Monkshood, page 12
‘Well, that’s not such a bad idea,’ remarked Desmond reflectively. ‘After all, you’ll have to consider him once you’re married. Just because you can work anywhere…’
‘I know.’ Melanie flicked impatiently through the sketches on her board. ‘It shouldn’t matter, should it? I mean—I shouldn’t mind where I live so long as it’s with Michael.’
‘That’s the idea!’ Desmond grinned. ‘Love is a great leveller of circumstances. You’ll probably realize after you’ve been married a couple of months that you don’t give a damn for Monkshood or anywhere else so long as you’re together.’
Melanie bent her head. ‘Yes,’ she murmured doubtfully. And then: ‘To get back to these sketches…’
Work absorbed her morning and not even the flying flakes of snow passing her windows could attract more than a fleeting reflection. But towards lunchtime, she had a telephone call, from Michael.
Deciding not to mention Monkshood over the phone, she said: ‘Hello, Michael. Are you about to ask me out to lunch, because I’m free?’
Michael chuckled, rather forcedly, Melanie thought uneasily. ‘Yes, that idea is in my mind. How about one o’clock in the grillroom of the Embassy?’
‘All right.’ Melanie was agreeable. The Embassy was quite a new hotel, its tables screened by partitions of trellises overhung with climbing plants; the ideal place for a private conversation.
‘Good.’ Michael sounded pleased, and Melanie paused to wonder whether his reasons for contacting her today had anything to do with Sean Bothwell’s arrival. She was curious to know, but she did not want to bring that up over the phone. So she said:
‘Did you get the tickets for the Dorlini concert?’
Michael was enthusiastic. ‘Yes, I did. For Thursday evening. Is that all right with you?’
Melanie frowned. ‘Thursday? Yes, I think so. When are we dining with the Allisons?’
‘Friday.’
‘That’s okay, then. I must go, darling. I’m right in the middle of something.’
‘Okay. See you at one!’
‘Yes. ’Bye!’
Melanie rang off and then sat staring at the telephone for several concentrated minutes before Desmond’s voice distracted her. Even then, she found her thoughts wandering for the rest of the morning and she was relieved when lunchtime came around. She was occupied with the problem of how she would confront Michael with his dealings behind her back. After all, she had always been told that the best method of defence was attack, and she intended to have her say before he began bringing up the fact of her evening dinner with Sean Bothwell.
She entered the Embassy a few minutes after one and a white-coated attendant escorted her to Michael’s table. Owing to the partitions she could not see whether he had already arrived until they were almost there and then she caught her breath in a choking gulp. Michael was already there, but seated with him was Sean Bothwell!
Michael rose eagerly at her arrival, dismissing the waiter casually and urging Melanie to sit down. Melanie was flabbergasted, all her preconceived ideas of how this conversation would go dispersed in one fell swoop. She looked blankly at the other occupant of the table, who had risen also at her arrival but who now was sinking back on to the banquette, and the colour surged hotly to her cheeks at the cynical derision in his light eyes.
‘Michael—’ she began, only to be silenced as he said:
‘Look, Melanie, I know this has come as a great surprise to you, and I know you’re going to feel initially that I’ve been working behind the scenes as it were, but actually Mr. Bothwell—whom you know, of course—is down here to complete the deal for Monkshood!’
Melanie’s lips parted, and she turned questioning eyes to her fiancé. ‘Y—yes?’ she said.
‘Yes.’ Michael sighed, chafing one of her hands between his two. ‘Darling, I know nothing definite has really been decided about the house, but I know you were wavering…’
‘Was I?’ Melanie tried desperately to gather her scattered wits. ‘Michael, I don’t really understand—’
Sean Bothwell intervened. Leaning towards her across the table, he pinioned her with his eyes. ‘What your fiancé is trying to explain to you, Miss Stewart, is that he wants you to sell Monkshood and he has contacted me through the solicitors asking me to make an offer for the place.’
His eyes challenged hers; they challenged her to say that she already knew, that they had met the previous evening and that all this had been settled then! But how could she when to do so would inevitably create a situation that was likely to get out of hand?
