by Pamela Kent
“You could have been wrong about that,” Jake returned coolly, but there was an ugly glint in his eyes. For a man who so helpfully “covered up” for his employer’s son, and apparently did it so willingly, there was very little love in the look he bestowed on him just then. “I don’t think Miss Blake actually called out for assistance, and therefore your interference is a trifle unwarranted. We didn’t interfere last night when we saw you making the most of the moonlight with that attractive widow, Janet Carey.”
But Rick’s mouth was quiet and contemptuous.
“I wasn’t precisely thrusting my attentions on her.” His glance went to Melanie, who felt as if her whole body was blushing with confusion. “Run and get dressed, Melanie, and I’ll take you home.”
She disappeared immediately, and as she did so Jake observed to Rick:
“So she’s Melanie to you, and Miss Blake to me! Let’s hope it won’t be my turn to act knight errant before long!”
When Melanie emerged in her crisp cotton dress, with her damp towel rolled up underneath her arm, he had also disappeared, and only Rick was waiting for her. He looked at her with a strangely level, and rather searching look, and she felt confusion well up over her again. She also felt as if she had recently been involved in a distinctly sordid little episode, and didn’t like the sensation at all.
“Get in,” Rick said, as he held open the car door for her.
“I’m sorry to trouble you like this,” she said.
“It’s no trouble. But you’re not particularly discerning are you? Jake isn’t your sort, you know.”
“I do know,” she answered. “But I merely thought it would be pleasant to bathe with him.” She could have added, “He was the only one who wanted to have anything to do with me at all!”
Rick swung the car around, and they headed for the big house that was the family’s week-end home, and filled with guests. His eyes were on the road ahead as he informed her:
“I was going to ask you to bathe later on, but I didn’t know you were in such a hurry. I imagined you would be tired after all your exertions of the past few days.”
She was silent, sitting with drooping shoulders, and feeling strangely depressed. So the attractive woman with hair that was definitely redder than her own was a widow, and her name was Janet Carey. And Rick kissed her in the moonlight! No doubt he had frequently kissed her in the moonlight, while the surf tumbled below them. And with her own eyes she had seen him kiss another young woman who was very obviously in love with him!
So what right had he to rescue her from Jake? Rick’s hand covered hers, where they rested limply in her lap, and squeezed them, as he had done once before.
“Forget it,” he advised. “Jake isn’t a bad sort, really, only he can’t keep his hands off a pretty girl. And you’re not merely pretty—you’re extremely pretty!”
“Thank you,” she returned, rather flatly.
He smiled.
“And I think you’re also an extremely nice one—unusually nice, perhaps!”
He let the car out; it sang along the finely metalled highway, and as it was an open car the wind slid round the corners of the wind-screen and caused Melanie’s short red curls to stream behind her. Gradually her expression lightened, for the morning was so brilliant, and the sea in which she had recently swum so happily was so unbelievably blue, and the sky was without sign of cloud. They flashed past gardens ablaze with flowers, and houses as trim as new pins, and it was only after they had been travelling for a mile or more that Melanie realized that wherever it was they were heading for they were not taking the right fork for Rick’s stately home. She mentioned this suddenly, and Rick smiled again.
“Are you in a hurry to get back and join all the others?”
“No, of course I’m not.”
“You said that with feeling. Aren’t you going to enjoy your week-end?”
“I feel a little out of it,” she admitted.
“That’s because you don’t know anyone, and my mother isn’t good at putting people at their ease. But Aunt Octavia’s a gem when you get to know her. And the old man’s all right.” They drove on at exhilarating speed, and by the time he spoke again her eyes were sparkling a little, and the color was palpitating in her warm creamy cheeks. He ventured to glance at her approvingly sideways. “That’s better,” he said. “Don’t worry any more about this week-end. I’ll ask Candy to keep an eye on you.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t look altogether happy.”
“She isn’t, because she wants to marry someone the ‘people’ don’t approve—my Mama, at any rate!”
She was about to observe rashly that marriage in his family didn’t seem to run along strictly conventional lines, or even very harmonious lines, when he swung the car off the main road and into the driveway of a little wooden chalet-like cafe that sat on the edge of a green lawn and overlooked the ocean, and she could immediately smell the coffee that floated out to greet them.
“Breakfast!” Rick said. “I thought you’d like some.”
“But—”
“No ‘but’!” He took her by the arm and laughed at her once he had assisted her to alight on the smooth gravel of the run-in. “Didn’t I say that to you once before when you were inclined to be argumentative?”
She laughed back, feeling suddenly carefree, and from that moment—for that morning, at any rate—they ceased to be employer and employee, and became merely a man and a girl who were both rather more than average attractive, and who left a strange drawing to one another, although it was not the sort of drawing that was easily understood.
