Stormy Haven (32 page)

Sometime later Stephen called the housekeeper and told her to show Miss Paget her bedroom.

Melanie said,
“
I
’
m tired—I won
’
t come back. Good night. Dr. Melford. Good night, Stephen.
”

They answered her, and as she crossed the hall she heard chairs scrape as they re-seated themselves. She followed the sallow-complexioned Nicolina down a corridor and into a room, thanked her and closed the door. The light furniture and cream rugs made no imprint upon Melanie. She collapsed into a chair and bent her face into her hands.

How would she get through, with all her emotions battened under hatches? How maintain the dry eye and unyielding upper lip? Was she utterly powerless, wholly the plaything of the winds of chance? Wasn
’
t she ever to be permitted to assert herself as a person
... and a lover? To what crazy paths our feelings lead us. To what agonies!

Because inaction rasped, she began slowly to undress. The pajamas she had bought in the town lay on the bed, taunting her with the bridal whiteness, their diaphanous costliness. She hated putting them on, seeing herself in the mirror all slender whiteness and shadowed green eyes. She wished there were a door into the garden, or even a low-silled window. Anywhere would be preferable to these walls that must close her in till morning.

Into the middle of her torment came Stephen. He tapped lightly and entered, was stopped by the sight of her, pale and tense and appealing, as she stood by the chair. His tanned cheekbones went darker, with blood.

“
I
thought you
’
d just be resting, not going to bed.
”
He looked away, took a wallet from his pocket and put it on the dressing table.
“
There
’
s some currency. I
’
ve had a word with Duncan, and he and his wife will call for you at eight in the morning. You
’
ll be very careful in Cairo, won
’
t you? Don
’
t go out alone or be friendly with anyone outside the hotel. Give me your word, Melanie.
”

“
I promise.
”

“
Right. I
’
ll see you off in the morning.
”

Her precariously balanced control slipped a fraction. She made a small sound of pain and her hand groped toward him. He caught her wrist in a grip that bruised, held her away from him. As he looked down at the cloud of honey-gold hair, the tender eyes and creamy shoulders spanned by strips of lace, a strained whiteness showed at his nostrils.

The next second he had gathered her tight into his arms, kissed her mouth and the delicate hollow of her throat, pressed his lips into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Then, with diabolically savage movements, he wrenched her arms from his neck, pushed her aside and strode from the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Melanie left
Alexandria with colorless cheeks and a tight heart. Outside the house she had been introduced to the couple with whom she was to travel, and had shaken hands with Bill Melford, had felt Stephen
’
s pat at her arm, heard his impersonal,
“
So long, Melanie. Keep a rein on her, Pete.
”

She had chosen to sit alone in the back of the car, and the Duncans, unsure of her relationship with one of the company directors, had not ventured to demur. It was too early in the morning for much conversation, anyway, and as the car kept up a steady fifty miles an hour, the view through the window did not become monotonous.

Melanie
’
s breakfast had been served in her room at seven o
’
clock. At half-past seven she had gone to the hall, dressed in the striped linen of yesterday with her pajamas and toilet articles packed into the pigskin case that Nicolina had brought to her for the purpose. Dr. Melford had been at the hall table, had looked up from the notebook he was studying and murmured,
“
I
’
ll have your luggage and passport sent on. If I don
’
t get in touch with you, you can take it that all
’
s well with our friend.
”

Then Stephen had come from the dining room, cool as a mountain wind, but with tired lines at the corners of his eyes. She was sure he had slept not more than she; his banter had the old edge of cynicism. Fortunately the Duncans had arrived soon after that and there was nothing whatever to delay their departure.

Thinking back again to Stephen
’
s kiss, her throat was clogged with bitterness. Her own blood had clamored to meet the violence in him, she was his, then and forever. He had sensed her surrender, thrust her from him as if throwing off a momentary and despicable weakness.

Pointless to go over the hideous moments again and
again. She was obeying him, vanishing at the very time when he should have needed her most had he loved her. She was racked with worry and fear. Was Blackmore as good a specialist as Dr. Melford claimed?
“
It
’
s a routine job to him,
”
Bill stated. If that were so why hadn
’
t Stephen consented to it before?

