The Lonely Heart Read online

  The Lonely Heart

  by Jacquelyn Webb

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE LONELY HEART

  Copyright © 2012 JACQUELYN WEBB

  ISBN 978-1-62135-012-5

  Cover Art Designed by Paragraphic Designs

  Edited by Bridget Lashbrooks

  One

  The sports car surged forward with a frightening burst of speed.

  Melissa clutched at her blonde wig. “You’re making a dreadful mistake!”

  The driver gave a mirthless grin. “I don’t think so, my pet. This is one family gathering you are going to attend, if I have to drag you in by your hair.”

  Melissa tried again. “You can’t have seen Sonia for a while if you think I look like her. I have brown hair under this wig.”

  She was slanted a disbelieving glance from cynical green eyes.

  “And two years ago in South America, dear cousin, you dyed it black and assured me your name was Senora Velosce.” He swerved around a heavy lorry. “And what about that scrape Grandmother sent me over to Spain to extricate you from? You were wearing it bright red then.”

  Melissa cringed as the car spun expertly around the narrow corner.

  “Do you usually drive this way?”

  “A lot more safely than you ever do!”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Cornwell, of course, and don’t bother to chatter. We’re late enough as it is.”

  Melissa subsided. She was dazed by the speed with which this arrogant young man had literally abducted her. The entire stupid mistake wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t borrowed Sonia’s red velvet slack suit and tried on the blonde curly wig.

  The weekend had started off in a normal enough manner. Home from work Friday evening, she had opened the door to their flat, to the shambles that was Sonia back again.

  “Hi, Sweetie, reporting home.”

  The blonde head bobbed around the corner of the bathroom, shower-cap at the rakish angle. Melissa laughed, and the dimple at the corner of her mouth sprang into sudden prominence, bringing an elfish charm to her serious face.

  Sonia kept Melissa laughing right through dinner with her continuous gossip about the people she had met, and the places she had been. Melissa was still chuckling when Sonia’s phone blared. Sonia shrugged. Melissa picked it up and opened it.

  “Sonia’s phone,” she said through her mirth. A voice crackled. “Try another one.” Melissa raised her eyebrows and passed the phone over to Sonia.

  Sonia listened and chuckled her appreciation. “Peter, darling.” She rolled her eyes at Melissa. “I’m busy, darling. Tell them to do without me.” She laughed again at the deep voice, the irate tones carrying in the still room and turned the phone off.

  “My cousin, Peter Darcy,” she explained. “Actually expected me to waste my free weekend at a family gathering.” She lit another cigarette. “Our voices must be similar. Peter thought it was me when you answered my phone.”

  “No resemblance,” Melissa assured her as she started to stack the dishes.

  Sonia stared at her through the lazily drifting cigarette smoke. “If you weren’t so dowdy and repressed…”

  Melissa paused, holding the plates, caught as usual between amusement and exasperation. Melissa, a quiet unassuming girl with a passion for tidiness and a boring job, fitted in very well with the attractive, untidy, irrepressible Sonia, airhostess.

  “Sonia!” she protested.

  Sonia’s eyes had a thoughtful gleam. She stood up and whirled Melissa around to the mirror.

  “We’re the same height and build and without that sober expression and those dreary clothes, we are very alike.”

  Melissa shrugged her disbelief. It was a waste of energy to oppose or argue with Sonia. They were the same height, but there the resemblance ended.

  Sonia’s graceful movements and posture were accentuated by an arrogant self-confidence. Melissa was understated and unobtrusive, moved quietly and was self-effacing to the point of invisibility. Sonia’s black-lashed blue eyes sparkled with amusement and zest for living and her short blonde hair curled around her head. Melissa’s eyes were grey and thoughtful and her hair a soft and shining brown. Sonia was vitally attractive, bubbling over with personality.

  Sonia whisked the pile of dishes from Melissa, to drop them with a clatter back on the table. She scooped the short blonde wig from where it was gathering dust on the tea canister and pulled it over Melissa’s head.

  “Now smile,” she ordered.

  “A very slight resemblance,” Melissa conceded.

  “A very strong resemblance,” Sonia contradicted. Her eyes had a thoughtful gleam to them as she inspected Melissa. “Be handy to have a double.”

  “Especially when there are dishes to be done,” Melissa teased.

  “Going home for the weekend?” Sonia asked, ignoring the dig about the dishes.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Cut a dash, and borrow something of mine, something nice and cheerful and bright. Your family must get sick of you wearing your Jenny Wren clothes every weekend. You know what they say? Clothes make the woman.”

  “I suppose I could do with brightening up,” Melissa admitted.

  “So could your family,” Sonia encouraged. ‘Try the red velvet slack suit, and for goodness sake try some of my new eye make-up. Your eyelashes won’t drop off if you use mascara.”

  The white sports car sped on and on, slowing down as it went through the bigger towns, and speeding past the small hamlets. Melissa fumed at the headlong speed of the car. Here she was, being driven further and further away from her destination, by an irrational young man who refused to believe her. Trust Sonia to get her into a mess like this!

