`Undoubtedly.' Greer's voice was dry. 'Otherwise Uncle Randall— Oh, I'm sorry, Arlene.' For Arlene was crying again.
Greer knew it was not the moment to ask Arlene the things she wanted to know about her uncle. Instead she got quietly up and went down the stairs and told the driver to go back with the bags.
`But the memsahib must come, too.'
`I can't come.'
`The sahib will be angry.'
`I cannot help that.'
He argued for a while, indeed had Greer not cut short the argument by going back up the stairs again she believed he would still have argued, but as she entered the flat she heard the car taking off smoothly.
`Quite a purr, isn't it?' Arlene Perry admired. She had been in the kitchen talking to the woman when Greer had come into the room.
A little wonderingly, Greer agreed that it was a beautiful car.
`And a beautiful house. The best part of Bombay. The only part.'
`You know India, Arlene. You seemed to speak fluently just now.'
`Just a dialect.' Arlene took out her handkerchief again.
`I want you to calm yourself,' said Greer. 'I know you won't feel like talking now, but later . .
`There won't be later. Do you think after what Randall did to Senhor Martinez that that Portuguese would let you come here again?'
`He's not my master.'
`But he's sheltering your sister, isn't he?'
`Yes, but—'
Arlene dabbed, then said, 'You should have gone. There's nothing you can do here.'
`I can help.'
`How can you? Only – money can do that.'
`Are you very much in debt?'
`So much I don't know where to turn.'
`Then,' agreed Greer, 'you're right, I can't help. Oh, I have a little. It was to last us until—' Tactfully she did not finish 'Until Uncle Randall established me in that post . . . that "kind of post" .' She took the money out of her bag.
Arlene was looking at it covertly. 'No,' she refused. But you must.'
`You're a sweet girl, but where would it get me? And that's why you can't stop here, Greer, it's bad enough for one, let alone for—'
`Arlene,' Greer broke in thoughtfully, 'if I return now and take on the position I've told the Senhor I would, would you – would you – I mean as I'm paid—'
`No. Oh, no!' Arlene said at once.
But there would be nothing for me to spend my money
on there. And after all, you are my uncle's wife.' `It's no fault of yours I'm in a situation like this.' `But would you? Would you agree?'
`No.'
`You can't go on much longer.'
A pathetic droop of Arlene Perry's shoulders.
`You have to agree,' insisted Greer. 'You must agree. Just say you will. Otherwise . . . well, otherwise I'm going to stop here, and then it will be even worse, as you said.'
Arlene got up and went to the window a second time. Presently she said dully, 'He'd never let you.'
`He?'
`Senhor Martinez. Quite naturally he despises me. That man's wife, he would think. He wants me out of here, out of Bombay, but how can I go? Also' . . . tremulously . . . 'what if – Randall comes back and I'm not here?'
That last touched Greer more than anything else had touched her. Love always touched her, and she supposed that in a desperate sort of way Arlene still felt a love,
otherwise she would not have whispered . if he comes back.'
`Oh, Arlene!' she cried.
There was silence for a while, then Greer said resolutely, touched by Arlene's emotion, 'There's no need for him, for the Senhor, to know.'
`But you wouldn't like that, would you. You're fine. You're honest. You're not like Randall.'
`He needn't know,' said Greer again. 'After all, it will be my money, my earning, and if I want to help my own family, for after all, you are my family, Arlene, it is my right.'
Arlene was laughing hysterically, or it sounded hysterical. Greer crossed to the window to her side.
`How could you keep it from him?' Arlene said. 'He'll even question you about not returning in the car.' As she said it she glanced downwards.
Greer looked down, too. The Martinez limousine had returned to the flat. Evidently the driver had been unwilling to go back without her and had simply cruised around. Recalling the Senhor's quick anger, she did not blame the man.
She went to the table in the middle of the room and emptied the contents of her purse on to it.
`I wish it was more, Arlene.'
`No, I can't.'
`You will. And you will later when I have more money. Look, as my mother's daughter do you think I want her memory to be disgraced by my not doing this?'
