A Christmas Night to Remember(25)

She’d looked down at the name and telephone number he had given her. Dr Greg Richardson. Swallowing hard, she had whispered, ‘Is he a psychiatrist?’ already knowing the answer. They all thought she was losing it, that she’d cracked.

Mr Price’s voice had been soft when he’d answered. ‘He is someone who works with people who need a different kind of healing to the one I can give. Look at it like that. He’s a good man. More than that, he’s a friend of mine and I know you would benefit from seeing him. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Melody. And…’ The good doctor had paused, waiting until she had met his steady gaze before he’d continued, ‘Don’t make any life-changing decisions in the next little while. Give yourself time. It might be a cliché, but time is a great healer.’

‘You’re talking about Zeke,’ she’d said woodenly.

This time the pause had been longer. ‘Partly, yes.’

Mr Price had meant well. Turning away from the mirror, Melody took a deep breath. And she knew he hadn’t agreed with her decision to end her marriage. Emotion flooded in, overwhelming her. But he didn’t understand. How could he? He was a doctor first and foremost. He didn’t have a clue about the entertainment industry other than what he experienced when he watched TV or went to the cinema or theatre. Showbiz was another world, a world within the everyday world, and since she had entered it after leaving dance school she had relished every second. It had been hard, exacting, unforgiving, sometimes unfair and often capricious, but it had enabled her to do what she loved most—dance. Or what she had loved most until she had met Zeke. From that point he’d become the centre of her world.

She had had it all. She bit her bottom lip with small white teeth, her eyes cloudy. And the gods didn’t like mere mortals who tasted paradise on earth. How many times had she thought it was all too good to last? Well, she had been right. It hadn’t lasted.

Melody stared blindly across the room, straightening her shoulders as she took several deep calming breaths. And now she had to adapt to the cards she’d been dealt. It was a simple as that. Everything was changed, but there were millions of other people much worse off than she was. She could not, she would not give in to the numb, grey, terrifying depression that kept trying to draw her into a mindless vacuum. There was life after dancing. There was life after Zeke.

‘Melody?’

The knock at her bedroom door made her jump out of her skin as she came out of the maelstrom of her thoughts. Her hand at her chest, she steadied herself. Then she walked to the door and opened it, a cool smile stitched in place. ‘I’m ready.’

He looked fabulous. Dinner suit, hair slicked back, magnetism increased tenfold. ‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘Cocktails in the sitting room? They’re all ready.’

‘Lovely.’ Her voice was a little breathless but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. She needed to project coolness, if anything.

‘You look…’ He smiled and the warmth in his eyes increased her heartbeat to a gallop. ‘Good enough to eat,’ he finished huskily. ‘But then you always do.’

‘Thank you.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded ridiculously prim. ‘The clothes are very nice.’

‘But I forgot to give you this when I gave you the other things earlier.’ He handed her a package, beautifully wrapped like the previous ones. He seemed totally at ease and not at all bothered by her lack of enthusiasm at the gift.

‘What is it?’ Melody asked flatly, refusing to acknowledge to herself how wildly attractive he was.

He took her arm, leading her through into the sitting room before he said quietly, ‘Open it and see.’

‘I—I don’t want it. I mean, you’ve given me enough. I can’t accept anything else. Not—not when I haven’t got you—’

‘Open it.’ He interrupted her stumbling words coolly, and when she still made no attempt to obey him he casually pushed her down on one of the sofas and sat beside her, undoing the ribbons on the large box. ‘It won’t bite,’ he added.

As he lifted the lid, Melody gazed down at the silver boots the box contained. The soft leather was worked with tiny crystals in a curling design that wound from toe to heel in a thin line on the outer side of each boot, and she would have known immediately—even if she hadn’t seen the name on the box—that they’d cost an arm and a leg. She didn’t remove the boots from their bed of tissue paper, raising her eyes to Zeke before she spoke. ‘I can’t accept these. I mean it, Zeke. I don’t want anything else.’