Dangerous Waters

by Rosalind Brett

  “I think yes,” he said at once. “The old man and his father pioneered importing agencies in the Far East. I must have something of them in me!”

  “Well, don’t goad yourself. Maybe your line lies somewhere else.”

  He made a feint with his fist at her nose, groaned theatrically. “Why do you have to be appealing as well as distant? I can deal with either, but together they fog m poor single-track brain. Shall we talk about something else? Do you think Annette will write?”

  “No, she won’t. While she’s away with Vic I’m perfectly happy about her. I just hope she won’t turn up even one day before she’s due.”

  “When is that?”

  “Next Saturday.”

  Rain suddenly battered the car. He let out an exclamation and switched on the lights, illumined a road that even as they watched became a lake of red mud pitted with outsize raindrops. The engine was already running, and hurriedly he reversed and drove through the squall.

  The hazards of driving down a gradient between jungle in tropical rain have to be experienced to be believed. The road surface becomes a quagmire with rocks standing out where one least expects them, and a fairly innocent-seeming pool can hide a pothole of amazing depth. Inevitably, then is a snapped branch across the path and a bend or two where the car broadsides flat into the bush. On the whole one comes to no harm, but progress is slow.

  By the time they reached the familiar square it was midnight. The rain had stopped and the stars gazed down as placidly as if they had never been veiled. Pete’s big car stood near the Winchesters’ house, and the man himself was in the veranda with Bill.

  As they went up the steps Roger shoved back his preposterously fair hair, and grinned. “Got caught up in the hills,” he explained airily. “Came home on two wheels.”

  Bill Winchester gave his usual half-smile. Pete looked a little tight about the mouth but otherwise noncommittal.

  “You might have mentioned you were taking a drive,” he said. “No one here knew where you were.”

  “Didn’t matter, did it? Terry’s safe with me. I dote on the girl.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Pete’s shoulders lifted. “I came to remind Terry that she’s lunching with the Harmsens and myself tomorrow.”

  “At your house?” she asked blankly.

  He nodded. “I’ll call for you at twelve-thirty, Teresa, Good night.”

  The final words were an impartial leave-taking to all three of them. He went down to his car, swung it round and shot away. Bill Winchester mentioned that Vida had already gone to bed, and himself said good night.

  When he had gone, Roger said, “You didn’t even remember you’d promised to meet the Harmsens at the plantation tomorrow, did you?”

  No, and for a good reason, thought Terry tiredly; she doubted whether the Swedish couple had heard about it themselves yet. Pete had planned it the moment she had turned up with Roger.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said.

  “You won’t let anyone put you off going to Singapore with me, will you, Terry?” he implored.

  “I certainly won’t,” she assured him. And went to her room.

  Pete turned up promptly at twelve-thirty. Terry, wearing white linen which was banded at the collar and picked with mid-blue, got up from her chair beside Vida’s. She looked small and valiant as she greeted him; her smile was almost as expressionless as his could be. Today, though, his greeting, addressed first to Vida and then to Terry, was entirely charming. In a light suit he looked tall and handsome, and somehow the magnetic quality which Terry had managed to ignore while others were present, seemed today almost irresistible. Involuntarily her shoulders stiffened and her nerves went taut. She caught Vida’s half comprehending glance and looked away, her smile carefully set.

  Vida said, “Enjoy yourself, Terry, and don’t let him bully you. You’re not at his mercy in a canoe now, you know!”

  Pete smiled off the pleasantry; Terry tried to do the same. They got into the car and he set it moving, waved to Vida as they left the square. For several minutes he drove in silence, through the kampong and out towards the rubber. Heat shimmered over the trees and along the rutted road; giant mauve and green butterflies flitted from one bush to another and parakeets gossiped and burst into raucous laughter.

  Urbanely, Pete said, “Sorry I had to take the high hand last night in arranging this date, but maybe it was good for you. A sort of reminder that you’re not as free as you’d like to be.”

  “That’s because you’re aching for freedom. I think about it a good deal myself.”

  “It would be far better all round if we carried on as if that ... certificate didn’t exist,” she said huskily. “I suppose you’ve heard nothing from Mr. Bretherton?”

  “Nothing since we signed the annulment petition. These things move slowly.”

  “Why, exactly, did you invite me today?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? Sorry the Harmsens couldn’t make it for lunch, but they’re coming in for tea, around four.”

  “Do you mean...”

  “Yes, Teresa. We’re going to be alone for some time. Do you mind?”

  She looked through the window. “Is it any use minding? Do you ever ask anyone’s opinion before you make arrangements?”

  “I couldn’t ask yours. When I come to the Winchesters you try to pretend I’m not there and take good care never to be alone with me.” A shrug. “If you find it helps you, I’ve no objection at all.”

  “But you persist in coming.”

  “It’s no trouble, child,” he said with an aloof smile. “Naturally I have to keep a tag on you. I was late last night, but it was as well I turned up, wasn’t it? No sense in committing yourself to a trip to Singapore when it’s out of the question.”

  Her lips were firm. “So that’s why you were offhand—you’d heard about it. I don’t see that it’s any business of yours what I do or where I go.”

