Too Young to Marry

by Rosalind Brett

  “It’s a little strange. I’ve always been just Lorna—I’d hardly even graduated to Miss Dennis. Paul, it’s going to be rather queer at first. Will you ... would you mind telling me just what you expect of me?”

  He looked at her, but somehow the keen blue eyes appeared veiled. “I just want you to be natural and honest,” he said non-committally, “and to remember that everyone else will accept us as a married couple.”

  The clear hazel glance was lifted to his face. “I’m so grateful to you, Paul...”

  “Stop that!” He curbed the sharpness even before the second syllable was uttered, but the smile he gave her was hard. “We’ll get this quite straight, Lorna, then leave it alone for good. At the moment it seems that I’m taking you in because you’re alone in the world, but there’s one thing you may be sure about. I’ll get as much as you will out of this marriage, even from the beginning. Eventually, I’m quite sure I shall possess a very sweet and charming wife in every sense of the word. Now, let’s be less tense and rather happier about things, shall we? Would you like to unpack right away?”

  She nodded, hesitated, and went along to the large bedroom. He brought her cases, opened them and left her to it, but Lorna did not at once begin the task. She looked about her at the twin beds in dark wood, their covers a pretty batik pattern which was fading; at the dressing-chest and its ornate mirror, at the rattan chair with its batik cushion, the thick bright rugs; It was a comfortable guestroom, had been in use hundreds of times since Paul had moved in about five years ago. Well, she was a guest, really; a privileged guest who was engaged to the master of the house, the manager of the plantations. No! No, that was wrong. She had two parts to play—one with

  Paul and the other with the outside world. But that was wrong, too. With Paul she could be natural, just Lorna, who wanted to learn as fast as he could teach her; she mustn’t act with him, or something dreadful might happen.

  Resolutely, she unpacked the cases and partly filled the deep built-in cupboards. She stacked the two suitcases on a high shelf in one of the cupboards, and then remembered that one didn’t keep such things in a bedroom in one’s own home. Own home! Fantastic how tender and appealing those words could become.,

  Smiling, she stripped one of the beds of its covers, turned the mattress and then went out to the kitchen to ask the servant, who cheerfully answered to Jake, where she could find clean linen.

  Jake’s skin was pale chocolate colour, and he wore white shorts and shirt. His lank black hair was plastered to his scalp with coconut oil, and his almond-shaped eyes were sleepy and good-humoured; obviously, nothing ever surprised or distressed him.

  “Tuan just tell me,” he said engagingly, “that the young miss in the new memtuan. Greetings, mem.”

  “Greetings, Jake,” she answered him. “Will you mind having me here?”

  He shrugged and smiled lazily. “It is right that the tuan should take a woman.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. How long have you served Mr. Westbrook, Jake?”

  All the time since he came.” His smile was sly. “You will cook for the tuan?”

  “Sometimes. You cooked very well when I came here with my father.”

  “But this is not the same. A new woman tempts a man with special foods she has prepared herself.”

  “I don’t think the tuan’s appetite is in need of anything like that,” she said smilingly. “I won’t hurry to take over the kitchen.”

  As Jake led her along the corridor to the linen cupboard he giggled to himself, but his amusement was kindly and protective. Fortunately, almost his sole contact with white people had been Paul, who was his own law-maker in the house. Jake, who was accustomed to his own women living their domestic lives apart from the men, was not in the least surprised that the young mem was to occupy the guest-room. After all, he would have said charmingly, there are not merely the hours of the night!

  When her room was ready Lorna had a bath in the white-tiled bathroom and put on a sleeveless linen frock. She had tea alone on the veranda, gathered that the tuan had been called out and might be back late. She ignored the slight thrust of disappointment; she must realize that Paul didn’t have to tell her every time he left the house—not even on this first day. She drank her tea and walked round the small garden.

  The lawn was green and springy, and it ran right down to the lane which connected with the main plantation roads. The house stood on a slight eminence, so that though it was set in its garden in the middle of the rubber, the dark trees were at a lower level and therefore less overpowering than they might have been. But there was no view, except to the left, where the tree-tops gradually fell away towards the sea. A mile farther on down the lane there was a beach overhung by coconut palms, but Lorna didn’t walk that way. She intended to be on hand when Paul returned.

  Darkness fell, and the smell of baked sweet potatoes and roast pork came from the kitchen. Jake set the table in the living-room, closed the mosquito-net curtains so that they billowed whitely. He padded about, waiting as Lorna waited, for the firm step in the porch. It came at about seven-thirty.

  Paul came in looking preoccupied, smiled at Lorna, had a wash and sat down to dinner. He spoke of trouble at one of the superintendents’ houses, of a freighter which hadn’t turned up for loading latex. He was already absorbed in his work.

  They had coffee outside, and then Paul came in to deal with accumulated mail. He sat at the desk while Lorna tried to read. Big moths banged at the windows, ground insects chirped, and there was the distant sound of laughter from the labourers’ quarters, the barking of a dog.

