she has no hope whatsoever of Dad taking her back.'
Celia jumped off the fence in an impatient action that said more than words for her distaste for the subject of their conversation. 'Besides,' she said quietly, 'she's nobody's fool. She's getting a bit past the young heroine roles she usually plays, and she's not exactly a character actress. It's the future she's looking to. Dad's a very rich man, you know, and she likes expensive things, I don't suppose she's saved much all these years; her life-style is too extravagant.'
When Melanie did eventually get back to her room, she had plenty to think about, and not a great deal of time to play with.
CHAPTER THREE
MELANIE CRIDELL, née Greensmith, listened to the monotonous drone of the plane's engines, and closed her eyes. Although she ought to have been lulled into sleep, as indeed her charge was one seat away from her, her mind was too active to allow her such luxury.
If she opened her eyes just a slit to glance at her hands resting on her lap, she would see a wedding ring of fine gold filigree on the third finger of her left hand, and on top of that an imposing cluster of diamonds on an engagement ring.
Her sleepy glance caught a movement on her right, and landed on the strong, lean hand of the man seated next to her as he turned over a sheet of a sheaf of figures he was studying. Melanie's glance stayed on that hand with its strong wrist, noting the fine, dark hairs that slightly overlapped his gold watch.
That man was her husband. He went with the rings on her left hand, and with a lucrative job that would pay a large dividend when the extraordinary contract that she had entered into was terminated, in two years', or maybe only one year's time.
Melanie tore her glance away from Julian Cridell's hand. She had to remember to call him Julian, and not Mr Cridell, but it wasn't going to be easy for her, she thought, considering that she had been addressing him as Mr Cridell up until the register office wedding a day ago.
Of course it wasn't real; nothing was real, she told herself. She had entered a dream world from the
moment she had joined that bevy of women who had answered the advertisement in The Times for a companion for a thirteen-year-old girl.
But Aunt Alice was real, she told herself drowsily, and if anything, it could all be laid at her aunt's door for being silly enough to alter her widowed status and marry that awful Arthur Makin, whose image could still give Melanie the shivers when she recalled it. Oh, yes, he was real enough!
Perhaps, Melanie mused, too tired now even to open her eyes, it was all Jane and Chris's fault for deciding to get married and use the flat she had hoped to share with Jane. She shifted restlessly, and felt rather then saw a slight movement on her right; not wanting to cause Julian Cridell any trouble, she kept still until he had settled back to his previous occupation.
It was extraordinary, she thought, how a man who barely knew her, even though he had asked her to marry him within a fortnight of their acquaintance, could be so attuned to her misgivings—and there had been plenty of those when the proposition was put to her.
She felt a light touch on her arm and opened her eyes to meet Julian's grey, enigmatic eyes.
`Do you want some refreshment?' he asked, in his well-modulated voice.
Melanie shook her head.
`No, thank you,' she replied, and glanced at the sleeping form of Celia on her left.
At this point the girl stirred in her sleep, and suddenly woke up, her dark eyes with their astonishing black winged brows twinkling wickedly at Melanie as they went off to sleep again.
Melanie's glance went back to the rings on her left
hand. Rightly or wrongly, she had succumbed to Celia's entreaties, and had agreed to accept Julian Cridell's proposal. As Celia had so saliently pointed out, 'We get on together, don't we? All of us? And Dad wouldn't have asked you if he wasn't sure that we'd all suit. It could
Celia jumped off the fence in an impatient action that said more than words for her distaste for the subject of their conversation. 'Besides,' she said quietly, 'she's nobody's fool. She's getting a bit past the young heroine roles she usually plays, and she's not exactly a character actress. It's the future she's looking to. Dad's a very rich man, you know, and she likes expensive things, I don't suppose she's saved much all these years; her life-style is too extravagant.'
When Melanie did eventually get back to her room, she had plenty to think about, and not a great deal of time to play with.
CHAPTER THREE
MELANIE CRIDELL, née Greensmith, listened to the monotonous drone of the plane's engines, and closed her eyes. Although she ought to have been lulled into sleep, as indeed her charge was one seat away from her, her mind was too active to allow her such luxury.
If she opened her eyes just a slit to glance at her hands resting on her lap, she would see a wedding ring of fine gold filigree on the third finger of her left hand, and on top of that an imposing cluster of diamonds on an engagement ring.
Her sleepy glance caught a movement on her right, and landed on the strong, lean hand of the man seated next to her as he turned over a sheet of a sheaf of figures he was studying. Melanie's glance stayed on that hand with its strong wrist, noting the fine, dark hairs that slightly overlapped his gold watch.
That man was her husband. He went with the rings on her left hand, and with a lucrative job that would pay a large dividend when the extraordinary contract that she had entered into was terminated, in two years', or maybe only one year's time.
Melanie tore her glance away from Julian Cridell's hand. She had to remember to call him Julian, and not Mr Cridell, but it wasn't going to be easy for her, she thought, considering that she had been addressing him as Mr Cridell up until the register office wedding a day ago.
Of course it wasn't real; nothing was real, she told herself. She had entered a dream world from the
moment she had joined that bevy of women who had answered the advertisement in The Times for a companion for a thirteen-year-old girl.
But Aunt Alice was real, she told herself drowsily, and if anything, it could all be laid at her aunt's door for being silly enough to alter her widowed status and marry that awful Arthur Makin, whose image could still give Melanie the shivers when she recalled it. Oh, yes, he was real enough!
Perhaps, Melanie mused, too tired now even to open her eyes, it was all Jane and Chris's fault for deciding to get married and use the flat she had hoped to share with Jane. She shifted restlessly, and felt rather then saw a slight movement on her right; not wanting to cause Julian Cridell any trouble, she kept still until he had settled back to his previous occupation.
It was extraordinary, she thought, how a man who barely knew her, even though he had asked her to marry him within a fortnight of their acquaintance, could be so attuned to her misgivings—and there had been plenty of those when the proposition was put to her.
She felt a light touch on her arm and opened her eyes to meet Julian's grey, enigmatic eyes.
`Do you want some refreshment?' he asked, in his well-modulated voice.
Melanie shook her head.
`No, thank you,' she replied, and glanced at the sleeping form of Celia on her left.
At this point the girl stirred in her sleep, and suddenly woke up, her dark eyes with their astonishing black winged brows twinkling wickedly at Melanie as they went off to sleep again.
Melanie's glance went back to the rings on her left
hand. Rightly or wrongly, she had succumbed to Celia's entreaties, and had agreed to accept Julian Cridell's proposal. As Celia had so saliently pointed out, 'We get on together, don't we? All of us? And Dad wouldn't have asked you if he wasn't sure that we'd all suit. It could
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