The House of Seven Fountains

by Anne Weale

He lighted a cigarette and in the flare of the lighter she saw that he was frowning. She remembered what Cara had said about not taking him seriously. Did that count as a warning? It occurred to her that if she was going to be friends with Julian she would have to be honest with him. Any pretense, however trivial, could only lead to complications.

  “There’s something I should tell you,” she said quietly. “If you noticed a difference about me it is because I’m not a very sophisticated person. I’ve led a rather sheltered life and ...” she paused, searching for the right words to explain her feelings.

  “And you’re not used to casual hand holding with comparative strangers, is that it?” Julian finished for her.

  A slow blush crept up her cheeks, and she was grateful for the darkness of the car.

  “Yes. I expect it seems rather ridiculous to you, but I can’t alter myself. I’m not sure that I want to,” she added.

  “I’m not sure that I want you to, either,” he said, and the laughter in his voice was gentle. “Well, now that we know where we are, is it all right if I come calling tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll show you the house and the fountains,” she said eagerly, immensely relieved that the awkward moment had been smoothed over so successfully. As they reached the house Vivien saw a large bundle of white cloth on the veranda “What on earth is that?” she said to Julian in a rather apprehensive voice.

  “Your watchdog. One of the gardeners probably.”

  “But surely he won’t spend the whole night on the floor like that?”

  “Of course. It’s part of his job. Judging by his snores he’s perfectly comfortable.”

  “We’d better not disturb him, then. Good night, Julian. Thank you for looking after me.”

  “Till tomorrow. Good night, Vivien.”

  She watched him drive away, his taillight like a fiery eye in the shadow of the trees. Then, tiptoeing past the recumbent form of the watchman, she switched out the veranda lights and crept to her room. Ah Kim was curled up on a camp bed outside the door, and although Vivien had never suffered from night terrors, it was reassuring to know that the little amah was within call.

  VIVIEN OPENED HER EYES and gazed perplexedly at the unfamiliar ceiling. Then, remembering where she was, she threw back the sheet, swung her legs to the floor and felt for her slippers. The room was bathed in a shadowy green glow, but as she drew up the slatted blinds the brilliant sunlight of a tropical morning flooded through the windows. The clock on the red lacquer bureau showed a few minutes past seven.

  Running her fingers through her tumbled hair, she crossed to the wardrobe, and as she opened the doors a musky scent drifted out. Later she discovered that all the cupboards and chests in the house were lined with camphorwood, which was a protection against moths and cockroaches and gave everything stored in them an elusive fragrance.

  When she had washed and brushed her hair and put on the pink gingham dress, she opened the bedroom door and slipped quietly onto the veranda. There was nobody about, and she wandered across the courtyard.

  The fountains were silent, but the pool glistened in the early sunshine. She was gathering up some velvety white petals that had fallen from the frangipani tree during the night when there was a loud splashing sound from somewhere nearby. Remembering the swimming pool and wondering who was taking an early dip, she walked through the archway and across the lawn to the diving board. A widening circle of ripples stirred the water beneath the top board, but at a cursory glance, the pool seemed empty. Then the glitter of metal caught her eye, and she saw that someone had left a cigarette case on the grass. A sound from the far end of the pool made her swing around just in time to see a dark head surface for a second and then disappear again in a flurry of spray. Now that she knew where to look she could see a vague brown shape moving toward her. As it came nearer she saw that it was a man. A few feet from the edge he rose to the surface, gripped the handrail and swung himself up onto the tiled surround.

  It was Dr. Stransom.

  For a long minute they stared at each other in mutual surprise. Then the doctor’s eyes narrowed angrily.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I ... I’m staying here,” she stammered. “What are you doing?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? What do you mean—staying here?”

  Stung by this unfriendly reception, she said, “This is my house now. Mr. Cunningham left it to me.”

  He wiped a trickle of water from his forehead and raked back his tousled hair.

  “It seems I’m trespassing,” he said stiffly. “Cunningham gave me permission to use the pool. I was not aware that the new owner had arrived. I won’t intrude again.”

