Bitter Enchantment Read online

  Bitter Enchantment

  By

  Yvonne Whittal

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  BITTER ENCHANTMENT

  There was no way Melanie could get out of marrying Jason Kerr—not, at least, without bitterly hurting her beloved grandmother. And once they were married she had to admit that she didn't hate her new husband as much as she had imagined she did—the reverse, in fact. But it seemed she had given her love to a man who had no need of it…

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  MAGIC OF THE BAOBAB

  Olivia had hoped that life in a small Transvaal town would be quieter and more friendly after the bustle and loneliness of her life in Johannesburg. And so it was—until she found herself more involved than she wanted to be with the overwhelming Bernard King!

  BELOVED BENEFACTOR

  Although she had never met him, Toni had always relied heavily on the unknown man who had been so kind to her ever since she was a ten-year-old orphan. But now she had met Tarquin Radloff, a man she knew she could love—even if he persisted in treating her as a child. Would this new friendship mean the end of her beloved benefactor?

  SCARS OF YESTERDAY

  The mysterious Simon Savage hadn't really wanted Helen as governess to his difficult small daughter, but he hadn't had much alternative. Helen was determined to make a success of her job, but she soon realised that her biggest problem was not going to be her young pupil, but the child's disconcerting father…

  First published 1979

  Philippine copyright 1979

  This edition 1979

  © Yvonne Whittal 1979

  ISBN 0 263 73049 2

  CHAPTER ONE

  Melanie Ryan sat curled up on the window seat, the tray of tea untouched and forgotten on the low table beside her as she stared dismally through the rain-spattered window at the water gushing from the gutter to wind its way across the lawn towards the lower part of the garden where the cannas flowered for the last time before the winter. It had rained incessantly for the past two days, and had continued to do so throughout her father's funeral that morning.

  Between Sister Wilson and herself, they had supported Granny Bridget at the graveside, sheltering her from the rain with their umbrellas, but the strain of it all had been too much for the frail old lady, and Dr Forbes had had to be called in when they arrived back at Greystone Manor an hour later.

  Melanie sighed wearily, pushing her fingers through the long strands of silky, corn-coloured hair that waved naturally about her delicate features and curled softly on to her shoulders. She had slept badly the previous night; in fact, she had slept badly since it had become known two weeks ago that her father's business had collapsed. Her father's death two days ago had been totally unexpected, but understandable considering his attachment to the family business.

  These events, following so close to one another, had been a blow to both Melanie and her grandmother, but, to Granny Bridget, the sudden death of the son she had always idolised had been the last straw, and she now lay in her room upstairs in a state of induced sleep to ward off the effects of shock. The future looked bleak, Melanie decided, but after a lengthy discussion with the lawyer, it was almost a miracle to discover that they still had Greystone Manor. She had her job at the textile manufacturers, and between Granny Bridget and herself they would manage to retain Greystone Manor, the home they both loved so dearly.

  Greystone Manor was a rambling old house which stood on several acres of ground against a slight rise on the outskirts of Johannesburg. The grounds sloped down towards the gates, and the indigenous shrubs and trees provided the privacy they had always insisted upon in the past. Melanie loved every centimetre of it with a fierceness and pride that matched her grandmother's, and nothing, nothing would ever make her part with it.

  A knock at the door brought her out of her reverie and Flora, her white apron starched and spotless, announced a Mr Jason Kerr. Melanie stared up into the sympathetic, dark-skinned face of their faithful servant, and frowned. Jason Kerr. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but that was all and, nodding briefly, she indicated that he should be shown in.

  Rising to her feet and straightening the pleated skirt of her deep blue woollen dress, she was unaware of how well the colour matched her large, heavily lashed eyes; eyes that mirrored instant recognition when her visitor stepped into the living-room and closed the door firmly behind him. She had glimpsed him briefly at the funeral that morning, and had been left with the puzzling impression that he had looked right through her with such intensity that, for a few seconds, she had felt strangely breathless. Now, face to face with him in the large living-room with its old teak furniture, she had the oddest sensation that the air was being drained systematically from her lungs.

  Tall, with broad, powerful shoulders, Jason Kerr advanced towards her with purposeful strides until he seemed to tower over her in the most imposing and frightening manner. His hair was dark, almost black, and his hawk-like features could very easily have been chiselled out of granite, she decided, but it was the piercing quality of his steel-grey eyes, however, that unnerved her the most. They swept down the length of her slender figure in a dissectory manner, stripping her of her confidence, and making her feel like an ill-at-ease teenager instead of the self-assured twenty-three-year-old woman she was.

  'I think there must be some mistake,' he said at last, his voice unusually deep and clipped with impatience. 'I asked to see Mrs Bridget Ryan.'

  'My grandmother has been heavily sedated, and she won't be seeing anyone for quite some time, Mr Kerr,' she informed him, pulling herself together with an effort. 'Could I perhaps help you in any way?'

