The Secret Woman (22 page)

“And the explosion was actually on
The
Secret
Woman
?”

He nodded. “It was the end of her. She was a mass of floating wreckage. Before morning was out she had sunk in the bay and on the water pieces of her floated dejectedly. I had lost my ship. You can guess what that means to a sailor. She had been entrusted to my care and I had allowed this to happen to her. I was dishonored, shamed.”

“But it was no fault of yours.”

“I don't know what happened on the ship that night, but it was very mysterious. The strange thing was that the rest of the skeleton crew which should have been on duty were on the island. There had been some mistake about the duty sheet. An unheard of thing. But at the inquiry we never got to the bottom of it. It was one of the most mysterious parts of the whole affair.”

“It sounds,” I said, “as though there was a plot and that several people were involved in it. As though it had been arranged that there should be no one there.”

“Captain's orders was how some people put it. I was in charge of the ship and she was left for those few hours, deserted, lying in the bay while every member of the crew, including myself, was ashore.”

“So you have no idea who had destroyed the ship?”

“I wish to God I had.”

“It's a long time since it happened.”

“It is something which is never forgotten.” He was silent for a while then he said: “After that night when I came to the Queen's House everything seemed to have changed. Before life had been a sort of joke. After that it ceased to be so.”

After the disaster? I wondered. After the visit to the Queen's House?

“Before I was a careless boy. I was lucky, Rex used to say. I would get myself into difficult situations and trust to my unfailing luck to extricate me. But it had deserted me. I had learned that one could act carelessly, lightheartedly, and because of this suffer regret perhaps for the rest of one's life. One could curse oneself for a fool—which I do constantly, I assure you. But that's a futile occupation.”

“If you could solve the mystery, if you could discover who destroyed the ship, then you would cease to feel this regret.”

“That,” he said, “is not all.” He was silent for a while and I knew that he was referring to his disastrous marriage. Was I, as I had on another occasion, reading something into his words which was not intended?

He went on: “You see, here I am. A man in irons. Held fast by my own reckless actions.”

“But how could you have prevented this disaster?”

He did not speak; and instinctively I knew that he was not then thinking of
The
Secret
Woman
. I wondered how he had come to marry Monique. Perhaps I should discover later when I saw that “broken-down old mansion,” as he called it, when I saw her in her native setting. He had acted rashly, that much he was telling me. And I could well believe. Carried away by chivalry or necessity? Surely he must have known that Monique was not the wife for him.

Did I feel
I
was? I asked myself cynically. And I answered myself boldly: Yes, I did. I would be the perfect wife for him. He was gay; I was serious. He was charming; I was not. I was making myself fit the case. I was a fool.

I pretended to be thinking of the ship.

I said: “You don't give up hope of ever discovering what happened?”

“Strangely enough, I don't. Perhaps that's due to my nature. I was always an optimist. Rex was constantly telling me so. When I think of it I ask myself how could I possibly discover. What evidence is there? The ship is lost forever and the secret must be on the ship. If no one stole the diamonds they must have been there in which case they've probably been swallowed by fishes.”

“Perhaps someone did steal them?”

“Who? Callum? Gregory? One of the crew? It would not be easy to get away with such a haul. They were watched, I know. I daresay I was. Any display of sudden riches would have been investigated. No, it remains a mystery—with suspect number one the Captain. But I have told you myself. You understand why I wanted to do that.”

“Yes, I do. As I wanted to talk to you of my Aunt Charlotte's death in case you should think…”

“I never should.”

“Nor I.”

“Ah, you see, that evening at the Queen's House taught us something of each other.”

“Perhaps it did.”

“And now we are here. Fate, as some would say, has thrown us together.”

“I don't like that,” I said, trying to speak lightly. “Not thrown anyway. It makes us sound like flotsam.”

“Which we certainly are not.”

We were silent for a while; I thought he was going to talk about his marriage. I half hoped, half feared he would, because I had become certain during this encounter that there was some special quality in our relationship. Desperately I wanted it to develop although I knew this was unwise. He had talked of his recklessness and that was the last quality I would apply to myself. But perhaps if my yearnings were deeply involved I was as capable of folly as anyone else.

