“I wish I were sure,” he said smoothly. “Do you think it would help if I promised to back out of my contract when the first year is up—it has about two and a half months to go now?”
“Don’t do that—not at this stage,” she said quickly. “If you feel after you’re married that she won’t be happy here, then it may have to come. But don’t give in while she’s like this. I know Annette.”
“I’m depending on that. If you weren’t here now I’d be going crazy. Is she going to be like this in all the crises of our life together?”
Terry smiled at his rueful expression. “I don’t think so. I honestly believe it’s a last fling, while she’s still free. Some girls on the verge of marriage go feverish and work themselves to death, others become slightly light-headed and can never remember afterwards how they felt. Annette has withdrawn from life for a couple of days; that’s her particular reaction.”
This was a mystery to Vic. “But what has she to be nervous about? We love each other, and I’ve told her that I’m willing to give in if she really can’t settle outside England.”
“She’s just as sensible as you are. Besides, in a way that you wouldn’t understand, she’s enjoying this emotional upheaval.”
He turned and gazed at her. “Good lord, is she? Would you be like that? Would you refuse to see your fiancé as she does?”
“I doubt it, but then I’m more ordinary than she is. Don’t let it worry you so much, Vic. Everything will be all right.”
“But we haven’t even made final arrangements!”
“Make them without her—it’s what she needs. I promise to see that the flat will be ready for your return.”
“And you’ll be here?” he asked urgently.
“Probably, but you won’t need me. Annette gave up a job she loved and brought a lovely wedding gown all the way to Penghu—just because she wanted to marry you. The climate and the unusual surroundings for a wedding have got her down temporarily, but she’s essentially the same person you knew in England. The minute you have her quite alone she’ll start bucking up. You’ll see.”
Clumsily, he kissed her cheek. “You’re a dear little comfort,” he said. “If you need any help with Roger, let me know.”
A dear little comfort, she thought a trifle bleakly. What a thing to be—in the humid, passionate heart of the East.
Though Vida Winchester must have understood what was happening, she and her husband professed concern at Annette’s collapse and said they thought it wise for her to rest completely until her wedding day. She was not to fret about anything at all; details were already taken care of.
Only during the last day was there a flurry of preparation. The Malay cook and his helpers concocted a fridgeful of delicacies, the french windows of the lounge were thrown wide so that the veranda helped to form one massive room. There being no church in Penghu, the marriage had to be performed right here in the house.
Huge vases were borrowed, flowers selected from the garden of the fruit-and-flower seller but not cut; from somewhere Vida conjured trestle tables and white lace cloths, a bevy of different colored napkins, masses of cutlery and glasses, cups, saucers and plates. No one knew quite how many guests would arrive. Most of the white people in the town and many important Malays had been invited, but in addition, there were the odd few who had been asked by Mr. Winchester or Vic to look in if they could. Provision had been made for fifty guests.
It was not till the momentous morning itself that Terry pressed her turquoise bridesmaid’s dress. She did it at six o’clock, because her own nerves had begun to jump and she had to get up, and after she had carried it into her bedroom she surveyed it with mixed feelings before slipping into the bedroom next door. And what a relief it was, to find her sister out of bed and sipping tea between push-ups. The simple fact of Annette reverting to her morning exercises meant, more than anything she could possibly say, that normality was back.
Terry drew a deep breath, said, “Hi, darling, you look great,” and went back to her own room to compose herself. After which she sought out Roger and told him to see Vic at once, and tell him that Annette was fine and doing push-ups.
The wedding hour was noon and guests had been invited for eleven-thirty. Terry, already wearing her own frock and helping Annette into hers, heard the people arriving, and Mr. Winchester’s suave welcoming voice. You could tell, by the softening of his tones, when he greeted a Malay. Annette, appraising herself in the long mirror, had become almost annoyingly calm. The gown was simple and rich, a beautiful fit, the headdress sat like a small coronet upon her gleaming red-gold hair, and the veil hung like starched gossamer. She had only to smile to look radiant, and when Mr. Winchester knocked and asked if she was ready for him, the smile appeared. Annette was putting on a great show, only this time it wasn’t so much for the audience as for Vic Hilton.
Terry’s throat was full as she slipped out of the room and into the lounge. Before taking her place she saw the minister against a bank of flowers, two seas of brown and white faces with an aisle dividing them. She looked across at Vic and saw that he smiled, though his jaw was tense. Roger, a nonchalant best man, half closed an eye at her and looked solemn. In silence, the room full of people waited three minutes. And then came the bride.
You have to experience the wedding service in a tropical house to get that odd sensation which is a blend of fact and unreality. The words were old and beautiful, the minister was dignified and benign, but exotic scents pervaded the room—perfume of the flowers in the bowls and from the sweet jasmine which the Malay women wore in their hair—and the eyes was continually caught by the lizards which darted after insects on the walls. Gusts of hot air came through the square, and though the day was brilliant, the warning drums of thunder reverberated through the palms.