  Sonia had already left with her friends for the weekend, after ensuring that Melissa made lavish use of her eye make-up and her clothes. It was nearing Saturday lunchtime, and Melissa was ready to leave, case packed and waiting by the door.

  She had stood for a few last seconds in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection. The red velvet slack suit gave her face the extra color it needed, and with the touch of blue eye shadow and the black of the mascara there was a definite resemblance to Sonia. She had only tucked up her long hair and pulled the blonde wig on out of curiosity. Sonia was right! The resemblance was uncanny!

  She was still in front of the mirror, fluffing up the curls of the wig, and smiling in amusement at the reflection of Sonia, when the young man walked in and scooped up her case.

  “I think there’s some mistake,” she began, walking over to the door to rescue her case.

  The stranger had a lock of brown hair falling over the raised eyebrow, an unpleasant glitter in his green eyes and a jutting resolute jaw.

  “Very fetching and on time for a change,” he remarked, as he pulled the front door shut behind her.

  He caught her arm in a vice-like grip, and bundled her down to the white low-slung sports car. Melissa struggled to a stop, caught between indignation and amusement.

  “You must be Peter Darcy. Sonia left a message she would be away for the weekend. I’m her flat mate, Melissa Morris.”

  His brows came together in an exaggerated frown. “Get
in that car, Sonia, or I will throw you in bodily.”

  He threw her case into the back of the car, picked her up and carried her down the remaining steps to drop her into the front seat.

  In the few seconds it took her to recover from her bewilderment he was already in the driving-seat. The car surged forward into the busy Saturday morning traffic, leaving her no chance to jump straight out again.

  She huddled back into the seat and studied Sonia’s cousin, Peter Darcy. He had a strong, clear-cut profile, and a hard firm mouth. He didn’t look irrational or unstable. Suddenly he glanced at her and caught her studying him.

  One eyebrow went up, and the determined mouth relaxed in a humorous, mobile grin. It was Sonia’s grin, a bit wry, but wicked and infectious. Melissa felt herself responding, and her dimple hovered and then vanished.

  “That’s better,” he approved. “With that long face, I was almost having doubts myself that you were you.”

  “But I’m not,” Melissa protested.

  He chuckled, an unexpectedly carefree sound. “Keep trying.”

  Melissa was silenced.

  “There are some cigarettes in the glove box,” he remarked.

  Melissa found the packet of cigarettes, lit one and handed it to him.

  “Given up smoking?” he asked, as he reached for it.

  “I don’t smoke,” she explained.

  The car veered to the side of the motorway as he took his hands off the wheel. His hands flashed back to hold the wheel in a firm grasp.

  “You might at least have held the wheel for a second,” he complained.

  “I don’t drive,” Melissa burst out.

  If he expected her to be as capable as Sonia, they were both in trouble. He gave her a quick intent look, turned the car off the motorway and along a quiet lane, where he stopped.

  “Now let’s have a look at you,” he said as he tilted her chin up with one hand. “You look like Sonia, you talk like Sonia and you laugh like Sonia. Do you kiss like Sonia, I wonder?’

  His lips were warm and vital, and pressed down on hers. Melissa felt the hot redness stain her cheeks and went rigid. This cousin seemed on very close terms with Sonia.

  The kiss went on and on, dissolving the tension in her rigid body. A dreamy lassitude held her in a helpless thrall. She blinked, suddenly aware of the intense vividness of everything, as if she was suddenly vitally alive.

  She clenched her hands in an effort of will to stop them straying around the neck of the strange young man and pulling him tightly against her. Her pulse was hammering a startled question, and she realized that her breathing was uneven.

  With a sudden intake of breath her tormentor released her and looked at her. The easy amusement had gone from his eyes. He looked shaken and bewildered. “But you aren’t Sonia!”

  “I already told you that,” Melissa pointed out.

  She felt herself trembling. She was too confused and shaken to work out exactly why she was upset, but was unable to stop the ready tears from sliding down her cheeks.

  Peter produced a large white handkerchief, put a friendly arm around her, and wiped her face. “Do dry your tears,” he said, his voice soothing and amused.

  Melissa leaned against his arm. It was warm and comforting. She felt humiliated and embarrassed and had trouble meeting his eyes.

  “Now then, Miss Melissa Morris, if you would like to powder your nose, there is a very nice place a little further along from here where we can have some lunch.”

  “I don’t want to put you out,” she apologized. “If you drop me at the nearest station, I’ll find my own way back to London.”

  “Nonsense,” was the decided reply. “After kidnapping girls, I always buy them lunch.”

  He started the car, and swung it around towards the motorway. “Unless it was Sonia. I was going to let her starve until we got down to Pengleat House.” He glanced across at her. There was amusement and warmth in his green eyes. Melissa wondered how she could have ever thought them hard. “How come a nice girl like you got mixed up with that flighty female?”

  “She is the most wonderful, warm-hearted person I have ever met,” Melissa said in defense.

  “That’s our Sonia,” agreed Peter, not at all put out by her implied rebuke.

