“Wasn’t there anyone to prevent your leaving for Penghu?” demanded Vic. “I can’t imagine a headman allowing his boys to take a lone white girl.”
For a moment Terry was tempted to let them think that that was what had happened. It was so terribly difficult to talk about Pete, let alone face having him discussed. But she had to be frank right at the start; at all costs she must avoid complications.
“I didn’t come with Malay boys. I told you there was another white man on the steamer. He had to get through to Penghu himself rather quickly, and I asked him to bring me. At first he refused, but next morning he made the arrangement and we left together.”
“So you’re here without luggage!” cried Annette. “My poor sweet!”
“No, I brought my luggage—all of it.”
Mr. Winchester leaned across the table and said in astonishment, “Two grown people and luggage? You came through the narrows and the tunnel and past the falls? It doesn’t seem possible.”
By now Terry was trembling again. She lifted her head. “He happened to be that sort of man. He didn’t make much of it and he had been going to come through on his own, anyway.”
The inevitable question: “Who was he?”
“A rubber planter who’d been on two months’ leave and had to get back.”
There was a silence. Then Annette bent forward again to speak across Vic. “You must have been more or less alone with the man for about four days.”
“More or less.”
“Wasn’t it ... embarrassing?”
There was an ache along the base of Terry’s jaw, a thickness in her throat. She said flatly, “We stopped for the night at villages, and one night we spent with a white couple who were travelling to Shalak by easy stages. Almost throughout the daylight hours we were moving.”
You poor darling. I wouldn’t have put you through that for anything.”
“Who was the man?” Vic asked. “Does he belong to this district?”
Terry nodded. “He’s manager of the Peninsular Rubber Estate. His name is Sternham.”
“Sternham? I know of him, but I’ve never met him.”
Mr. Winchester shrugged. “We’re new to this district. I know the man’s name, too. We’ll have to get in touch with him...”
“No, please!” Terry hesitated and gave a jerky smile. “‘Sorry if I sounded panicky, but he wouldn’t want that.”
“Did he bring you here today—right to the house?”
“Yes. We left the canoe at Tembin and borrowed a Land-rover. He dropped me here and drove on to his own house.”
Another silence. This time it was Vida Winchester who ended it. She said gently, “You can’t blame us for wanting to thank him, Terry. We’ve been very worried about you, and my husband and Vic would certainly have come along the river to meet you, if they’d thought for a moment you might come that way. No one even suggested the possibility.”
“I thought about it,” said her husband, “but I remembered that when I first came here with the surveyors we got as far as the falls and had to stop there. The Malay guide told us there were several miles of river which no one could use—it was almost like an underground stream, he said.”
“It’s just a fast-running rivulet at the bottom of a ravine that’s grown over,” stated Terry, matter-of-factly.
“Sternham must be an amazing man!”
Oh, very, thought Terry tiredly. She managed another smile. “He doesn’t think so. He simply makes up his mind to do something and does it.”
“His tenacity got you here, however dull and plodding he may have been. We’ll have to thank him.”
“And to think you did it all for me!” Annette almost wailed. “If only there were some way of giving you a wonderful time, as a tiny reward!”
“It’s reward enough to be here with you and Vic, and it’s very kind of Mr. and Mrs. Winchester to have me.”
“It’s a pleasure,” said Vida. “We’ve five bedrooms, and at the moment I’m pleased to say they’re all occupied—at least, they will be when Roger gets back.”
“You mean Roger lives here with you?”
“Oh, yes, he’s been here a month. That old house adjoining Payn’s has finally crumbled, and has been taken over by the caretaker.” She smiled. “I was sure you’d like to have Roger here, so I invited him to stay with us till the firm decides about alternative accommodations for him.”
Annette said suddenly, “Change places with me, Vic. I want to sit right next to Terry and talk to her.”
Vic, the strong-minded, answered, “You’ll stay right where you are, and let her get on with her lunch. And stop badgering the girl. Can’t you see she’s had it?”