  Before she could answer he had picked up the cigarette case and was striding toward the shrubbery.

  “Dr. Stransom!”

  He swung around, his tall strongly muscled body glistening. Vivien moved toward him.

  “Please don’t go. There is no reason why you shouldn’t continue to use the pool,” she said diffidently.

  When he did not reply she went on. “Mr. Cunningham was my godfather. Didn’t he tell you he had left me the house?”

  “We never discussed the subject,” he said briefly. Then his glance shifted to a point beyond her. Turning, she saw Chen coming across the grass with a tray. He set it down on a wicker table beneath a striped umbrella.

  “Good morning, mem. Good morning, tuan.”

  “Good morning, Chen. How did you know I was out here?”

  Vivien asked, seeing that the tray bore a coffeepot, a single cup and saucer and a dish of sliced pineapple.

  “I did not know, mem. This coffee was for the tuan doctor.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, if you would bring another cup perhaps I can share the doctor’s coffee.”

  “Yes, mem.” Chen bowed and returned to the house. “Won’t you sit down, Dr. Stransom?”

  He hesitated for a moment and then gave a slight shrug and sat down.

  “This must seem very odd to you,” he said. “I’m afraid Chen does not realize that the situation has changed. You see, the club pool isn’t open at this hour and while your godfather was alive I used to drive over for a swim and a cup of coffee on my way to the surgery.”

  “I don’t see anything odd about that,” she said gently. “It seems a very sensible arrangement. You don’t have to stop it because I’m here.” She poured out the coffee and handed the cup to him.

  “You have it. I’ll wait for the other cup. May I smoke?”

  “Of course. I wish I had known you were my godfather’s friend on the journey.” She sipped the hot creamy coffee. “I’m afraid I behaved very stupidly in Rangoon and made a bad impression. I hope you won’t hold it against me,” she said, coloring slightly.

  “I’m not the arbiter of social success in Mauping, Miss Connell.”

  “Perhaps not, I wasn’t thinking of it in that way. It’s just that all this is quite new to me, and I should like someone to ask for advice if I need it.”

  “You will find plenty of people only too ready to advise you,” he said dryly.

  “Possibly, but not necessarily sound advice.”

  “What makes you think my advice would be sound? You didn’t appear to regard it with confidence in Rangoon.”

  She bit her lip. He was making it very difficult for her. “I’ve apologized for that. I’m told you were one of the few people who knew my godfather well. Presumably you had similar viewpoints. I want to do what he would have thought right.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the return of Chen with another cup and a second dish of pineapple. Vivien smiled her thanks.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” she said worriedly, when he had gone.

  “He doesn’t know you yet,” Dr. Stransom said. “Hello. Here comes old Seng. He hasn’t wasted much time.”

  Following his glance, she saw that an old Chinese man was peeping furtively out of the shrubbery. After a quick reconnaissance
he emerged into the open, a suitcase in one hand a large cloth bundle in the other.

  “Seng is a barang man—a traveling salesman,” the doctor explained in answer to her questioning look. “He comes around once a month and I suppose he got wind of your arrival and put you at the top of his list. Shall I get rid of him?”

  “Oh, no, please, I’d like to see what he has for sale. Why was he so cautious about coming out of the bushes?”

  “Because he’s an old robber and Chen would have sent him packing. Don’t blame me if he fleeces you.”

  Some feet away from them the man deposited his baggage on the grass and came forward bowing obsequiously, his broad grin displaying a prominent set of gold rimmed teeth.

  “Morning, missy. Morning, tuan. You like to see very nice tablecloths, ivory, porcelain, ladies’ underwear—yes? All very cheap, very good stuff.”

  “Yes, please,” Vivien said, disregarding the doctor’s look of cynical amusement.

  With a beam of satisfaction Seng fetched his baggage and opened it out at her feet. Inside the bundle were piles of cutwork table linen, vivid silk pajamas, nylon blouses and hand embroidered handkerchiefs. The suitcase contained a selection of lacquer boxes, ivory figurines, Siamese silver trinkets and delicately colored china ornaments.