They sat on a veranda at a table covered by a gay checked cloth, and a pleasant woman brought them a loaded breakfast tray of coffee and bacon and eggs. Melanie discovered that she was really ravenously hungry, having tasted little of the elaborate dinner of many courses the night before, and Rick seemed almost as bereft of nourishment. They talked and they laughed, lightly and carelessly; and then they got down to talking a little more seriously about the things that interested them both. Rick told her that he liked travelling about the world almost better than anything else, and that climbing mountains was one of his favorite diversions. Melanie confessed that she had never even set foot on a mountain, never slept in the open, as he had done so frequently, while on a fishing holiday, or on a holiday after game. She had never known the thrill of an Ocean liner, or seen the sun go down in the Bahamas. She had done absolutely nothing, and Rick looked at her as if her admission intrigued him. He also looked at her a little unbelievingly.
“Then there’s an enormous amount for you to do, my child—one day! You’ve got so many experiences in store that I almost envy you. I wish I could show you some of the things you haven’t seen. I’d like to watch your reactions.”
“I’m not in the least likely to do any of the things you’ve ever done,” she reminded him sadly. “I don’t happen, to be the daughter of a millionaire—only a very humble junior secretary to the son of a millionaire.”
His eyes grew quizzical as they studied her. “And a very good junior secretary, if it won’t turn your head if I say so!” He went on studying her across the table, and the delectable aroma of coffee that was like incense weaving its way about their heads. “Are you sorry I dragged you off to America so suddenly, Melanie?”
“No, of course not. I’m very thankful!”
“Even although you feel a little left out when my mother’s around?” He looked down at his plate, and before she could answer repeated: “Yes; I think it could be quite entertaining showing you things you’ve never seen, and never hoped to see, Melanie!” He offered her a cigarette and lighted it, and as their eyes met across the flame of the lighter a queer, trembling, uncertain sensation took place at the very core of her being. She felt uneasy and afraid. Oh, no! ... she said to herself, as she looked into those fluid dark depths, and saw her own brightly colored image reflected between his eyelashes. Don’t let tha
t happen! … Not to me! Because it would be so absolutely hopeless!
She was so shaken and perturbed that the color deserted her face, and she had to look away. Rick studied her rather more intently and peculiarly.
She plunged into speech about something that was really troubling her, and had actually started to trouble her since the night she had sat in Rick’s hotel suite in New York and heard Jake offer the opinion that there wasn’t very much hope for Rick where the Nonpareil and his father were concerned. She had so much disliked the look in the assistant manager’s eyes when he made the observation that she hadn’t been able to forget it.
“How long have you known Mr. Crompton?” she asked.
“Oh, a year or so.” Rick reflected. “No, slightly longer than that. And my father’s known him some considerable time.”
“And trusts him?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Do you?” she asked, daring once more to meet his eyes.
He shrugged.
“I’m not overwhelmingly in favor of him as a man, if that’s what you mean. But, yes, I trust him. In many ways I’m deeply indebted to him.”
“What ways?”
“Oh—” another shrug—“he endeavors to keep my nose to the grindstone, and without him I’d probably have been hauled back from England long ago. My father has absolute confidence in him because he’s a man of undoubted ability, and I think he puts up with me in spite of an instinctive secret disapproval of one another because he imagines himself in my father’s debt. The old man did a lot for him when he was young, and more or less put him on his feet. He had no backing, and no money, and today his position is excellent and assured. So he does what he can for me.”
But the look on his face was distinctly wry. She looked uneasy.
“And he won’t hold it against you because you—because this morning ...?”
She flushed, and couldn’t go on, and he laughed reassuringly—also with distinct, and very real, humor.
“My dear child, as I remarked once before, how young you are! You want to forget this morning, and in future don’t give Jake an opportunity to pander to his own weaknesses.” His face went suddenly quite grave. “I hoped you'd forgotten it already. I thought breakfast in the open might banish all unpleasantness.”
“Oh, it has,” she assured him. But she didn’t tell him that it would take more than breakfast in the open to banish an uneasy feeling about Jake that had nothing to do with his desire to take advantage of a tempting moment and kiss her.
On the way back they stopped on one of the highest points and looked down over the sparkling blue water to the trails of smoke on the horizon that marked the track of passing ships.
“This is wonderful,” Melanie sighed. “To me this is all quite, quite wonderful!”
Rick turned to her and put his hands on her,, shoulders and smiled at her gently.
“You know, Melanie,” he said, “you’re sweet.” Then the grave look flashed back into his face. “I’m sorry about this morning. You looked quite upset when I arrived on the beach. I wish I could wipe away the memory of Jake’s beastly, unwanted kiss.” He regarded her for a moment thoughtfully, and then bent a little nearer and, brushed her cheek lightly with his lips—after which it seemed perfectly natural that those same lips should find her mouth.
Jake’s mouth had been cool and firm, but Rick’s was even firmer; and there was the warmth of a tremendous ardor lurking somewhere just below the surface of its exterior coolness. Just below the surface ... But it required a special spark to ignite the warmth. Melanie’s lips were too surprised and uncertain to be capable of fulfilling the functions of a spark in those moments of being taken completely aback. And, in any case, it was purely an experimental kiss ... and a kiss of atonement. Something to make up for a less pleasant incident that had overtaken her.
