Yet the storm was not officially a hurricane, but merely a sort of rehearsal in November for the worse that might be expected in the months to come.
Melanie awoke with the same completeness with which she had slept. She opened her eyes upon a white pillow, fingered a soft pink blanket. But this was the same room, if a different view of it. She was lying on the couch.
She sat up, pushed down the blanket and clasped the dressing gown around her knees. Her movements might have pressed a bell, for the door swung wide, the main light flowered and a servant came in, a young Indian in ordinary black trousers and white jacket and without a turban.
He bowed. “Madam would like tea?”
“Yes, please,” she said.
He hesitated. “The master wishes to be informed when you awaken,” he told her, and went out.
Preparing her, she thought with a trace of wry amusement, for the coming of the big master. What was she supposed to do—rush around and make herself look beautiful? As if Stephen would care!
When he did come in she still sat there with her arms around her knees, hair tumbled and her face flushed. He was smart in a light gray suit, and cleanly shaved.
He smiled. “You slept like a baby. Feel all right?”
“Stiffish, through struggling with the wind, but it’ll work off. How’s the hurricane?”
“The ‘danger past’ was sounded about an hour ago, but it’s still blowing pretty bad. It’s just after six. We’ll have some breakfast and then I’ll go down to the hotel and get you some clothes so that you can turn up there looking decent. Will Elfrida know what to give me?”
“She won’t love you for raking her out of bed before nine—especially on my account.” She picked at a seam of the dressing gown. “She’ll be furious at my staying here last night.”
“Who cares?” Negligently he pulled up a chair and sank into it. “In keeping you here I did what any other man would have done. I daresay there were a good many plunged into unconventional situations.”
The servant wheeled in a cart and bowed himself out. Stephen poured tea, helped Melanie to a piece of fish, some butter and toast, and prepared to enjoy some of each himself. The fish was delicious. Melanie wondered if it was the “little mauve chap” they had seen in the glassy waters of the reef. Involuntarily, she remembered Stephen’s kiss that had been intended to add color to the evening on the coral island. He’d probably forgotten it.
“Have some more,” he said, when her last mouthful had gone.
“No, thanks. Only another cup of tea.”
He refilled both cups and set them on a low table, trundled the cart out of sight and came back. He did not sit down, but stood next to the couch, pointing out a bright watercolor on the wall.
“That’s the only thing in this house I’ve any wish to appropriate. Unfortunately, it’s unsigned, but I daresay an expert—” He stopped abruptly, and Melanie looked up at him. He was gazing hard at her, and she quickly dragged the collar of the dressing gown close to her chin.
“What is it you’re hiding?” he asked crisply. “How did you get that scar?”
“It’s nothing,” she said hurriedly. “I know it looks horrid, but it isn’t much more than a scratch.”
He sat on the couch, hurting her toes, and took her hand from her neck.
“Never a colorless moment!” he said in sharp, angry tones. “What’s the story attached to that?”
“I ... slipped in my bedroom and broke the window.” To help convince him she added, “The glass flew—you see, there are still tiny marks on my cheek—but luckily the worst scratch was on my neck and can be hidden by a scarf.”
“You call that a scratch! When did this happen?”
“Last Sunday.” She forced a laugh. “Funny, it’s Sunday again.”
“I want the truth,” he said sternly, “every word of it. And don’t try leaving out Elfrida.”
“Stephen, it’s over. I’m free of Ramon—or will be when you’ve seen him—and it wouldn’t do the least good...”
“You didn’t slip in your room, did you?” he demanded inexorably.
“No. No, I didn’t.”
“I wish you’d learn to tell the truth the first time! What did you do?”
Her voice shook. “You’re impossible. It was my own fault. I annoyed Elfrida, she lost her temper and threw something. It hit the window and I was too near to it. That’s all.”
His face was set, his eyes were metal, but his pat on her knee was gentle. “Don’t upset yourself. I’m in charge now.” He got up. “You run along and take a bath, and by the time you’re out I’ll be back with your things. Wander around the house, if you like, but give me your word that you won’t go outside.”
“I won’t, Stephen.”
“Good girl.” On the point of adding a further injunction he checked himself. “Drink your tea,” he said, “and don’t worry. Till I leave this island you’re my responsibility.” A second pat, this time on the shoulder, and then he strode out.
Melanie blinked the hot ache from her eyes. For weeks she had yearned for Stephen to soften, but now she knew his gentleness to be intolerable.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SHUTTERS HAD BEEN OPENED to let in the rain-washed morning light. Two servants were busy polishing the great open spaces of the lounge, but neither showed curiosity when Melanie drifted in to stand by one of the fluted marble pillars and absorb the extravagant loveliness of painted walls and ceiling, great divans heaped with silk cushions and fine-legged tables with inlaid tops.
The place did not fit Stephen, though Melanie could not have described a house that would fit him. She saw him most clearly in a service apartment, looked after by a manservant. A disheartening picture, but infinitely more tolerable than to visualize him in a country house with a wife.
About an hour after Stephen had left, the servant, Vasseljee, brought Melanie’s suitcase to one of the bedrooms.