  At about ten Paul poured nightcaps. When Lorna demurred he put the small glass in her hand.

  “It’ll help you to sleep.”

  “I’m sleepy already.”

  “Great,” he said with irony. “Take it down, just the same.”

  She did so, as quickly as she could. Either the gin or her own nerves made her tremble. She put down the glass, dabbed her lips with a handkerchief.

  Before she could speak he said, “You’ve had a big day. You’d better go to bed.”

  Her smile was strained, her hands at her sides were tight little balls. She raised her mouth. He looked at her lips, bent and touched his own mouth to her forehead.

  “Good night, child. Sleep well.”

  She turned away, said, “Good night, Paul,” and went quietly from, the room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AFTER a day or two Lorna formed a routine which dovetailed with Paul’s own way of living. He himself changed none of his domestic habits, though he professed himself willing to use the bathroom at different times and to alter the dinner-hour if she preferred to eat earlier. Seeing that she was around most of the day and could take a bath whenever she liked his concession was unnecessary; she did not even discuss the dinner-hour because his tone had implied that she ought to be adult enough to eat late.

  Lorna discovered that he was rather good at implying a great deal by the shades of his voice. By the merest hint of metal or heaviness, he could convey a thousand times more meaning than his actual words might hold. Dimly, she knew that this quality in him denoted an extraordinary awareness, that if only she could read him there might be a lovely closeness between them. Well, it would come; to know him she thought in happy innocence, she had only to live with him.

  There was not much for her to do. She kept her own bedroom neat and clean, dusted the living-room after Jake had polished the floor, and familiarized herself with the kitchen, but it was like having part charge of a bachelor flat. Intuitively, she knew that Paul would prefer Jake to continue to take care of his bedroom and that he would scoff at changes in the cooking. In fact, it was solely intuition which saved her from committing several blunders during those first days. Yet perhaps if instinct hid been stronger in Lorna just then they might gaily have slipped into a more intimate relationship without much trouble.

  It was the fact that Paul seldom kissed her and then only sketchily which worrie
d Lorna most. Not that she dwelt upon it, but there were those moments which surely a lover would have used, but which Paul smilingly ignored. Occasionally when he went back to work after lunch, he would drop a kiss on the tip of her ear in passing, and sometimes he touched his lips negligently to her cheek when they said good night. If they walked to the beach together in the evening his arm would automatically lie along her shoulder, and one night when they had watched the moon sink into the sea he had teased her about the bright reflection in her eyes. But they were all the sorts of things he might have said and done with any girl he happened to like.

  Still, in many ways she was happier than at any time during her life, and for that alone she could be overwhelmingly grateful. Also, she had permission to use the old labourer who often happened to be near the house to help make a flower garden.

  She had been five days at the bungalow before Bill Ramsay presented himself. Bill was biggish and thick-set, dark-haired and brown-eyed. At thirty-seven, he found his private life both painful and bewildering but was glad to be working with Paul Westbrook, who reduced everything to manageable essentials. He drove up that morning in one of the plantation jeeps, parked outside the bungalow and had reached the porch when Lorna came out, looking young and starched in blue and white check gingham.

  “Why, hallo!” she said delightedly. “Why haven’t you been over before?”

  He looked at the clear face, the hazel eyes, said cautiously, “Well, I was hoping to be invited. Paul didn’t even ask me to look in, so I took it that you two preferred to go it alone for a while. I’ve only come now to offer congratulations and wish you happiness.”

  “Sit down, Bill. Like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He saw her seated, sank into one of the veranda chairs, leaned forward and gave her a rugged-looking smile. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you looking so well.”

  Her smile faded a little. “Paul won’t let me grieve. He’s been so good to me.”

  “Of course he has. He’s a darned lucky fellow. You know, he always used to say...”

  “What?”

  Bill shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Do you smoke yet?”

  “No. Bill, what were you going to tell me just then? I want to know what Paul always used to say.”

  His smile became almost affectionate. “It was only for the sake of talking. When I mentioned my wife he’d say I started off with the wrong idea. I should have taken on someone young and unsophisticated and moulded her the way I wanted her to be.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t try to answer that. “When I was here before you were hoping your wife would join you. Isn’t there any chance of it?”

  His shoulders lifted; he took a pipe from his pocket and tapped the empty bowl. “Seems not. Elise is living over on Main Island ... she’s actually been a guest at the Governor’s Residency, and now she’s transferred to the house of a man who’s on leave. There, she sees life.”

  “Don’t you meet each other?”

  “I went over to see her once.” He got out a small pack of tobacco, gave attention to loosening the foil at the end. “She wants a divorce.”

  She said softly, “Paul told me that. I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing yet.” He stuffed the pipe bowl with tobacco, grinned at her crookedly. “You’re too young to think about that kind of thing. After all, you haven’t been married a week yet. Elise and I had four years together in Malaya before we came this way. Mind if I put on my pipe?”

  “Please do.” She watched him for a minute, smelled the smoke as it wreathed slowly upwards. “I’d like to see your new house some time.”