She felt herself quite unable to say or do anything at all when he sat back and regarded her with one eyebrow raised.
“At least you can forget Jake now,” he said. “I’ve removed the contamination.”
Then he started up the car, coolly, calmly, although every pulse in her body was clamoring madly and belatedly. If only she had known he was going to kiss her! He had removed the contamination, as he called it, of Jake’s mouth, but he had left the seal of his own upon her mouth!
Unseen by him she stole a hand up to her lips as they drove back, and they felt new and strange to her.
Mrs. Carey was waiting for him in the drive when they got back, and she appropriated him immediately. He went with scarcely a backward glance for Melanie, save that he did repeat that he was going to detail his sister to make certain she was not neglected.
Upstairs in her room Melanie unrolled her bathtowel, and put her swimsuit to dry on the balcony. She was returning to the room through the french windows when she noticed that something had fallen from the bath-towel on to the carpet, and she picked it up. It was a crumpled sheet of expensive notepaper, and quite obviously the tail end of a letter. The notepaper still retained a kind of delicate fragrance, and the writing was sprawling and feminine. It said:
“... Of course I understood what you’d arranged, and you can be sure I won’t lose any time. Darling, I hate this separation as much as you do, but we know it won’t be for long. And with luck there won’t be any separation in the future!
Your own Di.”
Melanie stared at the writing. Your own Di!... Why did the abbreviation complete itself in her mind, and become Diane—Diane Fairchild?
And, in any case, how did this portion of a letter come to be wrapped up in her towel? Unless, ... Jake’s towel had been pink also. Possibly a lot of the guest-towels were pink ... And she had flung hers down carelessly on the beach, ready to dry herself when she came out of the water, and Jake had just cast his aside tightly rolled. In her embarrassment when she left the beach she had snatched up Jake’s towel, and the fragment of letter had been tucked away inside it.
Jake’s towel, Jake’s letter ... Jake’s Diane?
But, in that case, where did Rick come in?...
CHAPTER SIX
The week-end passed without any more highlights for Melanie, and apart from the luxury and the beauty against which the sun-filled hours and starry nights spun themselves out it was not a particularly enjoyable week-end for her.
The only person she got to know at all well was Aunt Octavia, who talked to her on several occasions, and seemed complacently to approve of her; and Lucas singled her out for attention that was a little unusual for a man in his position to bestow on such a junior employee of a son whose stock was not very high just then.
Returning from golf on Sunday morning he found her alone on the terrace and sat and talked with her, and they had a long iced drink apiece. He asked her about her life in England, and about her background, and was sympathetic over her mother’s struggles on a poultry farm, and amused by her accounts of her two young sisters.
“They ought to come out here for a while,” he said. “It would be a fine finish to their education.” And then he looked at Melanie more keenly, and as if she really interested him. “I admire a woman who can raise a family by her own unaided efforts. Shows she’s got tenacity of purpose, and isn’t easily defeated. What about your father?”
“He died when I was quite young,” she said.
“More’s the pity,” he commented. He studied the inch of ash on the end of his long cigar. “By the way, has your mother got red hair?”
“Like—like me? Yes; as a matter of fact, we have the same coloring.”
“It’s good coloring,” he remarked, and stared at her so long and so hard that she grew quite embarrassed. “My son is going to marry a young woman who they tell me is like a golden rose. Do you like that description—a golden rose?”
“It’s very apt,” she replied.
“Then you’ve seen her?”
“I saw her at the airport. She’s very, very lovely.”
“Would you say loveliness was
all that important?”
“I don’t know ...” Her embarrassment was increasing, for she had the feeling that he was probing deliberately. “But if a man can choose—then I imagine he’d rather choose someone with all the graces like Miss Fairchild.”
“All the graces and no money,” Lucas observed. “Her mother isn’t like your mother, Miss Melanie. She’s had money—plenty of it at different times—but apparently launching a daughter and equipping her in such a fashion that the right man will take notice of her and refill the family coffers is an expensive business. A little like investing your all in a poultry farm, but with far more worthwhile results.” He discarded the remains of his cigar as if it suddenly disgusted him, and cut and lighted another. “Pity your mother can’t try the same tactics with you three girls.”
Melanie laughed softly, with genuine amusement.
“I don’t think Miss Fairchild would feel flattered if she heard you say that,” she remarked.
“No?” The single word was a grunt. “Well, I’ll wait until I see her, and then I’ll tell you what I think about her.”
Mrs. Vandraaton came along the terrace, wearing lavender silk, and with the light lavender , rinse to her, hair making her complexion appear delicate as a wild rose by comparison.
“You shouldn’t be sitting in the sun, Lucas,” she said disapprovingly. She looked at Melanie as if it was she who had inveigled her husband into the fierce, concentrated warmth on the terrace. “It isn’t good for Mr. Vandraaton to have too much sun at this hour of the day. His doctor is strongly against it.”