`But it can't be like that, even – even if I agree. He won't let you. As soon as he learns about me he'll—'
`He won't learn, I promise you. I'm going now, Arlene. I'm later than I should be, but I can say it took me longer than I thought to pack the bags.'
`I don't want you to lie for me.'
`I don't want to lie, either, but Uncle Randall has left me no choice. While I can I'll help you out. I'm resolved on that. Just say that you'll let me.'
Arlene put her hands up to her face again. They were still covering her face as Greer left her, running lightly down the steps and almost colliding with the driver who was waiting miserably in the corridor, not knowing what to do. His face lightened as he saw her.
`The memsahib will come now?'
`Yes.'
`Then that is good. We will tell sahib the traffic was bad, a snarl. The sahib does not like a delay.'
The lie was all ready for her. Greer relaxed if a little guiltily still thankfully. She would not even have to utter the lie, he, the driver, would.
She got into the back seat and the car moved off.
The blind that Arlene Perry had moved the fraction of an inch to watch Greer go was replaced again.
CHAPTER FOUR
As it turned out there was no need for any evasion on anyone's part. The Senhor, the manservant carrying up Greer's bags to the red and white suite told her, was not present.
`He is a very important business executive,' he said in that perfect English of the Indian, crisp yet in some way soft at the same time; smooth as cream. 'He had to attend this dinner at the Taj Mahal.' At Greer's startled look he smiled, 'No, memsahib, a Bombay hotel, not that distant shrine.'
As they had climbed the stairs he had introduced himself to Greer as Dulepp, and now Greer, inspired by his mention of the Taj Mahal, asked, Dulepp, have you ever heard of the Pool of the Pink Lilies?'
The man . . . he had told her he was a Parsee . . . looked up from the bag he was placing carefully on a table provided for that purpose.
`Yes, memsahib. The Pool of the Pink Lilies is a number of miles and some hours from here. It is a very old shrine that has not weathered as well as others I could relate to you, indeed it approaches ruination. In my great-ancestors' time it was some hundreds of feet high and surrounded by many beautiful gates. It had pyramids embellished with carvings of gods, goddesses and peacocks, the whole being surmounted by a stone trisul. It was a Hindu shrine.'
`And the Pool of the Pink Lilies?' Greer asked eagerly.
`It still exists, for water' ... he smiled . is timeless. It
is very beautiful. It reflects between its green pads and its rosy flowers the tumbled remains of the Golden Steps that used to lead to the Temple.'
`It sounds very lovely.'
`I am told that it was. How' . . . with curious politeness .. 'did the memsahib know of it?'
`I saw it once in the pages of a travel book.'
`Not a modern book, I think. Travel now is streamlined and the old shrine is not included in popular tours.'
`Yet I would love to see it.'
`But I think you will. It is not a great distance from the Senhor's country house. Nor is it far from the home of the grandparents of one of the small boys. Nor' . . . a sigh from the scene of tha
t sad disaster. Would the memsahib like Dulepp to carry down the other young lady's bags?'
`No, thank you, Dulepp, I'll check what is needed first.' Greer smiled and nodded him out.
But she bit her lip ruefully over Holly's poor little collection. (Her own was even poorer, but no one need know; it was different with a patient.) What Holly badly needed was a pretty negligee, something much better than the meagre cotton kim that had done on the ship. The pair of them had refrained from buying new outfits in Sydney, thinking they would shop more excitingly and probably more cheaply in India. That could still be true, but with no money...
She became aware that Dulepp had come back again and was asking her a question.
`It is for the memsahib to say. As the Senhor is absent the evening meal, which, in India, is at eight-thirty, will not be served in the larger dining-room. The question is .. a flash of white teeth ... 'whether the memsahib would prefer a tray in her room or to dine with the doctor sahib.'
`Perhaps he would prefer to eat alone.'
`No, he already has stated that he would like memsahib's company.'
`Then I will come down, of course. You said eight-thirty?'
`That is right. One other thing, memsahib. The cook has asked your preferences.'