‘I—I—’ she shook her head helplessly, and Michael went on quickly:
‘Naturally, I didn’t expect Mr. Bothwell to come down here in person, but he’s here now, and we’ve got to get this settled one way or the other.’
Melanie was beginning to feel calmer. ‘Do you mean to tell me, Michael, that you’ve contacted McDougall and Price behind my back?’ she inquired, in a taut voice.
Michael looked slightly discomfited. ‘Yes. I was acting on your behalf, Melanie. I knew you would agree that it was the only course possible in the circumstances, and as we’re getting married so soon—’
‘But I wanted you to see the house!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘How can you just dismiss Monkshood without even seeing it?’
‘I don’t think Mr. Croxley sees any point in owning a property from which he will gain so little benefit.’ Sean Bothwell was lighting a cigar as he spoke. ‘I understand he would prefer you to sell Monkshood and buy a house nearer London.’
‘Monkshood is mine, Mr. Bothwell,’ Melanie said through clenched teeth. ‘And while I know perfectly well what Mr. Croxley would like, I believe the decision is mine!’
‘Melanie, please!’ Michael looked imploringly at her. ‘No one disputes your right of ownership. All we’re trying to do here is come to a definite decision regarding the property. As Mr. Bothwell says, I can see no point—’
‘You won’t even try to understand, will you?’ Melanie felt an immense feeling of frustration. That Michael should go behind her back was bad enough without having Bothwell’s sardonic attention to everything that was said between them. Why hadn’t Michael told her that he had arranged this meeting, forewarned her of what to expect, instead of placing her in an impossible position? Her eyes flickered to Sean Bothwell. Was it his fault? Had this meeting been his idea? Another way of humiliating her, perhaps?
The wine waiter brought sherry for Melanie and she sipped it gratefully. Then the first course was served and for a time conversation lapsed apart from occasional comments about the food. Michael kept glancing in her direction, however, and she knew he was very concerned about the outcome of these talks. She compressed her lips. She had wanted to please him, but by his very actions he had proved that he considered her participation an indifferent necessity.
Towards the end of the meal Bothwell said: ‘Tell me, Miss Stewart, if you do intend to keep Monkshood, when do you plan to come back there?’
Michael glanced at Melanie, and she pushed her unfinished plate of strawberry mousse aside. ‘Does it matter?’ she queried coolly.
Bothwell shrugged. ‘It helps to know how long I’m expected to caretake the place.’
‘You offered to do it,’ she reminded him sharply.
‘I know it. I’m not refusing the task. I’m merely endeavouring to ascertain your plans.’
‘You’re endeavouring to show my fiancé that Monkshood is a needless waste of money,’ Melanie flared.
Bothwell’s light eyes flickered. ‘Am I doing that?’
Melanie bent her head. What was he trying to do? Why did he persist in treating her like some irresponsible teenager? What had caused him to have such a low opinion of her?
Michael listened to this interchange carefully. ‘You mean you’re paying Mr. Bothwell for the upkeep of the house?’ he questioned.
Melanie sighed. ‘A little.’
‘What exactly does it entail?’
‘The lighting of fires—purchase of fuel—that sort of thing.’ Sean spoke quietly but distinctly.
Melanie stared at him. ‘There was a store of fuel outside the house.’
‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ observed her tormentor. ‘I bought half a ton of coke last week.’
Melanie seethed and Michael’s expression was grim. ‘Really, Melanie,’ he exclaimed, ‘have you any idea what a drain on your resources this house will become?’
Melanie clenched her fists. ‘It wouldn’t be considered a drain if the house was being put to some use.’
‘Such as what?’ Michael’s good humour was evaporating, and his conciliatory concern for Melanie’s attitude was vanishing beneath a tide of impatience. Money had always the upper hand in Michael’s affairs and it infuriated him that Melanie should be wasting her own allowance on a useless building that could never be anything more than a white elephant to them.
