`It is not far,'' he explained, 'even the public launch only takes some forty minutes. We are quicker and will be there in half an hour.'
He placed her among cushions, then went up to speak with his man, who had the engine ticking over and was ready to push off. Not until they had cleared the many high-powered fishing boats grouped around the rather hazy marina, hazy in the morning light, did he come back to sit beside her.
It was the usual blue enamel day. How lovely to be sure of your weather like this, thought Greer, not like Sydney with four seasons in an hour.
`Oh, we have that, too,' he smiled when she murmured this, 'only we know when to expect it by the arrival of the monsoons.'
`But it would be different again in the country,' she supposed, thinking of the tragedy that had claimed the Yaqub Gupta family, for that had not been anticipated.
`True, droughts and floods are unpredictable,' he sighed.
She enjoyed the leisurely six-mile run across to Elephanta, the sea so still that there was barely a ripple, and presently he drew her attention to a hilly, wooded island slowly coming into view.
`Elephanta,' he said.
The rickety little public launch that took off from the Gateway to India was in front of them, so they circled a while until the visitors got off. Then they, too, tied up at the small pier, and began the climb of two hundred and fifty feet . . . or so the Senhor said.
`But if you prefer,' he offered, 'there are porters with sedan chairs. You will find the ascent gradual, though, on long stone steps. And once on the top we can rest at an open-air cafe, though' ... a smiling warning . . . 'the monkeys in the nearby trees are thieves.'
Greer found that the Elephanta caves were not really caves at all, but temples carved out of solid rock. The Senhor had engaged a private guide, and following him into the dim recesses after the brilliant sunshine was a rather eerie experience. Most of the sculptures, whispered the Senhor to Greer, depicted the Hindu god Siva. There was also a towering eighteen-foot image representing the Hindu trinity: Brahma the Creator, Siva the destroyer and Vishnu the preserver.
For all its eeriness Greer was aware of a simple grandeur, a quiet splendour. Also . . . emerging to the enamel blue again and feeling the impact of heat ... an intenseness of feeling.
`It is difficult to believe, is it not,' asked Vasco Martinez after he had paid off the guide, 'that it is only six miles to teeming Bombay, for it is so quiet and brooding here.'
`Yes, brooding is right,' Greer nodded, looking up at
the enormous sculptures, 'but still it's peaceful and I love it.'
`I am glad of that. I come whenever I have a problem to Elephanta for that very reason. I have not a problem today but something to say. Shall we go to the cafe now?'
The monkeys did not thieve from their large plate of sweet spice cakes, but Greer threw them morsels. They would fall from the branches, grab the fragments and scuttle up again to regard them both once more with hopeful eyes.
`They remind me of the boys when we have a lolly scramble,' the Senhor smiled.
He was pouring more tea, fragrant, full-bodied Indian tea. Greer felt she would never drink anything else now, though Bombay, too, she had noticed, had its coffee houses.
The Senhor did not begin what he had told her he had to discuss until they were finished, and the things taken away.
`Doctor Holliday has spoken with you regarding your sister?'
`He did on the first night I was here,' Greer said, the usual alarm rising in her, the alarm that always struck when it was Holly.
The Senhor was frowning at her. 'You jump to conclusions, senhorita, and there is no reason for you to do so. I told you we had only come to talk.'
`I know, and I'm sorry, but always when the talk has included Holly it's been . . .' Greer bit her lip.
`Then it is not this time. It is just a "thing" of Doctor Holliday's. Can you recall what Terry spoke to you about?'
`He spoke of a lot of things. Of India. Of—'
'I meant your sister.'
`Oh, yes, I can recall,' Greer frowned slightly, remembering how she had been perplexed at the doctor's questions. What was it he had asked
`What was actually wrong with her?' . . . 'What was her "frail" state?' . . . 'Was she protected because of that?'
She hadn't understood his trend, and now she told the Senhor so.
`You knew he was interested in psychology,' the Senhor intimated.
`He said so.'
