The House of Seven Fountains

by Anne Weale

  The following afternoon, Mr. Adams flew north to Penang where he had other business. His parting suggestion was that she should continue to enjoy herself for a week or two, during which time he would investigate the possibility of her getting a post in either Singapore or the federation.

  When Vivien got back to the house she found Julian waiting for her, and she greeted him with enthusiasm, hoping that his merry companionship would distract her from her troubled thoughts. They decided to swim until teatime and then go to the first show at one of Mauping’s two movie houses.

  After basking in the tepid water for an hour they climbed out of the pool and lay down on outspread towels in the shade of the striped umbrella. By now Vivien had acquired a deep, golden tan, but she still took the precaution of rubbing oil into her arms and legs before sunbathing.

  “You know, you make it very hard for me to keep my promise,” Julian said, leaning on one elbow and watching her smooth the protective oil over her shoulders.

  “What promise?” she asked, replacing the cap on the bottle and lying down.

  “That I wouldn’t get out of line again,” he reminded her.

  She turned her face toward him, but her eyes were shielded by dark glasses and her mouth gave no clue to her reaction.

  “Was the ban a permanent one or just a probationary measure?” he asked.

  She plucked a blade of grass and twisted around her forefinger. Was it possible that by embarking on a flirtation with Julian she could deaden the futile ache in her heart?

  “I haven’t thought about it, Julian,” she said.

  He moved closer and gently removed her sunglasses.

  “Might I suggest that you do so now? I don’t like breaking promises, but if you will persist in looking like a beautiful water nymph I’m afraid temptation will be too strong for me.”

  She stared at him, searching his face for an answer to her question. He was very handsome and probably very expert at making love.

  “It was just a probationary period,” she said, expecting him to gather her into his arms.

  To her surprise he sat up with his arms clasped around his knees and his back to her.

  “What made you change your mind?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What makes you think you’d like me to kiss you now? You didn’t enjoy my first attempts.”

  She sat up beside him. “Well, things have changed,” she said, finding it a rather awkward question. “I know you better now.”

  “And I know you better too, my poppet,” he said. “You’re the kind of girl who thinks that kisses mean love and love means marriage.”

  “I’m not deluding myself that you’re in love with me, Julian, if that’s what you are getting at,” she said calmly.

  “No, that’s not what I was getting at. But since you mention it, I’m not in love with you. I don’t even believe there is such an emotion,” he said bluntly. “But you believe in it, my dear, and you’re not in love with me, so why this willingness to be kissed?”

  “For heaven’s sake, are you always so analytical about these things?” she asked, both amused and discomfited by his odd reaction.

  “I don’t know many girls like you,” he said. “Usually there’s nothing to analyze.”

  “But you think I have some deep, dark motive?”

  “I think there’s a reason, yes.”

  “You’re very modest. I should think any girl would like to be kissed by a good-looking man.”

  He grinned. “Flattery will not avail you, wench. If that’s the case, how come you resisted my sinister fascination before?”

  “Really, Julian, I think this is quite the most fantastic discussion I’ve ever heard,” she said, a shade crisply. “I’m going to swim again.”

  But as she reached for her bathing cap he caught her arm and swung her around to face him.

  “You’re quite right. This is no time for talking,” he said thickly, and drawing her closer, he kissed her on the mouth.

  Some time later Vivien pushed him gently away and said, “It must be nearly teatime. Chen will be out soon.”

  “To the devil with Chen. Come here a minute....”

  She shook her head and before he could argue she had jumped up and dived into the pool.

  Julian lighted a cigarette and watched her brown limbs flashing through the water to the opposite side, where she hauled herself out and sat on the edge kicking up a flurry of spray and laughing across at him.

  “Why fly away?” he called. “Did I frighten you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She disappeared again, leaving a ring of ripples on the surface. She stayed in the pool until Chen appeared with the tea tray, and then she climbed out and wrapped herself in a long, white, terry-cloth robe.

  “In the circumstances your departure was a trifle abrupt,” Julian said, pouring out the tea while she combed her hair.

  “Could I ask you something very personal?” she said, disregarding his remark because she had no answer to it.

  “By all means. My life is an open book. I have no secrets and no shame.”

  “Julian, have you ever been involved with Cara Maitland?”

  Only by the tightening of his hand on the teapot did he betray that the question hit home.

  “Why do you ask?” he said, his face inscrutable.

  “Because I had the impression that there was something between you. I mean either that you loved her or she loved you.”

  “I’ve told you, I don’t believe in what you call love. I don’t imagine that Cara does, either. She’s strictly a good-time girl.”

  “That might be just a facade,” Vivien said thoughtfully. “She doesn’t look very happy. Perhaps she’s tired of being a good-time girl, as you call it.”

  “If she looks fed up it’s because she is getting bored with young Ferguson. Cara likes variety.”

  “I wonder?” Vivien said softly. “I wonder if she really does?”

  “Anyhow, what have Cara’s affairs to do with us?” Julian inquired.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just curious. You’re not angry, are you?”

  “Why should I be?” His shrug was a shade too casual.