With her fingertips Melanie combed up the hair from her throbbing brow. Ever since Miss Hogg had told her that Alexandria was the
Meridian
’
s
next halt she had felt herself on the verge of an illness, and now the sickness seemed to be getting under way. A bad head, feverishness, and a desperate longing for the comatose condition-that is heaven-sent to tide one over the deeps.

They arrived in Cairo at a quarter to eleven. Their hotel, on the Sharia Mamlik, had an imposing frontage and veined green marble steps. The servants wore black uniforms with braided straps and scarlet buttons, and tall black fezes from which tossed glorious scarlet tassels; they carried themselves like plume bearers in a royal procession and kept their faces averted and expressionless.

The guests were tourists and holidaymakers from every
corner
of the universe. The charges, Melanie was sure, were in the fabulous category and rather beyond the pocket of the Duncans. She suspected, and later confirmed, that Stephen had named the hotel and would pay expenses. She also learned that Peter and Avice Duncan were starting their holiday nearly a week before it was due, at Stephen
’
s request. He shoved people around as if they were pieces on a chessboard, she thought tremulously.

Her bedroom was tastefully gaudy; the ceiling was
l
ight blue and silver starred, the walls pale pink and the bed white with a quilted satin head upon which reclined two voluptuous cherubs. Her balcony overlooked the street and some of the domes of the city
’
s four hundred mosques.

Those days in Cairo were strange and dreamlike. She went out with the Duncans, walked among the sprawling mixture of ancient and modern architecture, stood on a bridge above the muddy waters of the Nile. One afternoon they went to the races at the Gezira Club, and on another drove to Giza to see the pyramids; and there, involuntarily, Melanie recalled reciting long ago to a class teacher,
“
The Great Pyramid was built by Cheops of the fourth dynasty...
”

She saw the old city wall, the famous gates, and the citadel of Saladin on a spur of the Muqattam hills. And she watched the sun go down below the rim of the desert, casting large shadows across the dunes and tiny ones in the myriad of ripples. Above stretched a wash of blue and gold, an
d
away to the west of the city a camel train was strung out like a painted frieze.

The fourth morning her passport arrived; it had been in the mail two days. The same afternoon her cases were brought by passenger train. But no word came from Dr. Melford. Melanie hung up her clothes, had an evening dress ironed so that she could go out and dance, and perhaps forget.

Nightlife in Cairo was brilliant and exciting. Lights scintillated along the main roads, the sensual music of the East merged with the popular rhythms of the West. At the cabaret that Melanie attended with Peter and Avice a veiled dancer was followed by a well-known Italian tenor. Then there was dancing and an extravagant midnight supper.

The next evening they chose a different club, and strolled home at two in the morning. When she got to her room Melanie paced restlessly. Her anxiety of a few days ago had diminished but another, equally urgent emotion had taken its place.

O
n an impulse she found a writing pad and began a letter to Lucille. But what news could she give, how explain her descent upon Cairo? In any case, was it wise to write a letter at two in the morning, when she felt anything but lucid? So the pen was laid down and she slipped between the white sheets to lie staring at the painted Milky Way on the ceiling until sheer exhaustion closed her eyes.

When the telephone rang she was wafted back, for a second, to Elfrida
’
s apartment, where the alarm clock had roused her on winter mornings to prepare breakfast; in summer the London sparrows had done the trick. But when her eyes opened upon the bright sunshine streaming in from the balcony her hand at once went to the white telephone on the bedside table. She was ready to say,
“
Coffee and fruit, please.
”

But the receiver clanged, a polite alien voice begged her,
“
Please to hold the line,
mademoiselle
,”
and after a further crashing sound all went quiet, till a man asked,
“
Are you there. Miss Paget?
”

She quivered, went still and stony, but automatically replied,
“
Yes.
”

“
Oh, good.
”
The tones warmed.
“
This is Bill Melford. I
’
ve been trying to get through to you for more than an hour, but everyone thought me mad, wanting to telephone Cairo before breakfast. How are you?
”

“
Please
,”
she said weakly.