  His eyes were teasing now, and slowly Melissa started to explain how she had met Sonia. Her life, after its first bright promise of London and her new job, had become tragically dreary. The car accident that killed her brother, left her father in an unchanging coma, and transformed her mother into a pale and preoccupied wraith who lived only for the visiting hours of the hospital.

  Bob, the young man with whom she had an unspoken understanding, was intensely practical, and she irritated him with her fits of depression.

  “It’s a tragedy about your brother’s dying, but you still have your mother, and there is always hope that your father might regain consciousness. For Pete’s sake, Melissa, snap out of it.”

  She had got into the habit of going for long walks after work, especially after the weekends. The weekends fell into a set pattern. She arrived home Saturday afternoon, and she and her mother went to the hospital. There they sat and stared at the beloved face, so peaceful and so remote.

  “He looks much better, doesn’t he, dear?” her mother always whispered.

  “Yes, much better,” Melissa managed back every time.

  During the week at the office she worked and worked until exhaustion claimed her, and then went back to the boarding house to sit in her small dark room and brood.

  She was sitting on a park bench one evening when Sonia first appeared in her life.

  “It can’t be that bad?” she had coaxed, and somehow Melissa, a very reserved private person, was pouring out all her grief and unhappiness to the neatly uniformed stranger.

  Sonia bullied her into having some coffee and walked home with her.

  “You actually live in this creepy place?” Sonia was horrified at the boarding house. “It looks haunted.”

  Melissa tried to smile and the dimple crept up around her mouth. “It isn’t haunted, just dreary. On my wages I can’t afford a flat and it’s too far to come to work from home.”

  Sonia’s blue eyes danced. “Sweetie! I have suddenly realized that you are the answer to my little problem.”

  Sonia’s problem was her flat, a very large airy flat.

  “It is because I am always away. I need a flat-sitter to look after it. Some runs I am away four days and home five and other times it is one night out and one night home. If you aren’t nervous about being alone, I’m sure it couldn’t be as dreary as your boarding-house.”

  Melissa, who had inexplicably taken to the girl so opposite to her in temperament and character, agreed eagerly. Despite everybody’s gloomy predictions about the arrangement ending in disaster, they shared the flat very contentedly.

  “And she has been wonderful,” Melissa ended.

  “Sounds like Sonia,” Peter laughed.

  He slowed down at a Tudor-style inn. He was an amusing companion during lunch, and the mobile, humorous mouth often quirked up in the wry grin. Melissa relaxed, feeling very comfortable with what was Sonia’s grin across the table from her, and in return her own dimple came out more frequently.

  “Grandmother raised Sonia when her parents were killed.” His eyes narrowed in amusement. “She was a handful then. It took the entire family to control her.”

  Melissa was a sympathetic listener. She could see Sonia, the defiant child, growing into the impulsive, headstrong young woman who still kicked against authority.

  “So the last time she ran away from school, Grandmother washed her hands of her and let her go.” He looked at his watch, and said, suddenly formal. “Time to go.”

  He followed her back to the car, and held the door open for her. “It is amazing! You even walk like her.”

  Melissa remained silent. Sonia had spent patient hours correcting her walk.

  “Don’t cringe around like a mous
e, Sweetie. Hold your head up. No one is going to hire a mouse; straighten that back.”

  A large black car pulled in behind them. Peter froze and looked annoyed. A girl got out of the driving side of the car and smiled.

  “Why, Peter and Sonia! I thought I might see one of you on the road.”

  Peter gave Melissa an appealing look that made his face look oddly vulnerable so Melissa waited quietly. Was this another member of Sonia’s family?

  “We are still talking to Pamela, aren’t we?” he prompted.

  Melissa smiled in an uncertain way, relieved she had put her sunglasses back on.

  “Darling,” the girl rattled on. “You’ve cut your hair. It looks so much more elegant.”

  She had green eyes like Peter, shrewd watchful eyes, and her hair was a glossy black.

  “Sonia might have to go back to London. She is not sure whether she is on duty,” Peter volunteered as the silence lengthened.

  Pamela gave a soft laugh in which mockery and triumph were mixed. “Might be as well, Darling.”

  There was a grimness about Peter’s jaw as he nodded farewell to the black-haired girl, and then the white car had lurched forward with its usual headlong surge of power.

  “Something wrong?” asked Melissa.

  Peter looked at her. The heavy brow cleared and the tightly compressed mouth relaxed. “Only that you aren’t Sonia.”

  Suddenly he looked at her more intently. The blonde curls covered the high forehead and the large sunglasses masked the wistful grey eyes. The car turned down a side lane, and around another corner before stopping.

  “Melissa! You said you owed a lot to Sonia. Would you do something important for her?”

  “Of course,” Melissa agreed.

  “Pamela Davenport, Sonia and I are cousins.”

  Melissa waited. Peter seemed to have difficulty in picking out the right words.

  “We three inherit equal shares of the family business. The estate is entailed through me, but the business is controlled by the three families, the Darcys, the Davenports, and the Hamiltons, represented by Sonia.”

  “Sonia,” Melissa echoed.