  Seng was an expert salesman, and he knew that English mems were easily tempted into buying more than they could afford. Since this missy with the yellow hair was related to the late Tuan Cunningham, she must be very rich and would not quibble if he raised his prices by a few dollars. With a wary eye on the doctor, he extolled the fine quality of his wares.

  “You like these? American nylon. Very smart. Very pretty, eh? He held up a pair of diaphanous lace-trimmed panties.

  Vivien shook her head and tried not to blush.

  “How much is this?” she asked, hastily indicating a tray cloth with an intricate border of drawn threads.

  “Only five dollars. Made in Hong Kong. Very fine work.”

  “Don’t give him more than two dollars,” Stransom said, and Vivien hid a smile at the angry expression on Seng’s face.

  “Four dollars,” he protested in an aggrieved tone. “This cloth very fine. I make special price for little missy.”

  “Do you want it?” the doctor asked her.

  Vivien nodded.

  “Two dollars and fifty cents,” he said to Seng.

  “Three dollars, tuan.”

  “Two dollars seventy-five cents or you’ve lost your sale,” Dr. Stransom said in a final tone.

  “Okay, can do,” Seng agreed, looking very disgruntled.

  Putting the cloth aside, he drew a tissue-wrapped parcel from the bottom of the bundle and unwrapped it with an exaggerated display of care.

  At the sight of the stiff silk jacket that he held up for her inspection, Vivien gave a gasp of delight. The silk was a subtle shade of green, exquisitely embroidered with birds and flowers. It had a narrow mandarin collar and was fastened down the front with silk frogging.

  “May I try it on?” she asked.

  “Sure, sure,” Seng nodded vigorously.

  Vivien slipped her arms into the wide sleeves and touched the beautiful embroidery with reverent fingers. It was a coat fit for a Manchu princess, and the birds and blossoms were like fairytale things in their fanciful design and delicate coloring.

  “How much is it?” she asked.

  Seng went into a eulogy on the merits of the coat before finally informing her that it would cost fifty dollars.

  “How much is that in English money?” she asked the doctor.

  “About five pounds ten.”

  “Then I’ll have it,” she said happily.

  Although Seng tried to persuade her to inspect the rest of his wares, she eventually convinced him that she had concluded her purchases and went into the house to fetch some money.

  As soon as the wily old salesman had gone, Dr. Stransom said he must be off to the surgery.

  “You will go on using the pool, won’t you?” Vivien asked.

  “If that is your wish.”

  Some impulse that she could not quite define made Vivien hold out her hand. For an instant his lean brown fingers clasped hers in a painfully strong grip. Then he was gone.

  After lunch Vivien told Chen that she wanted to go into town to do some shopping.

  He bowed. “I will fetch the car. Perhaps it would be wise for Ah Kim to accompany the mem in order that the dealers do not ask prices that are too high.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. She probably knows the best shops, too,” Vivien agreed.

  Half an hour later Chen parked the car in the center of the town and opened the door for her.

  “I will wait here until the mem returns,” he said.

  “I may be a long time,” she said doubtfully. “I know, you take the car home, Chen, and Ah Kim and I will come back in a trisha.”

  Chen shook his head. “It is not customary for English mems to ride in trishas,” he said.

  “Why on earth not? Everyone else does.”

  “The trishas are not always clean. I will wait.”

  “But I want to ride in a trisha,” she answered firmly. “They look clean enough and Ah Kim can give the driver instructions.”

  If Chen was annoyed at her persistence he did not show it. Indeed she was beginning to wonder if he ever displayed any emotion.

  “As the mem wishes,” he said in an expressionless voice.

  “Don’t worry. We shall be back by teatime,” she assured him. “Come on, Ah Kim.”

  For the next hour she explored the busy shopping center, Ah Kim trotting at her heels like a watchful bodyguard.