  After tea Vivien changed into slacks and a cotton sweater and they drove into Mauping. The film was a technicolor melodrama with some impressive crowd scenes and a familiar plot. They sat in the front row of the circle, and Julian insisted on holding her hand.

  Afterward they strolled around the town and spent some time talking to the old Malay who owned the pet shop and who tried to sell them a sad-looking monkey. Then they had a drink at a cafe and drove home.

  Just inside the gates Julian stopped the car and took her in his arms. He kissed her eyelids and the curve of her cheek, but when his lips strayed to her mouth she drew free.

  “What’s the matter, darling?”

  “It’s so ... so cold-blooded, Julian. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I can easily remedy that,” he said softly, and this time his arms held her more closely and his lips were ardent and demanding.

  When he let her go she was breathless and trembling—but not with delight. The passion of his kisses had shocked her, and she knew now that an idle love affair would not assuage her heartache. These sham caresses could only sharpen her longing for kisses that were real.

  Julian must have sensed her feelings, for without a word he started the car and drove up to the house.

  “May I come in for a moment? I want to talk to you,” he said.

  After some hesitation she nodded, and they went indoors. Chen had asked permission to go out for the evening so the second boy brought them hot coffee and sandwiches.

  Julian lighted a cigarette and waited until she had poured the coffee, then he said, “Look, Vivien, you’re what’s known as a nice girl. A lot of girls are nice because they’ve never had the opportunity to be otherwise, but you’re the genuine article, my sweet. I think you know by now that I’m not a nice guy. Oh, I haven’
t any criminal tendencies and I’m kind to children and dogs, but at the same time I lack what are known as ‘high principles.’ Live for today is my maxim. That’s one good reason why I don’t know many girls like you. For one thing most nice girls are either crashing bores or else they’re surrounded by a bodyguard of mothers and aunts and brothers. In the normal run of things you and I would never have met, but as it happens we have, and I find myself in a new and rather difficult situation. A, I’ve got mixed up with a nice girl, which is against my rules. B, I don’t know what to do about it.”

  Vivien drank her coffee and poured herself a second cup.

  “Must you do anything about it? Can’t we just go on being friends?” she said quietly, not looking at him.

  “As I’ve already told you, poppet, there’s no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman. If you were the other kind of girl we could have a lot of fun together with no hard feelings when one of us decided to call it quits. If I were a different kind of man we could have a romantic idyll of sighs and soft glances and a few kisses. But, in the circumstances, neither of those solutions would work out.”

  “If you were as hard-boiled as you pretend to be you wouldn’t be talking like this,” she said gently.

  He gave a rueful grin. “Maybe I have a few scruples left that I’d forgotten about. But don’t try to convince yourself that I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing, my dear. It was my better nature that stopped me making love to you just now, and I can’t guarantee that it would get the upper hand again.”

  She was silent again, not knowing what to say. The thought of their friendship coming to an end saddened her, and yet she knew that what he had said was true.

  “Suppose you tell me why you changed your mind this afternoon?” he said.

  She flushed. “I don’t quite know myself,” she said, nervously. He must never guess the reason.

  Julian glanced at his watch. “I’d better get along,” he said. “Does this mean that we won’t be going to the ball?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Not unless you want it to. I think I can promise to play the hero a little while longer. After that I revert to type, and we won’t see so much of each other.”

  She walked to the front door with him.

  “I shall miss you, Julian. You may be a black sheep, but I think you’re one of the nicest people I know.”

  He tipped up her chin. “Maybe it’s just as well in more ways than one that we’re breaking it up. You’re a sweet kid, Vivien. You might have succeeded in reforming me, and I should hate to be a model of respectability.”

  “Perhaps you’ll change your mind about that. One of these days you’ll meet someone who’ll make you want to settle down.”

  “I doubt that. There’s only one girl...”He stopped short and laughed, but his eyes were bleak. “Good night, poppet. Sweet dreams.”

  He bent forward and kissed her very gently on the forehead. Seconds later the showy cream sports car was hurtling down the driveway.

  Vivien turned back into the hall. “Only one girl...?” Could it be that Cara Maitland was the one girl whom Julian wanted and the one girl he could not have?

  SOME DAYS LATER she drove her swimming pupils back to the children’s home after a boisterous afternoon in the pool and was invited to stay for supper by Miss Buxton. After the meal they sat on the veranda and talked.

  “You’re looking a bit peaked, m’dear,” Anna Buxton said.

  “It’s the heat, I expect. The last two or three days seem to have been extra hot.”

  “Yes, I’ll be glad when the rains begin,” Miss Buxton agreed. “Even the youngsters are fagged out.”

  “They didn’t seem to be this afternoon,” Vivien said, laughing.

  “Ah, they enjoy themselves up at the pool, bless ’em. You’re a good girl to do it. There are not many people who’d be bothered. That reminds me, Tom didn’t make his usual call this morning. Not that there’s anything wrong just now. I daresay he’ll come tomorrow. Have you seen him lately?”

  “No, not since the night you came to dinner,” Vivien said in a carefully casual voice.