No, I must never forget that he was married. I must never allow myself to be in a situation like this again. The warm evening air, that dark mysterious sky, the dim outlines on the nearby land—they were the backcloth of romance. He was a romantic. It was said of someone—George IV I think—that he loved all women too well to love one constantly. I kept telling myself that this might be said of Red Stretton. Hadn't I seen even Miss Rundle brighten at the caress in his voice?

I must be strong, sensible. Who was I to fret over Chantel's seeming recklessness with Rex, since I was equally so with his half brother.

I shivered and he said: “Are you cold?”

“No. Who could be on such a night? But it's getting late. I think I should go to my cabin.”

He escorted me there. I went ahead of him down the narrow alley and at my door we paused.

“Good night,” he said, and his eyes were bright and eager. He was so like he had been on that magic night in the Queen's House.

He took my hand and kissed it quickly.

A door opened and shut. Miss Rundle's! Had she heard our voices? Had she seen us?

Reckless? I thought. I was as reckless as anyone else in love. There! I had admitted it.

We had spent a hot and windy afternoon in Aden and had left that rather forbidding yellow volcanic coast and were once more at sea.

Now and then I saw the Captain and he always made a point of stopping to talk to me. People were beginning to notice. Miss Rundle I was sure had spread the news that she had seen him escort me to my cabin late one night and there kiss my hand. I was aware of her special interest in me, and the cold speculation in her rabbity eyes behind the gold pince-nez.

Mrs. Blakey and I had accepted Chantel's advice and took it in turns to take charge of the boys, which gave us more freedom. We were all feeling as though we knew each other very well indeed. The Glennings were popular; they always seemed so eager to be friendly. Their great passion was chess, and every afternoon they would find a shady side of the ship and sit there poring over the board with great concentration. Rex sometimes played a game with them, and often Gareth Glenning would take on both his wife and Rex, and I believe beat them. Rex seemed to be very friendly with them; so did Chantel. The four of them were often together.

Miss Rundle was thoroughly unpopular; her sharp nose, often a little pink at the tip even in the tropics, smelled out trouble and her glinting eyes seemed to see in everything that happened something that was shocking. She watched Rex and Chantel as eagerly—and as hopefully—as she watched my relationship with the Captain. Mrs. Green all was quite different and it was difficult to believe that they were sisters. She talked constantly of her grandchildren whom she was going to visit and bored us all with the same stories told over and over again. Her husband was a quiet man who would listen while she talked, nodding his head as though in corroboration of the wonders performed by their grandchildren and looking sharply at us as though to make sure we appreciated their cleverness. Mrs. Malloy had formed a friendship with the Chief Officer which contented her as much as it did Miss Rundle who would inquire of any who happened to be at hand whether they did not think it rather shocking that Mrs. Malloy should appear to forget that she was going out to join her husband.

The only passenger who did not arouse Miss Rundle's criticism was perhaps Mrs. Blakey who was so inoffensive, so eager to please not only her sister who was magnanimously giving her a home in Australia, but everyone on board.

In the evenings we sometimes played whist and the men—the Glennings, Rex and the First Officer—often had a game of poker.

So passed those lazy days and nights; and the time had come for the fancy dress dance.

The theme was the Arabian Nights; Redvers had told me that these fancy dress occasions were the highlight of the entertaining during the voyage. “We want to keep our passengers happy,” he explained, “so we try to give them plenty to relieve the monotony of long days at sea when the next port of call seems far away. They can think about their costumes for days; and then after the ball they can discuss that for a while. It's necessary to have a happy ship.”

For me the highlights of the voyage were those brief interludes when I met him by chance and we would stand for a while chatting. I let myself fancy that he tried to prolong those occasions even as I did; and that they meant something to him.

Monique's health had undoubtedly improved during the voyage. Chantel said it was the weather and the Captain—though the former was warmer than the latter.

“Do you know,” she said to me one day, “sometimes I think he hates her.”

“Surely not,” I had said, turning away.

“It's the most disastrous of marriages. She tells me things sometimes when she's drowsy with her drug. I have to drug her a little now and then. Doctor's orders. She said the other night: ‘But I caught him. I got him in the net. He can wriggle but he'll never get free while I live.'”

