Full Tide (19 page)

CHAPTER
TEN

The end
of the conversation piece came sooner than
L
isa expected, and from Mark, not from Astra. Perhaps he had been watching the pale young face and decided to cut short her silent suffering; or it may have been his habit of forcing others to fac
e
difficulties without delay and flinch
ing
which made him
l
ean forward and press out his, cigarette with the resoluteness of decision.

“Well, Lisa,” he said on an interrogative note, “are you going to give yourself the pleasure of six months with Astra in South Africa?”

At this frontal attack Lisa naturally hesitated, and it was Astra who spoke next, in a gay and kindly tone calculated both to disarm and encourage.
“Yes, Lisa! Are you going to
be my secretary? Remember I’m not only offering you a
six months’ engagement and expenses paid, but you may name your own salary. You know how much you need; I don’t.”

The friendliness and charm rendered Lisa speechless. They were so unexpected, so hard to circumvent. And it had to be at this moment, when her mind was made up and she had been sure of Astra’s enmity, that Mark should regard her closely with an
u
rgency akin to pleading, which she could not dissects Did he want so badly that she should work for the actress? And if he did
...
why? There must be some deeper reason, apart from his desire that Astra should have whatever her fancy lighted upon, something that he ought to be able to explain.

Coaxingly, Astra added, “Come now, Lisa, you haven’t a leg to stand on. You’ve no particular job to return to in England, and if you do eventually take up nursing you’ll be glad you grasped this chance of a spell in a sunny country. Spend a week with your Dr. Veness, if he needs you, and then travel up by train. Jeremy and I will fix you up at our hotel—won’t we, Jeremy?”

The young man looked awkwardly at the tip of his cigarette but let a smile hover about his mouth, though he said nothing. By this time Lisa had recovered most of her
balance. She reminded herself that this was Astra Carmichael, who eight times a week in
Vale of Tears
had made women dab an eye and men bite
a lip. Unaccountably, the woman had set her will to winning Lisa; Lisa first, after which Jeremy would follow without coercion.

“I’m not a secretary,” she said with a peculiar lack of emotion, “and to be candid I haven’t any inclination to be trained as one. It may sound strange, but I’m looking forward to going back to the hospital.”

It was true. At her old job, or training as a nurse, she would have no time to fret and fuss about the past; there, life was always demanding and very much in the present, and from tomorrow onwards that was what Lisa most wanted.

Astra’s
kindliness held. “I do see your point of view, my dear, but I feel you’ll be making such a mistake if you hasten back to England without having a good look at Africa. With me you’d have plenty of freedom and a thoroughly good time. The socialites in Johannesburg are already planning parties for me, which you’d attend, and most weekends we’d spend in the African country-side. You’d be amazed at the trouble they go to in these places to make an actor’s stay a pleasant one. Do say yes, Lisa.” Her manner was insidiously warm and propitiating, but since Lisa’s last talk with Mark her sensibilities had been numbed, so that nothing had significance beside the fact that tomorrow was the end of a bitterly beautiful world.

It took no effort for Lisa to say, “I’m sorry if I’m being horribly ungrateful, but your proposition doesn’t attract me. I think, after all, I must be just an English suburbanite.”

Mark demanded clearly, “Would you be afraid to live away from England?”

“Not afraid,” she answered slowly, looking away from him. “I know England,
that’s all.”

“Then
you
are
afraid,” he said, not ungently, “afraid of the unknown. You’re anxious to get back to the cosy corner where nothing can threaten you. That’s not the way to live, Lisa, and if you’re honest with yourself you’ll admit it’s not the way
you
want to live. Staying on in South Africa is not much of
a risk. Astra’s travelled a good
deal; she
’
ll look after you, and she’s right about the country; it’s enthralling.”

Lisa turned towards him, met his intensely blue gaze for a second. His persuasiveness in this mood was hard to combat. “If I fall below your standards I can’t help it,”'' she said in low tones. “Both you and Miss Carmichael expected too much of me.”

Astra’s glance was raised to Mark’s and she shrugged. To Lisa she said quietly, cryptically, “We’re brutes, Mark and I. We’re so much alike in determining to get what we’re after that we don’t always bother with other people
’
s feelings.” She
lifted a sharply playful finger at Jeremy “I rather took it that it was your intention to keep Lisa
in
South Africa, Jeremy. If
I’
ve caused any embarrassment,
I do apologize.”

It was a stage gambit—the dropping of a well-padded brick. Lisa saw it because any dramatic episode of which she was part habitually impressed itself upon her with startling clarity, and because she was unable to take Astra at her own valuation; she could never think of the woman as anything but
an actress.

Jeremy side-stepped the brick rather neatly. “If I could offer Lee the sort of home she deserves I’d marry her right away—if she’d have me, that is. You don’t know how many times during this trip I’ve wished myself ten years older.”

