Wild Melody (16 page)

any kind of scene. The tempo of the music was slower now, and Jeremy

pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair.

'Happy?' he murmured after a moment or two had elapsed.

She was at a loss to know what to answer. To be truthful, she felt on edge

and uncomfortable—emotions she had never expected to experience in

Jeremy's embrace. But it did not seem an appropriate time to tell him, so she

gave a little unintelligible murmur. Her discomfort increased as he put his

lips against her forehead.

'Jeremy!' she protested, holding herself away from him.

'What's wrong?' He seemed genuinely puzzled.

'You—you wouldn't do that if Helen was here.'

'Maybe not, but she's away.'

'And that makes some sort of difference?'

He shrugged. 'Helen's a big girl now. She knows what the score is.' He tried

to draw her close again, but she determinedly held him away. 'Oh, for

heaven's sake, Trina, relax!'

'Moira is watching us,' she warned wretchedly.

'Let her.' His grin was suddenly malicious. 'She'd rather see you with me

than with dear Uncle Jason, anyway.'

Catriona absorbed his words with an odd pang. It occurred to her that she

had been doing her best to ignore the fact that Jason and Moira were more

than friends, and she did not care to inquire too closely into her reasons. She

did not feel capable of analysing her feelings, or the recent changes that

seemed to have recently overtaken some of her most cherished beliefs. She

had talked glibly of fidelity to Jason, but did she really know what the word

meant? And what had she been faithful to? A summer dream that had played

her false. She had given her heart to a smiling stranger who had promptly

repaid her by betraying her with another girl, and was now apparently quite

prepared to reverse the situation by betraying his fiancee in turn.

What a fool I've been, she thought with a fleeting pang of regret for that lost

summer and its innocence. She was thankful when the music stopped and

she had an excuse to escape. After that she was almost constantly occupied

dancing with the actors in the group gathered around Sally, and she was

beginning to forget the confused state of her emotions in frank enjoyment of

the party, when Moira's sudden squeal, 'Darling!' told her what a fleeting

look confirmed—that Jason Lord had arrived at last. It cost a lot to look

away again, and try to pretend that Moira was not in his arms, her body

pressed seductively against his with her red mouth already lifted for his kiss.

Instead she managed to smile up at tall, bearded Ian who was soon to start

work with the Royal Shakespeare Company and went on chatting just as if

all her thoughts and senses were not suddenly concentrated painfully

elsewhere.

When finally their eyes did meet as he stood at the improvised bar, the

centre of a laughing group, she saw him pause fractionally as he lit a

cheroot, registering her presence with slightly raised eyebrows. He didn't

look angry or resentful to see her, Catriona thought thankfully. Perhaps she

would be able to approach him during the course of the evening, after all,

without too much awkwardness.

With a suddenly lightened heart, she began to hum the time that she and Ian

were dancing to, adding the words too as they came back to her. It was only

when she noticed Ian's broad grin, and the approving smiles from the

couples around them, that she realised that her vocal accompaniment had

been louder than she had intended. Blushing, she relapsed into silence, only

to encounter immediate and voluble protests from all sides, to her horrified

embarrassment.

'Don't stop, sweetie. That was charming.' A tall, blonde woman took her arm

and propelled her across the room towards Moira. 'Now then, darling. You

didn't tell us we had a new talent among us tonight.'

Catriona prayed that the floor would open and swallow her, but it remained

inimically solid. Moira was smiling, but the look in her eyes was glacial.

'Frankly, I had no idea myself,' she said lightly. 'But as opportunity seems to

have knocked for Miss—er—Muir, I suppose we can't deny her a public

performance.'

'Oh, no, I couldn't,' Catriona broke in miserably.

'But you obviously can.' Moira looked and sounded bored. 'Robbie there

will accompany you. He can play anything.'

To her consternation, Catriona saw that the plump, bespectacled figure of

Robbie was already opening the baby grand piano which stood at one end of

the room.

'Tell me the song and the key, darling. I'll do the rest,' he said cheerfully as

Catriona was ushered unwillingly to his side. 'You're the star turn. Can't let

your audience down.'

She pressed her hands to her hot face. 'Well, do you know
I Know Where I'm

Going?''

He hummed a couple of bars, struck an experimental chord or two and

nodded in satisfaction. 'Ready when you are.

Catriona's flush died away and she was almost as white as her dress when

she turned to face the crowded room, now politely hushed and waiting for

her to sing. As Robbie began to play the introduction, she saw Moira sitting

on the edge of the semi-circle that had formed. Jason was standing behind

her and as Catriona watched, Moira turned to him murmuring something

and he bent towards her, smiling, his eyes on Catriona. There was something

in that smile—something sardonic, even derisory—that made Catriona's

hackles rise. So they were laughing at her—waiting for her to fail and make

a fool of herself in front of all these people. Well, she would just show them!

She lifted her chin and sang: 'I know where I'm going, And I know who's

going with me. I know who I love, But the dear knows who I'll marry.'

The notes fell warm, pure and rounded into the expectant silence. She had

chosen the song because it was simple and well known. Now, even as she

sang, she realised how appropriate the words were for the situation in which

she found herself, and the realisation lent her voice an added huskiness and

depth. 'Some say he's black, But I say he's bonny . . .'

She could not look at him where he lounged, his arms folded indolently

across the back of Moira's chair. Instead she fixed on other people—on Ian,

on the blonde woman who had started it all, even on Jeremy who was fixing

her with a burning gaze she would ordinarily have found an

embarrassment—and sang to them, making them believe she sang for each

one of them alone.