Annette’s eyes, a lighter blue than Terry’s, flashed fire at him, but Vida said quietly, “Vic is right, Annette. Your sister needs a good long rest before she can be in a condition to get excited over your wedding, and over Roger.”
Terry squared her shoulders and her smile at Mrs. Winchester was perfectly natural. “I’m all right—really. A bit weary, and everything is very strange and a little puzzling. Where is Roger?”
“We haven’t told you!” said Annette. “He’s gone to find you.”
“Good heavens! Where?”
“Well, he convinced himself that you would have gone back down the river to Shalak, and the easiest way to get there, now that the railway is out of commission, is to go straight out to the coast from here and hope to pick up a plane, or even a helicopter. He left two days ago.”
Vic said, “And I heard this morning that there was a plane out yesterday. He’ll have caught that.”
“Can’t we get in touch with him—send a telegram or something?”
“Where would we send it?” Vic shook his head. “I’m afraid poor old Roger will just have to scout round till he discovers where you are, and then come back. He was terribly fed up when Pryce told him you were coming the tedious way with Mrs. Pryce, by train and river.”
“But I wanted to come that way, so that I could make the most of my trip. I probably saw more of this country during the journey than you’ve seen in your seven or eight months out here!”
“I certainly haven’t canoed for four days along a river through the rain forest. That must be something to remember, Terry!”
Something to remember. Oh, sure, she thought, unconsciously borrowing Pete’s inflexion in her mind. But it was already receding a little. Here she was, at the Winchesters’ table with a plate of delicate food in front of her and a white-clad Malay servant clinking ice as he filled her glass with water. Vic was himself, solid, purposeful but unsure of Annette. The Winchesters were charming, and Annette ... well, Annette seemed to have lost something. Terry was in no condition at the moment to discover just what it might be.
Sponge jellies and fruit were brought to the table, coffee was served with a cheese savory. At last there was a general move.
“I suggest, Terry,” said Vida Winchester, “that you undress and lie down. Just let yourself sleep for as long as you can. I won’t invite anyone in for this evening. Tomorrow will be time enough for that.”
The two men smiled at Terry and went outside. Mrs. Winchester said she thought she would rest herself and drifted into her bedroom. Annette put an arm round Terry and squeezed her.
“You’re tops,” she said. “I’ve been in anguish, wondering if you’d got lost somewhere, or perhaps decided, after all, to stay with Mrs. Pryce...”
“You knew I wouldn’t do that. All I thought of was getting here in time for your wedding.”
Annette’s hand dropped to her side. “I’ve put it off for a week. I was too anxious about you to go through with it.”
Not too anxious to play bridge, apparently. Terry caught herself up; never in her life had she judged Annette, and she didn’t intend to start doing so now.
“Come into my bedroom with me,” she said. “I have another case to unpack and we can talk while I do it.”
A few minutes later she was on the bedro
om floor, unlocking the case, while Annette sprawled across the bed. There had been a time when Annette had practised sprawling gracefully in order to model a selection of bathing suits, and she had profited beautifully.
She said, “You weren’t surprised when I told you I’d postponed the ghastly day for a week. Had Vic already unburdened himself?”
“Yes. And don’t call it the ghastly day to anyone else, will you?” From her kneeling position, Terry looked across at her sister. Annette’s titian hair, which she wore fairly long, was spread across the bed cover, her profile was clear and lovely against the rose pink. “I thought you’d feel so much better about everything now that you know you can stand the climate.”
“Wait till you’ve been here a little while and you’ll understand that the climate is the least of it, my pigeon. There’s nothing here in Penghu—nothing but grass houses and smiling brown people—though what they have to smile at, heaven knows. Just off the main road—which you must have travelled, to get here—there’s a street of buildings—the only solid structures in the place. Everything else just goes to rack and ruin and has to be renewed with grass from the jungle. I ask you, Terry!”