“The master wished me to tell you that he will visit Senor Perez, after which he must again go to the town. You will please wait here.”
With the shedding of Stephen’s dressing gown and the wearing of a plain blue linen dress and white shoes, Melanie’s mental equipment became active and keyed up. Yet it did not probe beyond the present. She wondered what Stephen had said to Elfrida, whether he would make the old senor understand without inflicting pain. She knew, none better, that Stephen could make himself brutally explicit, but she was also aware that he respected the elderly Spaniard.
It was nearly twelve when Stephen turned up. Melanie had seen the car on the driveway and gone straight to the front door.
“Hello,” he said, without looking at her. “Were you getting impatient?”
I’m afraid so. Thanks for my clothes, Stephen.”
“I expect you feel a new woman.” He thrust open a door. “Come in here. I want a talk with you.” It was one of his bareish rooms. She entered, crossed to a low window. He came beside her, leaned against the wall and dug his hands into his pockets, changed his position and lighted a cigarette.
Something was wrong. Melanie sensed it first in the prickle of gooseflesh upon her arms, then in a tightening of her muscles. Her glance showed him composed, noncommittal, no less master of his own destiny and a few others, as well, than he had been at breakfast. Yet there was something intangible but serious, something that even unspoken, threatened her.
“What is it, Stephen?”
“Nothing frightening. Shall I start with Elfrida? I saw her first.”
“Don’t spare me.”
He smiled lightly. “It isn’t as bad as that. I went to the hotel and the proprietress happened to be already up, inspecting the damage. Without explaining much—Frenchwomen have wonderfully cooperative imaginations—I conveyed that you needed clothes. By the time your case was ready Elfrida had heard that I was on the premises, so I sent Vasseljee here with your things and told him to bring back the car. Then I had a private discussion with Mrs. Paget.” He paused. “The
details aren’t important, but the outcome was that she’s leaving Port Fernando as soon as her passage can be arranged.”
“You ... forced her to that?”
“I persuaded her.”
“She’ll blame me.”
“Let her. You’re not going back to the hotel while she’s there.”
She turned, confronted him. “Not going back?”
“You can’t live close to Elfrida again. Next time her aim might be more accurate. I won’t have you exposed to her nervous collapses and explosions. She knows she’s made a mess of her own life and she takes out her vindictiveness on you. If I’d had the smallest notion what was going on between you two I’d have had you away from her before. It was sickening to find out so much in one go.”
“But where else can I stay?”
“We’ll fix you up.” He dragged on his cigarette as if it tasted bitter. “As soon as Elfrida had been dealt with I went to see the Perezes. That wasn’t so easy.”
“You spoke to them both?”
I did, and at colossal length. Ramon had apparently been half demented all night wondering to what lengths his careless behavior had driven you, and the senor was very distressed. When I told them you were at my house they wanted to come and see you. Ramon was ready to grovel and that made my task tougher. I hadn’t realized how deeply you’d got under his skin.”
She twisted her locked fingers. “You should have taken me with you.”
“I’m thankful I didn’t. In the end I managed to knock into Ramon’s head that you couldn’t marry him, but even then he was determined to hear it from you yourself. He was confident he could change your mind.”
Stephen paid some attention to the tip of his cigarette, slipped back the vent window and tossed out the stub. Melanie watched the wind catch it, roll it, carry it out of sight.
“It’s as you said,” she told him tonelessly, “he’s always got what he wanted.”
“And he’s in love with you besides. You’re absolutely certain you can’t marry him?”
“Why, of course!”
“Then I believe I did right.” He looked through the window. “To put an end to the whole business I gave them the news that you’d spent last night here and that as a consequence you and I were now engaged to be married.” Melanie went white. The walls receded to a great distance and there was a noise in her ears. Then she was here again with Stephen, and he was dispassionately inspecting the garden.
She whispered, “You mean you let them think—”
“It was the best way out,” he said abruptly. “Leave it there!”
She was silenced by the mockery of it. So this was the threat, the something wrong that she had detected. It was painful and humiliating, but she ought to be glad she could keep her emotions to herself.
“The senor was dignified,” Stephen said, “and assured me that I would hear nothing more from either of them. They, too, are clearing out, but no one can leave Mindoa in a hurry. I doubt if either they or Elfrida will get away in under ten days.”
“Then others will come to hear that... that we’re supposed to be engaged.”
“This is a small island in the Indian Ocean,” he answered coolly. “Nothing that goes on here can have much significance elsewhere. For the rest of your time at Mindoa being engaged to me will act as a safeguard. From your viewpoint it’s quite a good move.”
“And you?” she asked, striving to keep an edge from her voice. “What will you get out of it?”
His manner was withdrawn, tinged with annoyance. “I shall have assisted you when you most needed it and I won’t demand a reward.”
“That’s fine of you,” she retorted, her control beginning to quiver. “We might have agreed upon this before you went out.”
“The plan didn’t occur to me till Ramon was so damned awkward!” He curbed an uprush of anger. “It’s no use quarreling. You may feel that you’ve fallen out of one emotional mix-up into another, but that’s a long way from fact. You know very well that I wouldn’t make the least claim on you.”