Astra laughed softly and reached over to tap the back of his hand with a long pink nail. “I’m glad you’re not, my dear. You wouldn’t have borne with me nearly so patiently. It’s wonderful to know I can, depend on you.”

There followed one of those pauses in which the silence is almost tangible. Lisa, half-aware of a sharpness in Mark’s face and a glitter of exasperation in his eyes; felt her spine go rigid as a rod. It was bad enough opposing Astra, but with him lined up on the woman’s side the
whole situation became insupportable.

When Mark spoke, however, his tones were still ordinary and level. “Well, Ca
rn
e, why don’t you
come out into the open? You can’t shelter for ever behind Lisa.”

“That’s rather unfair. I’ve been honest with Astra,” Jeremy defended himself, without vehemence but with an
access of color. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to be able to fall in with her wishes whole-heartedly, but I do have other commitments. I’ve thought this over night after night
...
”

“And talked it to rags with Lisa!”

“Well, yes. Lee is one of those people who never get high notions about themselves, and she reminded me of my limitations. She didn’t let me forget the debt I owe my parents, either.” He stared straight at Astra. “You’ve been so good to me that I hate to ask for further time, but the way I’m placed I just have to. Tomorrow I’ll see my people and put it to them. If I may, I’ll telegraph you in Johannesburg the following day.”

During the next minute or so neither Mark nor Astra paid much heed to Jeremy. Lisa was the focus of their attention. She felt as if they had sent out white-hot wires to prod her, but if she had had the courage to look at Mark she would have seen no hostility in him. She drew a breath which shuddered a little as it passed her throat.

Astra, still mistress of the situation but slightly peremptory with the beginnings of anger, phrased a question: “So, Jeremy, it is Lisa we have to thank for your procrastination?” She paused, and went on;
“I guessed it, but tried to believe she had your welfare too much at heart to deprive you of such an opportunity. I do think you should stick to the bargain and sign the contract before we dock. After all, darling,” with a sweet, artificial smile, “all our work together has been to that end. Go and see your parents, by all means, but do remember we open in ten days. I don’t think it is too much to ask that you sign up tonight.”

Jeremy hung on to his smile, but patently he was feeling wretched. Strangely, Lisa liked him better at that moment than she had ever done
b
efore; like this, he was well worth helping. Some of her spirit returned.

“Jeremy’s right,
”
she said. “Throwing aside the career whi
c
h his people made possible for a problematical future on the
st
age is too big a step for him to take without their knowledge. It’s
...”
she slurred the syllables because there was no glossing their import; “it’s mean of anyone to demand it of him.” Conscious of a swift wave of antagonism in the atmosphere she hurried on more recklessly, “You’re not concerned about Jeremy at all. To you he’s merely a prop upon which to drape your own personality—but unfortunately for you he’s not really stage-struck; he can still see straight.” Emotion welled
up, caused a tightness in her chest and an ache behind her eyes. She got to her feet. “You’ll never forgive this,
but
I
have to say it
...
”

“Lisa!” Mark, too, was standing, and eyeing her shrewdly. “There’
s
no need for you to go on. Your feelings are a lot more transparent than you intended to make them.” He was aloof again, dispelling the illusio
n
of the hint of gentleness. “Let’s say
you’ve won, shall we? Your reasoning may be
h
aywire, but you’ve stuck to it—perhaps it’s backed up by something stronger than the mere business aspect.” With deliberation he
bent and selected a cigarette. “Shall we all have a nightcap?”

Bu
t
Lisa was in no condition to endure more.
“
Not for me, thanks,” she said almost inaudibly. “Goodnight
...
everyone.”

She did not know whether any of them
answered. Mark was at the door to bow her out but he made no parting observation; nor could she have replied if he had. She was bone tired, but oddly thankful that the dinner s
he
had anticipated with hope and fright was over
.

Automatically, she exchanged a few comments with a woman in the lounge, and then, inevitably, she sought the dark end of the deck and closed her fingers tightly over the rail.

This was her last night aboard the
Wentworth.
In a week or two she would be sailing again, homeward, but on
a
different ship, with different people. Now, a phase of her existence which she knew to be important was narrowing to a bleak and painful conclusion. Well, the heavens might collapse but one had to go on, and it was no use wishing she had never heard of the
Wentworth.

No, she was not sorry to have known Mark, only anguished that he had caused her to set so impossibly high a standard; he was head and shoulders above other men. From now on any man who might become her friend would be measured and found lacking. She could never marry
anyone else because Mark had taken all, and left nothing to offer. Strange that a man she scarcely knew could do that.

There was no such thing, she would have said a month ago, as unrequited love; one-sided emotion she would have written off as infatuation. She was wiser now.

Durban was sighted at eleven next morning. South
Africans crowding the rail pointed out the Bluff and the Berea. They even pretended they could see individual hotels on the Esplanade. To the newcomer the city was a whitish mass against the lush, undulating greenness of subtropical trees and sugar cane.

