The House of Seven Fountains

by Anne Weale

  Cara nestled closer in the circle of his arms. “He went to bed hours ago and he doesn’t know I’m out,” she said drowsily.

  Julian kissed her softly parted lips and there was a pause before he said firmly, “All the same it’s high time I took you home, sweetheart.”

  “It’s still raining. We’ll get soaked. Let’s wait till it stops.”

  “It probably won’t stop till dawn, and a fine sensation there would be if the neighbors spotted you creeping out of here at first light,” he said, grinning.

  Reluctantly, Cara sat up and smoothed her rumpled hair. “I don’t want to leave you for a minute,” she said softly. “It’s like a wonderful dream, and I’m terrified of waking up.”

  He took both her hands and kissed the palms.

  “I hope you won’t ever wake up, Cara,” he said tenderly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  An hour before dawn the fury of the storm began to slacken and by sunrise the sky was clear. After breakfast Vivien went out of doors to inspect the damage. Lying in bed listening to the rain battering on the roof she had expected the whole garden to be laid waste, but apart from a few broken lilies and a torn branch lying on the steaming lawn there was surprisingly little disorder.

  At ten o’clock the manager of Whiteway’s and two assistants arrived to pack up the jade collection, which was being sent to Singapore for safekeeping until it was sold. Vivien had chosen one piece—a fiery Tang stallion with a proudly arched neck and curling mane—to keep as a memento. The rest was put carefully into padded containers and loaded into a special strong box with combination padlocks. Not long after the removal van had returned to town there was a loud hooting in the driveway and Julian’s car swept into view. As soon as she saw him helping Cara out of it, Vivien guessed what had happened. She stood on the steps and they came toward her, smiling and holding hands.

  Julian cleared his throat, but before he could speak Cara held out her left hand. A magnificent emerald engagement ring sparkled on the third finger.

  “You’re engaged! Oh, I am so glad. When did this happen?” Vivien asked warmly.

  “Last night. We wanted you to be the first to know.” Cara’s eyes were shining.

  “I’m so pleased. Congratulations, Julian. When are you going to be married?”

  Julian grinned. “As soon as possible. Cara’s coerced her father into giving his consent, and I’ve cabled my people that I’m bringing home a bride by the first available boat. It’s goodbye to die tropics for us. We’re going to settle down and become the most respectable stick-in-the-muds you ever met, aren’t we, sweet?”

  He squeezed Cara’s hand, looking down at her with all the tender pride of a man who cannot quite believe his good fortune.

  Cara nodded. She had never looked so lovely. Before, her beauty had had the cool, still quality of an exquisite statue. Now, the strange alchemy of love had given her a new and vibrant radiance.

  “Come inside. I want to hear all your plans,” Vivien said.

  She showed them into the drawing room and went to ask Chen to bring a bottle of champagne. When she returned, she found them in each other’s arms. They drew apart, smiling apologetically but not really minding if the whole world witnessed their happiness.

  “You will stay on for the wedding, won’t you?” Cara said eagerly. “Julian’s getting a license, and I shall buy my trousseau on our way through Singapore, so there’ll be only a day or two’s delay.”

  “I should like to stay, you know that, but I’ve arranged for Miss Buxton to move in on Thursday, and I really must get down to Rangore as soon as possible after all the delay there has been already,” Vivien said.

  “Oh, nonsense! Another few days can’t matter. Cara wants you to be her bridesmaid. You must stay,” Julian insisted.

  “I don’t see how I can,” she answered reluctantly. “Please don’t be offended. You know I should like to be there, but I have promised to arrive at Rangore on the nineteenth, and the sultan may change his mind about the job if I postpone things again.”

  They argued with her for some minutes, but although she knew they could not understand the real reason for her refusal, she held firm. Fortunately, their persuasions were cut short by the arrival of Chen with the champagne. Vivien explained the engagement to him, and he joined her in a toast to their future happiness.

