Too Young to Marry

by Rosalind Brett

  “Ah, yes.” He opened the door of a shining government limousine and saw Lorna seated, added as he straightened, “Your wife will have told you that I am interested in the fine condition of your rubber trees. It would please me greatly if you would take me through the plantations.”

  “Sudden, isn’t it?” Paul commented. “I thought you only cared about the size of our profits.”

  Armand had taken the seat beside the driver, and half turned. He looked slim and vital, the black hair shone, his pointed features were mobile. He smiled frankly and with enjoyment at Lorna, said to Paul,

  “My friend, you are almost as much of a realist as I am myself! Of course I like the profits, but I realize that you are the one to whom I should be grateful for them. I am sure you will not object to my inspection of the trees on Panai.”

  “You have every right.”

  “Not rights, between friends!” he protested. “For too long my family has collected profits but taken no part in the administration of the company. I wish to repair the omission.”

  “You say you were impressed with the trees. How much did you see of them?”

  “A mile or two only. Madame will have told you that I escorted her to your house. Within an hour I returned to Main Island with the Governor.”

  The car had left the quay and was moving along a wide road between arcades of shops. Down the centre of the road there was a ten-foot strip of grass with a bed of scarlet flowers between each lamp standard, and here and there coolies in straw hats worked among the plants or sat brazenly sunning themselves on the grass. But Lorna saw none of this. Her hands were tight on the white bag in her lap, the small straw cap felt like an iron band about her head. She kept a fixed smile on her lips and looked at no one.

  The Residency was invisible from the road. The car turned between tall stone pillars, iron gates clanged behind them, and they ran along a smooth drive, with riots of tropical bushes on either side and lawns gradually appearing as they neared the great white building with its colonial columns supporting massive overhead masonry, and the inevitable flag flying proudly against the blue.

  The car had no sooner stopped at the foot of the wide stone steps than two young men in white appeared. Colin Garfield and the young aide whom Lorna had met before.

  Paul slipped out and put a helping hand to Lorna’s elbow; at least, it must have looked like a helping hand to the onlookers, but to Lorna it felt like steel claws, and she winced.

  Paul flickered a merciless look over her, said calmly, “Hallo, Colin. Hallo, Teddy, will you look after our things?”

  “Of course. How are you, Mrs. Westbrook?”

  “Well, well,” exclaimed the fair Colin, breezy and admiring, “you certainly make a stunning picture, Lorna!”

  Any more of this, thought Lorna faintly, and I’ll make a scene. Somehow she managed to say, “I’m glad to see you again.”

  “I’ll take you up to your rooms,” Colin told her blithely. “When Paul comes alone he has his own room next to mine, but now you go up in the social scale. A suite, no less! Stairs, or would you like to use the service lift?”

  She looked dazedly at the other men, gave a frightened smile and with the utmost relief crossed the black tiled floor to the foot of a wide ornate staircase. A uniformed servant went ahead, but she was alone with Colin, who asked only that people should like him enough to let him enjoy himself.

  He chattered gaily: “Quite a flutter when we knew you were coming. My father’s in a mood to give me a long holiday and even perhaps a cheque to cover it! The stepmother smiles benignly but doesn’t say much. You probably know that Kyrle’s gone skiing. She’d have been a bit of a death’s head if she’d stayed, and anyway, I don’t suppose Paul would have brought you. He seems to be in a foul mood—like the one he had when I came over to Panai—but perhaps it’s something to do with those thefts. We go along to the left—Peers’ Row, I always call it. Six suites for high-ups. I’ll bet you’re the youngest and prettiest ever to qualify for one of ’em!”

  He kept up the prattle till the servant opened a tall heavy door and stood aside for them to enter. Lorna looked perfunctorily about her at easy chairs and loungers, low carved tables, a deep wine-coloured carpet. In the wall to the right there was another door which stood half open.

  “The bedroom,” said Colin, “and beyond it there’s a dressing-room and a bathroom.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll be lunching in about twenty minutes, so you might like to wash. I expect Paul will bring you down.” He winked conspiratorially. “We’re all on your side, Lorna. If the old lady gets sarcastic and you can’t think of an answer, just look at me. She finds my lack of intelligence devastating!”