  “I did ask Paul if he’d bring you over to dinner but he put me off. If you’d really like to look round you can go over there during the day, when I’m out. The place is always open.”

  “Thanks. Perhaps I’ll do that.”

  A silence stretched between them. Lorna recalled the Bill Ramsay she had known when she had stayed with her father here at the bungalow. Bill had used the spare room; he had gone out each day with Paul and gradually absorbed the plantation routine. He had been quietly pleasant, keen on the new job, interested in polo and fishing—the typical Englishman on contract in the tropics. In four months he had changed, but not outwardly; it was his wife, of course.

  It seemed that Bill was thinking about his wife at that moment. He had taken his pipe from his mouth and was looking at its smouldering grey fire. “Paul will soon have to go over to Main Island for a company meeting. If you go over with him—and I expect you will—I’d like you to get to know Elise. You’ll naturally meet her because she attends every function at the Residency.”

  “Is Paul invited there?” she asked in sudden fright.

  Bill’s glance was frank and surprised. “Invited? It’s where he always stays. You must know that.”

  She said confusedly, “He may have mentioned it, but I didn’t take it in. Has the Rubber Corporation anything to do with the Government?”

  “Not financially, though Colin Garfield is a junior on the administrative side.”

  “And who is Colin Garfield?”

  Bill Ramsay’s ruddy features seemed to droop slightly. Uneasily he answered, “I think you’d better wait till Paul tells you about these people. He may have decided to miss the next meeting.”

  “Does he ever miss the company meetings?”

  “No,” with a quick smile, “but he hasn’t been married before.”

  “But surely you can tell me who this Colin Garfield is?”

  “He’s Paul’s cousin.” Bill bent forward and hurriedly knocked out the pipe on an ashtray which stood on the low veranda wall. “I shall have to get moving. Glad to have seen you, Lorna. I’m quite sure you’re going to be very happy with Paul.”

  He was standing, and she stood up slowly beside him, followed him down to the jeep. He got behind the wheel, switched on the engine and was apparently waiting for her to take her hands from the side of the vehicle.

  But Lorna clung tightly. “Bill ... is there something shady about this Garfield man?”

  “Bless you, no! You’ll like him. He’s not more than twenty-six and full of beans.”

  “Would Paul have any reason for not telling me about him?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then why did you suddenly wish you hadn’t spoken his name?”

  “Because,” he said soothingly, “I shouldn’t be the first to tell you about Paul’s relatives. He’ll tell you himself.”

  “But now that I know a little I can’t help wanting to know more. Bill, is this Colin Garfield something to do with the Government as well? You said that...”

  Bill Ramsay patted the fingers on the jeep door, and stated, “I wish I hadn’t thought of the chap, but you’ll have to know some time. The Governor, Sir Ronan Garfield, is Colin’s father—Paul’s uncle. Paul grew up as a son to Sir Ronan, an elder brother of Colin. The Governor’s fond of his son and he dotes on Paul.”

  Lorna’s hands dropped to her sides and she stepped back. She managed a smile at Bill Ramsay and said goodbye. The jeep zoomed away, but she remained there in the sunshine, sweating over the surface of her skin but shivering inside.

  Paul Westbrook, the man who had given her a home and his name, was the nephew of the Governor! It wasn’t difficult to believe—Paul had the arrogance of an administrator himself—but why had he kept it from her? How was it that she had never heard of the relationship before?

  Lorna swallowed on a dryness in her throat, pushed fingers through the short brown hair. She felt taut and frightened, totally incapable of dealing with the vast possibilities the knowledge had opened up. Yet questions pelted into her mind.

  Was Paul’s uncle aware of his marriage? If so, why had there been no word from him? Disapproval? Or hadn’t Paul told him yet? And if not, why not? Above all why the secrecy about his relationship to the Governor of the Main Islands, of which Panai was a member? She was bound to find out sooner or later and sur
ely it would have been better to learn about it from Paul himself?

  She would have to ask him. Yet how could she? She had no rights where Paul was concerned, knew only one side of him except for that hint of watchfulness which seemed to belong to some other part of his personality. And why did he watch her?

  Her head throbbed and she turned to go indoors. She went into her room and remained there a long time, leaning close to the window and looking out towards the trees. There was no need to get so upset. Paul would only do what he thought was right, and if she were candid with him he’d be the same with her. He had said that honesty between them was what he wanted. Yes, to learn the entire truth she had only to ask him.

  By lunch-time she had recovered from the sense of shock, but he came in late and was thoughtful. Bales of rubber were disappearing on the journey along the coast from the other plantations to the main loading centre, and he was taking the trip himself this afternoon to look for clues. He had time for only a very quick lunch.

  Lorna said softly, “I suppose you couldn’t take me with you, Paul?”

  “Afraid you’d be in the way, honey,” he said absently. “You’re safer here, anyway.”

  “Is there danger?”

  “No, but if you were around I’d have you on my mind.”

  “Would that be inconvenient?”