by Mariska
"You are going home," he said unexpectedly, his expression stern and withdrawn. "I have spoken to Dr. Ransome, and he agrees it cannot hurt you so long as you go to bed and stay there till all danger of a chill or shock is past." His tone altered but did not soften. "Come, eat this piece of toast, and I will take the tray. Virginia will bring your things. Till she comes you must tolerate wearing my pyjamas in my room."
CHAPTER VI
THREE days later Lesley was up and going about her duties more or less as usual. It was a hindrance not to be able to use her hands normally, but her fingers were fairly free from injury. and there was nothing except pain to prevent cake-making, dusting and sewing. Virginia showed a watchful affection for her sister. They had had no discussion. Fernando, in his imperious fashion, had carried Lesley to his car and driven her home, with Virginia at his side, and later, in the tiny bedroom, Virginia had made a typical statement in honeyed accents. "Quarrels are so silly, don't you think? We didn't get anywhere at all. I'm sure you didn't mean to leave me to run the whole party last night, darling. I forgive you."
No mention was made of the cause of the quarrel. Virginia had been angry that Fernando was Lesley's rescuer, but his subsequent off-handedness with her sister was satisfactory. No doubt at all that Lesley had looked a scarecrow when he found her, and she was hardly in better shape now, particularly as she found it difficult to do her hair. And Lesley's little escapade had yielded one good result. Fernando called in each day to make a routine inquiry, and while Lesley remained in bed it was Virginia to whom he talked.
It was, towards the end of the week that Lesley saw Fernando alone. Virginia had gone into Buenda for tea with several people, and Lesley was darning holes in her father's socks, when Fernando walked into the living-room. Inside the door he stood still and looked round. Lesley raised her head, and pricked her finger. "Virginia's out," she said.
"I thought she would be. That is why I came now. Your father, too, is away?"
"He'll rest till four, but I can call him if you like," she answered.
"No, it was you I came to see." He still paused just inside the doorway, and seemed to be speaking almost against his will. "Your little hands are still painful?"
"A bit but the swelling has gone down. I'll be glad when I can do without bandages."
"They are a good protection." He came nearer and looked down at them. "They could be less cumbersome than that. Virginia is not an expert nurse."
"My father does the dressings. They're quite comfortable."
"But very much in the way, no?" He drew the sock from her fingers. "I will make a neater job of them. Where is your first-aid box?"'
A week ago she would have demurred at such intimacy, but during the days in bed she had sunk into a frame of mind in which nothing had much importance. She nodded at a cupboard. "Temporarily, it's in there."
He got the box and pulled up a chair Lesley sat sideways, her right hand resting upwards on the table while he snipped away the unwieldy bandage and laid bare the palm. His long brown fingers were gentle and cool as he painted those purple indentations and redressed them with the minimum of lint and bandage. The left hand had a jagged tear over the thick base of the thumb. "This might have caused tetanus," he said gravely, with a tight look about his mouth. "Even now I cannot believe that you have escaped with mere flesh wounds." His glance rose, and he studied her face.
"Don't stare!" she said sharply.
"No? But I feel I have a right to stare. Also, I have to judge whether you are sufficiently recovered to bear some bad news."
"Bad news?" Her brain jerked alive. "About Amanzi? Is it a flop, after all?"
His shoulders lifted, and he permitted his mouth the ghost of a smile. "You would not consider that a misfortune. No, the news from Amanzi is good. This which I have to tell you concerns a friend of yours."
"Neville?" she asked at once.
"So his is the first name which comes to you. This is interesting." He was putting away the scissors and lint into their compartments, closing the kit, moving deliberately to replace the box where he had found it, as if to gain time. When he straightened he was standing behind her chair, his hand over the fine bone of her shoulder. "You are strong, Lesley, so I will not try to soften the blow. That young man, Martin Boland, is dead."