  She smiled at him palely and thanked him. He went out, and she was alone among the rich upholstery and walking soundlessly across the carpet into the bedroom. A massive room this, but furnished with taste and little ornamentation. The suite was in walnut, the cover of the huge bed matched the heavy gold and green silk of the curtains, and the carpet was white. The panelled walls were painted white except for a small gilt medallion at the top of each panel, the high ceiling was a plain pastel green.

  She looked into the dressing-room, saw that it contained a cheval mirror and wardrobe chest, a divan bed and an easy chair, and then went into the bathroom to wash thoroughly and make up her face. Small nerves seemed to be jumping all over her body just under the surface of her skin, and she couldn’t think what to do to steady them. She wished Paul would come, and then she was glad he didn’t because she hadn’t the courage to face him in private till the ordeal of the luncheon-table was over.

  He must have guessed at this last, for a light tap came at the door and she opened it to find the young aide, Teddy Firbright, standing there.

  “Paul’s in the morning-room paying his respects,” he said. “He asked me to bring you down. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, quite ready,” she answered with astonishing steadiness, and she joined him in the corridor.

  She walked down the stairs at his side, crossed that endless expanse of black tiling to a tall white door, on which he knocked before turning the handle. Lorna’s shoulders, in the tailored green silk, were slim and square, her chin was poised just slightly higher than usual as she walked into the room to meet Lady Alys Garfield.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LADY ALYS was not alone, of course. Sir Ronan was there, informal in tropical beige and talking with Armand Chauvet, Paul and Colin. Colin lifted his glass at Lorna as she entered. But Lady Alys, aloof and frigid, with her hawk-like nose and cared-for skin, her blue-rinsed hair beautifully set to show the tips of her ears and a surprisingly graceful jaw-line, her smart blue suit and discreet collaret of pearls ... well, from her high-backed tapestry chair Lady Alys dominated the scene.

  Later, Lorna was to conclude that Sir Ronan had married the woman four years ago because in his position he needed a flawless hostess and Alys had the background and breeding. Just then, though, she was only conscious that Paul had detached himself from the Governor and come to her side, that his cool hard fingers had taken her wrist to lead her forward.

  “Alys, this is Lorna. Lorna, meet the Governor’s wife, Lady Alys Garfield.”

  “My dear boy,” said Lady Alys in a cool, dragging voice, “I’m charmed to meet your wife. I believe I am the only one present who has yet to make your acquaintance, Lorna. Come and sit down while Paul finds you a drink.” Lorna greeted Sir Ronan, and then she sat where Paul placed her, fairly near to Lady Alys but with Colin on her other side. She was given some sort of drink, but clutching it between two hands did nothing to steady her knees. The new fit of nerves was shocking and unexpected. Had Paul’s smile at her been encouraging rather than a mask for whatever he was thinking, she might have got through without a tremor. Her lips felt icy with fear, and she was positive that Lady Alys was aware of the fact.

  “Paul has told us very little about you, Lorna,” said that impersonal voice. “However, we have the future in which t
o become acquainted. Armand Chauvet continually chants your praises. Did you know that, Paul?”

  It was swift and blatant. Paul’s glance slipped fleetingly over Lorna and came back to the old woman’s face. And Armand Chauvet wafted a kiss on his finger-tips.

  “All my life I have adored the young and beautiful, particularly when the two qualities are allied with innocence. Can you blame me now that you have met your new niece?”

  Just faintly, Lady Alys’ eyes narrowed. “Paul is not my nephew, Armand, but I have as much affection for him as if he were.” She turned to Lorna and added quietly, “You must not pay too much attention to Armand. These Frenchmen are born with flattery on their tongues and ardour burning in their eyes.”

  Colin heard. “They’re lucky—and they get away with it, too,” he said. “Don’t you like that drink, Lorna?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s just right.” And she valiantly sipped.

