He moved a little closer. “Just like that?”
“Just like that—tonight and every night, for the present. Good night, again.”
“Good night, my pet.” He drew down the corners of his mouth. “Your welcome was cooler than I expected, but then I was ever an optimist. See you in the morning.”
Terry nodded, and went straight from the lounge to her bedroom. There she crossed to the french window and let her nerves slacken. The air smelled earthy after the rain, but the threat of another storm seemed to have passed. The sky was thick with stars, battalions of crickets were chirping and a small breeze rustled the natural growth which was not far from the back of the house.
Why was she worrying, for heaven’s sake? Because Roger had come back? But she had expected him even sooner, and had been ready for his desiring a little closer relationship than she was able to give. Then ... then was it Pete?
She rubbed her hands together, pushed one of them over her forehead. What was it about Pete that made her utterly unsure of herself? Why had she felt so unnatural with him this evening? But then, even when they had been quite alone and miles from anyone else, she had experienced the same tense awareness of him. It wasn’t just being a little ... in love with him; it was far more than that, though that was part of it.
He spent this evening with the Swedish brother and sister; would do the same tomorrow evening, and the one following. The brother was anxious to go home, but Astrid ... Terry paused in her thoughts to examine the name. It reminded one of white flowers poking up out of the frost, a white blossom that might have a green heart or a golden one. For Pete, anyway, it would be golden.
She began to undress. This mulling over every single thing—a new habit—was ridiculous and demoralizing. It not only made one feel slightly sick all the time but it weakened one’s defences. Not that she really needed much in the way of defences against Pete. All he wanted was to be rid of reminders of the canoe trip from Vinan. He didn’t threaten her in any tangible way. Or did he?
Terry shook her head at her reflection in the mirror. Life had never been so complex, so perhaps it was normal for her to feel helpless. There ought to be some...
The door opened and Annette came in, looking gay and pink-cheeked. The bright hair had loosened in the breeze and stars shone in her eyes, put there perhaps by Vic’s kisses. But as she sank down on the side of the bed it was not of Vic she spoke first. She lay right back and said to the ceiling, “What an evening! How do you feel about having two men queuing up to see you? Though Roger forms a queue all by himself, doesn’t he? Was he loving?”
“No.”
“I’m disappointed in the man—thought he had more about him. You know something, Terry? Roger is going to propose to you the minute you give him a chance.”
“I hope not.”
“Really?” Annette got up on one elbow and gazed curiously at her sister. “It seems to me that you two are rather well matched. He’s a bit of a lightweight and you’re a little too much the other way. You could have enough money and lots of fun with Roger.”
For something to do, Terry began to brush her hair. “I just want you to get married, and to go home—nothing more. I’m so glad you’re happier with Vic now.”
“I’m not really. If I think much about it I still have horrible qualms. He insists that they’re natural, that he even has a few himself. Imagine that. Vic with qualms.”
“His are caused through loving you so much.”
Annette scoffed. “What do you know about it? I think he’s uneasy because he can’t feel certain about me. Once we’re married I won’t be nearly as important to him.”
“You’re being horrid. I do hope you don’t speak to him like that.”
“Not quite so frankly.” She had gone moody. “I wish I’d never met Vic—then I’d never have come to Penghu, and started to feel that there’s a lot more to living than parading about in smart clothes, and having good times in the evenings. These women who are so keen on making a home in the jungle for their husbands ... they give me the creeps. Yet I’m on the way to becoming one of them myself!”
“You think about that side of things too much. After all, you’ve had months in which to accept the fact that you’re here for a long time, and you’ve already been here long enough to start feeling at home. I believe you fight against it.”
“You’re right, little wise one,” sighed Annette. “And I’ll go on fighting till I’m trapped. But how am I going to feel afterwards? What in the world shall I do in that utility flat?”
“You’d better do your utmost to disguise it as a pretty and comfortable home.”
Another sigh. “Well, I suppose I shall get through while you’re here. You promised to stay on till we get back from our honeymoon, haven’t you?”
“I didn’t promise.”
Annette sat right up. “But you must, Terry! You can’t trot home after only a week or so in the place, and Mrs. Winchester will be delighted to keep you here for as long as you like.” She was struck by a brilliant idea. “When Vic and I get back you might even move into our little cubbyhole of a spare room!”
“You think I’d stay with newly-weds?” jeered Terry gently. “Vic would toss me out, and who’d blame him?”
“I’m not so sure,” said Annette seriously. “He didn’t put it into as many words, but he thinks you’re far more dependable than I am. He said tonight that I’m sweeter to him now that you’re here.”
“Make a habit of it,” advised Terry with a smile. “Isn’t it time you went to bed?”
“It’s time, but too hot.” She leaned forward and picked up the compact from the dressing table, examined it as she spoke casually. “Did your friend Pete really have ivory nuts in his car?”
Terry had been steeling herself for a question on these lines, so she was able to answer, as carelessly, “Yes. He offered me one, but I didn’t want it.”
“You didn’t want anything at all from him, did you? It was noticeable—to me, anyway. Why did you mind his turning up here?”
