by Anne Weale
Why ‘poor devil’?” Vivien asked, tapping her foot in time to the pulsing South American rhythm.
“He’s obviously no match for Cara. She’ll twist him around her little finger for a week or two, and then she’ll get tired of him and Master Michael will find himself sweetly but firmly dismissed,” Julian said cynically.
“I thought it was only the women who said catty things behind her back,” Vivien observed dryly.
“I’m not criticizing Cara, only sympathizing with Ferguson,” Julian said.
“It must be difficult for anyone so spectacularly good-looking,” Vivien said thoughtfully.
“In what way?”
“Having people fall in love with one when one feels nothing more than friendliness toward them.”
“I’ve never yet met a woman who was genuinely upset by knowing that some poor clown was hopelessly infatuated with her,” Julian said. “Women are like small boys who stick pins in butterflies. They revel in watching their victims squirm and twist. What really riles them is when the victim recovers his wits and gets away.”
“Julian, what a horrible thing to say! I’m sure very few people are like that,” she protested indignantly.
“Oh, no?” There was a trace of bitterness in his tone, and she was reminded of the odd look that had passed between him and Cara on that first evening at the club. There was or had been something between them, of that she felt sure.
The tango ended and the others returned. Cara was laughing, and Michael’s pleasant face was flushed with delight. He pulled out her chair with a gesture that was almost reverent, as if she was the most ravishing creature he had ever met, and he could not believe his luck in receiving her favors.
The cabaret was becoming crowded now. Many of the patrons were middle-aged and elderly Chinese businessmen and there were several groups of British civilians and a number of servicemen spending their pay on Tiger beer and dance tickets. Most of them were obviously National Service boys, enjoying a break from camp life. Presently, a singer in tight black satin appeared from behind the scenes and sobbed out a mournful ballad about a love affair that could only end in heartbreak.
“Very appropriate!” Julian murmured in Vivien’s ear. She controlled a smile and gave him a reproving look. When the singer had retired in a wave of clapping punctuated with piercing wolf whistles from some of the soldiers, the band leader announced a slow fox-trot. It was while she was dancing this with Julian that Vivien received an accidental kick on her bad ankle. The floor was very crowded, and if they had not been momentarily hemmed in by other couples she would probably have fallen. As it was she missed a step, for which Julian politely apologized, and finished the dance with her whole body braced against the agonizing shaft of pain that had seared her leg.
When they got back to their seats, she sank down with a gasp of relief. Fortunately, Julian did not notice her strained expression, and she took a quick sip of her martini and felt a little better.
Julian had the next dance with Cara and Vivien declined Michael’s invitation and said that if he didn’t mind she would rather sit it out. Since he was obviously the kind of man who would feel embarrassed if they sat in silence, she asked him several questions about his job and, once started, he rambled on happily, encouraged by a periodic “yes” or “really” from her.
The pain in her ankle had subsided to a relatively mild throbbing sensation by now and, having had an embarrassing vision of herself being carried out of the cabaret with attendant commotion, she was relieved to find that she could flex her foot without feeling more than a twinge of soreness. If she could evade any more dances all would be well.
It was at that moment that, glancing toward the entrance, she saw Tom Stransom come in with an Indian couple.
“I say, don’t you feel well? You’ve gone quite white,” Michael Ferguson said, noticing her expression.
“Have I? I feel perfectly all right. It’s getting rather stuffy in here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it makes one homesick for a good old northerly gale,” he agreed. “I never thought I would pine for some really freezing English weather, but sometimes I dream about snow and ice, and then I wake up and my room’s like a darned oven. I suppose we’re just not made to live in hot countries.”
“What part of England do you come from?” Vivien asked, watching the doctor and his friends take a table on the opposite side of the floor. She edged her chair around so that she was facing the wall. With her hair done differently, there was just a chance that he might not recognize her.
Although she told herself that it was absurd to be so nervous just because she had taken off the bandage without Tom’s permission, during the next half hour her tension mounted.
“Your friend Stransom is here,” Julian told her while Cara and Michael were dancing a lively samba.
“I know. I’m hoping he doesn’t notice me,” she admitted.
“Why? Have you had a tiff with him?”
“No, of course not, but he might be annoyed if he sees I left my bandage behind, and he told me to rest my foot for a day or two.”
“What rot! You’re the best judge of how it feels. The quacks are all the same. They like to order people around like a bunch of kids. Hello, one of the girls is having trouble with a customer.” Vivien followed his glance and saw that one of the dance hostesses was trying to evade her partner’s attempts to kiss her. The man had both his arms around her waist, and he was obviously half-drunk. He roared with laughter as she strained to free herself from his rough embrace, twisting her face aside in an attempt to escape the pressure of his coarse mouth.
“Why doesn’t someone do something? Julian, can’t you stop him?” Vivien exclaimed concernedly, as the other dancers passed by them with amused expressions.
Julian grinned. “I’ve no desire to get a black eye,” he said easily. “A few kisses won’t hurt her. She must be a new girl. They soon learn to cope with that sort of thing.”
