk farther back into her corner, knowing that if Melanie saw her now she would guess something was amiss, and not wishing to spoil her friend's enjoyment of the party had been an unwilling eavesdropper to their conversation.
She had been surprised at the way the Argentinian had allowed himself to be disposed of and relieved at! Melanie's firmness. Now that she had broken with the Latin it should not take her long to make up her mind about Dickson, and the sooner that was settled the sooner Loris herself would be able to go home with an easy mind. To stay here now would be more unbearable than ever, for she was in no doubt that Elaine would hasten her marriage to Brett and to be there when the wedding took place would be more than she could bear.
She sat huddled in her corner, too dejected to move, until she was roused from her bitter thoughts by a faint smell of burning. Almost immediately there was the sound of a triangle being beaten and a voice from the lawn shouting: "Come and get it!" A burst of talk and laughter greeted the call and she heard everyone making their way up to the barbecue. The dance band stopped playing and the musicians could be heard calling to each other as they moved through the copse to the terrace to play for the guests while they ate, Loris saw Melanie stir restlessly as though she wished to join the rest of the party without waiting for Miguel, but with a sigh she appeared to change her mind and settled back in her chair.
Suddenly aware that the smell of smoke was becoming stronger, Loris wrinkled her nose in distaste. If this was an American barbecue, then the food must be very overcooked! She debated whether to go and get some supper, but feeling she could not face a crowd yet, leant back against the wall and closed her eyes.
She did not know how long she had been sitting there before she realized that the smell of burning was even stronger, and was aroused by a faint crackling. With a start she got to her feet and ran to the gallery railing, drawing back with a gasp of horror at what she saw. The floor of the barn was a creeping mass of flame, and tongues of fire were beginning to lick the bottom of the stairs.
She raced to the other end of the gallery, desperately hoping that Melanie had gone, but as she reached the far corner she saw the girl staring with terrified eyes at the wall of fire advancing towards them.
"Oh, Loris, thank God you're here!"
Melanie almost fell into her arms. "I was waiting for Miguel and must have been daydreaming. I don't know how a fire could have started so quickly without my noticing it."
"I didn't notice it either. I smelt burning, but thought it was the barbecue."
"I didn't know you were up here at all."
"I've been here quite a long time," Loris said abstractedly, leaning over the gallery railings.
Melanie followed her. "What shall we do? It's impossible to get down the stairs now." She drew back with a gasp as the heat of the flames beat up against her face. "Oh, Loris, I'm so frightened!"
Loris was frightened herself, but realized that if she gave way to her fear Melanie might become hysterical. "We'll just have to try and get down some other way," she said as calmly as she could.
"But we can't! Look, Loris, you can see for yourself—the stairs are going to collapse any moment."
"Then there's nothing for it but to jump. The fire isn't under this part of the gallery yet, so the floor underneath will still be cool."
"But I can't jump, Loris—I can't!" Melanie covered her face with her hands and began to sob.
"You must, Melanie—do you hear me? You must!" Loris shook her. "Here, let me help you off with your dress. Tulle is terribly inflammable and you'll be much safer without it." Feverishly she pulled the dress off, the frail material tearing under her hands. "Come along now, climb over the rail."
As she spoke, Loris tore off her own dress and knotted it to Melanie's so that together they formed a short rope.
"What are you going to do?" Melanie asked tearfully.
"Hold one end of this and when you've climbed over the railings you can hang on to the other end. Then you'll only have about five or six feet to drop when you let go."
"Why don't you tie it to the railings?"
"It won't be long enough if I do—a knot would take up too much of the length. You do as I say." She pushed the unresisting girl over the railings and Melanie clung to the makeshift rope, too terror-stricken to protest.
As Melanie's whole weight fell upon the dresses Loris's arms jerked painfully, wrenching in their sockets as they took the burden.
The Widening Stream Page 12