Had it been that obvious? Hadn’t she learned anything at all from Pete’s poker-face tactics? Terry shrugged. “I didn’t mind all that much. I was only surprised.”
“I was surprised, too. You held out on us, darling.” Terry looked across at her quickly. Annette was gazing back through narrowed eyelids, a knowing smile on her lips. For the very first time in her life Terry felt a faint hostility towards her sister.
“You mean because he’s not bad looking? Roger’s features are better.”
“I mean that he’s all man—while Roger isn’t. But then you must know Pete Sternham’s features awfully well. You stared at them for four days or more.” She laughed briefly. “I can’t help thinking what a waste it was—my dear little sister with such a man! There was a time when I’d have given my ears for the chance you had with Pete Sternham.”
“Oh, give it up,” said Terry on a determined note of boredom. “I told you when I first arrived that Pete was simply concerned with getting to Penghu. He may be a lady’s man, but I’m not his sort of lady even if he were in the market for one. He’s pretty well tied up, I believe.”
Annette’s smile became animated. “That Swedish person?” she demanded. “I mentioned it to Vic just now, and he knows them, both brother and sister. It seems that one of the bridges is partly on their land, and they were paid compensation. Vic went over to their plantation to see them three or four months ago, and he said the girl’s a wow.”
“If she’s Pete’s choice, she’s bound to be.”
Annette gave a humorous lift of the shoulders. “You have respect for his taste but dislike him none the less? Your trouble, Terry, is that you allow yourself to feel at a disadvantage, and show it. I suppose he ordered you about? Did you hate it?”
“No. His judgment was bound to be better than mine. Do we have to talk about him?”
“You must admit he’s an absorbing topic, but,” more soberly, “I’m glad you didn’t fall for him
, sweetie. He’s iron, plated with charm. He wouldn’t even see a dear thing like you. I’m fairly experienced, but even I would have to work hard if I wanted him. He needs someone who won’t be floored by his looks and manner, someone who doesn’t easily get rattled. According to Vic, the Swedish babe is just right.”
“Good,” said Terry. “Shall we go to bed now?”
But Annette was too wide awake to be easily shifted. She went on talking, not much about Pete because she didn’t know him, but quite extensively about Roger, whose family was better off than one might think. If Terry liked him she should consider his proposal very seriously before turning him down, stated Annette. On the whole, she ended gloomily, one might do better by marrying for position rather than for love. Look at the mess love could land you in. And it would be lovely to have Terry living near.
Eventually she drifted into the next room and Terry was left alone. She felt a little raw, a little sad but fairly brave. For the present she was determined to think no further ahead than her sister’s wedding.
CHAPTER SIX
IN a way, Roger’s presence in the Winchesters’ house was a blessing. When not cast down by his business responsibilities he was a blithe soul, and in the evenings he liked nothing better than to sit in the veranda listening to the gramophone or strumming his own guitar; he quite fancied himself as a guitarist, and Terry agreed that he knew how to treat a sentimental ballad. His voice was a pleasing light baritone, and sitting a few yards away from him in the half-darkness and watching his fair head against the palms as he strummed and sang, Terry found it easy to imagine him in a film with some pretty little thing as his partner.
The business, he told Terry, was a headache. It was now costing more to run on a lower income, and though it was a branch of one of the older firms in Malaya, it was hardly worth the trouble and expense of keeping it going. He had been put in charge for two reasons—to give him a taste of the responsibility he loathed and to add importance to the branch and so help it regain lost prestige. Somehow, he thought, the place would be closed down by this time next year and he would be transferred to Singapore.
“Quite a place, Singapore,” he told Terry pointedly. “You’d love it.”
But she ignored the hint. “I should think you’d far rather improve things here,” she said. “How long have Payns been established in Penghu?”
“Thirty-odd years, and before that we had an agent covering the district. But I don’t think we’re going to last here.”
“Then why make plans to have a new house built, to replace that other one next to the store?”
“The old man’s orders. No Payn may live in a peeling bungalow adjoining the warehouse. I was willing to stick it out because I hoped not to stay too long, but my father came down about seven weeks ago and condemned the house. By the way,” with half a wink, “he said it would look appalling to a prospective bride.”
“Does he want you to marry?”
He grimaced and sighed. “Don’t say it like that. I’m the only son in the East—my brother is stockbroking in London—and I suppose my father and mother are just longing to hear the patter of little feet, so that there’ll always be a Payn in the business. While you’re here,” he ended, not looking at her, “I’d like you to meet my mother. She’s doing a tour of the branches with Dad.”
“It’s nice of you, but I don’t think I shall have time, Roger.”
“Well,” he said, as objectively as he could, “I’m going to have a whale of a time when I’m older, touring as my father does for half the year and spending the rest of the year in London. I’m healthy, light-hearted and have good prospects. As a husband, I’d be a good risk!”
With a smile that had become automatic, she answered, “You’re going to make some girl very proud and happy. And now sing another song.”
“Well, it’s something that you like my music. Many a knot has been tied to the strains of a guitar!”
He never became really serious, and if he had done so, Terry felt she could have handled him. Even when they went out for a drive he did no more than theatrically kiss her hand, nuzzle her elbow and bark like a dog. He was an idiot, and as such she enjoyed him.