When she finished there was a moment's hush, then she was almost

overwhelmed by the applause. People were calling for more, while Robbie

sat and surveyed the keyboard with a small, satisfied smile. Catriona smiled

and bowed and quietly but firmly refused to sing again. Moira did not join in

the applause. She rose and waited for Catriona to approach her, her body

taut in that gorgeous black and gold dress. Catriona thought with a sudden

sense of detachment that she looked like a cross between a tigress and a

queen wasp.

'Well done, darling. Any more party pieces you'd like to show us?' Moira's

voice was light, then she turned and walked away in the direction of her

bedroom.

'Take no notice.' It was Robbie, smiling and tossing a significant wink at

Moira's retreating back. 'Only room for one star around here, you know.'

Before Catriona could reply, she was surrounded by a small crowd of

people wanting to congratulate her and asking if she sang professionally.

When at last she was able to tear herself away, her face felt stiff with

smiling and her throat ached from saying, 'Thank you.' She went into the

empty kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, watching the mist form

and clear on the tumbler.

'So there you are,' Jeremy said from the doorway. He walked forward,

smiling at her. 'My Trina. I once told you you'd be a sensation. Remember?'

'Yes,' she said, still conscious of that curious sense of detachment.

'And that song—it was always my favourite. You remembered that too.' His

breath smelt of whisky as he leaned towards her.

'No,' she said. 'I'd forgotten that.'

'Trina,' his voice was reproachful, 'don't tease me. You know how I feel

about you.'

'I'm beginning to, I think.' She looked at him, studying the good-looking

features which soon would begin to blur with good living and

self-indulgence. 'You want the best of both worlds—a rich wife and a

girl-friend on the side. Well, that's not what I want, Jeremy.'

'What do you want, then?' he demanded sullenly. 'Me to finish with Helen, I

suppose. Well, perhaps I will, but these things take time. You can't expect. .

.'

'No.' She shook her head gravely. 'I can't expect—and I don't.'

She lifted her hand to her throat and tugged at the silver chain. The fragile

links snapped, and she took the chain and the ring it held and put them into

his hand.

Jeremy looked down at them blandly. 'I don't understand.'

'Ah, but you will,' she said. 'You will.' She drank the rest of her water and

put the tumbler down on the stainless steel draining board.

'You're upset,' he persisted. 'You've every reason to be, I admit. But I'll make

it all up to you. Now Helen's away, we have a real chance to get to know

each other all over again.'

'Poor Helen,' she said. 'But there'll be no need to cause her any heartache.

You see, I do know you, Jeremy, and I know myself now better than I did,

and things are better as they are, believe me.'

'Trina.' He caught her arm as she walked past him towards the door. 'We

can't talk here. Let's go. Just you and me—the way it once was. We'll go

back to your place and . ..'

"No,' she said. 'Please take your hand off my arm.'

'Now listen--' he began aggressively, and Jason said, 'No,
you
listen. She

asked you to take your hand from her arm.' He was leaning against the

doorframe, his face enigmatic.

Jeremy opened his mouth as if to speak, looked down sharply at the ring and

broken chain he was still clutching, then swung round, brushing past Jason

through the doorway. Jason stood back to let him pass and steadied the

violently swinging door with his arm.

It was as if the dreamlike bubble enclosing Catriona had suddenly burst. She

was back down to earth, face to face with the man who had every reason to

feel resentment towards her and of whom somehow she had to ask a favour.

She cleared her throat nervously. 'I know what you must be thinking.'

'Then you must be extremely clever. I'm not even sure myself.' He walked

past her to the refrigerator and pulled the door open. 'I'm not really spying on

you, you see, or protecting you against my nephew's probably drunken

advances. I just want some ice for my Scotch.' He opened the freezer

compartment. 'Ah!'

'I need your help,' she said—too quickly, she knew, but he had put the ice in

his glass and was on his way back to the party and she might never have the

opportunity or the courage to ask him again if she failed now.

Jason looked at her, his mouth twisting sardonically. 'On the contrary. The

events of the past half-hour seem to prove that you can manage perfectly

well by yourself.'

'I don't mean that sort of help.' Her palms felt moist and she wiped them

surreptitiously down her skirt. 'It—it's not for me really.'

'Then who is it for?' He held his glass up to the light, apparently admiring

the cool amber of the liquid it contained. 'Male or female? Or am I being

indiscreet?'

She looked at him, puzzled. His tone was light, but there was something

behind the words that she could not pinpoint.

'Well—male, really, I suppose,' she said, thinking of Andrew. 'Though lots

of other people are involved as well.'

'Who is he?'

How odd that he should ask her that, and not what help it was that she

wanted, she thought bewilderedly. But at least he was listening to her, even

if she did seem to have less than a hundred per cent of his attention. Nor was

he taunting her about that other evening as she had half feared he might. In

fact, it might never have happened—might all have been some figment of

her imagination. He was like a stranger, half turned from her, his eyes fixed

on the floor or on the glass in his hand, never on her. Yet once—then—he

had looked at her as if he was etching the sight of her on some inner vision.

She shook herself back to the present, and began haltingly to tell him about

the centre and its problems. He listened frowningly as she described the

Trust and its shortcomings, and the difference that an influx of money

would make to the work Andrew was trying to do there.

Only then did he interrupt. 'But what can I do? I'm not a trustee, and I don't

know anyone who is.'