by Anne Weale
“Didn’t you?” His eyes appraised her hair, her dress, her smooth bare arms.
“As Barclay heard, I’ve been out of town, but I managed to get back in time for the festivities. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Very much.”
Now that he was here she could find nothing to say. The easy remarks that she had composed earlier were suddenly trite and contrived. He leaned forward to take a bridge roll, and she stole a secret glance at him. The white dinner jacket heightened his Gypsy darkness, and the angle of his jaw, freshly shaved, was sharply defined.
“Your sundae is melting,” he said.
She put it aside, no longer hungry. Julian spoke to her, and she answered automatically. Someone made a joke and she shared in the flurry of laughter. But beneath the mask of carefree sociability, she felt nothing but a trembling awareness of Tom’s presence. Like an actress, she answered her cues and performed the gestures demanded of her while, inwardly, her heart hammered against her ribs.
At last the orchestra struck up again, and she braced herself. But it was Ross Carter who asked her to dance, and as they left the table she heard Tom talking to Lisa.
It was not until she had danced with Julian and two other men that the band swung into a fox-trot and Tom said, “May I have this one, Vivien? You don’t mind, Barclay?”
“Go ahead, old chap.” Julian waved them off with an exaggerated gesture of consent.
The floor was crowded, and Tom held her close. In spite of the heat his hand was firm and dry and, unlike her previous partner, he did not pump her arm up and down to mark the beats. They danced in silence and Vivien was very conscious of his arm about her waist and his face so near to her own. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the lilting rhythm.
“Tired?” he murmured in her ear.
She looked up, coloring.
“No, I was just concentrating on the music.”
His fingers tightened a little over hers, and there was the suggestion of a smile around his mouth.
When the music ended he kept her hand in his, and guided her out of a doorway that led onto the lawn behind the mess. They sat down on a wicker couch and Tom offered his cigarette case. As the lighter flared their eyes met: his narrowed and hard to read, hers still soft with the pleasure of dancing.
He snuffed the flame.
“You look very beautiful tonight,” he said softly.
She caught her breath, startled and unsure. A dozen times she had wondered what it would be like to hear that special note in his voice and now that it had happened she was suddenly afraid. It was the same quick upsurge of alarm she had felt on the night Julian had tried to rouse a response to his kisses, except that now the fear was sharper and more urgent.
What did she really know of this tall, dark man with the mocking eyes and cynical mouth? Supposing her confused emotions were nothing more than an overwhelming physical attraction?
“What is it? Are you cold?”
She jumped and gave a choked laugh, shaking her head, forgetting the darkness that shielded them from each other. With a determined effort to conquer her apprehension she sank back against the cushions.
“What a strange young thing you are,” Tom said. “I believe you’re nervous.” Now, perversely, she bristled with resentment. He was treating her like a schoolgirl again, the old mocking inflection back in his voice.
“Why on earth should I be nervous?” she said vexedly.
She had not known that his arm was lying along the back of the couch and now his hand dropped to her shoulder, and he gave her a quick, amused hug.
“What are you, Vivien?” he asked softly. “A child or a woman?”
The cloud that had obscured the moon drifted away, and the garden was flooded with a pale radiance. The sudden light illuminated her face, troubled and questioning.
“I don’t suppose you know yourself,” he said gently. “We’d better go back. The others will be wondering where we are.”
For a final second his hand touched the smooth curve of her shoulder, and then he drew her to her feet and the interlude was over.
Having escorted her back to the table, Tom excused himself and Vivien wondered disconsolately if that was the last she would see of him except at a distance. She had a miserable sense of failure, of feeling that somehow she had flunked an important hurdle.
“What are you ... a child or a woman?” The question echoed in her mind like a taunt. What had he meant? How should she have answered?
Lisa had said that when people were in love they had not the courage to risk making fools of themselves. Was that true of herself? Perhaps if she had taken a chance Tom would still be with her.
I’m a fool, she told herself bitterly. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for days and now that it’s here I’m behaving like a gauche adolescent.
“You don’t look very cheerful, my sweet. What did Stransom say to make you so downcast?” Julian inquired.
“Why nothing ... nothing at all. I think I’d like another glass of champagne,” Vivien said, hastily assuming a carefree smile.
“That’s the spirit. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may all be kicking up the daisies.”
Julian refilled her glass, until the pale liquid trembled on the brim and spilled over.
“Whoops! Sorry, darling.” He mopped the stain with a napkin, almost knocking the glass over.
With quickening anxiety Vivien realized that he was more than a little tipsy.
“Here’s to you, my beautiful lotus blossom!” He gulped down his drink and immediately poured out another.
“Julian, you’ll be blotto if you don’t watch out,” Lisa said, leaning across the table.
“Nonsense, I’m as sober as a judge,” he protested indignantly. Stone-cold sober, isn’t that so, little lotus blossom?”
Lisa’s eyebrows lifted, and she gave Vivien a meaning look.
“Let’s dance,” Julian said, shoving back his chair and seizing her wrist.
