Juliet cap, and a slim tailored coat which was practical as well as sufficiently attractive.
Her guardian, when he called for them in a taxi, allowed his dark eyebrows to slide upwards quite noticeably in surprise when he looked at her, and then glanced approvingly at Melanie.
“ You ’ ve done very well! ” he observed. “ But it ’ s obvious you have what i s known as a ‘ dress sense ’ . ”
And Melanie, who was wearing the same leaf-green suit she had worn when she visited him at his flat, with a soft grey squirrel stole—re-modelled from one of her mother ’ s—draping her slim shoulders, and her dark hair uncovered, took it that he also approved of her own appearance.
But apart from this leaven of appreciation at the outset of the afternoon it soon became clear to her that this was not one of his best days, in the sense that he was in any party mood himself. At the cinema, where they sat for over two hours in the dark and simply stared at the screen, it was unnecessary for him to make any effort—and whenever she glanced at him sideways Melanie thought that his features were set in an expression of faint boredom, despite the unique performance of Sylvia Gaythorpe—but afterwards, in the brightly-lighted lounge of one of London ’ s leading hotels, his obligations as host came to the fore a little.
He told Noel that her birthday present—which he refused to name—would reach her when she reached the Wold House, and his niece ’ s eyes sparkled in anticipation. She was obviously enjoying herself, surrounded by so much unaccustomed luxury, with so many ultra-smart men and women taking tea on all sides of her. Some of them—especially the women—glanced across at their little party of three, and Melanie found herself deciding—without in the least intending to do so—that Richard Trenchard had a greater air of distinction than any of the other men present.
She noticed how the women ’ s glances dwelt on him with obvious interest, despite the fact that he looked detached and faintly arrogant, and there was a rather petulant gleam in his eyes behind their almost feminine eyelashes. His well-cut mouth had a kind of cold boredom hovering round it—which was not particularly flattering to either herself or Noel—and he refrained from taking note of any of the people who studied him, as if under no possible circumstances could they have had the slightest degree of interest for him.
But Melanie knew that the women were discussing him amongst themselves, and with their men friends, and it was simple for her to follow the drift of their conversations:
“ ... Richard Trenchard, you know ... the playwright. You must have seen his Summer Symphony and After Daylight ... an enormous success ... ”
And she knew also that they were regarding her a little curiously, because she looked so young and inexperienced, and Noel they might almost have decided was his daughter! Which, after all, she very easily could have been! ...
And then the swing doors opened to admit Sylvia Gaythorpe, with a tall, weedy-looking young man who nevertheless managed to convey an impression of affluence, at least, in attendance. Sylvia instantly caught sight of Richard and came over to him, both slim gloved hands held out in delighted surprise.
“ Richard ! What in the world are you doing here at this hour of the afternoon? You, who loathe afternoon-tea! Oh, I forgot!—It ’ s a birthday, isn ’ t it? ”
She glanced with a formal, red-lipped smile at Noel, who was instantly covered in shyness, and then with a less perceptible smile at Melanie, who thought that she was even more striking and glamorous off the screen than on. Her flaming hair was arranged skilfully on the top of her shapely head, and she wore a black suit with a pencil slim line and a froth of white organdie frilling in the opening of the revers which threw into prominence the flawlessness of her complexion. A diamond brooch in the shape of a spray of orchids
Her guardian, when he called for them in a taxi, allowed his dark eyebrows to slide upwards quite noticeably in surprise when he looked at her, and then glanced approvingly at Melanie.
“ You ’ ve done very well! ” he observed. “ But it ’ s obvious you have what i s known as a ‘ dress sense ’ . ”
And Melanie, who was wearing the same leaf-green suit she had worn when she visited him at his flat, with a soft grey squirrel stole—re-modelled from one of her mother ’ s—draping her slim shoulders, and her dark hair uncovered, took it that he also approved of her own appearance.
But apart from this leaven of appreciation at the outset of the afternoon it soon became clear to her that this was not one of his best days, in the sense that he was in any party mood himself. At the cinema, where they sat for over two hours in the dark and simply stared at the screen, it was unnecessary for him to make any effort—and whenever she glanced at him sideways Melanie thought that his features were set in an expression of faint boredom, despite the unique performance of Sylvia Gaythorpe—but afterwards, in the brightly-lighted lounge of one of London ’ s leading hotels, his obligations as host came to the fore a little.
He told Noel that her birthday present—which he refused to name—would reach her when she reached the Wold House, and his niece ’ s eyes sparkled in anticipation. She was obviously enjoying herself, surrounded by so much unaccustomed luxury, with so many ultra-smart men and women taking tea on all sides of her. Some of them—especially the women—glanced across at their little party of three, and Melanie found herself deciding—without in the least intending to do so—that Richard Trenchard had a greater air of distinction than any of the other men present.
She noticed how the women ’ s glances dwelt on him with obvious interest, despite the fact that he looked detached and faintly arrogant, and there was a rather petulant gleam in his eyes behind their almost feminine eyelashes. His well-cut mouth had a kind of cold boredom hovering round it—which was not particularly flattering to either herself or Noel—and he refrained from taking note of any of the people who studied him, as if under no possible circumstances could they have had the slightest degree of interest for him.
But Melanie knew that the women were discussing him amongst themselves, and with their men friends, and it was simple for her to follow the drift of their conversations:
“ ... Richard Trenchard, you know ... the playwright. You must have seen his Summer Symphony and After Daylight ... an enormous success ... ”
And she knew also that they were regarding her a little curiously, because she looked so young and inexperienced, and Noel they might almost have decided was his daughter! Which, after all, she very easily could have been! ...
And then the swing doors opened to admit Sylvia Gaythorpe, with a tall, weedy-looking young man who nevertheless managed to convey an impression of affluence, at least, in attendance. Sylvia instantly caught sight of Richard and came over to him, both slim gloved hands held out in delighted surprise.
“ Richard ! What in the world are you doing here at this hour of the afternoon? You, who loathe afternoon-tea! Oh, I forgot!—It ’ s a birthday, isn ’ t it? ”
She glanced with a formal, red-lipped smile at Noel, who was instantly covered in shyness, and then with a less perceptible smile at Melanie, who thought that she was even more striking and glamorous off the screen than on. Her flaming hair was arranged skilfully on the top of her shapely head, and she wore a black suit with a pencil slim line and a froth of white organdie frilling in the opening of the revers which threw into prominence the flawlessness of her complexion. A diamond brooch in the shape of a spray of orchids
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