“I must be crazy, because I like it—the rain and the ruin, the cheerful people repairing damage almost every week. What about the block of flats you wrote about?”
“They’re not bad, but anyone who can afford the rent can live there, so the population is mixed. Vic has taken one high up, to get the breeze.”
“And the furnishing?”
Annette’s fist rose slowly from the bed and dropped back, rather heavily. “That’s one of the things we quarrel about. The construction company has offered free utility furniture, but who wants to live among that stuff? Seems we can’t get anything brought in unless we pay every penny for it, plus transport, ourselves. Vic says we can’t afford it.”
“Well, he must know. If there’s only nine days to go, you’ll have to do something about it fairly soon, won’t you? Couldn’t you start off with the utility and replace it gradually?”
“What would I replace it with?”
“There must be furniture shops somewhere. This house has a few old things, but it’s quite a dream.”
“It’s the company’s. They took great trouble for the superintendent long before he arrived, and he and Vida chose almost everything either in England or Singapore.” She lifted her hand again and looked at her silvery pink nails. “Vic is just a staff engineer. By English standards he gets a colossal salary, but when you have to travel a good way to buy a suit or a frock, shell out for imported foodstuffs, run a couple of servants and a car, you need every penny of it. It’s all very well for the Winchesters. Besides being top dogs, Vida has money of her own.”
“Well, they’re older,” said Terry reasonably. “Vic’s only twenty-eight. He still has to make his way in the company.”
“You’re as bad as he is.” A pause. “I think I’ve known all along that it was stupid of me to come out here.”
“Oh, come, Annette.” Terry stood up. “You had lots of time to think this over before you left England, and Vic didn’t promise you the earth, right at the start of your marriage. He’s signed a contract for three years, and for that length of time he’s bound to live right here in Penghu If you decide to get along with the company furniture you can save, so that wherever you go afterwards you’ll have something better. I know it’s tough on you, after earning a good salary yourself, but being married to Vic will make up for the lack of pin money.”
“I wonder.” Annette let out a sigh. “Everything was so simple back in England, before Vic got this crazy notion that he’d like to work in the tropics for a few years. He was in line for promotion, I did the sort of work that I like and it left me plenty of free time for a home. We could have been engaged for a year, and spent the time haunting sale rooms for lovely old pieces of furniture. I wanted the sort of home that people, would envy. I know that’s disgusting, but it’s true.”
“We’ve had this out before, and you’ve always ended by repeating that you’re in love with Vic. It seems to me that that’s the answer to all your questions.”
“It would be for you, sweetie, because you’re that type. If you loved a lighthouse-keeper you’d happily live at the top of the spiral staircase with him for the rest of your life.
Terry laughed. “Vic isn’t demanding anything so drastic. Honestly, I think it would be great fun to be given just the bare necessities in austerity design, and start in to make a home of them.”
Annette turned her head and took a long look at her sister. Her eyes softened. “That’s where you come in, Terry. If we can’t have anything better, we’ll have to embellish what there is. I can design a frock or an evening coat, but creating comfort from sticks and a few yards of material is definitely not my line. I’ll need you.”
“Well, I’m here. Only don’t let’s have any more defeatist talk. I know how you feel, but think of Vic, and how he feels, too.”
“No, Terry, you don’t know how I feel.” Annette sat up, slowly. “You have to be in love with someone, and hating it, before you feel the way I do. I’ve found out that it’s possible to fall deeply in love with a man who isn’t a bit suitable. What should have happened, of course, was for Vic to have been quite unmoved by me—then I’d have had to forget him. In the long run, my life would probably have been much happier. As it is, I’m committing myself to living with someone simply because he stirs my emotions. In every other way we’re no good to each other.”