`He feels—' The Senhor hesitated, obviously searching for words, the right words. 'He feels,' he said at last, 'that your sister may have been afforded a wrong approach to her health.'
`Wrong approach! But Doctor Jenner ... why, he
`He was an excellent man. I do not doubt it. But he was a busy G.P., so did he have time to study your sister? Study assiduously? I do not wish to offend, senhorita, but could any general practitioner find such time?'
`He certainly was a very busy man,' Greer agreed, 'and Holly was never a straightforward case.'
`Then you see what I mean, or at least what Doctor Holliday means?'
`No,' Greer said bluntly.
`I think you are defending your good family doctor, and I applaud you for it. But I also think you are upholding your sister's fragility, and I do not applaud you for that.'
`Senhor!' Greer said indignantly. When she could find words she demanded, 'Do you think Holly enjoys her illness? That I enjoy it?'
`No, but I think, through the doctor, that you both have become used to it, to – well, to expect it.'
Greer looked at him dumbly. The man must be mad! One had only to look at Holly...
`Yes, yes.' He had read her thoughts once again. 'The child is fragile. But – frail, senhorita?'
`Aren't they the same?'
`There is a – nuance. That, I think, is the word.'
`It is, but – but— Oh, I only hope Holly is unaware of
all this, it would make her feel — well, neurotic.'
`She is aware of it,' the Senhor reported soberly. 'She is very keen to try out the doctor's suggestion.'
`Which is a sort of back to nature, I believe.' Greer's voice was dry.
'A trend to that direction. He wants Holly to try an uncloistered, unguarded existence for a change, see how it affects her.'
'It could kill her.'
'Not in this instance, for the doctor would be by her to watch how she proceeds.'
'I couldn't allow it.'
'But it isn't for you to say, is it?' His voice was firm yet gentle. 'She is, as you said before, a woman. She makes her own decisions.'
'She would listen to me.'
'Yes, I think she would. But would you speak to her in such a strain, Senhorita Greer, destroy a possible chance of normal living?'
'You really think that!' disbelieved Greer. 'The doctor really thinks that!'
'He would like to try it out,' Vasco said quietly, 'and there I can help him. I have this country residence. Holly could begin to find her feet there.'
'Not without me,' Greer said stoutly, then she clapped her hand apologetically over her mouth. 'That's what Doctor Holliday is out to fight, isn't it,' she said humbly, 'my smother-love. That is if a sister can have that.'
'I'm sure you never had it,' the Senhor said warmly, `but in a way you are right. He would like Holly to stand on her own two feet. Yet not, as you anticipate, without you. He has proposed, knowing the capacity of my country residence, that we all move there for some weeks. It is an excellent place, far healthier, as it is far from city grime, than Bombay. It is rural India at its most charming. I am sure you will love it.'
'Will, senhor?'
'Holly is going. In fact I doubt if you could stop her.
Also, as the source of your employment will be transferred to there, you would not be entitled to leave my service to find another post. Even the tutor will journey to Stuyva.'
`So that's what Jim was saying . . .' Greer mused aloud.
`So you see it is almost arr
anged,' shrugged the Senhor. `Do not look so dubious, child, you will love my country house. It is very Indian, not at all Portuguese as here. There is much sandalwood. Much bamboo. Life is simple, uncluttered. At night you sleep on a cotton mattress on a verandah to enjoy the cool, and during the day the mattress is rolled and put away. Holly will go barelegged, often barefooted. The same golden-brown that is in your cheeks will creep into hers. There will be amusing things to do: a silkworm farm to visit, a ride on an elephant.'
`No doubt,' put in Greer accusingly, 'you have said all this to Holly?' At his calm nod she continued, 'So what can I say now?'
`Would you have said it?' he laughed, and a little breathlessly, breathless at the prospect of seeing more of India than Bombay, Greer shook her head.
It was only when he was saying in a well-satisfied voice that all was well then that Greer suddenly remembered Arlene.
`How long?' he broke in urgently.
`Time, time,' he shrugged, and gave her a reproachful look.
