“Who used to do your mending?”
“I’d wait till there was a pile of it and then get Jake’s mother to put in a day’s work.” He slipped a thumb under the sellotape fastening a long flat-looking parcel, opened the paper. “What do you think of this?”
It was a length of rich Chinese silk, the background a soft green, the embossed pattern a graceful bird of paradise beneath a dark-leaved tree. On a black or blazing red background the pattern would have been exotic; on the green it was merely unusual, but to a woman the more exciting for that Lorna ran a finger over the surface of the material.
“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That’s the best of Main Island,” he commented conversationally. “Because the Residency is there they get V.I.P.s and tourists, so the shops are prosperous and they occasionally get in something really good. I had a choice of three colors—peacock blue, gold and this green. The other two were too spectacular, and besides this should suit your coloring. I understand this kind of stuff should be made up very simply, with a sheath skirt—whatever that is. Can you do it yourself?”
“I expect so.” Still running a forefinger over the silk, she asked, “Who gave you the advice about dressmaking?”
“A woman I know; she has original ideas about dress.” He added offhandedly, “I thought you could make is up fairly soon, in case we do get visitors from outside.”
“I have two or three semi-evening frocks.”
“I know you have and they’re sweet. But they make you look about twelve.” He smiled suddenly. “I can’t be engaged to a girl of twelve!”
She knew a swift, melting sensation about her heart. She didn’t understand him, perhaps she never would, but there could be no other man in the world who would move her as Paul did. In that moment she wanted blindly to please him; nothing mattered so long as he was satisfied with the way she behaved.
Her eyes glistening, she smiled back at him. “I took dressmaking as an extra at school, so I should be able to turn out something sophisticated. And I’ll try altering my other frocks; I’m sure the blue one could be turned into a strapless.”
“Hey, now! Don’t get too extreme. Let’s do this by degrees. Glad you like the stuff, anyway.” He opened a large paper bag, took out a box of nylon stockings and shook up the rest of its contents. “A few oddments here you might need. That last packet has stuff for the medicine chest and a few soaps and cosmetics.” He laughed. “I had the deuce of a time describing your skin tones to a cafe-au-lait assistant.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered so much; I use very little make-up.”
“A little more of it in the evenings might not come amiss,” he remarked carelessly. “Anyway, I brought a selection so that you can play around and do some blending for yourself. That’s about the lot.”
“You’re so generous! I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No?” he said teasingly. “Can you feel a single impulse?”
“Yes, but you might not approve of it,” she said, a little pink.
“Try me.”
She touched his arm shyly, and tiptoed. But before her lips could touch his she quivered unaccountably and felt him stiffen. His eyes were hardening as she watched them, glinting because she was small and young and silly. He didn’t really want her to kiss him; he had only baited her to see if she would. '
Her lips brushed his chin and she turned away. “I’ll take these things to my bedroom. I think I’ll stay there and go to bed, if you don’t mind. I did some gardening today, so I’m ready for sleep.”
Without answering, he collected the parcels and himself took them along to the bedroom. They were lowered to a chair, he went over and switched on the bedside lamp, said good night and left her. Despondently, she knew that though she felt a great deal older since Mrs. Astley’s visit, she did not appear so to Paul.
That Sunday they took a picnic up the coast, as Paul had promised. He used an ordinary canoe and showed Lorna how to paddle it in the calm waters, and how to anchor it without trouble. They found a beach bordered with coral, and she lay beside Paul on one of the rocks and gazed down into die clear waters at the giant purple and scarlet brick-colored anemones, at queer nautili and fantastically beautiful fish. There was one particular fish which undulated its flamingo pink body and waved pastel-tinted fins that were like tulle; and nearby sat a green shellfish with an evil eye.
“Remember months ago, when I showed you how to use a spear from a fishing-boat?” he asked. “In those days you were big-eyed with excitement the whole time.”
“It was all so lovely, so much better than anything I’d expected.”
“That’s unusual. We generally expect more than we get in this life.”
“I didn’t,” she murmured. “Everything was highly colored, people were marvellously different from those I’d known. D’you know, I’d never seen papaia or even guessed what it looked like till you pulled one from a tree and cut it!”
He grinned. “You swallowed a large chunk, seeds and all. I was just recalling how you actually speared a fine fish and then hurriedly dropped it back into the sea, plus the spear. I wonder if that’s typical of little Lorna?” She looked sideways at him, smiled happily because he was deliciously close and in good humor. “It may be. If I had to catch my own fish I’d always eat fruit instead.” She pointed into the blue clear water. “Look at those horrid things moving about in their shells. One of them just hauled in a pink sprat.”
“Hermit crabs,” he told her. “The strong eat the weak in the sea, as well as on land. Does it make you happy, to be out like this?”
‘Tremendously. I wish these moments would go on for ever.”
“If they did, we’d both have housemaid’s knees and elbows to match. Let’s move and find something else to do.”