  “Oh, well, doctors have their busy times like anyone else. That reminds me, I meant to send the kebun around with a parcel I promised him. I wonder if you’d do me a favor and drop it in at his bungalow on your way home, m’dear?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, since there seemed no reasonable excuse for refusing the errand.

  Half an hour later she said goodbye, taking the package for Tom with her. She had seen his house, and it was only a few minutes out of her way. With any luck he would be out, and she could deliver the parcel to his houseboy or leave it on the porch.

  But as she turned in at the gate she saw his car was standing in front of the veranda, and her heart began to beat in great nervous thumps.

  Leaving the engine running, she approached the house. As she climbed the steps the houseboy came through the screen door.

  She greeted him in Malay, thrust the parcel into his hands and was about to beat her retreat when a familiar voice called out, “Who is it, Joe?”

  The Malay answered to his own language, speaking too fast for her to catch anything but the word mem.

  Footsteps approached and Vivien turned and half-jumped, half-fell down the steps. She was hurrying to the car when she heard the screen door squeak and knew that Stransom had reached the veranda. Scrambling into the car she rammed the gear into reverse and let up the clutch with a speed that would have horrified Chen, who nursed the Rolls like a loving parent. But her urgency was defeated by the fact that she had forgotten to release the hand brake, and by the time she had realized her oversight Tom was beside her.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked.

  “Miss Buxton asked me to bring a package over. It wasn’t necessary to disturb you,” she stammered.

  “You aren’t disturbing me. Come in and have a drink. You look as if you need it.” He turned the handle and swung the door open.

  “No, really, it’s very late. I must get back. Chen is expecting me. Please, I ...”

  “If you drive off in a panic you’ll probably hit the first tree. Come in. It’s only half-past nine. Chen won’t send the runners out yet.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and with a sigh of defeat she climbed out.

  “Do you always deliver parcels as if they held time bombs?” he inquired as they went into the sitting room. “Why don’t you sit down before you collapse. What’s the panic?”

  “No panic. I just didn’t intend to make a social call of it,” Vivien said flatly.

  He raised his eyebrows but made no comment. A moment later the boy came in with a tray of drinks and a plate of sandwiches.

  “Cold beef. I missed lunch. Are you hungry?” Tom said.

  She shook her head. Her drink had the underlying smell of gin. After two or three sips she felt steadier. Tom was concentrating on his sandwiches and she glanced around the room, curiosity overcoming her uneasiness.

  It was easy to see the house belonged to a bachelor. There were none of the feminine touches immediately discernible. But for the closely packed bookshelves lining one wall and the litter of male impedimenta on the table, it might well have been a hotel room. There were no flowers, no cushions, no pictures, and the only ornaments were an aboriginal blowpipe and some native knives hooked onto the wall facing the bookshelves.

  Tom gulped down the long drink the boy had mixed and poured himself a stiff shot of gin from the bottle on the tray. For the first time Vivien noticed that he looked less cool and collected than usual. His hair was ruffled, and there was a dark shadow along his jaw. As she looked at him he brushed a hand across his eyes as if his head ached.

  “You look tired,” she said involuntarily.

  He lay back in his chair, stretching his long legs.

  “It’s been quite a day. Three confinements, a motorcycle smash and, just to round things off, a suicide.”

  “Oh—Miss Buxton wondered why you hadn’t been
to the home.”

  “I phoned her a moment before you arrived. She told me you were on your way.”

  “I’ll be going. You must want to get some rest,” Vivien said, setting down her glass.

  “No, don’t go. I couldn’t get to sleep yet. Talk to me.” He smiled and her heart lurched. She forgot the coldness of their last encounter. He looked so worn and, oddly, so much younger and more approachable that her defenses crumbled. “What were the babies?” she asked.

  “All boys—to the delight of their fathers! One of the women had a rough time, but I’ve got her into hospital and I think she’ll pull through.”

  “I thought Asian women had their babies much more easily than Europeans,” she said.

  “Ah, yes, the old legend about the native woman pausing to produce an infant and then carrying on with her road breaking or grass cutting or some other man-sized job.” He gave a short laugh. “That may be so in one case out of a hundred. The other ninety-nine share just the same pangs as a white woman. It’s true that Asians have a more natural mental approach to childbirth. They need it, poor devils. But a lot of them go through hell because they haven’t had proper nourishment, or because they’ve swallowed some poisonous native brew that is alleged to ensure that the child is a male, or because their muscles are knotted by years of manual labor.”

  “You make me feel very ignorant,” Vivien said ashamedly.

  “Ignorance doesn’t matter provided you’re willing to accept the truth. Too many people refuse to acknowledge the facts and cling to false beliefs.”

  He finished the gin and came over to the couch where she was sitting. “Cigarette?”

  “Thank you.”

  He stayed beside her, and she could smell the antiseptic on his skin.

  “And the accident?” she asked.

  He made a noncommittal gesture. “They’re doing their best for him at the hospital. I happened to pass before the ambulance arrived. Some crazy young speedster on a motor bike. He’ll probably pull through. We were too late to help the girl who wanted to die.”