Vivien’s mouth tightened angrily, but before she could make a scathing retort, a man detached himself from the passing stream of dancers.
“Aha, our stalwart doctor comes to the rescue!” Julian murmured.
With clenched hands, Vivien watched Tom Stransom tap the drunk on the shoulder. The man stumbled to a halt and looked around to see who had interrupted him. The Chinese girl, quick to take advantage of her opportunity, wrenched herself free of his momentarily relaxed grasp. It was a few seconds before the man realized that she had gone. Then, with a furious oath, he swung around on the doctor.
With a stifled cry of alarm, Vivien saw his arm jerk forward in a vicious punch. Then, when it seemed that the sudden attack must catch Tom off guard, he ducked sideways, thrust his foot between the drunk’s legs and tossed him neatly over his shoulder. The man’s thickset body hit the floor with a sickening thud, and before he could recover from the shock and stagger up, the commissionaire had arrived. With the help of a young soldier who had come forward the big Sikh heaved the cause of the trouble to his feet and led him away.
Ignoring the crowd that had gathered around to watch the incident, Tom straightened his tie and raked back a lock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead. Vivien saw him apologizing to the Indian woman with whom he had been dancing and then, the excitement being over, the onlookers moved away and the evening resumed its normal course.
“Very neat. Stransom obviously knows his judo,” Julian said.
“I’m glad somebody had the decency to intervene,” Vivien replied crisply.
“Oh, come now, there’s no sense in getting involved in a rumpus unless one can deal with it. We can’t all be heroes.”
“Supposing it had been me who was being pestered?” she inquired tautly.
“Well, that would have been rather different.”
“I don’t see why.”
“My dear child, why get angry with me? The girl wasn’t hurt and our drunken friend has been suitably quelled. Why make an issue of it?” Julian said, a shad
e irritably.
Vivien bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t only you, it was the attitude of all the others—just looking on as if the whole thing was a joke. Anyone could see that the girl was upset. If Dr. Stransom hadn’t put a stop to it she would still be struggling with that tipsy brute.”
“Well, since he did stop it, I suggest we forget the thing and talk about something more cheerful. I’m sorry there had to be fight on your first visit. It doesn’t happen very often.”
At that point Cara and Michael returned. They had been in the bar and had only just heard what had happened. Julian gave them a brief resume of the incident, and then the conversation reverted to an earlier discussion about the regimental ball that was being held at Colonel Maitland’s camp the following week.
It was now past eleven o’clock, and Vivien was beginning to feel tired. If they had been alone she would have asked Julian to take her home, but since the other three showed no disposition to break up the party she did not like to suggest it.
Feeling that she had been rather rude to Julian, she accepted his invitation to dance another waltz. Fortunately the lights had been lowered, and she did not think Tom would see her in the semidarkness.
Julian had the next dance with Cara and Vivien excused herself to powder her nose.
The cloakroom was full of taxi dancers, still eagerly discussing Tuan Stransom’s brave rescue of their newest recruit. The girl herself was sitting in a corner while one of the others mended the torn sleeve of her dress. She was very pale and looked as if she had been crying.
Vivien smiled at her, feeling another uprush of contempt for all the men who had seen her predicament and made no attempt to help her.
As she came out of the cloakroom a voice said, “Good evening, Vivien,” and she found herself face to face with Tom.
“Good evening.” She mastered an impulse to dash back to the sanctuary of the cloakroom.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said coolly. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Well ... I’m with some people and...”
“Ferguson seems to have disappeared, so you won’t be missed for a few minutes,” he said, nodding toward her table. As he said, Michael was no longer there.
“I imagine he expected you to spend a good ten minutes in the cloakroom. Women usually take at least as long as that to refurbish themselves,” he said, slipping a hand under her elbow and guiding her gently but firmly toward the bar.
There were two vacant stools at the end of the counter, and Tom ordered a whiskey and soda and a pineapple cocktail.
“You’ll find it more cooling than martinis,” he said as the bartender placed the tall glass of ice-cold fruit juice in front of her.
Her immediate reaction to this remark was to inform him that she preferred to be consulted on the matter, and then her sense of humor checked the impulsive sarcasm. The situation really was rather funny. Not five minutes ago she had been congratulating herself on escaping his notice, and now she found that he had not only seen her but had even noted what she was drinking.
As if he read her thoughts he said, “I have the curious impression that you have been avoiding me.”
Vivien felt a wave of guilty color creeping up her throat. “What an extraordinary idea!” she said in a choked voice.
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” he agreed calmly. “But apparently I was right.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
“You’re a bad liar, Vivien. You’re afraid I shall disapprove of your dancing on a bad ankle, aren’t you?”
He glanced down at her foot, and before she had time to conceal her ankle he had seen it.
“So! No bandage? That wasn’t very wise of you.”
“I know you told me to rest it, but it’s really quite all right now and a bandage is so unsightly,” she said quickly.