  Between the covered pavements and the roadway there were deep monsoon drains without which, in the rainy season, the town would soon be flooded. Now, during a dry spell, the channels were littered with rotting garbage. The smell was appalling, for as Julian had warned her in Singapore, it was the peak of the durian season and the malodorous husks were scattered everywhere.

  The shops had no windows but opened directly onto the pavement, their wares frequently encroaching on the path. Some of the premises were shared by two traders, and Vivien was startled to see a jewelry showcase on one side of a shop and a tinsmith hammering away at pots and pans on the other. Most of the silk shops seemed to belong to Indians who stood in the entrance extoling their goods for the benefit of passersby. As soon as they saw an English girl approaching they would seize a roll of cloth or a pair of nylons and thrust them at her with a flood of persuasive patter, shrugging philosophically when she shook her head and passed on.

  Suddenly she felt a light touch on her arm and found Ah Kim pointing at a shop across the road.

  “Good, mem. This good.”

  Remembering what Chen had said about the amah saving her from being fleeced, Vivien followed the Chinese girl into the selected store. With Ah Kim’s guidance she bought several dress lengths which they then took to a tailor to be made up. Before very long Ah Kim was laden with packages and Vivien was carrying a parcel containing a bathing suit and a box of cosmetics. With a slight pang of guilt, she realized that she had spent quite a large sum of money, but everything was so cheap and she had brought so little with her from England that she felt justified in having one glorious splurge. To indulge her own tastes without counting every penny was a new and invigorating experience.

  They had just emerged from the shoemaker’s when there was a loud hooting in the road, and Vivien saw Julian grinning at her from his car.

  “Hello there. I was just coming up to see you. Can I give you a lift home?” He got out of the car and came toward them. “What have you been doing? Buying up the town?”

  “Almost, but I think we’ve been extravagant enough for one day. A lift would be most welcome. These pavements are like hot coals and my feet are beginning to sizzle.”

  “Right. In you go. I’ll put your loot in the back with Ah Kim,” he said cheerfully. “What about your own car? Is Chen waiting for
you somewhere?”

  “No, I sent him home. We were going back by trisha if you hadn’t come along.”

  “Good lord, you can’t use those filthy things,” Julian said in such a shocked tone that Vivien decided not to tell him that they had ridden a short distance in one during the afternoon.

  As they were driving past the fish market she caught sight of a tall figure standing at the curbside. It was Dr. Stransom. As they passed him she smiled and waved, but he could not have seen her, for he made no response. Or was it possible that he had deliberately ignored her, she wondered uneasily.

  CHAPTER THREE

  By the end of her first week at the House of Seven Fountains, Vivien was completely at home. For the first time in her adult life she felt a growing sense of security. Oddly, the knowledge that her sojourn in Malaya was not likely to last more than six or seven weeks at the most did not disturb her. Life in England and the prospect of returning there seemed infinitely remote. Absorbed in the present, she did not concern herself with the future.

  Each day offered new interests. Escorted by Chen, she visited the village of small holdings that Julian had told her about. Chen confirmed that all the tenants were either former occupants, of the town jail or cripples who had been obliged to beg on the streets for a living.

  Her visit to the little settlement caused a considerable stir among the inhabitants, who crowded out of their attap houses to see her, at first silent and watchful and then murmuring excitedly to each other.

  “What will happen to them when the estate is sold?” she asked Chen. So far she took it for granted that she would have to sell the estate unless Mr. Adams had any alternative suggestions.

  Chen shrugged. “One cannot say. If the new tuan is a hard man they will go back to the town, some to steal, some to beg.”

  “But couldn’t they stay here? They are in no one’s way.”

  “All men are not as Tuan Cunningham. The land is rich. It could be planted with crops that would bring money,” he said succinctly.

  That evening she sat on the veranda and thought about the village and what might become of it under new ownership. Perhaps the sale could be made on condition that the villagers were allowed to keep their plots. Although Mr. Adams had made it clear why her godfather had made her his heiress, she was still confused about how she could best fulfil her new responsibility.