“
Oh, all right—you
’
d like the dope first. Steve
’
s great, but he
’
s been the deuce to live with this week. I was glad to see him go.
”

“
Go? Where has he gone?
”

He laughed.
“
Not putting this at all well, am I? Fact is, I got so wild with the exchange that all my prearranged bedside phrases have evaporated. Steve
’
s on his way to you.
”

The room reeled and she fell back into her pillow. Her frantic need to hear more closed her fingers, viselike, around the receiver.
“
To
...
me?
”

“
He went off at six this morning. It
’
s now past seven so he
’
s more than halfway. He
’
ll be there for breakfast.
”

Thinly she queried,
“
Are you joking?
”

“
Would I joke about a thing like this? He
’
s fine,
I
tell you, and on his way to Cairo. Blackmore said he shouldn
’
t drive for another day or two but he wouldn
’
t wait. I was right, you
see.”

“I ... I
wish you
’
d go on talking while I listen.
”

“
Poor child,
”
he said.
“
You have been giving yourself a hollow time, but it
’
s over now. He
’
s all yours.
”

“
Shall
I ...
is he taking me back to Alexandria?
”

“
He packed a traveling bag and a suitcase. I asked when to expect him and he said in six weeks or six months—it depended on you. And he threw out another piece of information. He
’
s getting married.
”

Melanie couldn
’
t have answered that had a gun been pressed to her head. Even the fingers holding the phone had gone nerveless. Dr. Melford did not wait long before speaking again; now all lightness had left his voice.

“
You
’
re singularly without deceit, you know. Why should you be so astounded that Steve
’
s in love with you? He
’
s only a man.
”
Stephen had reminded her of that himself, she remembered.
“
During these last days he
’
s been raging around the house like a caged leopard and in spite of himself has let fall some revealing remarks. Had you been older he
’
d have married you months ago, at Mindoa. It seems that various incidents—you know what they were better than I—convinced him that you were
...
shall we say, unawakened? By now you
’
ve realized that you and he have to meet on the same emotional plane; he won
’
t have anything less. You
’
re not annoyed with me for being so frank?
”

“
Of course not.
I
want so much to understand.
”

“
I know you do. I think a lot of Stephen, and I shouldn
’
t be surprised if I
’
m going to think a lot of you, too. Well, there you have it. I gathered that he was relying on the period of parting between saying goodbye to you at Mindoa and meeting you in Alexandria to solve the main trouble. He knew that in a girlish fashion you cared for him, but I
’
m afraid he meant you to suffer and lose the girlishness.
”

“
I see
that ...
and I don
’
t blame him. I was woefully callow, and I must have hurt him, as well.
”
A picture flashed across, her mind: Stephen in Lucille
’
s distillery, acidly informing her that there were times when he
’
d like to shake her. She
’
d asked him,
“
Why don
’
t you?
”
and he
’
d grimly replied that he might find himself kissing away the tears instead; kissing away the tears and admitting angrily that he loved a child who was only half-aware of what love was. She was fully and vibrantly aware now. She forced herself to say,
“
But the eyestrain, Dr. Melford. Why didn
’
t he have it corrected at once?
”

He paused.
“
That
’
s a little less comprehensible, from a woman
’
s viewpoint. You see, the explosion occurred fairly soon after he went south, just before he had the letter from you. I
’
ve no idea what you wrote, but if it was distant
or youthful...” He
stopped, and she heard a short laugh.
“
I
’
m only surmising, but if Steve
’
s eyes were giving him trouble and you seemed about as cool and far away as the stars, I
’
d say he wouldn
’
t give a damn whether he
damaged his sight or not. Normally, he
’
s too sane to go on working with a physical handicap, but no man in love is quite normal and he
’
s turned out to be worse than most!
”

“
But later,
”
she persisted,
“
after he
’
d seen Dr. Blackmore?
”

“
I
’
m not sure. Maybe you should have written again even
though you hadn
’
t heard from him. He
’
ll have to explain that.
”

After a brief silence, she said,
“
He didn
’
t intend to go to the boat; he meant never to see me again.
”