She sat utterly still absorbing the fact. Martin dead! It was incredible; he had been sad when he left, but not by any means ill. She had hoped he would grow happier as the miles widened between him and Buenda. "Fever?" she queried unsteadily.
"Not fever—a road accident. I was in Buenda for lunch, and the news came through by telephone to the local newspaper correspondent. Boland was driving in heavy rain on a mountainside; possibly he skidded. All they
know is that his car was located in a ravine two days ago, and that his death was instantaneous."
Lesley made a small sound of anguish and pressed her eyes against her forearm. After a minute she became aware that Fernando's fingers had tightened on her shoulder before abruptly letting go. She dropped her arm and got up; turned to look up into the dark, narrowed eyes.
"I appreciate your grief," he said with a frozen sort of irony. "But it is not as if you were engaged. You had parted for ever, I believe."
She twisted from him, and shook her head bleakly. "It's such a waste. He was happy in his job, a good vet, but something drove him out here, and now everything is lost. I only wish . .."
She hesitated, and he demanded curtly, "Yes? What do you wish?" "It doesn't matter. It's too late."
"You are defeatist. It is never too late." An unmistakable anger pointed the words. "These tragedies occur in everyone's life, and they have to be lived down. Now, we are going for a drive, you and I."
On the point of refusing, she gave in. She knew that her nose was shiny, and that her hair was lank and lifeless, but Fernando appeared not to notice, and she didn't much care if he did. It seemed that he was determined to go on acting the big brother and she just hadn't the energy to defy him She went out with him and let him put her into his car. And when they had passed all the other houses, and were driving through bush, she knew a tenuous sort of peace. She felt horribly depressed about Martin, but it was foolish to collapse with grief over a man one hardly knew.
In his half-angry way, Fernando was kind. He told her that the Amanzi Mineral Holdings were going to make a steady profit, that there would be a post as financial director for her father if he wanted it, and that the capital was there, waiting for the new manager's list of necessary equipment. For the time being the registered office would be in the little bank building in Buenda, but presently they would have to build a block of their own. He had already contacted an agency which would send an engineer and a maintenance man, and the rest of the staff could be added gradually, as it became necessary. "By the time my contract at the Falls is completed, the Amanzi Holdings will be in full operation."
"Are you going to be a director of the Company?"
"I think not. Your father and I will sell out the farm to the Company, but he will remain to take an active or a sleeping part, whichever he wishes. I have no time for it, and no desire for ties with Amanzi."
"You speak as though in your heart you regret having discovered the beryl, and the Nortons."
With a sigh of exasperation he said, "Regrets are for the spiritless. The beryl is valuable, and it had to be found some time. As for the Nortons," he gave her a faint, sardonic smile, "I will admit that knowing you all is not an unmitigated pleasure. I have no grumble against your father, of course."
"Nor against Virginia, surely?"
After a brief silence he replied, "Virginia troubles me. She is so beautiful, so conscious of her beauty, that one wonders if she is sincere."
Lesley did not probe. With the clairvoyance that is part of love and pain, she knew how he felt. He wanted Virginia and doubtless knew he could have her, but he hesitated to speak the final word which would bind him to a woman who might be without depth and sincerity. E
ven had she wished, she had no time to come to Virginia's defence before he added, "And you, Lesley, are not so beautiful in the purely physical sense, but you are undoubtedly sincere. You are also the most aggravating person I have ever met!"
After that he kept away from personal topics. Their drive lasted exactly an hour, and when he brought her back to the house he would not come in. "I have done what I set out to do," he said. "I gave you ill news, and did my best to get you over the first impact."
On an impulse she said, "You're good to me, Fernando, better than I deserve. Why do I always feel I have to fight with you?"
"It started before you knew me," he told her with a hint of cool whimsicality. "I wrote offering to buy Amanzi, and you saw my name at the end of the letter. Also, you disliked me at sight."
"But I've liked you sometimes, too."