  For the next ten minutes or so she was not too clear what was said. She answered an occasional question from Lady Alys, smiled with fixed politeness whenever anyone else spoke to her and was grateful for Colin’s talkativeness. She saw little of the comfortable morning-room except the Aubusson carpet and a rather complex tapestry hanging on the wall, and was much relieved when Lady Alys stood up to lead the way to the dining-room.

  It must have been a private dining-room, for though it was large it had been furnished to please the ordinary eye rather than to impress; no doubt there was an official dining-room somewhere else. Lorna was placed between Sir Ronan and Armand Chauvet; she noticed a perfect English red rose tucked between her wine glasses and she looked swiftly along to the foot of the table to see if Lady Alys had been similarly complimented. Yes, thank heaven, she had. In fact, she lifted the rose to that beak of a nose, looked at Armand Chauvet with an experienced smile.

  “You do everything well, Armand. I suppose you robbed my precious rose garden for these?”

  He smiled helplessly and lifted his hands. “You grow only the best, madame, and even the best was not quite sweet enough. But I had to be content with it.”

  “Well, I like the thought, but please don’t snip any more. I have already ordered all the flowers I want cut for this evening.”

  The meal was astonishing. For the first time since coming to the South Seas, Lorna saw roast lamb and garden peas, lettuce and strawberries and cherries. Frozen, perhaps, but almost fresh in taste. The cheeses were English and so were the biscuits and celery. Flown out, she supposed.

  Sir Ronan was almost affectionate in his attentions, and he was delighted by Lorna’s pleasure in the pyramid of apples and pears, grapes and bananas supporting a giant pineapple.

  “You must take some fruits back to Panai with you,” he said. ‘To me, tropical fruits all have a musky smell and flavour and they aren’t sharp enough to the palate.” He lowered his head, gently and confidentially. “May I say that this visit of yours with Paul has given me the greatest joy I have known for a long time? That was a good plan of mine—to make your acquaintance in Panai while my wife cruised off for a day or two with Paul. We are now all happy and united.”

  Lorna’s heart dropped slightly. She did not look towards Paul, who sat on the other side of the table and spoke with Lady Alys, but she felt him there, felt his coldness and distaste, the anger in him which he would keep under cover till they were alone and unlikely to be disturbed.

  Her eyes veiled and sober, she made conventional conversation, till Lady Alys gave the signal for coffee to be served in the morning-room. One of the dark-skinned, silent servants pulled out Lorna’s chair, she felt Armand Chauvet’s guiding touch on her elbow and moved with the rest. They drank coffee, put on cigars and cigarettes, and Lady Alys rose regally to her feet.

  “You’ll wish to rest, Lorna. We might go upstairs together.”

  Lorna acquiesced; she had no option. Paul escorted the two women to the door, gave a slight bow as they went out and she saw the inflexible line of his mouth, the hardness in the blue eyes.

  At the top of the staircase, Lady Alys put out a detaining hand. “Come with me for a chat, my dear. I know hardly anything about you.”

  The door she opened led into a cosy sitting-room, and for a long moment Lorna felt relieved and grateful; for this was obviously another of the rooms which Lady Alys had arranged for family comfort, a refuge from the magnificence of the main Residency apartments. She sat in a damask armchair, accepted a cigarette from an inlaid wooden box and successfully used the silver dragon lighter which was kept on the table.

  Lady Alys delicately blew smoke, and then regarded the slender young figure through half-closed eyes. “You walk and sit very well,” she said. “Most young things lounge, nowadays.”

  Lorna forbore to make her usual mention of the boarding-school. She smiled and said thank you.

  “Are you happy with Paul?” came point-blank from the Governor’s wife.

  “Why, of course, Lady Alys.”

  “Rather more important to his uncle, and to me, is whether Paul himself is happy. Naturally, he’s been on the offensive with us since your marriage—partly because pf who you are, I daresay. It seems we can like it or leave it.” This was not the kind of comment to which one could reply. Lorna merely said, “Considering you didn’t know me you’ve been very patient.”