‘We could live there!’ snapped Melanie, throwing caution to the wind. She knew it was ridiculous; impossible to suggest that Michael might throw up his excellent partnership in London and move to a remote area of Scotland, but he had really caught her on the raw and she didn’t much care how irresponsible her arguments might be. Anything to wipe the smug expressions off both their faces.
‘Move to Scotland!’ Michael was saying with exaggerated sarcasm. ‘Oh, you’re being unreasonable, Melanie! I don’t know what’s the matter with you! You simply won’t see sense!’
Melanie stared at him for a moment longer, and then with a baleful glance in Sean’s direction she got to her feet and marched out of the restaurant. She heard Michael call her name, but she ignored him and stepped into the frosty air breathing deeply.
She heard the restaurant doors open and steps behind her, and as there were no taxis in the vicinity, she began to walk briskly down the street. But the footsteps quickened and a moment later Michael fell into step beside her.
He caught her arm, but she shook off his hand, and he heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Melanie darling! This is silly. Look, I know I shouldn’t have written to Bothwell without your knowledge, but how the hell was I to know he would come to London? It put me in a dastardly position, and when he suggested we all lunched together, what could I say?’
Melanie halted. ‘He suggested we lunched together?’
‘Of course. You don’t imagine I’d have sprung it on you like that, do you?’
Melanie hesitated. No, of course. That would not be Michael’s way. He was adept at choosing the most suitable moment, and when that moment came along he would have disarmed her in such a way that when the topic was introduced she was already half way to agreeing with him. It was typically Bothwell to confront her with the fait accompli in the hope of achieving an unexpected advantage.
Even so, Michael’s actions spoke for themselves, and she could not altogether forgive him for that. Turning aside, she said:
‘You should have consulted me before writing to the solicitors. I had the right to know. Just because we’re engaged, that doesn’t mean…’ She sighed. ‘Well, anyway, that doesn’t change the situation now. What do you expect me to do?’
‘Darling, I don’t expect you to do anything. I thought—I mean, after our conversation when you got back from Scotland—I assumed you actually wanted to sell Monkshood. My actions were simply to save you the trouble of all the legal work involved. I intended to explain everything to you once I had Bothwell’s offer in writing and a copy of the deeds to hand. Surely you can understand that.’
Melanie sighed. ‘But just now, in the restaurant—’
‘Forget what I said in the restaurant!’ he advised her, gently. ‘After all, what could I say? I could hardly take your part in front of a man who is so involved himself, could I? I mean—situations alter cases, you know they do. As for moving to Scotland—well, that’s out of the question and you know it.’
Melanie bent her head, twisting the strap of her handbag round her fingers. ‘But I don’t want to sell Monkshood,’ she persisted. ‘I—I spoke to Desmond about it—’
‘Oh, Desmond!’ Michael’s tone was disparaging.
‘Yes, Desmond!’ Melanie’s eyes challenged his as she looked up. ‘He’s been a good friend to me and he said there was no earthly need why I should decide right away.’
‘And what if Bothwell changes his mind about buying in the process?’ Michael was endeavouring to remain undisturbed.
‘What does it matter? There are other people willing to buy the place.’
‘Not for twenty thousand pounds, there aren’t!’ Michael retorted ungrammatically.
‘Twenty thousand pounds!’
Melanie echoed the words disbelievingly. ‘You mean Bothwell—’
‘Exactly.’ Michael was triumphant.
Melanie’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. ‘But where would he get that kind of money?’
Now Michael looked perturbed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, just what I say. Sean Bothwell isn’t a rich man. He owns the hotel at Cairnside, I know, but that’s not a particularly paying proposition, I shouldn’t have thought. And his brother and sister share the administration with him. How could he possibly afford twenty thousand pounds?’ Then a thought suddenly struck her and she looked at Michael with distrustful eyes. ‘Who suggested that sum anyway? I mean—Monkshood simply isn’t worth that amount of money.’