  His cold glance swept over her disdainfully, and the hard mouth twisted derisively. 'How much do you know of your father's affairs?'

  'Enough, I think, to answer any questions you would like to put to me,' Melanie answered him guardedly, her usually soft and warm voice now cool and abrupt as she felt the unaccustomed anger rising within her at Jason Kerr's attitude. Taking a firm grip on herself, she gestured towards the chair behind him. 'Won't you sit down?'

  To her relief he obliged, but he refused her offer of something to drink with an impatient wave of a strong, well-shaped hand, and giving her a glimpse of a gold wristwatch beneath the cuff of his immaculate dark grey suit. Here was a man who knew what he wanted, and would leave no stone unturned until he had succeeded in getting the object of his desire, she realised suddenly, and the thought sent an inexplicable tremor along her nerves.

  'Did you know that your late father had gambled heavily on the stock market before his death?' his deep voice interrupted her speculating thoughts sharply.

  'Yes,' she nodded briefly, clasping her hands in her lap in an effort to steady them. 'He'd been gambling and losing heavily for the past year, I believe, but I fail to see what concern that is of yours, Mr Kerr.'

  'I knew your father reasonably well, Miss Ryan. We met occasionally at business luncheons, and so forth,' he replied, ignoring her remark for the present. 'I knew of your father's losses on the stock market, and I knew, too, that he intended ceasing his acti
vities in that field in order to set his business on its feet once more. That's why, when he approached me in a private capacity and asked for a personal loan, I gave it to him.'

  For no reason she could explain, Melanie felt herself go cold. 'You—You mean my father borrowed money from you… personally?'

  'If the loan had come from my company, my liaison officer would have settled the matter with your father's lawyers, and I would not have suffered the inconvenience of being here today.'

  His statement was made harshly and baldly, and Melanie was left in no doubt that he had far better things to do than to find himself seated in their cold and dreary living-room on a rainy March afternoon. He was there unwillingly, and the reason for this she still had to discover as she voiced the question that hovered menacingly in the air between them.

  'How much did my father borrow from you?'

  'Thirty-five thousand rand,' his reply came without hesitation, and Melanie felt as though she had received a blow against the most vulnerable spot on her diaphragm.

  'Dear heaven…' she groaned, a frantic mental calculation making it agonisingly clear that, after selling the few pieces of jewellery she had inherited from her mother, she would most likely have to spend the rest of her life paying off her father's debt.

  'You don't possess that kind of money, do you, Miss Ryan,' his harsh voice cut across her thoughts, stating a fact rather than a query, and she clutched nervously at the arms of her chair as she met his cold, calculating glance.

  'My father's personal insurances will barely cover his business debts, and I'm afraid that what you see here,' she gestured expressively as if embracing the entire house,'… is the sum total of what my grandmother and I own.'

  The ticking of the ornately carved clock above the mantelshelf seemed to grow louder during the ensuing silence. Jason Kerr sat perfectly still in his chair, watching her through narrowed eyes, but Melanie sensed the pent-up energy in that large, muscular body, as if every muscle was geared for action; waiting, like a predatory animal, for its prey to make the first move. A shudder shook - through her slight frame, making her clutch wildly at the arms of her chair once more and, as if accepting this as a signal, Jason Kerr moved as well, removing a large envelope from the inner pocket of his superbly tailored jacket and extending it towards her.

  'Perhaps you should take a look at this.'

  Melanie supposed afterwards that she should have had some premonition as to the contents of that important-looking envelope, but she had suspected nothing, and the information had shattered her world into fragments about her. Her father had offered Greystone Manor as security for the sizeable loan he was accepting from Jason Kerr. All the necessary papers were there, duly signed and witnessed to the effect that, if something should happen to Hubert Ryan before the loan was repaid, Greystone Manor was to be sold and, from the proceeds of this sale, the said amount should be paid over to Jason Kerr, and the remainder to Bridget Ryan and Melanie, which would enable them to purchase a smaller, more comfortable home.

  White to the lips, with the delicate network of veins clearly visible at her temples, she extended the envelope with its unacceptable contents towards the man seated opposite her, but her hand shook so much that it almost fell from her fingers before he took possession of it and returned it to his jacket pocket.

  'Mr Kerr…' she began with difficulty, swallowing at the constriction in her throat. 'Is that what you intend to do? Sell our home in order to collect the money owing to you?'

  'Can you suggest another alternative?' he demanded, raising a censorious eyebrow.

  His self-assured manner triggered off her anger. How dared he sit there looking so cool and disinterested while Granny Bridget and herself were faced with losing the home they loved and cherished?

  'My father had no right to offer Greystone Manor as security, and you had no right to accept it!' she cried angrily, jumping to her feet and pacing the floor with her arms wrapped about herself as if they offered her some protection.

