didn’t mean to sound critical.’ Juliet touched Melanie’s hand for forgiveness. ‘We just seem to have come a long way from the time you were going to be the best singer in the world and I was going to be the personal assistant and mistress of a millionaire.’
Melanie giggled. ‘You always did have a warped idea of love and marriage.’
Warped? Was it really? She had never thought so. She had a brain, she wanted to use it, and if that meant she could never have the ideal marriage Melanie seemed to have then that was the way it was going to be. Shopping, seeing friends, and organising a household for her husband’s pleasure and comfort was not something she could settle for in her life. Writing was a fundamental part of her life now, and she couldn’t live without it.
But she knew Melanie was happy, knew that she and Michael were planning to start a family, but it just hadn’t worked out yet. But when it did Melanie was going to make a wonderful mother. She wasn’t so sure her own maternal instinct was as strong. There was something missing from her feminine make-up, the fundamental ingredient that made all her friends settle for being a wife and mother while she still clung fiercely to her independence, to her individuality. It seemed to her that marriage was a series of compromises, that you were never truly happy because you could never quite have what you wanted, only what you and your partner decided to have.
Most people would say her attitude was selfish, and maybe it was, but at the moment she hadn’t seen a way of life that had more to offer.
‘You’ll forget this idea of going on Jake’s show, won’t you?’ Melanie frowned worriedly. ‘I’m sure it could be arranged but like I told you yesterday, underneath the charm there beats a heart of pure steel. He would crucify you, probably Michael too.’
‘I’ll forget it,’ she agreed. ‘But you’ll admit it was a good idea?’ she said ruefully.
‘Fantastic,’ Melanie nodded. ‘Although maybe you won’t think so after tonight, hmm?’
Juliet smiled. ‘You’re a romantic,’ she scorned.
‘So are you,’ Melanie flushed. ‘Underneath all that hard-headed career-woman attitude.’
‘And if it isn’t just an attitude?’
‘It is,’ her friend said with certainty. ‘I remember you when you had dreams as silly as mine.’
‘The only difference being you made yours come true.’
‘Yours still could—–’
‘No,’ Juliet shook her head firmly. ‘My dreams didn’t fit in with reality. Goodness,’ she lightened her tone, ‘we’ve become very serious all of a sudden! Do you suppose we’re getting old, we seem to have said a lot of “I remembers” today?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Melanie scorned. ‘You’re only as old as you feel, and I feel—oh, at least—twenty-four,’ she grinned.
‘Come on,’ Juliet stood up, ‘I’ll drive you home.’
The idea of fooling Jake any more than she already had was mutually dropped. It had been a mad scheme that would probably have caused more trouble than it was worth. Besides, she had Mason’s Fortune to think of. Maybe the critical Mr Matthews would like the sequel to Mason’s Heritage. One could only hope.
The telephone was ringing when she let herself into her apartment and she hastily snatched up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ she said tersely, breathing heavily from her haste from the lift.
‘I haven’t interrupted your work, have I, dear?’ her mother’s voice came very clearly down the line.
Juliet had suspected that the caller was Jake Matthews, he was being very persistent, but she was relieved, if surprised, that it was her mother. ‘I wasn’t working, I’ve been out,’ she explained, once again sitting down in the chair next to the telephone. If anything her mother chattered more than Melanie did!
‘Anywhere nice?’ her mother asked brightly.
‘Just to lunch with Melanie. Is there anything wrong, Mother?’ she asked sharply.
‘Can’t I just call my daughter to see how she is?’ Her mother sounded indignant.
‘It isn’t something you usually do,’ Juliet said dryly, easing her shoes off her feet, flexing the arches as she listened to her mother. Melanie had insisted on going round the shops for an hour before they had lunch, and her feet now ached.
‘No, well, I—I wondered if I could stay with you overnight next Friday.’
‘Next Friday?’ she frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Really, Juliet, couldn’t I just want to visit you?’
‘No,’ she said from experience.
‘Honestly, Juliet—–’
Her mother was as aware of the meaning of the word honesty as Michael was! ‘What’s happening next Friday?’ she sighed, the prospect of her mother descending on her, even for a day, filling her with apprehension. She and her mother invariably clashed when they met, although they could be friends from a distance.
‘Nothing is happening next Friday,’ her mother answered impatiently. ‘Have you forgotten, I’m going on holiday next Saturday?’
She was ashamed to say she had. Her mother was always flitting from one place to another, always in one country or another, financially secure and with a wanderlust that she settled every three or four months by visiting a country other than England.
‘Where are you off to this time?’ she asked resignedly.
‘South Africa.’
‘South Africa?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Why South Africa?’
‘I’ve heard it’s very beautiful,’ her mother defended.
‘So have I. I just never imagined it would appeal to you.’
‘Well, it does. And I’m taking your Aunt Josephine with me this time.’
Poor Aunt Josephine! Her mother’s sister had lived with them when Juliet was a child, often taking care of her when her mother had gone off on her travels. It had surprised the whole family when Aunt Josephine had upped and moved to London fifteen years ago. Juliet’s mother hadn’t forgiven the other woman for years, although the two of them were now close again, and her mother often dragged the other woman off on her holidays with her. Juliet could only sympathise with her, although her good-natured Aunt Josephine didn’t seem to mind.
‘Why can’t you stay with Aunt Josephine?’ she queried suspiciously.
‘If you don’t want me to stay with you—–’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Juliet sighed. ‘I just wondered what Aunt Josephine had done that you weren’t going to stay with her.’
‘She hasn’t done anything,’ her mother snapped impatiently, ‘except get the decorators in. Honestly, Juliet, only your Aunt Josephine could decide to have her