Michael ran a finger round the inside of his collar. ‘That’s not for you to say, Melanie,’ he adjured her brusquely. ‘When one is selling a property, one doesn’t question the merits of whether or not the property is worth what one is asking, particularly if one’s client is agreeable—’
Melanie compressed her lips. ‘I—well, that’s not entirely true,’ she murmured unhappily, remembering the way Sean Bothwell had told her that he was determined to get Monkshood at any cost. In the circumstances, she should be grateful to Michael for getting her such a considerable sum, but all she could think of was that Michael had a vested interest and his dealings were as much for himself as for her. ‘You must remember that this is not a simple matter—’
‘So far as you’re concerned, it is,’ replied Michael, a trifle curtly, as though he found Melanie’s uncertainty frustrating.
Melanie shook her head. ‘I don’t want to sell the house, Michael,’ she persisted.
Michael sighed. ‘But why? Why? We can’t live there! It’s a drain on your income! What possible use is it to us?’
Melanie glanced round unhappily. ‘I’ll tell you, Michael. If I don’t keep Monkshood for myself, I shall probably give it away.’
‘Give it away!’ Michael was flabbergasted now.
‘Yes.’ Melanie had been thinking carefully. ‘Look, I don’t like Bothwell, and I know he doesn’t like me, but that doesn’t alter the fact that he is my uncle’s son and therefore entitled to the place—’
‘I never heard such arrant nonsense!’ Michael was furious now. ‘Melanie, you must be out of your mind! You can’t give such a valuable property away!’
‘It is mine, Michael,’ she reminded him quietly.
‘We’ll be married in eight or nine weeks! Surely I have the right to give you the benefit of my advice!’
‘You know you have, Michael. But in this instance, I’ve got to make up my own mind.’
‘Not caring whom you hurt in the process, is that it?’
‘Of course not.’ Melanie bit her lip. ‘Michael, you say I’m unreasonable, and yet you refuse to come up to Scotland with me and see it for yourself. Surely that’s unreasonable?’
‘What possible good would it serve?’ Michael thrust his hands into his pockets. Flakes of snow were beginning to fall again and it was bitterly cold standing there in the street. ‘Look, come, back to the restaurant—’
‘No!’ Melanie was adamant. She would not go back there to confront Sean Bothwell yet again.
‘Well, I’ll have to go back.’ Michael made an expressive gesture. ‘What must I tell Bothwell?’
Melanie shrugged. ‘That’s for you to decide. You’ll have to tell him I’m not selling Monkshood after all. As to whether I decide to give him the house…’ She sighed. ‘It’s too soon to tell. I must go back there and see the place again for myself.’
Michael turned away. He was obviously finding it difficult to control his temper and Melanie knew he thought she was making a fool of him. But what had he done to her, acting behind her back, trying to create an atmosphere where it would be impossible for her to back down? She guessed he had decided to leave the matter for now. He could return to it at some later date when circumstances might be more tipped in his direction.
‘All right,’ he said now. ‘I’ll tell him you’re not interested. He’ll most likely think you’re crazy! Not to mention charging me for his expenses into the bargain.’
Melanie drew on her gloves. ‘I must go. It’s getting late.’
‘Will I see you this evening?’
‘If you like.’ Melanie was indifferent.
‘I’ll come round after dinner. I guess you aren’t interested in dining out.’
‘Not tonight.’ Melanie managed a faint smile. ‘G’bye.’
Michael hesitated and then leant forward to touch her lips with his. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll work something out.’
Melanie nodded and hurried away. The cold was invading her system and she felt chilled to her stomach. Nothing was the same any more; not her work, nor Michael, nor her life. In the space of a few short weeks her sense of values had changed to such an extent that she no longer thought in terms of what was financially suitable and what was not. Before Christmas, before she had visited Monkshood, the idea of being offered the choice between a derelict mansion in Scotland and ten thousand pounds would have amused her enormously, and certainly she would have had no qualms about choosing the money. But now the money mattered less than her own peace of mind, and while she had told Michael that she was thinking of giving Monkshood away almost on the spur of the moment the idea had entered her mind and taken root. It would certainly solve a lot of problems, but maybe create some more. At least it would absolve her from a feeling of guilt, and show Bothwell that she was not as black as he had painted her. But why should she care what Bothwell thought of her? Why should it matter? He was nothing to her, and he had treated her abominably.