"I know," he said. "But not recently." They were standing between the steps and the car, and he appraised her. "I will call again tomorrow, and I hope you will came with your father and sister to dinner on Saturday. Perhaps by then these poor hands can be left free of the dressings." He bent and touched a cynical mouth to her knuckles.
In spite of a lingering ache of sadness, a faint colour glowed in Lesley's cheeks as she went into the living-room. Her father was there, and he gave her his warm smile and waved to a chair. "I've told Solomon to bring tea, so you don't have to do anything. Was that Fernando?"
Conscious of a tingling where Fernando's lips had touched, she said, "Yes. He took me out for an hour."
"You look brighter for it, my dear. Femando's a remarkable chap, isn't he? Did he tell you about the beryls?"
"Do you mean the syndicate?"
"No, the loose beryls that have been collected. He talks of having them cut and set into a necklace." The tea came, and he poured and gave her a cup. "It's a change for me to wait upon you—a welcome change, though I'm sorry you had to have sore hands before I thought of doing it."
"Is Fernando going to give the beryl necklace to Virginia?" she asked quietly.
"I've no idea. Virginia did say she'd like to have it, and he just shrugged and laughed."
"When was this?"
"Yesterday, at his house. Virginia and I were passing in the car, and he called us in to show us the beryls. I must say they didn't look much,
but Fernando said that cutting and polishing would transform them. Virginia was very excited."
Lesley had nothing to add to this, so she made an effort and turned his attention to the parcel of books which had arrived from England.
VIRGINIA did not come home till nearly seven, and there was no chance at all of a private word with her that evening. Next morning she slept
late, and before she came from her room, Neville Madison arrived. He was leaving the district in a fortnight, and thought he should warn Lesley that he would be wanting his camp bed. "You look a bit more normal than you did the other night," he grinned, as he sprawled in one of the veranda chairs. "You need someone to take care of you, my infant."
She smiled a little. "Is this a proposal?"
His glance was uncharacteristically oblique. "Would you like it to be? Could you forget I was once engaged, and let the girl down?"
"I could if I were in love with you."
He winced theatrically. "You're devastating, Lesley. I wouldn't like to be the fellow who really does fall for you. You'll tear him apart before you say yes." He examined the tip of his cigarette. "Have you decided what you're going to do with your life? What I mean is, now that Amanzi is more or less launched, you'll probably have a small income, all your own. What will you do with it?"
"Maybe they'll need a typist."
"I suppose they will, in time, but what will your father do without his housekeeper? You're so much part of the house to him that he hardly knows you're there."
"Don't be an idiot. We're going to live in Buenda, and I shall still be able to keep house. And there's Virginia."
"Ah, Virginia." His mouth quirked sarcastically. "How long is she going to stick it here, I wonder? She's deep and dark, is fair Virginia. I dare say—" again a sideways glance at Lesley—"you're already finding out that I wasn't far wrong when I warned you against putting her back up. She needs firm and clever handling, and I venture to bet there's hardly a soul capable of it."
"You could do it," Lesley said, on a note of surprise. "I really believe you could."
He grinned at her sardonically. "She has no respect for me. I wouldn't
try!,
"What wouldn't you try?" inquired a soft, languid voice, and Virginia came out onto the veranda.
Neville heaved himself upright, saw her seated, and fell back once more into his chair. "We were talking about you, angel," he said lazily. "I was informing your sister that I wouldn't care to be the man who marries you."
"You're so direct, Neville dear, And so conceited," she answered him negligently. "What makes you think I might be within your reach?"
"I have a few rich relatives," he said succinctly. "One of them might die and leave me a load."
"If you're insinuating . . ." she began swiftly.
His laugh broke in. "Flicked you that time, didn't I? It was time I had a turn; but don't worry, sweetheart: I'm in the bad books of the whole family. There's not one of them who wouldn't rather bequeath his money to a cats' home. Well, I must be off." He got out of the chair, gave Lesley's hair a tweak, and deliberately avoided brushing against Virginia as he passed her. "I'll get along," he said. "Take care of yourself, Junior." Presumably he thought Virginia needed no advice on this score. He swung down the path and drove away.