This was turning into one of those discussions which had punctuated the months of Vic’s absence, before Annette had left to join him. There was nothing you could say to alter her outlook. And what she said was partly true. Her red-gold beauty, her physical poise, the things she liked, her talents—none of them were very important here in Penghu. Possibly she wasn’t even envied very much by the other women, because each had her man, and there were several bachelors in the district for good measure. This wasn’t really the place for Annette, though a spell here might be good for her character.
Annette stood up. “I’m being selfish: You’ve had quite a time and ought to be resting.”
“Do you rest in the afternoon?”
“Mostly. The atmosphere is heavy and wet, and there’s nothing else to do, anyway. Oh, by the way, how were the parents when you left?”
“Thriving. Have you heard from them lately?”
“There was a letter from Elizabeth a week ago. She thought you’d be arriving any day and sent you her own and Father’s love.”
“I must write to them.”
“I’ve been telling myself that, too, but can’t get down to it. Now that you’re here,” with a wide smile and a wink, “you can do it for me. You’re much more dutiful. Well, I’ll take to my cushions. You don’t have to stir again till after the servant has brought you some tea.” She stopped, gave Terry another hug and moved towards the door. “You hoped I’d change, but I haven’t. I do feel better now, though. You’re a darling.”
She went out, and Terry at once turned back to the suitcase. A few of her things were badly stained, but the gift wrappings were hardly touched, and the dress, when the polythene wrapping had been removed, retained, apart from creases, its pristine turquoise freshness.
She tidied the room, turned back the bed cover, took off her shoes and lay down. Unthinkingly, as her head went back to touch the pillows, she raised her hands and slipped them under it. She turned her head and saw her reflection in the dressing table mirror, and it sent a strange shock along her spine. She saw Pete in the darkness, his eyes wide and glinting. He was in his own home now, perhaps at this moment looking through reports on the progress of the estate during his absence. Or he might be just thinking, as she was, though his thoughts would be vastly different. He was probably looking forward to the evening, to presenting his gifts to the girl named Astrid ... and collecting payment. The two of them might listen to the Siamese music together, but he would expand
only about the sights he had seen in Burma and Siam. Not about the river ... not about Terry Fremont. To Pete Sternham, the river and Terry had already become history, and uninteresting at that.
CHAPTER FIVE
PENGHU was an odd little town, still primitive in spite of the new buildings. Its roads were gravelled or merely beaten earth, there was no electricity except from the private lighting plants, and the water tower was like a miniature Tower of Pisa and practically obscured by growth. In the shops one could buy all kinds of local produce and a few imported goods, and at the bi-weekly market local stuff was obtainable at bargain prices. There was no competition, and seemingly no ambition. So long as he had shelter and food the peasant was content. Those better off could afford to travel occasionally, and buy in a larger town.
The white people numbered around fifteen. There were the four construction company men, an agent who handled copra and oil for the smallholders, a doctor, Roger Payn, who ran this small branch of his family’s business with the aid of a Malay clerk, two or three wives, and some temporary residents who were engaged on surveying and educational work. Social life, Terry learned, consisted in meeting for tea or cocktails, bridge for the women and poker for the men, and a dinner at one of the houses each Saturday. Sometimes, mid-week, the Winchesters would put on a film show in their sitting-room, and there were occasional picnics.
To Terry’s relief, there was little contact with anyone outside the town. The few white planters, she learned, stuck together and arranged their own enjoyment; there weren’t more than half a dozen in the whole area.
“They’re unusual types, I believe,” Vic told Terry, the day after her arrival. “The sort of men who’d just as soon have trees as human beings for company. We construction people will always be regarded as newcomers because we have a certain job to do and will vanish when it’s done, in about three years’ time.”
They were seated in the veranda, awaiting the others who were dressing for dinner. Terry looked absorbedly at this small part of Penghu. In darkness the square, surrounded by houses which were constructed half of adobe and half of atap, looked smaller and shut in by the ubiquitous palms. There were lights in other verandas, people moving about unrecognizably beyond woven sun and mosquito-screens.
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