He was still steady on his feet, and Vivien thought that if she could keep him on the dance floor for half an hour it might avert an embarrassing situation. It was unfortunate that they reached the ballroom door just as Cara Maitland and her partner were returning to the marquee. Vivien’s hope that they would pass each other with a casual greeting was swiftly dispelled when Cara flashed a brilliant smile at Julian and said, “Why, Julian, where have you been hiding yourself? I didn’t even know you were here.”
She turned to Vivien. “Good evening, Miss Connell. May I introduce Captain Sandford?”
The tall heavily built officer beside her bowed to Vivien.
“We were just going along to the bar. Will you join us?” he suggested.
Vivien glanced doubtfully at Julian, and to her dismay he accepted the invitation with alacrity.
The bar was in an anteroom adjoining the ballroom. The atmosphere was thick with cigar smoke, and they had to edge their way through the crush of guests.
“Standing room only, I’m afraid,” Captain Sandford said jocularly. “What will you have, Miss Connell?”
Vivien asked for a pineapple juice, but both Captain Sandford and Julian insisted that she should have something stronger and to avoid an argument she agreed to a sweet martini.
“A brandy and soda for me, darling,” Cara said, perching herself on a high stool that had just been vacated. She fitted a cigarette in a diamante-studded holder. Both men delved for their lighters and Julian won.
“Thanks.” Cara rested her white fingers on his wrist to steady the flame, and Vivien saw the muscles at his jaw clench.
The next ten minutes were obviously torture for him. With what seemed to be deliberate cruelty, Cara flirted outrageously with Captain Sandford, linking her arm with his, giving him provocative glances through her long curling eyelashes, and calling him “Jimmy darling” with every remark. It was a convincing performance, and an outsider, while wondering what attracted her to a man whose conversation was punctuated with toothy guf
faws, would have thought she was genuinely enamored.
Watching the three of them, Vivien was astonished that Julian could not see through Cara’s wiles. She was terribly afraid that if this went on much longer his control would snap and he would vent his feelings on the captain, who was blissfully unaware of the motive for Cara’s blandishments. Instinctively, she slipped her hand into his, but although he gave a quick forced grin and returned the pressure of her fingers, she knew that he had virtually forgotten her existence.
“Listen, they’re playing our song, Jimmy darling,” Cara exclaimed. “Do let’s dance. You will excuse us, won’t you?” she added sweetly.
Julian’s hand clenched so violently that Vivien had to bite her lips not to cry out.
When they had gone she said quickly. “It’s terribly hot in here. Shall we go outside for a while?”
He stared at her in a vague, unseeing way.
“She didn’t mean it, Julian. She was only doing it to make you angry,” she said, pitying the blaze of impotent fury that she knew he felt.
Julian’s nostrils flared. “What the devil do you mean? Why should I care if she wants to throw herself at that pompous ass?” he said harshly. “Waiter, another double.”
“Do you think you should?” Vivien said worriedly.
“For God’s sake, stop nagging me. I know when to stop,” he snapped.
Vivien flinched. His voice had risen, and people were beginning to stare at them. She could sense the sly nudges, the amused whispers.
“If you don’t mind I’ll go back to the table,” she said in a controlled voice.
“Vivien ... I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” He put out a hand, and his eyes were apologetic, almost pleading.
“It’s all right.”
“To hell with this. Let’s get some air.” He took her wrist and led the way through the crowd.
When they were outside he paused and brushed a hand across his eyes as if his head ached.
“There’s a little garden around at the back,” she said hesitantly. “It’s quieter there.”
“Who’s been showing you quiet little gardens?” he asked, a glimmer of humor returning.
But when they reached the garden the couch was occupied, so they went back to the marquee, where Lisa was exulting over a Kelantan silver bracelet that she had just won in an elimination dance.
Julian seemed subdued after his outburst in the bar. At midnight a net of colored balloons and paper streamers was released from the roof and there was a wild scramble for trophies punctuated by feminine shrieks as the balloons burst and streamers rippled through the air. From then on the festivities grew more and more boisterous.
The band struck up a conga and a long chain of hip-jerking dancers wound their way from the dance floor to the marquee, whooping hilariously as the leader decided to make the game more enterprising by climbing over a table. At the height of the revelry, some practical joker decided it would add to the fun to switch off the lights, and the marquee was suddenly plunged in darkness. Shouts of annoyance, the splintering of glass, muffled curses and the crunch and the thud of someone falling over a chair punctuated the scuffling hubbub.
A hand brushed Vivien’s arm and a breathy voice whispered, “Is that you, angel?”
“No, it isn’t.” She winced as whiskey-laden breath fanned her cheek and groped for Julian, but he seemed to have disappeared.
Another hand clasped her wrist, and Tom’s voice said, “Are you enjoying this melee or shall I get you out?”
“Please.”
How he managed to extricate them from the confusion without bumping into anyone she had no idea, but thirty seconds later they were out in the fresh air with the grass soft and damp beneath their feet.
“All in one piece?” he asked.
“I think so ... but where are we?”
“Around the back. I noticed earlier that there was a service exit behind the bank of flowers.”