  “What about your job, Julian?” she asked, when the little ceremony was over and Chen had departed to the kitchen. “Will you be able to leave as soon as you like?”

  “Yes, I’ve already arranged for one of the lads from the Singapore office to take over. It’s not as if I’m a key executive,” he said dryly. “However, once we get back to the United Kingdom, I shall turn over a new leaf and become a pillar of the business.”

  “You’ll have to, darling. I want at least three babies and a washing machine,” Cara teased. “Can you imagine me as a bustling housewife?” she asked Vivien.

  “Good lord, I forgot to ask if you can cook,” Julian exclaimed with mock concern.

  “At the moment I can just about boil an egg,” she informed him cheerfully. “Don’t forget I’ve been living in hotels and army quarters ever since I left school. But don’t worry, I’ll learn. You may have to suffer in silence for a month or two, but I aim to be a second Mrs. Beeton before I’ve finished.”

  “I love your ring. Is it an heirloom?” Vivien asked.

  “Heavens, no. Julian isn’t the type to keep an engagement ring in his pocket in case of emergencies. We dashed into town after breakfast and bought it from old Li Yen on Main Road,” Cara explained, spreading her fingers to admire the flashing green stone. “Dam it, I’m covered with ink. My pen must be leaking again. Could I wash my hands?”

  Leaving Julian with the champagne, they went to the bathroom, where Cara put her ring carefully on the shelf and scrubbed the ink stains from her fingers.

  “I shall have to have a platinum wedding ring to match the hoop of this,” she said. “Oh, Vivien, you can’t imagine how blissful I feel, and it’s all thanks to your good advice. How could I have been such a fool? Why, we might have been engaged ages ago if I hadn’t put on that stupid cold shoulder act all the time.”

  “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Vivien said, managing a grin.

  “I feel it. Twenty canaries. It’s like winning a million pounds—only much, much better,” Cara said ecstatically. “Hurry up and fall in love yourself, poppet. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Vivien turned her back, pretending to rearrange the thick, lilac-and-pink hand towels folded over the chromium rail.

  “There, that’s better. I hate anything on my hands. It makes me feel grubby all over. Now about your staying for the wedding—”

  Half an hour later Vivien locked the door of her room and flung herself on the bed. The seemingly interminable effort to control her face and voice had left her as spent as if she had been through a physical ordeal. She was genuinely delighted at Julian’s and Cara’s engagement, but after the first feeling of excitement and interest, their exuberant happiness had been a subtle torture, their every word a cruel barb in the raw wound of her misery. To have to listen to their eager plans, to watch their eyes meet and kindle, to sense the unmistakable current flowing between them—it had been worse than anything she had ever known.

  “Hurry up and fall in love yourself, poppet!” If only Cara knew!

  I must get away from here, she thought wildly. I can’t stand any more of this. Not another day.

  “WHY, VIVIEN, M’DEAR, I didn’t expect you down this evening.” Miss Buxton looked up in surprise as Vivien came into her office.

  “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye? But I thought you were going on Thursday morning?”

  “Yes. I was. But ... I’ve changed my plans. I’m leaving tonight instead. We’ve made all the arrangements, so there is really no point in hanging about. Chen is sending my heavy luggage on later.”

  “I see.�
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  What Anna Buxton saw disturbed her. The girl was as pale as a ghost and had a strange, almost feverish look in her eyes. Something was wrong. That was plain enough.

  “You’re taking the eight o’clock train to Kuala Lumpur and going the rest of the way tomorrow, I suppose,” she said calmly. “Then you’ve time for a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not very thirsty. I think I should be getting to the station. The train may be in early,” Vivien said in a strained voice. “I hope you’ll write to me. I should like to hear how you’re getting on.”

  “Of course I’ll write. It’s a wonderful generous thing you’ve done for us, m’dear. I’m not likely to forget what we owe to you. But you’ll be coming to see us from time to time, I hope. It’s not so far from Rangore, and you’ve made several friends here who’ll want to see you. Is Tom taking you to the station?”

