The Primrose Bride (13 page)

She said, experimentally,
“
Camilla Marchant came here this afternoon. She waited till Andrew came in, and asked him to wangle an invitation up here for herself and her father.
”

The lines about Tony
’
s eyes deepened.
“
I was afraid she
’
d do something like that now her father is in the clear. Was she unpleasant?
”

“
Very
.
”

Urgently, but not very clearly, he said,
“
We can
’
t speak about this now, but there may be something I can do about it. Leave it with me.
”

When Andrew came in a moment later Tony was near the door, talking about the lagoon by starlight.

Karen had no appetite that evening. Her head ached and she felt a little sick. Andrew told her firmly that there were certain things she must definitely eat, but she noticed he did not take
his
usual large helpings himself.

At a quarter to ten she said goodnight to the two men and went to bed. She had been lying in the darkness for about half an hour when Tony went down the drive, and as the house seemed quiet after that, she decided it was safe to slip into the bathroom for an aspirin. It was warm and dark in the corridor, but the tiles of the bathroom floor were blessedly cool underfoot. Rather than snap on a light, she moved carefully in the darkness, opened the cabinet and found the bottle of tablets. As she half filled a tumbler her head throbbed and she was trembling. Nervous fatigue filled her with a pulsing sensation of nausea. Her fingers had hardly the strength to unscrew the bottle cap.

The room was suddenly flooded with light and Andrew stood in the doorway gazing at her in consternation.

“
Feel bad
?
”
he demanded swiftly.

In the figured silk pyjamas, her face pale and clammy, her fingers shaking as she held the glass, she looked like a child sickening for some ailment.

“
It
’
s only a headache. I
’
m taking a couple of aspirins.
”

He took glass and bottle from her fingers.
“
If you feel a bit sick the tepid water from the tap will only worsen it. And you
’
d better have codeine, not aspirin. Go back to your room. I
’
ll get some ice-water.
”

She swayed a little as she passed him and he steadied her. In her room, she sank on to the edge of her bed. She hadn
’
t had a head like this before, wasn
’
t headache prone, anyway. One way and another it had been such a gruelling day. Chilly, she wished she had been quicker about swallowing the aspirin.

Andrew returned, carrying a tumbler which was half full of an effervescing milky mixture; he set it down on the bedside table. Deftly he straightened the sheets and rearranged the pillows.

“
Just sit in while I take your temperature,
”
he said quietly.

“
There
’
s really no need,
”
she whispered as she stood up.

“
It
’
s only a precaution—the first thing we always do here. Come on, now. I want your temperature before yo
u
drink this stuff.
”

She obeyed him mechanically, took the thermometer into her mouth. She felt his fingers touching her forehead and temple before they came to rest on the pulse in her wrist. Of their own volition, it seemed, her own fingers curled tightly, and she saw his reaction; a faint thinning of his lips, a quick dark glance at her. Vaguely she realized that one
of the things he found most difficult to tolerate was her physical shrinking from him. Other evasions he could handle mercilessly or with charm; the physical kind left him powerless.

He read the thermometer.
“
Only slightly up,
”
he said.
“
Dr
ink
this stuff now. It
’
ll put you right.
”

She swallowed the liquid, gave him the glass and lay back, still pale and glistening, her hair a fine cloud on the pillow, her eyes large and shadowed. Gently he pulled up the blanket, and as he moved he said, on a hard sigh,
“
That was an odd thing to do—find the aspirins in the dark. I know the switches are noisy, but even if I
’
d gone to bed you had the right to waken me.
”

“
I didn
’
t want to make a fuss over a bad head.
”

“
It
’
s one of my privileges,
”
he said in soft, vibrant tones.
“
I want to take care of you when you
’
re unwell. You must have felt rocky during the evening. Why didn
’
t you tell me?
”
Apparently he knew the answer to that one, for he went on,
“
Never mind now. Is the nausea wearing off?
”

“
Yes, thank you.
”

“
Good. Relax and get some sleep.
”

“
I
’
ll try. Goodnight, Andrew.
”

He hesitated, as though he hadn
’
t meant to leave her yet. Then, straightening, he turned away and said,
“
Goodnight, Karen.
”
The door closed quietly behind him.