They bathed, but not together. Paul left her in a safe pool and himself swam out about half a mile. Instinctively she knew that he wanted her to be dressed by the time he got back, so she dried quickly and combed up her hair, and took a walk along the beach. When he joined her he was wearing the shorts and white shirt, and the coppery hair was beginning to lose the dark plastered look.
They reached the bungalow just as darkness fell, but though they had been companionable all day there was no particular intimacy between them when they sat down to dinner. Not that Paul was different; that was the trouble, thought Lorna. She herself was changing slightly every day; she could feel it in the faint tensing of her muscles whenever he came into the room, the little ache behind her eyes when she closed them for sleep at night, the tightening at her throat whenever he spoke carelessly. She reminded herself of Mr. Astley’s statements and knew they could be true.
Possibly he liked the Governor’s stepdaughter, Kyrle Reynor, but not enough to consider marriage with her. Naturally, if the Governor had had an intense desire for the marriage Paul would have been awkwardly placed, particularly if there were no other woman to whom he cared to show favor. In any case, the one or two eligible women were no doubt as old as Kyrle and by no means as tractable as Lorna Dennis had been. If he really had married to be safe from the persuasions of his uncle, he couldn’t possibly have found anyone more suitable than the girl who had lost her father and was frightened and needing protection. It didn’t sound like what she knew of Paul, but then she freely admitted that seven-eighths of his personality was hidden away.
As the days passed she gradually acquired a degree of poise. Bill Ramsay came to dinner one night, and on another occasion Bill, Mr. Astley and another superintendent named Wilmot came along for a late game of cards. Before she went to bed Lorna brought them a tray of snacks and coffee, and though Paul looked on with a mocking smile while she chatted for a few minutes, she did feel better after it. Other men accepted her as a woman, and some time she would see to it that Paul did, too. He might never love her as she wanted to be loved, but some day he would see her as she really was—not as the raw schoolgirl who had
arrived from England for an eager reunion with her father.
There came a morning when he said she could go with him to the little port where the rubber freighters tied up. He himself would have to spend several hours there in the office, but she could look around and come back with a driver in one of the jeeps. Cautiously excited, Lorna put on thin navy slacks and a blue and white striped blouse and went out to take her place in the tourer. He smiled at her as if she were his rather engaging young sister, set the car in motion and for her benefit drove the long way round, through lanes between shady rubber trees, over the border between two plantations and down a boundary road which had rubber to the left but an expanse of vegetable gardens to the right
They were still high up when the sea came in sight beyond acres of waving sugar cane, but the road dropped steeply, and soon they ran down among the sugar, and Lorna saw odd little reed tumbrils being loaded with stripped cane. The sugar came to an end at a river, and beyond the log bridge there was no cultivation, only the usual copses of bananas, the breadfruit trees and the everlasting coconut palms leaning towards the sea.
The native village was typical of the islands. The square bamboo houses thatched with banana leaves lay back from the beach and were half hidden among the trees, but the dozens of paths were all in use. Children played on them, men moved unhurriedly about their tasks and women in bright cotton sarongs either walked and chatted or carried on their business of basket-weaving and cloth-dyeing. The air was agreeably hot, the sand a glaring white, and sea and sky were two tones of blue. The whole scene, even to the busy little stone jetty, was vivid, the colors brilliantly bright.
Lorna said, “You’ve been here so long that you probably take all this for granted, but I think everyone should have an opportunity of coming to the South Seas.”
“Heaven forbid,” Paul answered tolerantly. “On the whole I prefer trees to people.”
She felt light, and pleased with herself. “That’s a terrible thing to say, and it’s not true. You’re not the lone type.”
“I meant people in the mass.” He braked on the gravel road near the jetty, smiled at her. “You really go for this place, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. It’s heavenly.”
“No longing for parties or an evening of holding hands at the cinema?”
“I haven’t been to many parties and they make me self-conscious.” She laughed mischievously. “I did once hold hands in the cinema. It was on the ship coming over. He had black curls and he looked a heart-throb each evening in his uniform. He was in the Air Force—joining a base in Malaya.”
“Did you promise to write when you parted?”
“I’m afraid I disappointed him at the last moment. He hoped for a demonstration in front of his pals who were meeting the ship.”
He wrinkled his nose at her. “Did you get cold feet?”
“I suppose so. I shook his hand and ran for my life.”
“And afterwards you were sorry.”
“I was, a bit. If such a situation were to crop up now...”
“Yes?”
She gave him a smiling grimace. “You think Tm still the same nitwit, but I’m not. Some time I’ll prove it!”
“Not with a curly-haired cadet, I hope!” He looked into the back seat of the car. “Didn’t you bring a hat?”
“I haven’t worn one since I came to Panai, but I’ve a scarf in my pocket.”
He looked at her critically. “Your hair is thick but your nape is as bare as a baby’s. Double the scarf and put it round your neck.”
“It’s pink,” she protested, “and I’m wearing blue.”
“Cover the back of your neck,” he ordered, “and keep it covered. Don’t hang about too long. You see the jeep over there under the trees? The boy who’s cleaning it is the driver and he’ll take you home when you’re ready. Do you mind strolling alone?”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll be busy over at the office, but if you should need anything send that driver to find me.” He got out and came round to her door as she slipped from her seat, said under his breath, “Oh, lord, here comes our shipping agent and the clerk.”
