The Primrose Bride (4 page)

Andrew was saying, in soothing tones,
“
Things are quiet here at the moment, thank heaven, but when the Old Man is in residence there
’
s plenty of social life. You
’
ll like Sir Wallace, I think, and Lady Prichard isn
’
t difficult to get along with; she
’
s bound to want to take you under her wing. She and I are good friends.
”

“
It sounds as if you
’
re good friends with everyone.
”

“
Well, of course. I have to live with them.
”

“
And ... and those who aren
’
t in government service?
”

He shrugged.
“
There
’
s a shipping agent, a bank manager, some traders; I see them occasionally. Jake was saying there
’
s a small gang of adventurers who
’
ve come to salvage a fifty-
y
ear-old wreck off the coast. That
’
s the second lot in the four years I
’
ve been on Nemaka.
”

She drew in a dry lip.
“
They—the doctor and his wife
—
talked of your being very ambitious. That
’
s a side of you I don
’
t know at all.
”

The pause before he replied seemed deliberate, and he spoke
r
easoningly.
“
What
’
s wrong with wanting to get to the top? I like Colonial Administration, I like native peoples and their customs, and responsibility brings out the best in any man.
”

“
Perhaps it brings out the worst too,
”
she said in low tones.
“
I
’
ve a horrible feeling that
...
that we shouldn
’
t have married.
”

There was a brief, shattering silence as they stood there, facing the sea. Then, his voice tight, Andrew said,
“
Don
’
t ever say anything like that again. I know I rushed you into marriage and you
’
ve had some trying da
ys,
but we
’
re here now, and we
’
re husband and wife. Nothing can alter that. For my part, I don
’
t want it altered—ever.
”

She struggled within herself, said in choked tones,
“
I
can
’
t talk about this tonight. I just can
’
t!
”

“
There
’
s nothing to discuss,
”
he replied coolly.
“
We grew fond of each other in England; I had to get back here, so we married rather more hastily than you could
take. I don
’
t suppose there
’
s a bride in the world who hasn
’
t wondered, the moment she
’
s tied, whether she hasn
’
t made a ghastly mistake.
”
He turned, but did not touch her.
“
Let
’
s go back. And do try to reali
z
e that I
’
m your husband, not some horrible, forbidding stranger. The very last thing I want is to have you nervy and upset.
”

They walked without speaking, reached the house and entered the lamplit living room. He poured a couple of drinks, and as he gave her one of them his grey eyes were speculative, though he smiled charmingly.

“
Feel better?
”

She made a movement with her head, but kept silent.

“
Here
’
s to us,
”
he said.
“
Our life together.
”

She sipped and put down her glass. Stiffly,
sh
e said,
“
I think I
’
ll go to bed.
”

“
Yes, do. Take the drink with you. The water will be hot now, if you want a bath.
”

“
I
’
ll wait till the morning.
”

“
All right. Karen
.
..
”

“
Yes?
”
almost inaudibly.

“
I
’
m not some frightful threat hanging over you. I intend to make you very happy.
”

She nodded, and with a hand that shook she picked up the glass and went from the room. She put the glass on the bedside table, automatically dabbed up the spots of spilled liquid with a tissue and then walked straight into the bathroom. Soap and water, toothbrush; towel hung tidily before she slipped back into the bedroom. She felt cold and completely drained. Her empty suitcases, she noticed, had been taken away and only one of Andrew
’
s had been placed in the room. It was still strapped. The other must be next door, where he had changed.

She went to the door, leaned upon it for a moment with her eyes closed before her fingers found the key and turned it. Draggingly, she got undressed and put on a pair of her older pyjamas, slipped into bed and put out the light. She lay listening to the whispering of leaves, the singing of the cicadas. Faintly, she heard the shower. A pause, in which the outside noises seemed deafening. Then
...
the turning of the door handle, just once. There followed a minute in
which her heart ceased to function, while she waited for his reaction. The minute was ended by the decisive thud of the other bedroom door.

Karen t
urned
on her side and stared at the slice of dark outdoors which showed between the curtains. Ten thousand miles from home. Two and a half days and ten thousand miles since she had stood beside Andrew in the little stone church and spoken what she had deemed the loveliest words in the world.

Both aunts had blinked mistily when they had seen her dressed for the ceremony. A filmy dress from Bond Street, a cap of pale yellow primroses on her soft hair, the white-and-gold prayer bode her mother had carried on her wedding day.

Aunt Laura,
the
practical one, had said,
““
You may not b
e all white, but you do look a bride, dear. It
’
s the stars in your eyes.
”

And Aunt Grace, the romantic spinster, had quavered,
“
Keep them there, Karen. You
’
re so luck to be loved by a man such as Andrew.
”

And she, Karen, hadn
’
t suspected a thing. She had walked with old Mr. Marlow, the family solicitor who had given her away, taken her place tremulously beside Andrew and wished she had dared to seek the reassuring pressure of his hand. He had looked down at her, smiling possessively, and her cheeks had burned with love and pride. Incredibly, she was his chosen one. She would love him with every nerve and sinew for the rest of her life.