She resisted a desire to hurt back, drew in her lip. “Since you’re setting the time limits, when do I leave Mindoa?”
“We’ll do nothing about that till the other three have gone. I’m afraid you’ll have to move out of Port Fernando today. The Davidsons would be happy to have you, but they live up here on the avenue, and Ramon might be tempted to call in, or Elfrida make herself unpleasant. I’ve some friends at Pointe Douce. We’ll go and see them.”
“I can’t park myself on strangers.”
“They’re not strangers to me—” he gave her a quick, enigmatic smile “—and I’m sure they’d welcome my fiancée.” He was right; it was no use quarreling. You couldn’t get through to him and hurt him, anyway. He was too well armored with that alert brain, the sharp, wounding tongue. If the engagement couldn’t be real, it might conceivably have an acid sweetness that she could not afford to ignore. Precariously, for a brief space of time, she would belong to him in the eyes of Mindoa. She would be Melanie Paget, engaged to Stephen Brent.
He must have been watching her, for he said, “Not so frightful when you get used to the idea, is it? In fact, it’s an excellent solution to your present problems. I shall have the right to protect you, if necessary, and if it should get around that you were in this house last night there’ll be no gossip.”
“And when I sail, the engagement will automatically end,” she stated.
“Naturally,” he said. “All right?”
She nodded. “It will have to be.”
“Your large trunk is in the car. We’ll drive over to Pointe Douce after lunch.”
But when they set out from Port Fernando that afternoon they did not head for Pointe Douce. After her session with Stephen, Melanie had walked in the gale-scarred garden and given much thought to the three or four weeks ahead, which she was bound to spend on the island. She had finished with accepting charity, but to gain full independence would call for patience. The small sum of money left by her mother had been divided up so that she would have an equal amount each year till she was twenty-one, when the allowance would cease. Old Mr. Miller handled the matter strictly, but Melanie felt certain that a full explanation of her difficulties would bring a cheque large enough to cover her passage home and other expenses. She. would not, after all, have to appeal to anyone for financial assistance. Nor would she rely upon the fictitious engagement as a passport to Stephen’s friends. It had got her finally and completely out of the jam with Ramon and might be of other benefit, but she would not allow herself to become deluded into false hopes. Stephen was hard and impenetrable; the idea had come to him on the spur of the moment because he had been weary of Ramon’s persistence. To him it had represented an absurdly simple way out of a tangle; a month’s engagement to a child for whom he had already assumed responsibility. It might keep him on Mindoa for a little longer, that was all.
Lingering under the long pergola smothered in bedraggled smilax, Melanie formed her own plans, and when she and Stephen met in the dining room for lunch she at once broached the subject.
“I’d rather not go to those friends of yours at Pointe Douce, Stephen. It would look queer—they aren’t even aware that I exist.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ll like them and they’ll like you. I know they’ve a decent spare room because I’ve used it.”
“Well ... I’m not entirely friendless myself. I don’t think you ever met Mr. Jameson, who bought Elfrida’s plantation. I’ve seen him several times, and last Sunday morning I went to the plantation.” Last Sunday! A year had dragged by since then.
“Jameson?” Stephen paused thoughtfully. “Is he related to Colin Jameson at Carimari?”
“He might be. He once managed an estate there. I believe he and his wife will put me up for a short while. They were fond of my cousin, John, and they’re the sort of people who will let me help around the place. Besides, Henry knows Elfrida, and it will please him to hear that she and I have parte
d.”
“So it’s ‘Henry,’” said Stephen dryly.
“And Lucille,” she supplied, deliberately misunderstanding him.
“Is he thick-set, sandy and square featured?”
“Yes.”
“Then Colin is probably his brother. I often run into him at the Carimari clubhouse. One of those slow-going men who women find endearing.” He shrugged. “You should be safe with the Jamesons. We can go there first, anyway.”
So instead of Pointe Douce they made for the Jameson plantation. On the way Stephen was polite and conversational, till Melanie mentioned that she ought to see Senor Perez just once more.”
“I let him down,” she said, “and he deserves better than that. I’d rather he didn’t go away with a poor opinion of Englishwomen.”
“He won’t. He liked you a great deal—he said so this morning—but he was uneasy over breaking the marriage contract with the girl in Cadiz. He’s a man of honor, and she’s the daughter of a friend; he knew that his wife would be grieved and that the girl might be, also. He couldn’t be cruel to Ramon himself, but I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s relieved at the turn events have taken.”
“Do you think Ramon will settle down and marry that girl?”
“He’s sure to, in time. The Perez family is hemmed in by tradition. As a matter of fact he’ll dig in quicker, believing that you’re marrying someone else.”
After a moment’s quietude she said, “There was a time when Mindoa meant everything beautiful and promising. I’m wishing now that I’d never heard of the beastly island.”
“Come now,” he bantered. “All experience can’t be of the dreamy, coral-island type. You’ve had your first affair and emerged heart-whole, which is a magnificent achievement. The year with Elfrida is behind you—and that’s another. As to the future—you’re about to fulfill an ambition to sample life on a plantation and for a while you’re engaged to a charming geologist. Considering your sweetness, youth and innocence, I call that good going.”
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