Once more all became quiet in the house, though the waves seemed to roar a little louder than usual; tonight the sound was grating, not a soothing overtone to the rustling of palms.

The
headache
receded and she almost dozed. But demon thoughts wrenched her back to consciousness, and after that she lay wide-eyed for a long time, listening. It must be getting very late now, but she was sure the doors still stood open, every window wide; the outside noises were so
close
. She turned restlessly, and eventually she got up again and slipped on a wrap, drew back the bolt of her french window and stepped outside. Yes, though it was well after midnight, there was still a light in the living room; it streamed down over the front veranda and lighted part of the garden. Was he reading in there? Somehow she didn
’
t think so. She wished she could see him.

Scarcely breathing, and holding her head stiffly to avoid a renewal of the throbbing, she moved very carefully along the side veranda towards the front. Could it be possible to see into the room from the corner? Not far in, but it might be enough. Andrew
’
s chair backed the
main
door and was
close
to the french window; if he sat there she would see his head and perhaps a shoulder. It had become strangely imperative that she should know how he looked when he was away from her and yet under the same roof.

She readied the corner and stopped abruptly. He was out there in the veranda, just at the edge of the square of light. Still fully dressed, he was leaning against a post, his head bent and finger and thumb pressing against his eyes, as if he had a pain there. And there was a bitter, drawn look about the lean jaw. Andrew ... in pain! Her heart was thudding in her chest, her throat was choked with that yearning which had become part of her being.

Then she saw what he must have seen ... or perhaps he had picked it up in the garden and placed it there on the veranda table. A thin yellow scarf which no doubt matched Camilla
’
s
new car.

So that was what had kept him out there so late, the cause of the bitterness. Camilla
’
s scarf, the scent of the hair it had covered, the sudden realization that had he waited he could have had Camilla. With Colonel Marchant free of stigma, it might have taken only a few weeks to persuade the Governor and his wife that Camilla would make a worthy and suitable mate for the Senior Executive Officer. When Andrew wanted something his persuasions were potent; no one knew that better than Karen. Only a few days ago she herself could have refused him nothing.

And now he was tied to a girl he had chosen deliberately and without
l
ove, and being Andrew he
would go through with it down to the smallest detail—like dosing her for a headache! The wrong wife
might
have mined his career, but a divorce would certainly do so.

She turned blindly and crept back along the veranda. The headache was beginning again, and she must have lurched a little towards the end of the veranda for she felt the swift stab of a thorn into the sole of her foot. The bougainvillea, she thought dully. It hurt, but she didn
’
t care.

Leaving the door wide, she once more found her bed and lay staring at the dark growth outside. It was as sombre as her own future.

It was an ideal spot for a picnic. Leafy mango trees and thick wild oranges wove their branches into a ceiling of deep green above a carpet of ginger flowers and laur
el
vine, and on the open side there was the sea with an outrigger resting here and there on the calm blue surface. If they walked forward from the shade of their vast green alcove they could see the rocks at each end of the beach and a few islanders collecting odds and ends washed up by the tide.

“
In my romantic days—about two years ago—I used to come here with Clive almost every Sunday,
”
Rita said flippantly.
“
We
’
d laze and bathe and make love and talk and it would be evening in no time at all.
”

Karen spread the
ru
g.
“
Why did you stop coming?
”

A laconic shrug.
“
Why does one stop anything? It lost its magic
.
I tried to r
u
n away—got down to the quay with a suitcase. You
’
ll never guess who returned me to the fold—Andrew. He saw me there and took me home, threatened all sorts of things if I told Clive what I
’
d had in mind.
”

“
Is that why you say things to shock him—because he knows too much about you?
”

“
Maybe. He
’
ll be glad when he
’
s got us off to Hong Kong, but what do they want with a forestry officer there? They
’
ll send us somewhere else—but not to England.
”