  'In business deals, Miss Ryan, there's no limit to what one can offer or accept as security,' Jason Kerr told her impatiently, rising to his feet and placing her at an immediate disadvantage once more, for she had to crane her neck uncomfortably to meet his cold, penetrating glance. 'Any lawyer will tell you that I have every right to take possession of this house in order to collect the amount owing to me.'

  'But it's our home!'

  'And it's my money which was used in order to settle some of your father's accounts,' he bit out the words, and Melanie flinched visibly. 'Perhaps it would be better if I called some other time and spoke to your grandmother,' he continued abruptly, and strode towards the door.

  'No!' She was beside him in an instant, her eyes large and frightened in her pale face. 'The knowledge that the home she loves is in jeopardy would kill my grandmother. Please, Mr Kerr…give me time to think this out. I might… just manage to get the money elsewhere.'

  His eyes narrowed perceptibly, and Melanie thought for a moment he would refuse, but he nodded briefly, accepting her request. 'I'll give you a week, then I'll call on you again.'

  'I… could you suggest a meeting place elsewhere?' she suggested haltingly, her desire to keep this matter from her grandmother stronger than her embarrassment at having to arrange a rendezvous elsewhere with this uncompromising stranger. 'My grandmother… I don't…'

  'My office,' he intervened abruptly with a faint glimmer of understanding as he thrust his card into her hands. 'Next Friday at two-thirty.'

  Long after Jason Kerr had gone, Melanie could still feel his forceful presence in the living-room, and the card which he had thrust so unceremoniously into her hand told her why his name had sounded so familiar to her at first. It she had not been so tired and distraught with grief, she might have recalled that there had been enough in the newspapers over the past three years about Jason Kerr to excite the dullest imagination. Wealthy managing director of the Cyma Engineering company, and In his late thirties, he was considered by some as a connoisseur of women, and by others as a man with a razor-sharp brain who never failed to seize an opportunity when he saw one. Influential, and often ruthless, he was a man who commanded respect and, occasionally, fear.

  Fear! That was what Melanie experienced at that moment. Fear of what it would do to Granny Bridget's fast crumbling world to discover that Jason Kerr had it in his power to take from her the only remaining thing she loved… Greystone Manor!

  Sister Wilson, slender for her forty years, rose from the chair beside the old-fashioned bed with its heavy drapes as Melanie quietly entered the darkened room.

  'How is she?' Melanie asked softly.

  'Sleeping peacefully, as you can see,' Sister Wilson replied calmly. 'It's the best thing for her at the moment.'

  Melanie nodded silently and approached the bed to take possession of the thin, fragile hand that lay supine above the covers. Her fingers absently traced the dark blue veins running from knuckles to wrist before she pressed her grandmother's hand against her cold cheek, her anxious eyes searching the thin, wrinkled face against the pillow and finding it relaxed in the blessed relief of oblivion.

  If only she could find a similar relief, Melanie thought with a twinge of envy. Relief from her own grief, and this new threat that hung over their heads. Since the news of her father's death she had been unable to shed a tear, and they had remained locked in her breast, weighing her down with a leadenness that left her listless and tired.

  'You could do with some rest as well,' Sister Wilson remarked, almost as if she sensed the exhaustion coursing through Melanie's limbs.

  'I'll be all right,' Melanie assured her, replacing the hand she held on to the covers and lingering for a moment longer beside her grandmother's bed. 'There's so much still to do,' she added, thinking of all the papers in her father's study which still had to be waded through.

  'And plenty of time to do it in,' Sister Wilson insisted gently, but Melanie shook her head firmly.

  'I must g
et my father's affairs sorted out as soon as possible.'

  'That's an arduous task which has been placed upon your small shoulders, if you'll forgive me saying so,' the older woman replied frowningly.

  'I'll manage,' Melanie answered her with a tired smile as she left the room as silently as she had entered it. 'I'll manage,' she repeated to herself a little more grimly as she went down the stairs and entered her father's study. 'I'll manage, if it's the last thing I do!'

  There was no time to lose, she decided as she emptied the first drawer on to the desk. She had a week; a week in which to find thirty-five thousand rand and, somewhere among all these papers, she hoped to find something with which she could accomplish the seemingly impossible.

  Melanie worked steadily throughout the afternoon' until dinner time that evening, sifting methodically through endless bits of paper and files of correspondence. So far she had come up with nothing of importance, but there were still several drawers and cupboards to go through before she would admit defeat.

  She sat down to a solitary meal in the dining-room, but her plate was eventually returned, practically untouched, to the kitchen, with Flora muttering something in Zulu to the effect that Melanie would soon be nothing more than a shadow if someone did not do something about it.

  Helping herself to another cup of coffee, Melanie returned to the study and sat staring broodingly at the sheaf of papers before her while she sipped her coffee. What was she going to do if she found nothing among her father's papers with which she could prevent Jason Kerr from selling Greystone Manor? Would he carry out the agreement signed by her father without the slightest compunction?