  “There’s no other way one can act with Paul.” A pause. “You must have realized even before your marriage that you might be risking the friendship of the Residency—or did you have overwhelming faith in your own ability to deal with the Governor? A young woman with the right approach can usually do as she likes with an older man. Is that what you thought?”

  Lorna knew she had to be careful, very careful. Yet she hated the accusation implicit in the woman’s demarks. She said clearly, “I didn’t know that Sir Ronan was Paul’s uncle until after we were married.”

  “No?” drawled Lady Alys, with a sub-acid, unbelieving smile. “What a lovely surprise for you. What was your first thought when you found out?”

  “I don’t remember.” Only that it had not been a lovely surprise.

  “Oh, well, never mind. Your father, I believe, was a commercial agent throughout several groups of islands. Not that I have anything against agents—they make life easy for us, bring us the things we need to keep civilized in these parts.

  “You don’t quite understand our ways, Lorna—but no doubt you will, in time. You see, you started off wrongly with us. Paul should have brought you to Main Island before your marriage and allowed one of the older women here to present you. The Governor represents the Crown, and that much respect is due to him. After that, everything would have gone smoothly, and you would have been married in the church here and gone away for a honeymoon, just as couples usually do.”

  I wonder, thought Lorna unhappily. She had been aware all along that had she known of Paul’s relationship with Sir Ronan she would never have agreed to marry him.

  “I’m afraid we disappointed a few people,” she managed, creditably.

  “It was inevitable. However, I think Paul is wise to dissuade his uncle from insisting on the second ceremony. A civil marriage is less binding than a religious one. Oh, my dear, how clumsy of you! I do detest to see ash on a carpet.”

  Scarlet, her eyes glistening with tears that she fiercely fought back, Lorna stubbed out her cigarette and bent to dust up the ash with her handkerchief. She stood up and said a little unsteadily,

  “I know you disapprove of me, Lady Alys, but I’m afraid I can’t let it matter very much. I love Paul and I shall do my best to be the sort of wife he needs.”

  “A laudable intention,” said Lady Alys languidly, “but it will take a great deal more than that to satisfy a man of Paul’s age and experience. Oh, by the way, you have probably heard rumours that my daughter was on the point of becoming engaged to Paul Westbrook. They were only rumours. Actually, I expect to hear of her engagement in Europe to a very close friend of ours.” She waved a hand. “You may go for your
rest.”

  There was no need to answer. Lorna slipped out of the room and hurried along to the suite. She went inside the lounge and turned the key in the lock, stood there near the door for some time with her fist pressed hard to her fast-beating heart.

  That unspeakable woman! Yet she had only spoken the truth—except the bit about Kyrle and Paul, and in a way that had been excusable in a mother; she had to maintain an appearance of nonchalance over Paul’s marriage. But there was no doubt at all that Lady Alys hated the girl Paul had married with all her heart. That a mere eighteen-year-old of no particular family should have snaffled the prize she had sought for her own daughter was insupportable. Lady Alys was capable of using all her considerable power to wreck the marriage ... but if she did she would have to reckon with Sir Ronan, who was settling down to the idea and rather liking it She was too conscious of her position as first lady to take risks. Big ones, anyhow. Still, the small ones could hurt, and Lorna was fatally certain that in her own ice-cold mind Lady Alys had already decided on a degree of destruction. She couldn’t know, thought Lorna bleakly, how easy it was likely to be.

  She walked about the room, went through to the bedroom and opened the double french windows on to a wide balcony which overlooked a garden at the side of the Residency. It was quiet down there, the flowers hot and vivid in the sunshine. She saw a pergola draped alternately with scarlet bougainvillaea and white feather down the whole of its length, deodar trees and bulbous cotton palms, poinsettias and magnolias, a screen of frangipani and beyond it all the tall wire fence of a tennis court.

  Immediately below, on the path, stood a white roadster, and as she looked at it Colin came out and walked round it, lovingly touching its chromium as he passed. His glance was drawn upwards and he waved and made signs to her to come down. She shook her head, and he took the chance of being overheard, cupped his hands, and called,