`How long, senhor?'
`You must ask the doctor, but cures are not achieved overnight.'
Nor in a week ... two weeks . . . a month, Greer thought. And in that month I'll be away, and the man who is worrying Arlene, threatening publicity, will be at it again, and without my helping her, helping her to keep him appeased for a further period, the whole wretched business could break. But perhaps, her thoughts ran on, I can send her some money.
Senhorita, you are not entirely in approval after all,' Vasco Martinez said in a disappointed voice.
`Put it down,' said Greer coolly, telling herself she must keep her thoughts from flickering over her face, 'that I'm not convinced.'
But you will try it?'
`Yes.'
`Good, then.' He gave a slight sigh. 'If I have not won your enthusiasm at least I have gained your assent. I will leave it at that.'
For how long? I mean when do you intend to move house, senhor?'
`When Doctor Holliday says so,' he answered. 'Perhaps some days yet.' He rose, held out his hand to assist her up, asked, 'Shall we descend?'
'Some days' at least gave her time to talk with Arlene, thought Greer, tell her she would be away. Rather relieved, she stepped ahead of the Portuguese down the first long stone step . . . and missed her footing.
She did not fall far, but she knew at once she had done something to her ankle. She drew her breath in pain as she put her foot, after he had lifted her up, to the ground.
`Ah!' he pounced.
`It is nothing. Just a wrench.'
`Perhaps, but already it swells.' He indicated the ankle that indeed was fast becoming puffy.
Ignoring her protests, he turned round and clapped for a sedan chair, its porters very eager to serve, especially since it would be a downward journey.
It did not take long to be swayed, tilted and swung to the little pier and the Senhor's boat. Not long again to be whisked back to the house on the hill.
Terry Holliday was home, and soon was examining the ankle. Nothing very much, he said, no X-ray would be necessary as the injury was quite obvious, but most certainly she would need to rest.
And who would look after her? A voice at the door
inquired that happily, and Holly came in. Holly! She not only came, but danced.
`My turn, Greer. Now I am the watch-girl. Whoever thought' . . . Holly almost hugged herself . . . 'I would be looking after you?'
She looked so near-radiant that Greer almost persuaded herself that this was the best thing that could have happened, an about-turn, a reversal, so to speak, Greer the patient and Holly the nurse. But only almost. With that fact that Arlene was ever-present, it could only be almost. She had to be in touch with Arlene, and confined to a couch how could she be?
The doctor must have taken her silence for pain. He promptly administered a sedative and he and Holly went quietly out.
Meanwhile Greer pondered on messengers . . . on letters . . . on the use of the telephone that was connected to every room. Surely in some way she could communicate with Uncle Randall's wife, assure her that—
Still planning, she drowsed off.
It was early evening when she wakened. Holly's little nurse was moving deftly round the room. With a nurse's intuition she sensed at once that Greer was watching her, and she put down the things she was gathering together and came across.
She smiled at Greer, but did not rearrange her pillows. For,' she said in explanation, taking back the hand that she had instinctively put forward, 'you are not my patient.'
`I'm not anyone's patient. I've simply a twisted ankle which already feels a lot better. Apart from that I'm fine.'
The little Indian nurse went back to the collecting of certain items round the room. She put them in a small bag.
`What are you doing?' asked Greer in surprise. 'You're not going, Elizabeth?' Many Indians, she had found, had
English names.
`Yes. I told you, I am not your nurse.'
`But you are my sister's.'
`Not any more. Now that she is your nurse how can I be nurse to her?' A little laugh. 'Please not to be worried,' Elizabeth went on, 'I think the doctor is doing a right thing letting her try herself out like this.'
`And letting her be my nurse?' disbelieved Greer. `Holly?'
`It delights her. I think' . . . seriously . . . 'you always wrap her up, whereas she would like to do that to you. Do I say a wrong thing to you?' Elizabeth looked concerned.