I shivered.

“My poor prudish Anna. It is shocking. But you yourself are a little shocking too. At least according to Miss Rundle. She is whispering about you no less than about me.”

“That woman would see things which are not there.”

“I'm sure she would…as clearly as she would see things that were there. I think we should beware of Madam Rundle, Anna, both of us.”

“Chantel,” I said, “how does…Rex…feel about Australia?”

“Oh, he feels it's a country of opportunity. The branch there is flourishing as the green bay tree and of course it will flourish even more after he has been out there for a while.”

“I meant…about leaving the ship.”

She opened her cool green eyes very wide and said: “You mean about saying good-bye to
Serene
Lady
?”

“I mean about saying good-bye to you.”

She smiled. “It will make him a little sad, I fancy.”

“And you?”

“Perhaps myself too.”

“But…you don't seem to
care
.”

“We have known all the time that he will leave the ship at Sydney. Why should we suddenly behave as though it's a surprise?”

“You don't wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“A particularly ridiculous cliché, Anna, and I hardly expect you to be guilty of using it. Heart on sleeve indeed! How could it be fed by the veins and arteries if it were in such an impossible position?”

“Nurses are cold-blooded.”

“Our blood, my dear Anna, is at normal temperature.”

“Stop being clinical. Chantel,
are
you all right?”

“I have told you before. I shall always be all right.”

That was the only satisfaction I could get. But when we left Sydney, when he had really gone, would she be able to preserve this magnificent indifference?

***

It was the night of the ball. I had wrapped the silk I had bought in Port Said about me. I put on the white and gold slippers with the pointed turned-up toes and draped the spangled scarf over my face in the form of a yashmak.

“You look…beautiful,” Edward told me when I went into his cabin.

“Oh Edward, only in your eyes.”

“In everybody's eyes,” he declared stoutly.

He had not been very well that day, having eaten too much that was rich the day before; the fact that he was content to lie in his bed for most of the day showed how wan he must be feeling. John had been in his cabin to keep him company and they had been painting in their books together.

As Edward had had little to eat all day I wanted him to have some milk before he settled down for the night. He said he would, so milk and biscuits were sent up to the cabin. As soon as he saw them he didn't fancy them, and said he would have them later on when he was hungry. When I was dressed I went along to Chantel's cabin to show her my costume to see what she thought of it. She wasn't there, so I sat down to wait. I knew she must come soon or she would not have much time to get ready. On her bed lay a pair of Turkish trousers of green gauze and slippers such as I had bought in Port Said.

I had not been waiting long when she came in.

“Heavens, you're all ready.”

I wondered whether she had been with Rex. I wished she would confide in me.

“I'll be back,” I said, “when you're dressed.”

“No, don't go. I want you to help dress me. It's difficult to get into those things.”

“So I'm to be your lady's maid?”

“Like poor Valerie Stretton!”

I wished she hadn't said that. I thought everywhere one looks something seems to be shrouded in mystery: and suddenly I remembered Chantel's journal and how she had described Red's mother coming in with her muddy boots and being so ill. Life was like a stream, often clear on top with murky undercurrents only visible when you peered too closely.

“What made you think of her?” I asked.

“I don't know. She just came into my mind. Aren't these trousers fun? I bought them in Port Said.”

“Just for this occasion?”

“I thought they would startle Miss Rundle and were worthwhile if only for that.”

She put them on. They were amazingly attractive with the slippers. Her eyes were more glittering than ever tonight. But that was her costume. She draped matching green material about her shoulders and dexterously formed it into a bodice. She looked magnificent.

“You should have a sparkling circlet about your head,” I said.

“No. In any case I haven't one. I shall wear it loose. I think that will be more effective.”

It was quite startling.

I said: “Chantel, I think you are the loveliest woman I ever saw.”

She put her arms about me and kissed me then. I thought I saw tears in her eyes.

Then she said soberly: “Perhaps you don't see the real me.”

“No one knows you as well as I do,” I said firmly. “No one. And no one could look as lovely if they were not…good.”

“What rubbish you talk! Perhaps you'd like me to go as a saint. Unfortunately I don't know any Arab saints, do you?”