  “There’s where you’re wrong. It’s an annulment I want, not a divorce.”

  She looked his way in stunned silence, saw faint malice in his smile and arrogance in his profile. At last she said, “You don’t dish up much of that charm for me, do you? Are you afraid of being misconstrued?”

  His smile was tantalizing now. “When we’re free of other I’ll be charming to you, Teresa.”

  “We shan’t know each other then.”

  “No? Well, I’ll write you a charming letter.” A pause. “I guessed you were in a fighting mood as soon as I saw your careful poise today. You were really looking forward to a week in Singapore with Roger, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It didn’t strike you as indiscreet that you should stay with him and his parents while still tied to me?” he asked coolly.

  “I’m not tied to you!”

  “According to Bretherton, who’s a stickier for facts, you are. I’m not implying that you should consider we’re married...”

  “Thank you for that, anyway!”

  “But it does seem,” he went on unperturbed, “that we’re what you might call slightly married. It’s like being slightly mental or slightly drunk—as bad as being quite when it comes to making decisions. The decision to accompany young Roger Payn to Singapore was one you certainly shouldn’t have made.”

  “The invitation is from his parents, not from Roger!”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And you can see yourself going there as a sweet young thing for them to look over, as a prospective bride for their son? You—a married woman? Tut-tut.”

  “You’re deliberately trying to make me feel horrid.”

  “No.” He had hardened somewhat. “I just don’t want you to make any slip that might complicate matters. Bretherton says everything should go through smoothly and without question: we’re not risking anything else. It’s too important.”

  She steeled her voice to remark, “You’re not particularly flattering, are you? Now that I know you better I can’t help marvelling at the impulse that led you to take me on,
back in Vinan.”

  “It wasn’t an impulse, little one,” he said bluntly. “I fought against it the whole night through, used blandishments, offered bribes and put up arguments. It was only when I was reduced to it that I agreed to the step we took.”

  “And you wouldn’t have agreed then if you’d thought for a moment that it might turn out to be serious,” she said in low tones. “Well, neither would I. It’s nearly a month since Mr. Bretherton told us the glad news, and it’s been the most wretched month of my life.”

  “Too bad,” he said crisply, “but you’ll have to live with it, as I do.” He slowed, to take the bend towards his house. “Just don’t do anything to make the matter worse.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said stiffly. “I won’t do anything to embarrass you with Miss Harmsen. I promise that.”

  His teeth snapped, he drew an audible breath, swung the car round the short drive in front of his house. As he helped her out he looked cold and withdrawn. He took her inside the house, gave her a tall drink with ice, and called along to his servant that they would like lunch to be served in ten minutes. His movements, as he filled a glass for himself and placed a cigarette box and lighter on the luncheon table, reminded Terry of tempered steel. But the drink and the silence did their work. By the time they were sated and tackling the surprisingly good jellied soup, he was his suave and tolerant self.

  “First time we’ve eaten alone together since we arrived,” he commented. “Do you ever think of the terrible stuff we got through down the river?”

  “I have done, a few times. But the worst memory is of those salt tablets you made me swallow in water. They were appalling.”

  “They’re a manufactured thing—common salt and medicinal salts. If you sweat much they’re indispensable. Even in those few days you lost weight.” He looked her over, impersonally. “You should have made it up by now, but you haven’t. Yet the climate doesn’t seem to affect you much.”

  “It’s not the climate,” She left it there, but worried at the fringe of it. “You never did tell me how Miss Harmsen received your gifts. Did she like the records?”

  “As curios, yes.” A thin mask seemed to have slipped down over his well-cut features. “She liked the other things, too. Astrid is the acquisitive type. If there’s anything she covets and it’s lying around, it disappears.” He smiled. “She’s very candid about it, and very willing to pay for whatever she lifts. She’s quite a character.”

  Terry broke a rye biscuit on her plate. “Does she like it here?”

  “She’s mad about it. If she’d had the cash she would have bought out her brother and carried on the plantation. She wanted me to buy him out and go partners with her, but my contract with Peninsular doesn’t allow that kind of thing. I shall be managing the plantation for the company.”

  “She’ll be able to retain some sort of interest in it, then. What about the house?”

  “Astrid has permission to retain it on a basis of three month’s notice from the company when they want it themselves. We’ve no use for a place so far from the main estate buildings, but eventually it may be converted into a storehouse,” He helped her to crayfish salad. ‘Tani took special trouble with this—for you. Have you noticed that he stares at you?”

  She had been aware of the interest of the thin, white-clad servant, and decided it must be his usual reaction to female visitors. “Am I different from anyone else he knows?”

  “Very much so. Like the rest of Penghu, he’s heard about the canoe trip, and he told me very earnestly that he has tremendous respect for your stamina. He had a young cousin who was killed by a crocodile in the Witch’s Tunnel.”

  She recalled the only crocodile they had met, and shivered. “You can do almost anything a first time. I wouldn’t like to face the trip again.”

  “Not even with me?” he asked mockingly.

  She found a smile. “Definitely not with you. It would be anti-climax.”

  “I’m not sure that this isn’t anti-climax—this period we’re going through.”

