Wild Melody (15 page)

'That's a pity,' she went on, 'because that's a lovely guitar. It must have cost a

lot of money. Have you had it long?'

Again, after a long pause, that infinitesimal shake of the head.

Catriona tried again. 'What's your favourite tune? I've got several.'

She began to reel off names of well-known folk songs, but Mitch's face was

unresponsive.

'Do you know this one?' Catriona tried her with the refrain of the
Skye Boat

Song.
'Or maybe this?' On an impulse she switched to a particular favourite

of hers, the plaintive swing of the
Eriskay Love Lilt
, humming the chorus

until she got to the last phrase, 'Sad am I without thee', which she sang in her

warm, clear soprano. And this time there was a response.

Mitch leapt to her feet, the stool crashing to the ground. She still cradled her

guitar in her arms, but her eyes blazed.

'Leave me alone, can't you?' Her voice rose almost hysterically to a shriek

and she rushed out of the room. Catriona stared after her, bewildered by the

reaction. It wasn't what she had hoped for, she thought unhappily, but at

least it was a beginning—of sorts.

She was still depressed when she got back to the flat that night, and Sally

lent her a sympathetic ear.

'What you need,' she announced at the end of the recital of the day's woes, 'is

taking out of yourself. How would you like to go to a party?'

'A party?' Catriona perked up a little. 'Whose?'

'Now for the bad news—Moira's. She's having some people round to her flat

tomorrow night and she's invited me for some obscure reason. And I was

told I could "bring my little Highland flatmate" along.' She grinned at

Catriona's instant grimace. 'Yes, I know, but Moira's parties are generally

regarded as fun and you might surprise yourself and enjoy it. You've been

looking like Marley's ghost for days.'

Catriona shook her head hesitantly. 'I—I've nothing to wear.'

'Liar,' Sally said roundly. 'What about that Ondine thing you've got hidden

in a box on the wardrobe?'

'It can stay there.' Catriona was conscious of a sudden tight sensation in her

throat. 'I—I don't want to wear that again.'

There was a brief silence while Sally studied her, and then she said

triumphantly, 'Of course—you can wear the Mistake.'

'Thanks a lot!' Catriona was amused, but Sally waved a hand at her

impatiently.

'Mistake for me, but on you it could be sensational,' she said, uncurling

herself from the settee and vanishing into the bedroom. Her voice came

floating back. 'I bought it foran audition because it suited the role I was

trying for. Madness, really, because they both couldn't have been more

wrong for me. I didn't get the part and I was stuck with the dress. Sheer

disaster, darling, from beginning to end.'

She returned with a drift of filmy whiteness over one arm. 'Try it on,' she

urged, and Catriona complied, a little reluctantly. But once the zip was

fastened and the soft folds of the incredibly full skirt twitched into place,

Catriona was forced to admit that Sally could be right. It was a dress for

dreaming in, all innocence and demureness. The sweeping neckline barely

acknowledged her shoulders and only hinted at the rounded softness of her

breasts. The wide, semi-transparent sleeves belled to the wrists where they

were captured into a narrow ruffle. Anything less suitable for Sally's lively

directness would have been hard to envisage.

She thought almost idly, 'I look like a bride.' But it was not a happy thought

and looking in the mirror at her shadowed eyes and mouth grown wistful,

she hated her own vulnerability.

At her shoulder, Sally said gently, 'You don't have to go, you know.'

Catriona's chin lifted with some of her old defiance.

'I'll go,' she said. 'And I'll wear the dress, if I may. It's beautiful.'

As she hung the dress back in the wardrobe, her hands were shaking. She

had no doubt at all that Jason Lord would be at Moira's party. All she had to

do was seek him out and ask him to help her to get an appeal for the centre

on television. He had so many contacts in the media, he would surely know

how to help. She told herself this over and over again, trying to convince

herself, to bolster up her confidence when every instinct she possessed

shrank from such a course of action. She couldn't pretend he would have

forgotten their last encounter and its stormy ending.

And yet here she was approaching him yet again. It would serve her right,

she told herself, if she met with total rejection. But at the same time, she

knew she had to go through with it for the centre's sake. Even if she met with

a downright refusal, at least she would know that she had tried.

But when she and Sally finally stood in Moira's cramped hall, all her

uncertainties allied to overwhelming shyness came back to plague her.

'Hell!' Sally looked at her watch. 'We're nearly half an horn: late and we're

still the first to arrive. What's the betting Moira's not even dressed yet?'

The young Filipino girl who had admitted them took their wraps and asked

them in charmingly accented English to wait in the living room.

Catriona gasped when she looked around her. Walls and carpet were a stark

white. Everything else—upholstery and drapes—was a rich glowing red.

Sally sighed.

'Only Moira would dare with hair that colour,' she said.

Catriona nodded slowly. The room was spectacular but in spite of its colour,

curiously unwelcoming. But at the same time she felt a sense of relief that

she and her pale dress could sink into obscurity against the walls if she

wished.

Moira, when she appeared, was no less spectacular than her background.

She had chosen a tight sheath of a dress, the starkness of its predominating

black relieved by narrow golden stripes. It fitted her voluptuous body as if

she had been sewn into it and the deep plunge of the neckline left little to the

imagination. Her scent, sensuous and musky, seemed to fill the room as she

entered, her hips swinging provocatively beneath the revealing lines of her

gown.

'Darlings!' A smile which never reached her eyes embraced them both.

