Stormy Haven (33 page)

“
You
’
re wrong,
”
he returned firmly.
“
He
’
d already corresponded with a London specialist; he
’
d have found you there through those friends at Mindoa. You know that he opposed having the
Meridian
diverted. He wanted to see you, but not till the dark glasses had been discarded. Has it dawned on you why he went straight to Blackmore after you
’
d met last week?
”

“
Dawned on me?
”
she echoed blankly.

“
Didn
’
t it occur to you that immediately after Blackmore had finished with him he
’
d get a plane for England and be at Southampton to meet you from the boat? It was the effect of seeing you again that made him fall back on Blackmore; he couldn
’
t get it done quickly enough.
”
The grin came back into his voice.
“
As I said before, Melanie, you
’
re extraordinarily lacking in conceit. Also, you still have a great deal to learn about Stephen Brent.
”

Humbly, Melanie acknowledged it.
“
Dr. Melford, I
’
m so very grateful for all you
’
ve done, and for telephoning me this morning.
”

“
Call me Bill. And thank that hunch I had, not me! Not sorry we entered into a conspiracy, are you?
”

“
Sorry!
”
Her breath caught.
“
What do I do—let Stephen decide when I
’
m to be told?
”

“
Yes. For God
’
s sake keep quiet about my part in it! After you
’
re married will do best for that. I
’
ll hang up now so that you can primp before he comes. Be happy, both of you. I
’
m inclined to think you
’
re both lucky.
”

She dropped the receiver into place, slid sideways on the pillow and looked out at a slice of amethystine sky. Stephen loved her. Soon she would see him, look into those perfect and dear gray eyes, touch the strong brown hand, feel his mouth upon her own in a kiss that would bear no relation to the few kisses that had gone before. They
w
ould talk across the table, and probably with the utmost calm, he would tell her they
w
ere going to be married; tell her, not propose to her. S
h
e would be married to Stephen. It sounded so preposterous and beautiful. How she would love him! They would share a house, a thousand intimacies. She would hold him in her arms; that was something every woman wanted because it seemed somehow to be a sign of man
’
s dependence upon her. To be masterfully made love to brought a swooning ecstasy; it was a part of marriage that even in thought sent heat racing through the body, the heart to one
’
s throat. But to feel the beloved weight in one
’
s arms—that was a peaceful but indispensable rapture.

The telephone bell irreverently jarred her thoughts. This time it was her room servant, softly inquiring her wishes.

“
No bath,
”
she told him.
“
I
’
ll take a shower. And I shall be going down for breakfast.
”

While dressing she tried to recollect all that Bill Melford had said. There were still several puzzling aspects. Stephen
’
s sensitiveness over the eye trouble came from the pride and arrogance in his nature; though it was exasperating, she respected it. But what depths of bitterness he must have reached to write as he had to Colin Jameson. Had he really concluded from the noncommittal little note she had sent him and her subsequent silence that her love was a pale, childish thing that could be easily extinguished or transferred to another man? And what had been his inward reaction upon reading the cable from Henry advising him that she was on her way to England?

Not the least bewildering had been his unquestioning acceptance of Bill Melford
’
s explanation of her presence in Alexandria after the boat had sailed. Possibly he had guessed at the truth, but avoided, for obvious reasons, the complications that exposure would have entailed. His behavior all that evening had been smooth and slightly aloof, the result of swift and merciless planning. The kiss in her bedroom had been a mistake, an unforeseen eruption of passion; he had not been angry with Melanie but with himself.

There was much she longed to know, yet none of it had significance compared with the miracle of his loving her so completely.

She stood back and surveyed herself. Her dress was slim at the waist and full skirted, white smothered in red polka dots. It had a large frilled pocket and a dainty cascade of frills around the neckline. She fastened a white choker necklace and gave a last tweak at the shining waves of her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips very red.

She went out to the balcony, breathed in the spicy air. The sun slanted from the east, gilding the roofs, glittering upon the spectacular dome of the temple. A camel cart lurched by, led by an elderly Arab, and behind it followed an ancient vehicle driven by a fat Egyptian. Two chattering boys with white teeth sedately walked along the pavement; perhaps they were going to school.

Then the car came into sight, a long maroon thing, gleaming across the top as it was caught by the sun. It purred up to the curb, and Stephen got out. He was hatless and wearing a light tropical suit. Melanie looked down at the crisp hair, the vital brown face, the tall, impeccable figure, and she moved her head to ease the ache of tears at the base of her throat.

She watched him give one of the black-uniformed servants the car keys and indicate the luggage carried. Apparently he was too impatient to stop there and see his order carried out, for he turned and took the steps in a couple of strides.

An odd and sudden shyness held her there for a moment. Then, with all heaven shining in her eyes, she crossed the room and ran down the staircase to meet Stephen.