“Just for a minute I had a horrible feeling that the roof was caving in,” she said, disentangling a scarlet streamer that had caught on her skirt.
“Somebody will be on the carpet tomorrow,” Tom said, his tone suggesting that he would like to have the handling of the culprit.
At that moment the lights came on again and through the wall of canvas they could hear people asking what had happened and who was responsible for such tomfoolery.
They went around to the main entrance and back to the table. Vivien could not help feeling a little annoyed at Julian’s casual “Hello there. We thought you must be hiding under the table.” She thought how different the evening would have been if Tom had been her partner.
Toward two o’clock there was an increasing number of farewells and departures, and presently the Carters said they were going. To her surprise Julian suggested that they should leave, too.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Lisa asked as they collected their wraps from the cloakroom. “Julian’s inclined to step on the gas when he’s been drinking. We can easily give you a lift home, you know.”
“I think he’d be angry if I went with you, and he seems to have calmed down now,” Vivien said.
“I hope so.” Lisa looked doubtful.
The men were waiting for them on the path to the car park. As Vivien said good-night to Tom some impulse made her put out her hand. It seemed to her that he held it for a moment longer than was necessary, and she derived a morsel of comfort from this.
As Lisa had prophesied, Julian swept out of the camp gates at a speed that made Vivien grasp the armrest for support, and once they were on the main road the speedometer needle crept up to sixty. She wondered if she should ask him to slow down, and then decided that it was better not to distract his attention from the road. Heaven help anything that strayed into their path, she thought fervently.
After a while the roar of the powerful engine and the blaze of headlights on the dark road began to have a narcotic effect on her, and she closed her eyes. When the car slowed down and stopped she blinked and said, “Are we home already?” Julian switched off the ignition and relaxed.
“I thought we’d wind up the evening with a private celebration.”
“What do you mean?” She sat up, peering out of the window. They were not at the House of Seven Fountains at all. The car was parked in a strange garage.
“You’ve never seen my place, have you? I think you’ll like it. If my boy’s following his orders, we’ll find something to eat and a bottle of champagne.”
He opened the door and prepared to get out.
“Wait! What is all this? I thought you were taking me home,” Vivien said bewilderedly.
“The night is young, my sweet. Don’t tell me you want to end it with the anticlimax of going back to an empty house.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that I should come into your bungalow and drink champagne at half-past two in the morning? Really, Julian!” She was almost amused.
“Why not? We’re both free, white and over twenty-one.”
“You’re crazy.” She reached across and switched on the ignition. “Now please take me back. I’m tired.”
“Oh, come, don’t be stuffy. Can’t you trust me?”
She sighed. “Don’t be difficult, Julian, It isn’t a question of trusting or not trusting you. You know perfectly well that I can’t come in at this hour.”
“But why? Who’s to know?” He shut the door again and shifted toward her. “Be a sport, darling.”
At that she lost patience.
“If you were anyone else I’d be really angry, Julian. Please take me back.”
For answer he pulled her against him and tried to kiss her. His grasp was rough but not brutal, and with a quick wrench Vivien freed herself, and opened the door and sprang out. “Hey, where are you going?”
“Since you won’t take me home I’ll find a trisha that will,” she flared furiously, and marched out of the garage and down the drive.
“Don’t be a fool. There ar
en’t any trishas around at this hour.” He had jumped out of the car and was hurrying after her.
“Then I’ll walk,” she called over her shoulder.
“Vivien, wait a minute! I was only joking. Of course, I’ll take you home if you feel like that about it...”
He began to run, overtaking her just as she reached the gates.
“For Pete’s sake, there’s no need to work up a temper just because...”
“Please, don’t touch me.” She drew back as he attempted to take her arm.
“Oh, come now, my dear girl...” He grinned disarmingly. “Anyone would think I was trying to kidnap you.”
“Having trouble?”
They both turned, startled by the third voice that appeared to come from midair.
“What the blazes ...?” Julian began.
A tall figure emerged from the shadow of a casuarina tree.
“Is Barclay making a nuisance of himself?” Tom Stransom asked coolly.
There was a moment of astonished silence.
Then Julian burst out, “Now, look here, Stransom, I’ve had just about enough of you tonight. What do you think you’re doing, skulking around here?”
Tom ignored him. “I’ll take you home,” he said to Vivien.
“The devil you will!” Julian exploded. “First you try to monopolize her at the dance, and now you have the confounded nerve to turn up here. I always thought you were an interfering blackguard, but by heaven, this time you’ve gone too far. Now get out!”
Tom flipped his cigarette into the ditch. He was smiling, but his eyes had the glitter of naked steel.
Without looking at her, he said, “Go and wait in the car, will you, Vivien? I won’t be long.”
She hesitated and was about to do as he said when Julian suddenly sprang forward and aimed a violent punch at his head. As easily as if he were dealing with a hysterical schoolboy, Tom parried the blow with his left forearm and caught Julian a smart clip on the jaw.
For a moment the younger man rocked on his heels and then with a smothered groan he fell forward and Tom caught him neatly under the armpits.
“It’s all right. He isn’t hurt. Go and wait in the car,” he said.