`That is kind of him, but I'm really very easy.'
`What, memsahib?'
`I mean' . . . hastily . . . 'I like most things.'
`Then you do not insist on an English meal.' Dulepp flashed a smile again. 'The sahib is the same. He likes his Portuguese meals, but he also takes many Indian dishes. The cook would be pleased to make some specials for the memsahib tonight. The doctor sahib is very fond of them. Shall I instruct yes, then?'
`Thank you, Dulepp.'
When he had gone Greer took out and shook out their few frocks. She put Holly's nighties to one side, then added the best of her own so as to make a better show. She eyed both dressing gowns, but could find no noticeable difference in their meagreness. Both pairs of slippers, too, were scuffed. It wouldn't matter with her, but with Holly .
She went across to the window, wishing she had not been quite so impulsive with Arlene. Not that Holly would have wanted her to do anything else but press the money on Arlene, for Holly was like that. Still, I must tell Arlene, Greer thought, that although I certainly still insist on helping her I must get something for Holly, too. That beautiful room! That private nurse! And Holly in faded blue cotton!
No bedjacket, either, she went on. She will be sitting up soon, and—
Suddenly all such thoughts were driven from Greer's mind. Senhor Martinez had said the view from the red and white suite . . . it was red and white, rich red carpeting, white walls, white bed, red and white striped upholstery on the chairs and the same, in Regency, curtaining . . . was fine, but she had not been prepared for this magnificence.
On a hill . . . only second to Malabar, she had been told by Dulepp . . . the city spread itself before her entranced gaze. Charmingly irregular, the streets, many of them shabby by day, now, since it was evening, became rivers of
light. Where the ocean shone, or a river shimmered, the lights leapt up again. It all made a glorious mosaic.
She stood there for a long while, a warm languorous breeze barely moving the flowers of the flamboyant tree beneath the window. She watched a moon come up, almost too gold and too big as it is in the tropics. A handful of stars that seemed so close she felt if she stood on tiptoe she could touch them.
She forgot her financial worries and was still standing enchanted when a maid tapped on the door and called that dinner would be ready in half an hour in the green and blue room.
She called back her thanks, wondering if all the rooms were called by colours, wondering how green and blue had been placed together. Eight o'clock. She had not known it was that late. She took a last look at the harbour, wondering which lights were the lights of the Fairadventure and how the girls in the dormitory cabin were faring, then took a hurried shower.
Besides the shower recess there was a full-sized bath in the adjoining amenity, red-tiled, a bright cheerful red that set off the pristine white of the other appointments.
It didn't take Greer long to choose what to wear, she had brought along very little. Seeing the room was to be green and blue, she decided to go neutral in an off-white sheath. Fastening sandals on bare feet, she went downstairs and was directed at once by the waiting Dulepp to the green and blue room.
She had meant to visit Holly first, and these were her first words to Doctor Holliday who waited for her.
`I would sooner you leave it till tomorrow, Greer,' he said. 'Look in on her, yes, but she is still, and will be for a period, under sedation, and, being only moderately sedated, might make an effort to talk with you. Won't you sit down?' He held out the chair at the table.
Greer sat, saying as she did, 'It is green and blue.'
`The room? Yes. The Peacock Room, I've always
thought it should be called.'
Again, in spite of the latitude, there was carpet on the floor, though heat was a forgotten thing, for the entire house, Greer had previously noted, was air-conditioned. The old and the new, she mused, the grand old Portuguese furnishings yet this new essential creature comfort.
She looked around at the large sideboard to hold the dishes, at the chairs covered in this instance in blue, green and silver filigree.
`You must see the big dining-room,' smiled the doctor, watching her interest, 'known only as that. It's quite a Portuguese piece — damasks, satins, red carpet, baroque.'
`Strange to have all that here. I mean, one thinks of bare floors and bamboo.'
He nodded. 'And yet Portuguese history goes back for centuries in these parts. As Vasco boasts : Vasco da Gama at Calecut, then twenty years later D'Alberquerque at Goa.'