Silver horseshoes and rose petals. A few of them had
drifted
on to the carpeted aisle of the first plane and the stewardess had given her a warm smile and looked her admiration at Andrew. He had actually winked at Karen,
c
onspiratorially. It was then, when others saw them as lovers newly wed, that Karen had touched blissful heights. Only gradually, as each stop brought them nearer to Nemaka, had she become aware of a faint premonition, and even then she had attributed her unease to the fact that she couldn
’
t be alone with him, couldn
’
t experience the comforting strength of his arms, the proprietorial kisses she longed for.

He had carried her over the threshold, but as though in fun; he hadn
’
t kissed her before releasing her, but there had been nothing unsatisfactory about the kiss he had given her a few minutes later. A heady omen, she had thought. But now
...

How was she going to deal with this, how tackle such a
man
as Andrew? Impossible to put it to him, point blank, that he wasn
’
t in love with her, that he had pursued her with gentle ruthlessness because the Governor had advised
him
to make a sensible marriage during his leave. No man, least of all Andrew, would risk admitting to the girl he had married that he had selected her for her English looks, for her good middle class background, for her youthful good health and hidden potentialities. Those facts might exist, but a man whose ambitions knew no limits would somehow manage to veil them heavily. He did want a good, genuine marriage. He would always be the devoted husband, the generous, considerate and concerned protector; chivalry was part of
h
is code of living, part of the make-up he had established for the role of diplomat and administrator.

Karen was exhausted, but her mind would not rest. What was the woman
’
s name
—
Camilla Marchant? It seemed she was here on Nemaka. perhaps waiting for him. Not that Andrew would have given her any hope. However drawn to the woman he might be, he would have known from the beginning whether she were
acceptable
by the Governor as a prospective wife for
an
up-and-coming Colonial official.

Karen
’
s brain knocked, her temples felt weighted with lead. Impossible to make any decisions tonight, but it was also impossible to sleep. Word for word, that conversation between the doctor and the man named Tony slipped through her mind. And following it came once more the picture of herself and the tall distinguished Andrew, emerging from the church in fitful sun
shine. Andrew liked yellow, so that
it had been a primrose wedding and she had done her utmost to look lovely for him, because she had thought he ... cared.

She turned her face into the pillow and tried to cry. But she was
s
till awake and dry-eyed when dawn came; then, mercifully, she was able to doze.

CHAPTER TWO

Karen c
ame awake swiftly, but rather late. The bedside clock said ten minutes past eight, the air was warm and enervating and between the half-drawn curtains she could see part of the giant tree trunk and a background of thick dark leaves. The sun could never shine directly into the room, but its filtered beams were out there, drawing more flowers from the hot damp earth near the tree bole. She felt sticky and tired and full of foreboding. She would have given anything to return to unconsciousness for several days.

She sat up and swung her legs from the bed, went to the window and gazed somewh
at myopically at
the lush
clipped grass, the pale mauve
an pink of the orchids.
Almost abstractedly, she twisted the ring on her finger. Her first morning on Nemaka, the smell of the sea, the stirring of the trade wind, the quiet, insidious warmth of the climate. She was actually installed here, where she could never belong.

Quickly, because she did not want to think just yet, she slipped on a printed silk wrap and went to the door. Gently, she turned the key and the handle, opened the door a few inches. Absolutely quiet. She slipped across the passage and into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a narrow white sun frock, she drew back her shoulders and walked to the living room. As she had expected, it was empty, but a single place was set at the table which stood close to the french window. She sat down, rested an elbow on the table and looked out at a sun-drenched green lawn, clipped tamarisk and glimpses of the road. A servant came beside her. He was smallish and bony, had a pale coffee-hued skin and straight black hair.
His features had a Melanesian cast, his voice was thin and high-pitched.

“
Memtuan, I am Anai. The tuan wishes that I greet you and ask wh
at you would like for breakfast.
”

“
Good
morning
,
”
she said awkwardly.
“
Where is the
...
the
tuan
?
”

“
There came a message from the Tuan Governor
’
s secretary and he went out. That is all I know.
”

“
Thank you. May I have some fruit juice? Nothing else.
”

Anai looked seasoned, as if he had had many years of serving white people. Even so, the request for a breakfast of fruit juice mildly startled him. But
he inclined his head and withdrew, brought a glass of chilled orange juice and set it before her. She picked it up and got to her feet.

“
I’ll
take this outside,
”
she said.
“
You may clear the table.
”

The voicing of even so mild a command made her shiver
.
She walked into the veranda, stood in the deep
shade
of the thatch and looked across the garden at the view beyond; the inevitable coconut palms leaning their
shining
emerald fronds over a brilliant blue sea.

“
Government Road,
”
Andrew had said back in England,
“
is just what you
’
d expect to find on a Pacific island governed by the British. When the houses were rebuilt about thirty years ago they were made more or less climate proof and given plenty of shade trees, but most of us can see the beach from some part of the garden. The road actually leads up a gentle hill to the Residency—that
’
s a double-storey mansion, of course, and there are good views from all the first floor balconies. You
’
ll see them some
time.
”

Her fingers tightened round the glass. During those last days in England she had been too utterly confused and ecstatic to ask many questions about Nemaka, but perhaps to calm her he had talked evenly and naturally of the geography and crops of the island, the mother-of-pearl fishing, the weaving and dyeing. He had said very little about his colleagues, though, and almost nothing about his own position among them.