“Unsightly or not, it is still necessary, and I don’t care for my patients disregarding my instructions,” he said coldly. “Finish up your drink. I’m taking you home.”
“Really, Dr. Stransom, I don’t see what right...”
“Don’t argue,” he said tersely. “I’ll leave a message for your party.”
“I’ve no intention of going home yet,” Vivien declared hotly. “You may be a doctor, but that doesn’t give you the right to dictate to me like this!”
He surveyed her flushed face for a moment.
“Remember Rangoon?” he asked.
“That was entirely different.”
“You’re going home,” he said flatly.
“I am not.”
For answer he put his hand on her wrist, and she felt the steely strength of his fingers.
“I don’t think you’ll make a scene,” he said quietly.
CHAPTER FIVE
For a long moment they stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. Vivien’s eyes were bright with anger and her chin lifted mutinously. But even as she glared at him, her whole body stiff with resentment and disdain, she knew that she must be the loser. His will was an implacable force against which any counteraction was futile, and it was his will, not his superior physical strength, to which he would make her submit. Not, she knew bitterly, that his grip on her arm was an idle threat. He would have no compunction in carrying her out if she goaded him into it.
“Very well,” she said in a tone that was brittle with fury. “It seems I have no choice but to leave. Have I your permission to get my wrap?”
“The waiter will get it for you.” He beckoned a waiter and said something in Cantonese.
The man nodded and hurried away.
“He will bring it down to the car,” Tom said. “I’ve told him to tell Barclay that you are not feeling well but don’t want to break up the party.”
“Oh! You’re insufferable!”
“So I’ve been told before. Shall we go?”
“It isn’t necessary to hold onto me.”
“Very well.” He let go of her wrist, and they left the bar and went down the stairs and out of the building.
“My car is just across the road,” he said.
As she got into the car there was a hail from behind them and, turning, she saw Julian hurrying across the road with her jacket over his arm. But any hope of the tables being turned was swiftly quashed when she saw the expression on Tom’s face.
“I say, what’s up? The boy said you’d been taken ill,” Julian exclaimed concernedly.
Vivien took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Julian. My ankle has started to hurt and Dr. Stransom kindly offered to drive me home. Please don’t let it spoil the party.” Her inflection on the “kindly” was vitriolic, but Julian did not notice it.
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were feeling rotten?” he asked. “It’s very decent of you to step in, Stransom, old man, but I wouldn’t dream of staying on in the circumstances.”
“Miss Connell is very anxious that you shouldn’t leave your other guests, and since I shall have to restrap her foot I may just as well drive her home,” Tom said smoothly.
“Oh, well, in that case perhaps you’d better,” Julian agreed. “Is there anything I can do? I feel the whole thing is my fault.”
“On the contrary, it is entirely Miss Connell’s fault for disobeying my instructions.”
Julian looked a little staggered at this blunt indictment. While Tom got into the driver’s seat and started the car, Julian wrapped the jacket around Vivien’s shoulders.
“I’ll come up tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’m sorry the evening has to end like this, my dear.”
Vivien managed a wan smile. “Never mind. I enjoyed myself in spite of it,” she said.
He stood back. “Good night. Take care of her, Stransom.” As they drove away Vivien slipped her arms into the sleeves of her jacket and sank back against the seat. Her head ached, and she felt desperately tired. All the fight had gone out of her, and in spite of her chagrin at being forced to leav
e the dance, she was secretly glad to be out of the hot, smoky ballroom.
“Cigarette?” Tom asked, taking his case from his pocket and snapping it open.
“No, thank you.”
He lighted one for himself, keeping his right hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road.
“Why didn’t you appeal for help to Barclay?” he asked.
“I considered it. There was really no point in involving him. He isn’t the type to enjoy a scene.”
“Are you implying that I would have made one?”
“Not exactly. But you have a knack of getting your own way, haven’t you?”
“Certainly. There’s no point in making decisions if you aren’t going to stand by them.”
“Are you always confident that your point of view is the right one?” she asked.
“Generally.”
“It must be very satisfactory to be so sure of oneself.”
“It is necessary if one is to accept any kind of responsibility,” he said, “In my job one often has to make swift decisions. A doctor can’t afford to dither.”
“I suppose not ... Won’t your friends wonder where you are?” She remembered the couple who had been with him.
“I told them I was leaving just before I saw you.”
After that they were silent for a while. Vivien’s eyelids flickered sleepily.
“I expected you to spit fire at me all the way home,” he said suddenly. “Or are you planning a more subtle revenge?”
She stifled a yawn.
“I’m too tired to battle with you,” she said drowsily. “It’s been a long day.”
“That’s a relief,” he said with a short laugh. “You’ve a hot temper, my girl. If all my patients were as intractable, I should be in need of a long furlough.”
When they reached the house he took his bag from the backseat and went around to open the passenger door for her. She was dizzy with fatigue, and in the lighted hall her face showed pale and a little drawn with dark smudges under her eyes.
“You’d better go straight to bed. Call Ah Kim to help you. I’ll wait in the study until you’re ready,” he said.