“You'll be much more effective as the slave girl or whatever you're supposed to be.”

“And, I hope, give delighted offense to Miss Rundle. At least we shall be colorful against all those burnooses. Is that the right plural, my learned friend?”

“I'm sure I don't know, but will they be there in the plural?”

“You can be sure of it. I've made inquiries. Rex has one. Gareth Glenning has and Mr. Greenall coyly admitted to me that he had too. Mrs. G. said it was fun and would be something to tell the grandchildren. I wonder if they will talk of Grandpapa's doings as much as he does of theirs? Ivor Gregory told me that there's a stock of them—burnooses I mean—on the ship and that some of the crew will be wearing them. He even admits to having one himself. After all, what else is there for a man to wear?”

“It'll be like going into a souk.”

“Well, isn't that the general idea? There! I'm complete. I think I must have a yashmak too, don't you? You see, you and I are not dissimilar, although I wear the trousers.”

“We're quite different, really. Yours is far more true to life as well as being far more lovely.”

“My dear, dear Anna, always setting yourself at a disadvantage. Do you know that the world takes you at your own valuation? I can see I shall have to give you a few lessons in life.”

“I get them every day. And are you sure that you would be such a good teacher?”

“I need notice of that cryptic remark,” she said. “And time marches on.”

“I am just going back to the cabin to tuck up Edward for the night.”

She came with me. Edward was sitting on the lower bunk turning over the pages of his painting book.

He gave a little shriek of pleasure when he saw Chantel.

“You're wearing trousers,” he accused.

“I'm a lady of the East, so naturally I do.”

“I'd like to paint them,” he said.

“You shall make a picture of me in the morning,” she promised.

I noticed how sleepy he was.

I said: “Edward, let me tuck you in before I go down.”

“He hasn't finished his milk and biscuits yet,” said Chantel.

“In a minute,” said Edward.

“Drink it up,” suggested Chantel, “and then poor Anna can go down with a good conscience.”

“Hasn't she got a good one now?”

“Of course she has. People like Anna always have good consciences.”

“Do
you
?”

“Now that's another matter.” She took up the glass of milk and sipped it. “Delicious,” she said.

He held out his hand for it and started to drink.

“Have a biscuit with it,” I said; but he did not want to eat.

He finished the milk and Chantel said: “Wouldn't you like to be tucked in and kissed good night by a Turkish slave?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well get in and I'll oblige.”

He giggled; Chantel could charm him and I believe that he was as fond of her as he was of me…in a different way of course. I represented a certain solidity; she amused him, and who does not like to be amused?

She tucked him in and kissed him.

“You
are
sleepy tonight,” she said.

And he yawned again.

I was glad that he was so ready for sleep; and Chantel and I left the cabin together.

***

The lounge had been decorated for the occasion; someone—the First Officer, Mrs. Malloy whispered to me—had stuck Arabic signs on the walls, and the place was in semidarkness. All the men seemed to have chosen the burnoose; and the lounge certainly did have the appearance of a Middle East street. One of the officers played the piano for dancing. Mrs. Malloy danced with the First Officer and Chantel with the doctor. There would be a shortage of women so I supposed everyone would find a partner—even Miss Rundle.

I looked for Redvers, but he was not there. I should have known him anywhere even if he were in fancy dress, which he would not be. He had told me that the Captain could not dress up; he had to be ready for duty at any moment. I was surprised that the doctor and the First Officer should have appeared as they did.

But it was not the Captain who was inviting me to dance but Dick Callum.

I was not an expert dancer and apologized to him.

“You're too modest,” he told me.

“I see you are in regulation dress,” I told him, indicating his burnoose.

“We're an unimaginative lot, we men,” he said. “There are only two beggars howling for baksheesh and two fellahin, and a few sporting the tarboosh. The rest of us merely put on this robe and leave it at that.”

“They're so easy to come by, I suppose. Did you buy yours in Port Said?”

He shook his head. “Whenever we make this trip we have our Arabian Nights Fantasy. There seems to be a stock of the things on board.”

“I daresay you get a little blasé doing this sort of thing regularly.”

“It's always a pleasure to be with those who are not. It's hot in here. Would you like to sit down for a while?”