Lorna felt the curious glances of the two men, heard Paul mention their names in introduction, but noticed that he assumed they knew who she was. She had never yet heard him say, “This is my wife.” He contrived somehow to make it unnecessary. Because she looked so darned young, she told herself crossly. She did wish the men on the staff would keep their incredulity more effectively masked, even though they did sometimes look envious and admiring as well.
She smiled and said with cool calm, “I’ll try the jetty first. See you at lunch, Paul.” And with a gracious nod at the others she walked away.
As she had been forbidden to go through the village there was not a great deal to see in the tiny port. Standing well back and partly shaded by trees stood the white cement offices, a long one-storey building where the receiving and shipping papers were handled. Right next door to the offices a general store was set in an earth compound, where a few islanders were seated beside baskets of roots and herbs, pannas and breadfruit, papaias and yams.
Along the beach a dozen men and boys were hollowing a hardwood tree into the semblance of a boat, and near the jetty a few islanders sprawled after their last labors. Lorna walked the wooden planking of the jetty, past a small freighter which showed many signs of life and down to the end, where a block of mahogany secured to the planks with steel bolts served as a capstan. She sat on it and looked out to sea with her hair blowing gently, and presently she became aware that on the other side of the jetty a white launch was tied up, and a man was tinkering with its engine.
She looked down upon him idly. He was young and very fair, the hair almost straight and very thick; on him, the longish hair was attractive. He was slimly built and wore khaki slacks and shirt of excellent quality.
When he turned slightly she could see a regular profile and a frown of concentration. He was annoyed with the engine, she could see that, but it was also obvious that nothing annoyed him for long. He shrugged, gave an exasperated grin at the mechanism and pulled the cover down over it.
It was then that Lorna noticed the oily, bloodstained handkerchief binding his right hand. Not very sensible, she thought, in a climate where wounds took poison within an hour if they weren’t attended to. He looked as if he were thoroughly at home here, and surely he knew such elementary details.
He must suddenly have become conscious of her scrutiny for he turned about and looked up, gave her a smile which was even more astonished than those to which she had become accustomed. She couldn’t help smiling back at him but that, she decided firmly, was enough. Standing, she was about to walk along the jetty when he said clearly.
“Don’t run out on me, there’s a pet—I’m in a jam. Would you mind doing me a favor?”
By now, he had leapt up on to the planks and caught her up. She stopped, met his lively brown eyes and felt a tingling warmth in her cheeks; in spite of herself she was still smiling. Before she could answer he gave a happy whistle. “Good heavens, who are you? I don’t remember hearing that any of these planter chaps had a daughter. You’re the cutest thing that’s ever come to Panai!”
“A little sweeping, but thanks. What can I do for you?”
He crossed his arms in front of him, cocked his head. “Just let me stare at you for a minute. You’re better than a shot in the arm. I hope this isn’t your last day, or something.”
“Last day?” she said, mystified.
“Not going home soon, are you?”
“I live here,” she told him, and repeated, “What can I do for you?”
“You don’t have to get on your horse because I’m a stranger. This isn’t Bond Street.” He looked about him and added comically, “It isn’t even Nether Wallop.”
She laughed. “Do you really have a problem or are you making conversation?”
“Both. I’d hate to lose you the moment I’ve found you.” As she
moved he went on hastily, “I’ve ripped my hand. I doubt if I’ll live, but I might last a few hours longer if you’ll dress it for me. I’ve a suitcase to bring ashore.”
“Don’t you belong to the Rubber Corporation?”
“Yes, but I never cruise with a boatman. In any case, the islanders only know enough about first aid to be dangerous. I’m sure you’re an angel with a bandage. There’s a kit on board. Will you come?”
“I oughtn’t to. I don’t mind doing it here, if you’ll bring the kit.”
He studied her perplexedly. “You’re the queerest creature. How could you come to harm in that two-by-four cabin? Has someone been making passes at you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you hot water aboard?”
“There’s the remains of some I boiled for instant coffee. So you’re coming then? That means you take a dare!”
“It means nothing of the sort,” she said flatly. “I merely don’t care for the look of a motor-oil rag round an open wound. Let’s be quick.”
He dropped down on to the narrow deck of the launch, gave her his left hand. She landed beside him, and followed him into the tiny cabin. For a small launch it was luxurious, but Lorna did not take too much interest in her surroundings. She poured the hot water into a plastic bowl, found cotton-wool, antiseptic and dressings, and impersonally held his wrist while she unwound the large handkerchief. It was a good handkerchief, but too soiled and twisted for her to be able to decipher the monogram in one corner. The wound, a tear in the thick base of the thumb, still bled a little, so it was likely to be fairly clean, but she swabbed it before gently pressing the soft white antiseptic cream into and around the opening. “You’re deft,” he said. “Are you a nurse?”
Too Young to Marry Page 6