The service was over, there were kisses and good wishes, the signing and witnessing and more good wishes. No one, watching Annette as she stood beside Vic and received congratulations from brown people in lovely sarongs and white people in conventional dress, would have guessed that she had not eaten for three days and only last night had looked like death. Her light blue eyes were clear and sparkling, her fingers twined with Vic’s and she wore the gown more proudly than she had ever worn anything in her life. Terry was both choked and enchanted. She closed her eyes to capture the moment for re-telling to Elizabeth and Father in her letter, and then she opened them and looked straight at Pete Sternham.
His mouth was sardonic. “Yes, I’m here again,” he said, “and once more by invitation. Your sister herself asked me, when she came to my house. Remember that day? Something rather more important cropped up for you, I believe.”
She swallowed, said politely, “Hallo. It was a lovely service, wasn’t it?”
“I thought so.” He paused, and she wondered, drowningly if he was recalling that other sketchy ceremony in the jungle village. Apparently he wasn’t. “You look very cool, and remote as a fairy. And a bit tired, if I may say so. Been having late nights?”
“Not particularly.” A sort of panic seemed to clutch at the base of her throat. “Have you spoken to my sister and Vic?”
“Not yet—I was out on the veranda, a late arrival. They’re surrounded at the moment.”
“I’ll get you a drink,” she said.
“Don’t bother. I’m not more thirsty than the other guests.” He sounded cold and impersonal. “Seeing that you find me upsetting, I’ll congratulate the happy couple and get going. I wouldn’t want to spoil your sister’s wedding day for you.”
“You’re not spoiling anything,” she said unhappily. “I just didn’t expect you.”
“No? Your sister would hardly have invited me without telling you.”
“She ... she hasn’t been well.”
His voice took an edge. “What’s the matter with you? Today you’re getting just what you came for, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid it’s been a little hectic. Things will settle down after Annette has gone away.�
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“I understand she wants you to be here when she gets back. It’ll be nice for you—living in the same house with pretty-boy Roger. In about a month you should have a good idea of whether you’ll be able to stick him for the rest of your life.”
In low tones, she said, “You seem to disapprove of everything connected with me. It’s not really your business, you know.”
“You’re right. Why should I get angry with a girl who ignores my invitation? Maybe I was disappointed in you.”
“If so, it’s not the first time. You ... you said you wouldn’t come here again.”
“This time I had to or send you a note and get some sort of reply,” he said with a shrug. “Old Bretherton, the solicitor, has been away for a few days. He got back last night and sent me a message. He’s coming to my house for dinner tonight, and suggested that you be there. The old chap has no idea how the world outside this country has changed, and he still goes in for ritual. I suppose he can see himself burning that damned certificate in front of us and drinking champagne to celebrate it.”
She looked down at the posy of camellias she still held. “I’d rather not come, if you don’t mind.”
“What if I do mind?”
Her eyelids flickered, but she did not lift her head. “You’ve been kind to me, so I’d have to come, I suppose.”
“Thanks for nothing at all,” he said brusquely. “I’ll call for you at seven-thirty. Tell your sister I came, will you? I’ll wish her well some other time.”
He strode through the groups as if he hadn’t even seen them, disappeared down the veranda steps. Quivering a little, Terry turned to speak to an exquisitely dressed Malay woman who smiled gently over the rim of her coffee cup. Roger joined Terry, insisted on best man’s privilege and then helped to dispense drinks and savories. Muted music came from the gramophone in the corner, there was much polite talk and laughter, a cheer as Vic and Annette cut the iced cake which was sweetly decorated with tiny natural flowers. By two o’clock, more than half of the guests had gone. The rest stayed on, to watch the bride and groom’s departure.
As she changed from the white into a pale green linen suit, Annette talked cheerfully to Vida and Terry. Not once since awakening this morning had she mentioned her “indisposition” of the last three days; perhaps, in the excitement of this most important day of her life, she had really forgotten it. It was just as she was ready to leave the bedroom that she said to Terry,
“I’m counting on finding you here when I get back, darling. Don’t forget that!”
“I’ll keep her here,” Vida promised. “We may even make a bridge player of her!”
“Yes, do.” Annette put an arm about Terry’s shoulder and hugged her. “I wish you’d marry Roger and stay here for good—or at least as long as I may have to stay myself. You’re so nice to have around.”
If Annette had called her a comfort, Terry would have screamed. But she was able to laugh a little instead. Vida was at Annette’s other side as they entered the lounge.
Vic, looking more normal in a well pressed khaki drill suit, smiled his relief at Terry. Goodbyes and thanks were said, the two were showered with rice as they got into the car, and when it moved away an old shoe and an empty fruit can bounded in the dust. They were gone, the rest of the guests dispersed, and only the Winchesters, Roger and Terry were left amid the litter.
Vida looked about her with comical dismay. “I can’t face it,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’m going along to the office for an hour or two,” her husband said. “Care to drive me down, Roger?”
Unwillingly, but with a smile, Roger obliged. Terry was left feeling forlorn and a little hopeless. She and one of the servants cleared the room and set everything back where it belonged. The borrowed goods were returned to their owners, the flowers, except Annette’s bouquet, were sent to other houses. The french doors were closed against heat and a gathering storm, the veranda, furniture pushed into a corner where it could not get wet. The house was back to normal, but minus Annette.