Except for a slight tan Lisa and Nancy were as pale as on the day they had embarked at Southampton. Their luggage was packed and long before they could hope to land both were trimly attired, Nancy in a blue and white striped froc
k
with large bows on her pigtails, and Lisa in her green linen suit and a white blouse.

Lisa knew she must keep a clear head. She had to submerge her private feelings and prepare to meet Dr. Veness. Possibly he would not remember her very well; he had never written to her personally, so now they would meet almost as strangers. But Nancy, provided she took to her father’s house, would ease matters along.

Most intolerable of Lisa’s present reflections was that she would straightway have to think about her return voyage. She would have liked to look forward to a long vacuum of busy peace in which her scars might heal and her mind make ready for whatever the future might hold. Further weeks aboard ship in enforced idleness appeared, at this point, nightmarish.

She walked Nancy rather aimlessly about the decks and at intervals they watched the nearing shore.

“It smells of spice,” said Nancy half-heartedly. “Do you suppose I’ll ever get used to it?”

“Of course you will,” Lisa answered mechanically. “Everything will be new and interesting to begin with, but one day soon you’ll realize that certain things have become familiar and lovable, Perhaps sometime your Aunt Anthea will come out to see you.”

“And Mrs. Browne?”

Lisa smiled. "Hardly Mrs. Browne. She has a husband and a large family.”

“She thinks South Africa is full of savages.
”

“You’ll have to write and tell her differently.”

In Lisa’s memory Mrs. Browne had become inextricably entangled with her propensity for telling the tea-leaves. Were the old dear to learn how abundantly her powers had been proved, she would mournfully gloat and offer sympathy and more advice from the tea-leaves.

The two had paused near a group, who were excitedly sharing a pair of binoculars. Lisa at once became aware that the ship’s engines had ceased to throb, and at the same moment Nancy exclaimed,

“Look, there’s Captain Kennard! He’s coming to
u
s, Lee.”

She was right. Mark came from the direction of the bows, striding purposefully. He gave them no greeting, but said, “Will you come to the cabin on the lower deck? I want a word with you.”

“Me, too?” demanded Nancy.

He seemed on the point of snapping a brusque negative, but her small eager face checked him. “Yes. You, too.”

Lisa fought against a force too strong for her. She held out a shaking hand. “I’d rather say goodbye here, Mark.”

“I’m not saying goodbye,” he said offhandedly, and
then in an undertone, “For heaven’s sake move. We have a large and increasing audience.”

She saw the enormity of what was
happening. The
ship had stopped and the captain had left the bridge. As if she had sent out a thought line he said, “We often stop outside the harbor. We’re well on time and I insist on speaking to you.”

He took her elbow and compelled her forward. Nancy was already dancing ahead as though granted an eleventh-hour reprieve. They went down to the lower deck. Mark produced a key and let them into the book-lined cabin Lisa had visited once before.

The sudden quiet was like an impact of warning. Even Nancy felt it and gave a nervous giggle before sinking down into one of the armchairs.

Lisa stood facing Mark, straight and stiff, every trace of color driven from her cheeks.

“I’ve just had a message by launch from
some people in Durban,” he said rapidly. “I told you before that I have business to do here—as I had in Cape Town—and it appears that I shall be tied up the whole thirty hours or so that we shall be in port. Well,” he gave a savage sigh, “that’s how things are for people like me. My duty to the ship has to come before everything else. I know your address in Durban. I shall be writing to you, Lisa.”

It seemed a mockery, this promise which he would not fulfil. Like a sword thrust came the suspicion that Mark had guessed! He knew she was in love with him and was trying to mitigate for her all the hopelessness and futility.
In that second she thought her nerve would break.

But somehow the danger was past and she was still confronting him, with lowered lids and chin uplifted. “I shouldn’t bother to write, Mark. I shan’t be long enough in Durban.”

“That’s another thing,” he said. “I’m in the deuce of a position. I haven’t time to explain it
...
”

“Please!” She put out a defensive
hand. “Your business is no concern of mine.”

“Very well,” he said in a harder tone. “Everything between us is in a devilish muddle and you’d prefer to leave it that way. In your mind you accuse me of wanting to hurt you, of having base motives for whatever I’ve urged you to do. Perhaps it would have been a thousand times better for both of us if I hadn’t tried to influence you in any way.” A pause, then he asked abruptly, “Are you going to stay with
Carn
e’s people when you leave Dr. Veness?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t pla
n
ned anything, but I hardly think Jeremy can have any part in my future.” She felt
drained and empty, unsure of anything but the necessity for getting away from him. It was salvation when he cast a furious glance at his watch. “You ought to go,”
she
added.
“The
passengers will be getting restive.”