It was Virginia who spoke first. "What did Neville come for?"
Lesley moistened her lips. "He wants his camp bed. We shall have to buy a steel divan and mattress to take its place."
"You should have done it before. It's ridiculous that we should be under that sort of obligation to him."
Lesley said starkly, haltingly, "Virginia . . . Martin Boland is dead."
Had she striven for effect the result could not have been more startling. Virginia whitened, and then, very slowly, she sat forward in her chair. "What . . . what was that?"
In a frightened haste to soften the statement, Lesley gave all the details she knew. Virginia listened, her gaze so intent and horrified that Lesley stammered and had to repeat herself. When she had finished, a tense silence grew between them. The sunbirds trilled, the banana leaves rustled, and somewhere Solomon was singing, while Virginia sat there, paper-white and seemingly speechless. "It wasn't my fault," she whispered at last. "Do you . . . do you think he did it purposely?"
Lesley answered instantly, "No! No, you mustn't think that. He wasn't the kind to take his own life. When he left here he was miserable, but he did have something ahead."
"He told me there was nothing—if I couldn't share it with him." She leapt up, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Could I help it if I wasn't in love with him? It was just bad luck that I wasn't sure when I left England. I liked him better than any man I knew, but I could get along without being married to him. I was never in love till I met Fernando."
The familiar chill feathered across Lesley's skin. With commendable steadiness she said, "So you really do love Fernando for himself? It isn't his money and good looks that attract you?"
Virgina's shrug was almost querulous. "They're part of him, aren't they? You could never imagine him without them." Her shoulders squared. "I'm not bad-looking myself, and we're no longer poor. You think I'm hunting-the most eligible man in the district, but it's just as true that he's hunting the most eligible woman."
"Please, Virginia, don't hurt him as you hurt Martin. Fernando wouldn't take it the same way."
"I'm not to blame for Martin's death," her sister responded, her voice low. "It's the most ghastly thing that's ever happened to me, but I'm not to blame."
As if she knew she was protesting too much, Virginia sat down again and dropped her face into her hands. And in that moment a
ll the old, girlish love for her sister flooded Lesley's heart. She had been wrong. Virginia did feel things. Added to the loss was remorse for the way she had treated Martin during the days he had spent in the Buenda district. Poor Virginia!
Yet Lesley did not touch her; Virginia had never been able to bear an open demonstration of affection. Instead she murmured, "I'll get some coffee," and went indoors to the kitchen.
For the rest of that day Virginia was quiet and pale. The car remained in its shed, and when Fernando called she made no attempt to monopolise him. He happened to be in rather a hurry, but he was pleasant and charming, and just before he left reminded them that they were dining with him tomorrow.
NEXT morning Lesley persuaded Virginia to drive the two of them into Buenda. She ordered the bed and mattress, and, at Virginia's suggestion, also acquired a length of ivory cord silk for a cocktail frock. Tacitly, a truce had been declared between them. No more, apparently, was to be said about Martin, but it was to be understood that recent happenings and confessions had drawn them together.
But that night, dining with Fernando, Lesley knew despair. She watched him speak with Virginia, noticed a small but definite change in him as he became aware of a new softness about her which enhanced every feature. It was odd that by his death Martin Boland had accomplished the very thing which he would have striven in life to avoid. During the following week, Lesley spent a couple of nights at Grey Ridge. From there she rode to Amanzi. The land, in the short time since they had left it, had changed considerably. The diggings were widespread, with great pink scars in the hillside.
She did not call in on Neville, though she could see that he was using the log hut. The metal chimney of the outhouse was smoking as though his boy might be preparing lunch, and a horse grazed nearby, just as Bessie and her partner had grazed.