  “No. I ... I thought perhaps you would say goodbye to him for me. I only changed my plans a few hours ago, and I haven’t time to see him myself.”

  “But, my dear girl, you can’t leave without saying goodbye to Tom!” This time Miss Buxton was too startled to hide her astonishment. “He’d be most hurt and quite naturally so. I must say I don’t quite see why you’re leaving in such a rush. Is something the matter?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that ... oh, please don’t question me, Anna. I must catch the eight o’clock train and I can’t see Tom. Tell him ... tell him I’ll write in a day or two.”

  Before Miss Buxton could expostulate with her, Vivien flung her arms around her in a quick despairing hug and rushed out of the house.

  Twenty minutes later she was pacing restlessly up and down the station platform. The train was overdue; as Chen informed her, it was always liable to be delayed by half an hour or so. He spoke with the philosophical acceptance of an Asiatic who secretly regards the British insistence on punctuality with tolerant amusement. A model of domestic efficiency, in some respects Chen was a true son of the Orient.

  The station was crowded with other travelers who squeezed onto the few rough benches or squatted patiently against the wall, gossiping or bidding prolonged farewells to their assembled relatives. At the far end of the platform a group of youthful-looking soldiers were sitting on their kit bags playing cards, while the corporal in charge of them chatted to the station policeman, a tall, hook-nosed Sikh with a fuzzy black beard.

  Stacks of chicken baskets were propped precariously against the ornamental pillars that supported the roof, and the muffled clucking of the fowls mingled with the babble of half-a-dozen Asiatic tongues and the piping voices of the children, who ran about playing tag or poking the chickens through the holes in the wicker baskets.

  At last a distant whistle heralded the arrival of the train and everyone began jostling and shoving for position. The soldiers shouldered their rifles and packs, their heavy boots clattering on the concrete. The train drew in slowly, amid cat-calls and derisive comments. Chen shepherded Vivien through the jostling crush to the air-conditioned first-class coach. When he had found her sleeping compartment and stacked her luggage, he turned to say goodbye. His sallow face was tight with distress.

  “Take care of yourself, Chen. Thank you for looking after me so well. I’ll write you,” she said in a chocked voice.

  “It is not good for the mem to go,” he said unhappily.

  Then, just as she felt an ominous lump blocking her throat, there was a commotion in the corridor and the door of the compartment was wrenched open.

  “So here you are!” Tom Stransom said roughly. “Out you come, my girl. The train leaves in three minutes and I fancy it will take you rather longer than that to explain what you’re up to this time. Bring the mem’s bags, Chen, and wait for us in the yard.”

  “What’s happened? What’s the matter?” Vivien cried, struggling to break his grasp on her wrist.

  “You tell me,” he retorted curtly, pushing her along the corridor to the end of the carriage where he thrust her aside, jumped out and half lifted her after him. Then, still gripping her wrist, he marched her into the stationmaster’s office, slammed the door, bolted it and turned to face her.

  “And now,” he said freezingly, “now you’ll be good enough to tell me why you’re running out of town like a criminal.”

  “How did you know I was leaving?” she asked, rubbing her bruised wrist.

  “Anna telephoned me. Otherwise I’d have had the inconvenience of chasing you to Kuala Lumpur.”

  “I hadn’t time to let you know. I asked her to give you a message. Now please let me out of here. You’ve no right to drag me off the train like that. If I miss it, I’ll...”

  “You’ll what?” he challenged.

  Suddenly all the spirit went out of her.

  “Oh, Tom, why did you have to come?” she whispered in an agonized voice.

  In one stride he was beside her, his fingers like steel clamps on her arms.

  “Because Anna said you were evading saying goodbye to me. Because I found that I couldn’t let you go. Because you belong to me.”

  She stared at him unbelievingly.

  “Don’t you, Vivien? Don’t you?” he asked violently.

  She bent her head. “I always have.”

  Her words were scarcely audible, but he heard them and his hands clenched her arms so that she winced.