His eyes took on the narrow sparkle she detested. “I could shake you,” he said through his teeth. “Shake you hard, because you’re determined to oppose everything I say, and are well aware that I’m tied by the book of rules
and the etiquette of the sea.” He might have matched his words with actions had not the scrape of Nancy’s foot reminded him of her existence. He looked sternly down at the child. “I must say goodbye to you now, Nancy.” Obediently, she stood up and raised her face. Mark bent to receive her kiss.

“If Lee doesn’t write to you,” said Nancy comfortingly,
“I will.”

“Thanks. That’s generous of you.”

Nancy went to the door and looked back. “Aren’t you a going to kiss Lee?”

“I think not,” he said, his mouth twisted into a smile.
“She wouldn’t care for the way I’d do it.”

Nancy, of course, took this
as a big joke. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Momentarily,
Lisa felt his grip on her wrist.

“Take care of yourself,” he said a little thickly, “and think about me sometimes. And for God’s sake be honest with yourself about Ca
rne!
”

Afterwards, Lisa could never clearly remember the details of the landing at Durban. She did recall an impression of the busyness of the docks, the shouting
A
fricans and crowds of white people who had come to meet relatives and friends, but none of the tiny incidents, nor the larger ones of coming face to face with Dr. Veness and saying goodbye to Jeremy, really imprinted themselves on her consciousness. Her chief sensation
was of horrible emptiness now that the
Wentworth
was behind her.

It was not till they had driven through the wide main thoroughfares of the town and climbed between gardens full of scarlet-flowering shrubs and luxurious palms, that she noticed the pull of strain about Nancy’s mouth. And then, of course, she looked at the head of the man behind the wheel and realized that in permitting Nancy to sit with Lisa in the back of the large grey car he had made a tactical error. Nancy’s place, from the very beginning, should have been at his side.

For the child’s sake Lisa was pleased with the big house and garden which became visible as they curved into the drive. The colonial pillars smothered in bougainvillea enhanced the stark whiteness of the dwelling, and if the
garden did appear too formal to English eyes, Nancy wouldn’t mind. She was a tidy child and fond of flowers which had neat habits.

Over a cup of tea in the spacious but over-furnished lounge, Lisa sensed an
awkwardness in Dr. Veness.

“You’ll meet Mrs. Hatherly at lunch,” he said, smiling without humor at the grave-eyed Nancy. “I was very fortunate to procure her services last year. She’s elderly, the widow of an army officer, and she’s looking forward to having you under her wing. You’ll like her, Nancy.”

To Lisa it sounded as if he were saying, “You’d better like her!” Tone and manner meant so much in dealing with Nancy, or with any child. It was strange, she thought, that a man accustomed to handling the sick should flounder when it came to renewing acquaintance with his own young
daughter.

He had mannerisms which made him seem older than he really was, and his face was more lined, his hair thinner and greyer than Lisa remembered. If she had not felt somewhat sorry fo
r
him she would have put in a word or two on Nancy’s behalf.

As it was, a protracted pause followed which Dr. Veness ended with a spuriously bright, “Will you excuse me? I must take a peep
at my telephone pad. Houseboys are not too good on the telephone and I often have to do a bit of translating from Zulu!”

When he had gone Nancy pushed aside the glass of iced orange squash which had been brought for her. “He’s sorry,” she said in a closed little voice. “Sorry I’m here.”

L
isa suppressed an impulse to go to her and put an arm
about her. “No, he’s not, darling,” she said reasonably. “I believe he’s just a scrap afraid that you won’t like him, which means that you must take care to show him that you love him very much. You and he have to help each other because you’ve been apart so long. Try to smile and show an interest in the house. It’s your house, too, now, and he’d love that.”

Lisa went on talking in the same soothing voice, telling
Nancy that she now
had what she had wanted literally for years—a home with her father. Presently,
she took her to the bedroom and unpacked her clothes and books. Thoughtfully, Dr. Veness had provided bookshelves upon which stood a brand new
set of
Dickens and a few children’s classics. Nancy fingered
The Wind in the Willows.

“My poor old copy with the chewed edges will have to be wrapped up and put away,” she said, and tacked, on fiercely, “I won’t have it destroyed, though.”

The books and the pink-and-white bedroom helped to
spread a tenuous tranquillity which, however, was threatened at lunch time, when Mrs. Hatherly sat at the head of the table and showed rather too many porcelain-white teeth in a set smile.

She was not an endearing person, though her appearance suggested the slim and managing matriarch. Her hair was piled in soft white coils about a wrinkled, alert face, and she wore a navy linen frock with white at the throat and cuffs. It was easy to believe she was a good housekeeper. She spoke to the dark-skinned houseboy who served the salads and cold meats with the correct degree of authority, and the dishes, prepared under h
e
r supervision, were tastefully arranged
w
ith an eye to form and
color.