`That actually is still Portuguese, isn't it? Goa, I mean.'
`Yes. And only some two hundred and fifty miles southeast of Bombay, so Vasco should feel at home. But what adventurers those Portuguese were!' The doctor took up a decanter. 'Vasco particularly directed me to serve you this wine. It comes from his own vineyard out of Faro, which is in Portugal. But you would know that, of course. We . . . Yaqub and I . . . used to spend some of our vacations with Vasco at his vineyard, the same as we spent some of them with Yaqub in India, then they spent some in England with me.'
Greer, looking at the wine, said, `The Senhor Martinez appears to have many interests.'
`He has the capacity for them,' admired the doctor. 'I always think of Vasco as the same robust breed as the Portuguese explorers of five hundred years ago. Certainly the spirit of adventure remains. Do you like the wine?'
`It is fruity.'
`There is prohibition in Bombay. Wines are not easily obtained, though, of course, in Vasco's instance . . .' The doctor held up his glass to Greer, and she smiled and nodded.
`Well,' he said, putting the glass down, `so much for the Portuguese part of the meal. The rest is pure Indian. I am very fond of Indian food, and particularly Ranjee's. I hope you will enjoy it, too. By the way, Greer, it will be vegetarian.'
A round metal tray was brought in on which a half circle of little dishes awaited them. Curried fresh vegetables, spiced and peppered lentils, curds in many tantalizing forms, all served with flaky cakes that had been deep fried in clarified butter. There were also chupatties to be eaten with the meal ... chupatties were plain flapjacks or johnny-cakes ... and small pastry-wrapped packets of cooked vegetables.
Greer enjoyed herself immensely, and asked if all Indian meals were vegetarian.
`Oh, no. For instance, Muslims are meat-eaters — several others. I'll tell you one day. Or better still Vasco will tell you. He has lived many years in India.'
`Yes,' Greer murmured. She was thinking how Vasco Martinez had said of India: You are never only your own country, not entirely any more...
They had sesame cakes ... or tillpardy ... with coffee and more wine, then the doctor asked Greer's permission to
smoke. As she nodded, he took out his cigarettes.
`No cigar? Cheroot?'
`I always feel that they need a Portuguese to do them justice,' he grinned. 'Would you like to sit on the terrace?'
It was glorious out there. The monsoon, into which the Fairadventure had run, and which, Terry Holliday said, had only recently ended, had left the trees and shrubs brightly washed by the rains. The enamel blue sky was now dark blue enamel. The beds of flaming cannas were
moon-dusted. There was a scent of orange leaves and another sweetness that Greer did not place, but that the doctor said was mango.
`Mango flowers,' he told her, 'are the Indian symbol of love.'
He was silent for so long that Greer wondered if that last information he had given her had started something in him. But when he spoke again, although it was about Holly, and although previously, as with Vasco Martinez, there had been an unmistakable tenderness there as well as any other interest, the talk was entirely clinical.
`Holly was never a robust girl, I think you said, Greer?'
`That is so. When I first met her, when Stephen, my stepfather, first brought her to me to become my little sister, she was a fragile fairy.' For a moment Greer remembered the pale small girl whom she immediately had thought of as Snow White. She said it aloud to Terry, adding with a smile that she had then become Rose Red.
`Yes,' he said a little absently. 'But what was actually wrong with her?'
`You mean this last infection? I told you, it was—'
`No. Before. When she was frail, a fragile fairy. What was wrong?'
`Well, she did have a spell in hospital with . .
`But the frail state, or so you say?'
Not only I said,' came in Greer quickly.
`I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm trying to establish what was actually wrong, I mean apart from the usual, to-be-expected childish ailments.'
Greer could not follow him. What did he mean by 'frail state, or so you say'? Everyone had thought of Holly in that way, Greer's mother, Holly's own father, old Doctor Jenner.
Besides not following, she could not give Terry an answer as to Holly's illnesses. She said vaguely, 'She was just not as strong as I was, as other children were.'
The Pool of Pink Lilies Page 6