She lifted her narrow bony shoulders.
“
Do you know what Clive says—that he
’
ll hand in his resignation and book us on the next plane home as soon as he
’
s absolutely sure it
’
s what I need. What would you make of that?
”

Karen found plastic plates and glasses, lifted a vacuum jug of iced lemon from the basket.
“
It sounds very sane,
”
she said.
“
I suppose he feels that
the
cl
imate and what he can promise you shouldn
’
t really be important to your relationship with each other. That comes first.
”

Rita gave a cynical grin.
“
You know something? You and Clive would get along dandy. He
’
d love to have a woman he could be sure of, and I wouldn
’
t be surprised if you preferred that sort of man, too. Not that you can
’
t be sure of Andrew—I didn
’
t mean that,
”
she tacked on hastily.
“
I feel he
’
s a bit too much for a woman to live up to, that
’
s all. Somehow I can
’
t see
y
ou developing into a Lady Prichard.
”

“
I don
’
t know her, but neither can I,
”
said Karen.
“
A sandwich or a piece of chicken? Shall I pour a drink for you now?
”

“
Plain lemon?
”
Rita grimaced.
“
Haven
’
t drunk it since my downy days, but I don
’
t suppose it will poison me. This is good chicken, but then you have one of the best cooks on Nemaka.
”
She leaned back on one
“
Nice getting right away from Government Town without the men, isn
’
t it? Seeing that this is only your
fifth
day here I
’
m a bit surprised that Andrew let you come.
”

Karen did not mention that she had made her own de
ci
sion and left a note for Andrew to find at lunch-time.
“
It was time I did some exploring. I wish we could
climb
to the top of Oponui.
”

“
The men are bound to go up there again before the hurricane season and they
’
ll take you. I climbed it once. From the higher slopes, on a
clear
day, you can see the whole of the couple of thousand square miles of Nemaka and the outline of Filfua.
”
Jadedly she ended,
“
Very
thrilling.
”

Karen slipped a sandwich which tasted like sawdust down the side of the basket. She sipped her lemon.
“
I think you
’
re determined to dislike everything here and it
’
s all
because of
the
way you
’
ve made yourself feel about Clive. It
’
s an awful pity.
”

“
Now don
’
t you start—I have enough of that from Tony Horwe
ll
. But Tony doesn
’
t know the half of it.
”
She yawned, stretched her thin arms and slipped out of her sun frock.
“
Some shut-eye, a bathe, and then you may lecture me if you like. But there
’
s one thing you can tell me now. You
’
re a newcomer and a woman. I behaved abominably at your house and you must know by now that I gossiped appallingly about you before you arrived. Why should you care what happens to my marriage?
”

Karen smiled.
“
I really don
’
t know.
”

“
You
’
re sure Andrew hasn
’
t persuaded you to get to work on me, so that Clive will stay on in the Leaman Islands?
”

“
Quite sure.
”

“
Good.
”
She settled back with her hands under her head and her eyes closed.
“
I believe you
’
re even more of a sport than we realize, Karen.
”

After that there was silence. The picnic basket, almost
untouched,
stood between their recumbent bodies; the rug was soft, the air soporific.

They awoke and bathed in the gently moving sea. Karen, floated, saw multi-colored fish, drifting weeds, the kaleidoscopic brilliance of sunshine on her eyelids. The water felt warm as milk, but it was cool enough to soothe the throbbing in her foot. The salt water would be good for that sore place; after the extraction of such a murderous thorn the
flesh
was bound to hurt a bit. Still, she was healthy, and had never had a spot turn septic in her life.

Rita plodded back up the beach and Karen followed her. They dragged off their caps, shook out damp hair and talked of the cigarette they would have when they reached their nook.

They were only a dozen feet from the car when they saw the two men who had taken possession of the picnic basket and rug. One of them unashamedly munched a sandwich while the other, rather sheepishly, swallowed something and scrambled to his feet. They were around thirty-five, wore shorts and faded shirts, and the one who took his time about
standing up was the buccaneering type Karen had seen the other day.