Terry did not attend the ceremony at the new airstrip on the rubber estate. As she pointed out, Roger had not been invited and she might as well stay away too, and have lunch with him at the house. The percipient Annette said she thought Mr. Sternham might be annoyed if Terry absented herself, but she guaranteed to make him realize that Terry had felt it her duty to stay with Roger, who had just ended a wild-goose chase to find her.
So that morning, at about ten-thirty, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester and Annette drove away towards the Peninsular Rubber Company’s Penghu estate, and Terry stayed alone in the veranda, writing a letter to Elizabeth. Terry had always found her stepmother easy to communicate with, and it was a pleasure to describe everything more fully than Annette would have done, and to be able to mention that Annette did seem more reconciled to living in Penghu. She wrote that she had half promised to stay on for a month or so, though they could recall her by telegram straight after Annette’s wedding, if they needed her.
When the letter was finished, Terry read a little and watched the couple of pale English children who often took a walk with their ayahs before lunch. It was hot and hazy, but at about twelve-thirty she heard the drone of the plane which was carrying away the personages who had come to declare the airstrip ready for use. Now the Winchesters and Annette, and others who had been invited, were moving towards the plantation manager’s house for lunch. Fleetingly, Terry knew a desperate wish to see Pete in his own house; then she pushed the longing away. To know exactly where and how he lived would make everything a thousand times worse. The thing that was barely manageable now would become completely ungovernable. She had acted rightly in staying away.
At three o’clock, when the others returned, she was even more certain that she had been wise to remain at the house. Annette was flushed and gay, she talked of marvellous frozen foods which the plane had brought as a gift for Pete, of one particular V.I.P. who had stared more at herself than at Astrid Harmsen.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “the Harmsens were there. The man is plain Jan, pleasant but rather nondescript. But his sister! A vital ash-blonde with green eyes and more than her fair share of wits. I gathered that Pete invited them specially to meet the company director who came with the government johnny ... It looks very much as if the Peninsular people will make an offer for the Harmsen plantation, and the two Swedes may come out of it rather well.” She flipped her fingers. “Pete certainly has their interest at heart!”
Terry stood it doggedly, even though it was searing to reflect that in two or three hours Annette had learned more about the rubber estate and its ramifications than she herself had been permitted to absorb in as many days. She reminded herself that it was her own fault she had not attended the ceremony and luncheon today, but it was poor comfort, particularly when, over a cup of tea, Vida Winchester exchanged impressions with Annette, and they laughed over a couple of incidents which had happened at the airstrip.
Annette mentioned that Pete had wanted to know why Terry had not accompanied them; apparently he had accepted their explanation without question, and forgotten her. Feeling wretched. Terry tried to rally herself with a shot of common sense. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep that night, but she did.
Then—it seemed to be quite sudden—there were only three days to the wedding, and Annette went to pieces. She didn’t weep and storm, or pace like a prisoner, or dither all over the place. She went quite white and silent, ate nothing and would not go to the flat or see Vic. Lying on her bed with her eyes closed and her face free of makeup, she looked plain and lifeless. Terry knew that the sight of her sister shouldn’t make her angry, but it did. Not for anything would she have accused Annette of putting on an act so convincingly that she had even deceived herself, but it did appear that way to Terry. Annette, usually strong-minded but occasionally uncerta
in of herself, had never before, in any circumstances, let herself go so completely.
Terry stood at the foot of the bed. “What are we to do about finishing things at the flat? Don’t you want to see it quite ready before you go away?”
“I’m just not interested,” said Annette, without opening her eyes.
“What about the woman who is making the curtains and cushions? Surely someone ought to get in touch with her?”
“There’s no hurry. You do it some time next week, darling.”
“Well, there’s the minister who’s coming from the coast to perform the ceremony. Aren’t you and Vic supposed to meet him and have a talk?”
“If Vic wants to do it, he can. I’m out.”
“Oh, Annette, you’re behaving like a child!”
“I know, and I don’t care. I’m sick to death of the whole business.”
Terry said patiently, “It’s just, wedding nerves, but you owe it to Vic to get a grip on them. He’s so distressed, Annette.”
“How do you think I feel? He can still call it off.”
“You’re being absurd—you don’t even know what you’re saying. It would serve you right if he did call it off.”
Annette opened her eyes tiredly. “You’re sweet and anxious, and I’m a beast. Just leave me alone, Terry.”
Later Terry saw Vic. He looked rugged and unsmiling, and something gnawed at him so that he couldn’t give his attention to conversation. In the darkness, after dinner, he took her for a walk round the square and down one of the overgrown lanes. His shoulders seemed to be drawn up permanently close to his ears, and a worried frown had etched itself between his brows.
For the tenth time he said, “I wouldn’t have believed it of her, Terry—not as late as this.” He added, “I feel as if I haven’t learned anything about her temperament at all.”
“She’s slightly artistic, you know. I suppose all models are, and here in Penghu she has no outlet. Just be patient, Vic. Once she’s married she’ll be different. I’m sure of it.”
Dangerous Waters Page 13