Without uttering another word, she appraised their dresses and dismissed

them before sauntering to the enormous hi-fi unit which almost filled one

wall and switching on something low-keyed and Latin-American with an

insidious sophisticated rhythm.

'And that's just the rehearsal. Imagine the performance!' Sally murmured

under its cover.

Catriona ducked her head to hide her smile as Moira's voice, insinuatingly

sweet, reached them.

'Actually, you could be angels and help me. Poor Jasmine hasn't had much

experience with parties and she staged rather a drama over the canapes

earlier. If you would just pop into the kitchen and see that all is well, I'd be

eternally grateful.'

There was a stunned silence. Glancing at Sally, Catriona saw angry flags of

colour flying in her cheeks, but when she spoke her voice and smile were as

sweet as Moira's.

'Of course we don't mind. And if you found us some aprons, we could

always hand drinks round as well.'

It was Moira's turn to redden. 'I think that's going a little too far,' she said

coldly, and returned to her task of selecting records from the crowded

shelves of the unit.

'I knew there was an ulterior motive behind that invitation,' Sally muttered

when they were in the kitchen, surveying the trays of mouthwatering

delicacies that had been set out there. 'She just wanted some extra unhired

help for the evening. I'm sorry to have got you into this, love. I thought

you'd enjoy a showbiz party.'

'And so I shall—as it's my first and probably my last.' Catriona gave a

reluctant grin. 'I don't think Moira will forgive either of us in a hurry for that

crack of yours about aprons!'

In many ways it turned out to be quite fun, putting finishing touches to the

buffet, as Jasmine was soon kept busy running backwards and forwards to

let people in and, seemed pathetically grateful for their help. The girls

gathered that Moira's contribution to the proceedings had been to spend the

afternoon on her bed, giving contradictory orders through her face pack,

and that Jasmine who had been with her for two weeks was now looking for

another job.

By the time they returned to the living room, the party was in full swing and

Catriona hung back a little, beset with another bout of shyness. The room

seemed incredibly crowded. A space in the middle had been cleared for

dancing, and a number of couples were already swaying to the soft sinuous

rhythms coming from the hi-fi. Catriona found herself a glass of fruit juice

and stood quietly in a corner, amusing herself by trying to match names to

some of the more recognisable faces, but the face she was really searching

for was not there.

Catriona felt her heart sink. The only reason she had come to the party was

to see Jason. She had rehearsed in her mind almost a hundred times what she

was going to say to him, how she was going to present the centre's case in

such a way that he could not refuse to help. And it was only nervousness at

the possibility of his refusal, she told herself resolutely, that was making her

heart pound in this oddly fierce way and her body feel cold and clammy in

spite of the heat of the room.

She knew she was being a fool to pin so much hope to this idea. A fool to

think he would even listen to her—after the other evening. But those

memories were taboo, she tried to remind herself, as that aching languor

crept into her limbs again at the thought of his body against hers. She must

forget all about that, as he undoubtedly would. No man, especially one like

Jason Lord, would want to remember that he had been rejected by an

unsophisticated girl, she thought painfully. And why should he care, when

there were always women like Moira to give him everything he demanded?

Women who were not always conscious that their background and

upbringing totally renounced the kind of permissive relationships that

seemed an acceptable part of Jason's world.

Catriona had never had any difficulty in assimilating the strict pre-marital

morality of the community round Torvaig, but, as she was forced to

acknowledge to herself, this might have been because no serious

temptations had ever presented themselves. Aunt Jessie's strictures on the

respect a man should have for an unmarried girl had melted into oblivion

under Jason's lips and hands. And if he had aroused cravings in her flesh that

only he could satisfy— well, that was something she would have to try and

live with. For the moment, the centre and the people who depended on its

continuation were all-important, and her pride and emotions would have to

take second place.

Sally appeared at her side. 'Circulate,' she hissed, 'or Moira will have you

back in the kitchen washing glasses!'

Catriona chuckled and was just going to accompany Sally to meet some of

the theatre club actors she was working with, when she was suddenly aware

of a new arrival. Jeremy, on his own, was standing just inside the door

looking round. Before Catriona could look away or lose herself in the

laughing group already closing round Sally, he had seen her. She groaned

inwardly. He was the last person she had expected to see. She had forgotten

that his fiancee was related to Moira Dane.

'Trina.' He reached her side and stood smiling down at her. 'What a

surprise!'

'I was just thinking the same,' she tried to sound noncommittal. 'Er—where's

Helen tonight?'

'Oh, she had to go north unexpectedly. Her grandmother is ill or something.'

'Didn't she want you to go with her?' Catriona looked at him curiously.

'Out of the question, I'm afraid,' he said airily. 'Far too much on at work. But

I was at a loose end tonight, so I decided to take advantage of Moira's

invitation.' He gave her the smile that had once had the power to charm the

heart from her body. 'But how come you're here, Trina? I, didn't know you

and Moira were friends.'

Catriona shrugged. 'I was invited along to make up numbers with Sally, I

suppose,' she answered awkwardly.

He smiled again and toofc her hand. 'Things couldn't have worked out

better, could they?' he said softly. 'Come and dance with me.'

Catriona hesitated, intensely conscious of Moira's speculative gaze fixed on

them from across the room. Quite apart from her own lack of inclination,

she could imagine Jason Lord's reaction if he was to arrive and find her with

Jeremy.

'Come on,' Jeremy urged impatiently, and with an inward sigh, she

accompanied him to join the other dancers. The last thing she wanted was