“
Hallo,
”
he said, in a surprisingly good voice.
“
You girls don
’
t know how to treat a picnic. Thanks a lot.
”

Rita was annoyed.
“
That
’
s not funny, Captain Kidd. I
’
ll get your permit rescinded!
”

“
You wouldn
’
t do that, duckie, even if you could.
”
He bowed to Karen.
“
You
’
re new here. I
’
m Ben Brooke, not Captain Kidd. He
’
s been dead some time. And this chap is my partner. We
’
re working on the
Salamander
.”

“
You call that work,
”
scoffed Rita, rubbing a towel over her hair.
“
Any time I
’
ve ever seen you you were loafing. And I shouldn
’
t be too sure I can
’
t get your permit cancelled. I happen to be a friend of the wife of the Senior Executive Officer.
”

“
Eliot? I know a lot about him, but I hadn
’
t heard he was married.
”

Before he could dilate upon this, Karen said,
“
I
’
m Mrs. Eliot. Would you mind leaving us now?
”

The man—he was not much above average height, but he had a fine head and shoulders that looked brawny—tamed and looked at her.
“
Forgive me for staring,
”
he said.
“
I was sure you were someone
’
s daughter. You
’
re far too young and pretty to tie yourself down for life.
”

“
You
’
re heading for trouble,
”
said Rita musically.
‘
You
’
d better scram.
”

Ben Brooke laughed.
“
To think we stole your lunch! We wouldn
’
t have dared if we
’
d known who you were.
”

By now, Karen had buttoned her sun frock over the swim suit.
“
That
’
s all right. It
’
s lucky you didn
’
t have time to get started on the coffee. Goodbye.
”

He didn
’
t move.
“
I say, I really am sorry,
”
he said.
“
We drank the coffee first.
”

An instant
’
s silence, then they all laughed, and Ben Brooke added, looking rather less dissipated for the humor in his expression,
“
We may as well confess that we were bored an
d
did it for a joke. We thought that if we ate your lunch you
’
d come along and have some coffee and biscuits at our camp.
”

“
No sign of the treasure ship?
”
asked Rita sympathetically.
“
I expect you get awfully tired of paddling about in frog flippers and pouncing upon pieces of nothing. You know
w
hat I heard? The
Salamander
sank off Java!
”

“
That
’
s more encouraging than the one we heard last week—that it sank near Falmouth. Will you come for the coffee?
”

“
No, thanks,
”
said Karen.

“
We
’
d love to,
”
said Rita.

Karen shook her head.
“
Definitely not. Please go now.
”

The other man, who looked quiet and humorous, moved away. Ben Brooke hesitated, met Karen
’
s glance and said,
“
Pity about the starch. It spoils you.
”
And he turned and walked away towards the beach with his companion.

Rita put on a cigarette, curved an arm about her drawn-up legs.
“
There are two of us. We could have had some coffee and then come back here. He
’
s quite a man, our Captain Kidd. Never done a good solid job of work in his life, but why should he worry? Before he came here he ran a pearl fleet.
”

Karen lit her own cigarette.
“
How do you know so much about him?
”

“
I took the trouble to find out—mostly from the shopkeepers. I first met Ben when I was shopping; he was getting supplies.
”

“
You
’
re really friendly with him?
”

“
Not friendly, but he
’
s got something, hasn
’
t he? I haven
’
t seen him more than three or four times, but he sort of
...
exhilarates me, makes me feel young and daring. I
’
d love to know him better.
”

“
I think it
’
s as well you don
’
t. He
’
s probably most unstable. I didn
’
t like his manner.
”

“
He didn
’
t like yours,
”
said Rita mischievously.
“
Don
’
t you ever feel drawn to the rapscallion type? T
h
ey
’
re so much more exciting than men who plod along in a job.
”
A shrug.
“
But then Andrew isn
’
t a plodder, is he? He
’
s a fighter. You
’
re lucky, Karen.
”

They finished their cigarettes without speaking, dried out and took a walk along the beach. Rita
’
s long thin legs carried her on across the rocks, and for some minutes she
stood staring at what she could see. When she came back
she shook her head regretfully.