`No, of course not. But I just can't believe it. Holly has always . . . well . . .' Greer looked at the nurse. 'Besides, what about you, Elizabeth? Isn't it a disappointment to leave a job like this?'
`Oh no. You see, I am' . . . a moment of concentration . . . 'a dedicated nurse. There is a lot of sickness here in Bombay, real sickness, and I feel I am needed more elsewhere than in this household.'
`We're going to the country. You would have liked that.'
`No, I would have felt I was not doing what I am meant to do. There is nothing more for me here. Holly can look after herself. You, with Holly's help, will soon be around again. There is no break, no sprain, only a strain. With rest and skilled bandaging—'
Greer was not listening. She was hearing Elizabeth's `with Holly's help' and marvelling about it.
`I will leave tonight,' Elizabeth was saying. She kept on collecting her things.
A sudden idea struck Greer.
`If I wrote a letter, Elizabeth—'
`You want the writing things?' The nurse went across to the desk and brought back Holly's notepaper.
`I was wondering,' said Greer, `if you could post it.' The nurse was plainly surprised. In the big hallway the
household letters were always placed, and one of the servants took them away. They went to the office, Greer knew, and there they were added to the Senhor's quite considerable correspondence. The chances were the Senhor might never see a letter addressed to Uncle Randall's wife, but the chances, too, were—
So Greer took a chance on Elizabeth instead.
Remembering the symbol of love, the Indian Love Lyrics, the romance that was intrinsically in all these people ... what was it that was always said, that an Indian makes love even with his eyes! . . . she sighed and murmured that it was something she had not wished to go through the usual channels.
Elizabeth was instantly enchanted. `Ah,' she smiled, 'of course I will take and post your letter.' She quietly packed her things and tidied the room as Greer wrote, tore up, wrote again.
At length she said :
`Dear Arlene, Unfortunately I have injured my ankle and will be unable to see you for a while. But as soon as I can I will send you something, enough, perhaps, to keep things going until that person can be prevailed upon to give you a longer period of repayment. After I am better, it has been arranged that the house is closed while we all go to stay in Senhor Martinez' country residence. But please don't fear that I will desert you. I will see you before then, and will try to have something to give you
, also I will make arrangements for future sums. Assuring you of my support, Greer.'
She folded and enclosed the note, thinking as Elizabeth took it with a sympathetic smile how different were the contents from what Elizabeth imagined.
Holly came in later pushing a tea wagon, a gay bubbling Holly, obviously pleased with her new role.
`Elizabeth is going,' she informed Greer, sitting beside her and eating her own dinner from a tray, the same as Greer had done when Holly was the invalid. 'She's very
pleased about it. She doesn't consider us as worthy of nursing.'
`It is not that,' protested Elizabeth, very upset, for the Indians were always polite to a degree, and Greer and Holly laughed and reassured her.
`You won't forget what you promised, Elizabeth,' Holly added, and Greer gave a little start. It sounded like what she had been going to say, a veiled reminder about her letter, but evidently Holly had a secret, too.
`No,' said Elizabeth seriously, 'I promise you I won't.'
Doctor Holliday examined the ankle the next morning and prescribed Greer another day of having her feet up. It was pleasant enough propped by the window, listening to the children, talking to Jim who came after lessons were over. Holly, too, fluttered round all day with books and refreshments and more cushions, but not only did she render these little services, she did some serious nursing as well. This astonished Greer. Holly had never been taught usefulness. Not her fault, poor little girl, it simply had not seemed right to expect things from her.
But now she was obviously thriving on work, and it came quite forcefully to Greer that had things been better for her stepsister she would have made a wonderful nurse.
Senhor Martinez came, too, but he never stopped long. He told her that as soon as she was able to walk without feeling any weakness they would all move to Stuyva. But not before Doctor Holliday said so. For,' he himself said, `a country life demands strong feet, it is not all smooth grass as it is here, there are gullies of rocks and hillsides with roots and other impedimenta.' As always, with an unaccustomed word or phrase, he raised his brow and asked, 'Right?'
The Pool of Pink Lilies Page 11
