Stormy Haven by Rosalind Brett Read Free Book Online Page B

Supposing I can ’ t dissuade her from visiting the plantation? ”
    He smiled; Melanie had the feeling that had they been longer acquainted he would paternally have patted her shoulder.
    “ She ’ s difficult, is she? Well, it wouldn ’ t be catastrophic if she did come, but do your best to keep her away. ”
    Other questions crowded into Melanie ’ s mind, but there was no time to voice them. Ramon had emerged onto the terrace, was bowing and glancing with some hostility at her companion.
    “ I promised your cousin that I would take you home early, ” he said stiffly.
    Henry Jameson rose. “ Thank you for the dance, Miss Paget. Good night. ”
    Ramon stood straight and silent till the other man had disappeared. Then he shrugged. “ He is just one of the planters. They do not often patronize the Miramar. Come, Melanie, the car has been brought to the front. ”
    She was scarcely conscious of Ramon as they drove along the palm-lined roads toward the center of the town. He spoke and she answered, but it was of Henry Jameson that she thought; Henry Jameson, who had evidently been a staunch friend of John and for fairly obvious reasons was an enemy of John ’ s widow. She wished there were someone with whom she could discuss the subject, but could think of no one but Stephen—and he would probably advise her to mind her own business.
    At the hotel Ramon helped her from the car.
    “ Thank you for a wonderful evening, ” she said.
    “ When can I see you again? ”
    “ I ’ m afraid I can ’ t make any appointments. ”
    “ Then I must once more cross a gentle sword with your cousin. ” He raised her hand to his lips, turned his cheek to its smoothness and gazed at her with glinting eyes. “ Good night, Melanita... chica . ”
    He was gone, racing around the driveway w ith the maniac speed of youth overcharged with emotion.
    Elfrida had gone to bed. Melanie teetered at her door, decided not to face her cousin tonight, and went to her own bedroom.
    As she had anticipated, Elfrida complained next morning of having been awake half the night with a migraine. She sent for remedies and suspected them all because the pharmacist was not English. Melanie came in for pettish scolding because the fingers with which she massaged the aching brow were not cool enough, because the iced drinks tasted of the disinfectant with which the hotel water had been treated, because the servant who was tidying a bedroom along the corridor persisted in singing.
    In the afternoon came an hour or two of blessed respite; Elfrida slept. Melanie put on a hat and ventured into the open air. She looked into the shops, and stood on the corner of a narrow side road enjoying a restricted view of the dazzling blue bay. Presently she turned from the main road into a street of pink-washed houses ornamented with sculpture birds, fishes and flowers. Indian women in saris were hanging out washed garments and dyed lengths of material. Their men had vivid turbans and white cotton suits and the children wore pajamas.
    Another street of meaner shops had an offshoot of clean whitewashed dwellings with bamboo blinds and an atmosphere of inscrutability. An old Chinese sat in the shade of a wall and puffed contentedly at the very long stem of a very small pipe. Two youths were carpentering a chair apiece, flimsy things with grass seats. A group of almond-eyed girls sat in a tiny veranda, weaving; incuriously, they watched Melanie pass on to the end of the lane and turn into the Marine Drive. Here the color and noise were clamorous. Melanie would have retreated had not a tall figure in white detached itself from the mass and advanced upon her.
    “ For Pete ’ s sake! This is no place for you—there ’ s a sale on. ” Stephen firmly took her arm and marched her across the road to the shade of a tree. “ Don ’ t tell me you ’ re shop gazing again. ”
    “ No. Just strolling. Port Fernando is so fascinating. ”
    He was sharply examining her face. “ You