Terry had never felt so lonely as she did during the next few hours. The storm broke and swept over Penghu in a deluge. The rain ceased and left a sulphurous haze which merged with early darkness. The men came in and had drinks, Vida entered the room, but had lost her usual flair for conversation.
As she said herself, “I believe we’re all worn out. We’ll go to bed early tonight.”
With an effort Terry said, “I may not be able to. Mr. Sternham has invited me out to his place for dinner.”
“Good heavens,” said Roger. “Why should he do that?”
“Why shouldn’t he?” remarked Vida equably. “I saw him talking to you, Terry. Perhaps he thought you might be feeling a little lost and in need of a change.”
“I’ll go with you,” stated Roger.
Again it was Vida who answered him. “You won’t if you’re not invited, my boy. It will do Terry good to get away from us for an evening.”
“From me?” demanded the young man, in astonishment.
“Especially from you. Too much of one young man can be oppressive. Sorry, Roger, but it’s true. What time will Mr. Sternham be sending for you, Terry?”
“He said he’d be coming himself, at seven-thirty.”
“Then you’d better go and change. Take a drink with you. It’s rather cosy to sip something while you’re getting ready.”
Vida, Terry was to discover, had a knack of friendliness which had not been very noticeable while Annette was in the house. Now Mrs. Winchester smilingly poured the iced gin and orange and put it into her hand.
Terry got into a pink flowery cotton which had straps over the shoulders and fitted snugly over her slender hips. She brushed her hair till it formed soft waves behind her ears, and made up carefully. If she could only acquire a serene air, a look of indolence and relaxation, it wouldn’t matter how taut she might be underneath. She had to go through with it anyway, so why not do it easily; tension only made one unsure of oneself.
By the time Pete showed up, looking surprisingly debonair in a light suit and with the rough dark hair coerced into sleekness, Terry was able to smile at him, and at the others as she said good night to them. She got into the car, and when it was moving looked up at the Winchesters’ veranda, where Roger stood, sombrely gazing after them.
Pete had seen him too, for he said, “Glowers a bit, doesn’t he? A spoiled brat?”
“Slightly,” she heard herself answer, quite lightly, “but engaging for all that. Do we pick up Mr. Bretherton?”
“No, he prefers to drive out himself, in an elderly Morris. He believes ‘in dinner at eight-thirty, and he’ll arrive promptly at eight-fifteen.”
“Are we to be the only guests?”
“Naturally. Our business is private—remember?”
“So it’s merely a’ business appointment?” she said, surprised at the way her heart was easing in his presence. “That rather ... clears the air, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, sure,” with irony. “When it’s purely business we know where we are. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks. The wedding did rack me a little.”
“Was it true—about your sister having been unwell? Or did she have last-minute jitters?”
“She was a little nervy, but not today. The house seems quite dead without her.”
“You’ve got Roger. You can’t have everything.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “I wish it were light, so that I could see where we’re going. In the darkness it always seems as if the jungle is brushing the car windows.”
“It often is.” He nodded to the right. “Over there are the padi fields of the Penghu people. They actually run down to a tributary of that river we know rather well. To the left there’s a coconut plantation, and farther on a fair-sized orchard. Nothing unusual. Have you been far?”
“Into the hills a couple of times, that’s all. Is it true that rubber tappers have hard skin on their fingers?”
“Quite true.”
She put a few more questions, looked his way once or twice and saw him smiling tolerantly as he replied. This was far more bearable than she had anticipated. He was in a fair humor, and he was ... Pete. The man above other men. She quivered at the thought, but felt stronger for acknowledging it.
“This is where our estate begins,” he said presently. “I know every pothole on this road and can tell you where each comes in relation to our fence-posts.” He turned left at a signpost she could not read. “Now we’re on the estate, and my house is more or less central. You won’t see the lights till we’re nearly there. The laborers’ quarters, the school, and so on are over to the right. You can’t see them in the dark.”
He swung round a bend and there was the house. White walls, a thick low thatch, an oblong of grass in front of it, and that was all one could see. He pulled up between the lawn and his porch, got out and came round to Terry’s door.
She went with him into a long living-room furnished in blackwood and blue and yellow linen. There was a lamp with a scarlet shade on a wall table, a case full of books and a couple of highly-colored rugs. In one corner a curtain that was off-white to match the walls hid the dining nook. The room had a cool, open look, detached and very masculine.
If Terry hoped he might ask her opinion of it she was disappointed. He merely took the thin stole from her shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair, pushed up a lounger for her and began mixing drinks.
He said conversationally, “I suppose that rash you collected has quite disappeared by now? It was a nasty business.”
She nodded smilingly, felt her heart thawing. “Even the gentian violet has worn off. I hurriedly destroyed the frock you slashed.”
His strongly-marked dark eyebrows drew together in amusement. “You could hardly bear such cold-blooded destruction even though it was necessary, could you?”
“I couldn’t help thinking that if it had been an expensive creation you’d have had as little respect for it.”
Dangerous Waters Page 14