  “It does take some laughing off.”

  His smile a little cynical, he reached over and patted her hand. “You can do it, Teresa. I’ve great faith in your recuperative powers. That’s one reason I waited nearly a month before getting you alone here. We simply have to get an outlook on this thing, and we can only do it by co-operating with each other.”

  She drew the hand he had touched down into her lap. “How do you suggest we set about it?”

  “In the first place, you have to relax and accept things as they are. You can’t keep keyed up for three months; you’d go crazy. And there’s another thing.” He paused, and studied her.

  “Yes?” she queried carefully.

  “You can’t possibly do anything as harebrained as shooting off to Singapore with Roger Payn.”

  “What’s harebrained about accepting an invitation from his highly respected parents?”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it. You’d go with Roger as his prospective fiancée. You’d give an entirely false impression.”

  “No, it’s the bond between you and me that’s false,” she said steadily. “I’m quite sure that I’d enjoy a week in Singapore.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to postpone that enjoyment. While we’re tied to each other you’ll lead a humdrum life with the Winchesters. I’m determined on that!” In the same breath, hardly changing his tone, he added, “Would you like some ham? Or one of these curried meat fritters?”

  Terry didn’t want either; she was too vexed to eat much. The meal ended and they had coffee near the living-room window. Smoothly, with an air of deliberation, he recounted incidents on the rubber estate, but the barrier between them was like a fence of jackal wire, painfully barbed along the top.

  When silence fell, Pete lay back smoking, and apparently reflecting upon an absorbing matter. Terry squashed out her cigarette and looked through the window at the poinsettias and flame-colored bignonias which formed a hedge to the narrow strip of garden. It occurred to her that she and Pete would never know each other as ordinary human beings. They hadn’t really met before Vinan, and as strangers they had signed a certificate which precluded normal friendship. Even on the river, when they hadn’t believed in the authenticity of the marriage, there had been the fact of the permit for Mr. and Mrs. Sternham, the night with the Lunns, the unquestioning acceptance of their married status by Malay villagers. She would never really know whether she and Pete might have become friendly without coercion. Not that it could matter, she thought despondently.

  Presently he said, “Deep down, you’re a peaceful sort of person, Teresa. Fond of fun and rather young, but peaceful as well.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Could be. Or would you rather be disturbing?”

  “It’s more positive, isn’t it? Not that I’d ever imagine myself capable of disturbing you.”

  With his head still against the back of the chair, he looked her way. Teasingly, he remarked, “You could try, you know, when you’re back in form. That is, if you’re willing to take the risk. I might respond!”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I don’t know.” He sounded speculative. “I got along for years without even bothering whether or not there were women in the world. I find now that I’m bothering quite a bit.”

  “Since Miss Harmsen came out to her brother?” she asked carefully.

  “Maybe. Just lately the house has seemed empty.”

  “That’s a sure sign. It serves you right.”

  He grinned. “There’s nothing urgent about it yet, and it may pass off. Why do you wish me a taste of hell, Teresa?”

  “It’s not hell I wish you—just uncertainty about something, for a change. It would do you lots of good to fall in love.”

  “Lots of harm, too,” he said a little grimly. “Unfortunately, the only cure for a bad case of love is marriage.”

  Involuntarily, she began, “Roger made a similar remark last night
...”

  He took her up before she could finish: “He told you again that he’s in love with you?”

  On the point of belittling Roger’s protestations, she changed her mind. Pete hardly veiled his intentions towards the Swedish woman, so why should she be self-deprecating? She nodded. “He’s very sweet.”

  He said something that sounded like “Tchah!” and looked his disgust. “Sweetness is for women. He needs to marry someone headstrong and demanding, not a dear little thing who’s normally full of dreams. I can’t see what attracted you to him in the first place!”

  His reaction braced Terry. She answered consideringly, “In England I found him a most romantic figure. I came here quite prepared to fall for him rather heavily.”

  His eyes narrowed. “But you’re disappointed in him?”

  Her chin went up. “Not particularly. Given the right circumstances we might adjust to each other.”

  “Rot. You know darned well you couldn’t marry a second-best type.”

  “Second-best?” she echoed, and felt herself grow a little cold. “Second to whom?”

  Pete gestured impatiently. “It was a figure of speech. It’s not worth talking about.” He looked at his watch. “The Harmsens will be along soon. Like to freshen up?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Come on, then, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

  Terry’s nerves were jumping as she went with him. He opened a door and waved her into a bathroom which was completely white, except for a thin band of pale green wall-tiling at shoulder height. Terry washed and renewed her make-up, looked at herself in the large mirror and thought how little, on the whole, one’s appearance revealed. She leaned against the cold tiling and it came to her, fatalistically, that some day, perhaps in six months’ time, a woman would share this house with him. Gay curtains would appear at these stark windows, a glamorous bath robe would hang beside the navy one on the door, and below the mirror a painted shelf would appear, loaded with eau de Cologne and bath essence, a manicure set, a dainty brush and comb. Perhaps there would be a frilled stool ... but no. Astrid was Swedish, and the Scandinavians liked clean lines and simplicity.