  “Then in heaven’s name why did you have to hide it?” he demanded savagely.

  She shook her head helplessly.

  “You little fool! You crazy little...!” He jerked her against him, pressing her head into his shoulder with a sound that was half exasperation, half triumph.

  Somebody knocked at the door, but neither of them moved. Then a protesting voice insisted on being let in.

  Tom stirred. “We seem to be causing an obstruction,” he said softly, pushing her away and unfastening the bolt.

  The Eurasian stationmaster was apologetic when he found who had locked him out. He swept off his gold-braided cap and bowed to Vivien, voluble with regret for his unfortunate mistake.

  Tom cut short his apologies by explaining that the mem had been feeling ill but was now completely recovered. He thanked him for the use of his office and whisked Vivien away through the booking hall and out to the yard where Chen was waiting for them.

  “Take the luggage to Mem Buxton’s house and tell her that Mem Connell will be spending the night with her. She isn’t going to Rangore after all,” Tom said.

  “Yes, tuan. Very good, tuan.” Chen’s face was wreathed in smiles.

  Tom’s car was parked nearby, and he put Vivien into it and drove through the town to the river road. At the first milestone, he pulled onto the grass verge and switched off the headlights and engine.

  “Now, shall we try to sort out the muddle?” he said quietly.

  In the darkness she could see only the outline of his head and shoulders and the luminous face on his wristwatch.

  “I ... I can’t believe it,” she said indistinctly.

  He reached out and took her face in his hands. Then, very gently, he kissed her.

  “Now can you?” he murmured against her lips.

  For a moment she remained still, holding her breath, half-afraid to trust the response that welled up inside her. Then, with a tremulous sigh, she slipped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with all the pent-up feeling she had denied for so long.

  Some time later, Tom switched on the interior light and looked down at her with laughter and tenderness in his eyes.

  “You look a little disheveled, Miss Connell,” he said softly, surveying her ruffled hair and glowing cheeks.

  “So do you.” She traced the line of his cheek with her fingertips, feeling the strong muscle at his jaw and the cleanly defined bone structure beneath the tanned skin.

  He turned his mouth into the hollow of her palm and kissed it. “The other time. Why did you resist me?” he asked.

  “You were very brutal. I was afraid of you.”
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  He pulled her close, letting her feel his strength, his eyes narrowed.

  “Are you afraid now?”

  She laughed. “Only that someone will see us and report you for such highly unprofessional conduct.”

  He switched off the light and kissed her until she gasped for breath. Then he pushed her gently away, and she heard the click of his cigarette case. The lighter flared, and he put a cigarette between her lips.

  “I asked you once if you were a child or a woman. It’s a pity I didn’t put it to the test earlier,” he said, after a pause. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t know how I felt. Women are supposed to sense these things.”

  “I’d never met a man like you before. You always seemed so stern and aloof,” she explained shyly.

  “Aloof!” He gave a short laugh. “My God, there were times when I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you into the jungle. You may not know it, my darling, but you have an extraordinarily primitive effect on me. There were a number of occasions when I was tempted to murder Barclay because he had your confidence.”

  She moved into the circle of his arm and felt his hand close over the smooth curve of her shoulder.

  “Please say that again, Tom.”

  “What? My darling?”

  “I tried to imagine what it would sound like but I never could.”

  “Fifty years from now you’ll be sick of hearing it. How soon will you marry me?”

  “As soon as you like.”

  “We could go to Penang for our honeymoon if you like. A friend of mine has a summer villa on the north side of the island with a private beach. How does it appeal?”

  “Heavenly. I’ve always wanted to bathe by moonlight,” she murmured dreamily.

  “And after we’ve bathed I’ll make love to you under the palm trees, my romantic little love. Now how about breaking our good news to Anna, bless her.”

  They straightened up, and Vivien smoothed her hair. “There’s just one thing,” Tom said. “You do realize what you’re in for, as a doctor’s wife, I mean? Can you be happy in Malaya for the rest of your life?”