by Anne Hampson
She found him a charming companion and, she mused happily, he must like her, too, for he spent every available moment with her. They swam together, played deck games, and took part in all the sports and competitions arranged by the entertainments committee. They danced together every evening and strolled on deck afterwards, and the only spot of imperfection was that she had to be continually on her guard; had to maintain the whole time her air of worldly sophistication.
On the third evening they came on deck, alone for the first time, and they walked its length in silence, a pleasant companionable silence without trace of awkwardness or strain.
They stopped and leant against the rail. A still and silent night with a canopy of stars above and a tranquil sea glistening like a frost-coated field on a moonlit winter’s eve. Muriel found herself in a state of magic unreality. Andrew’s nearness set her heart racing and it seemed quite natural that he should kiss her. He whispered things, too, as his lips caressed her hair; subtle, exciting things about their future. The wild fluttering of her heart she took to be triumph, exultation at her amazing victory. Rich beyond her wildest expectations ... and he had fallen in love with her!
And so, when she left him, she wrote and told her cousin of her ‘great piece of luck’. ‘I never thought it could be so simple,’ she continued, driven on by elation, ‘and I must admit that at first I did not intend trying my luck on him because I didn’t like him very much. However, when I saw he was attracted to me I thought it would be foolish to waste the opportunity, for he’s very rich indeed.’ About to add his name, she hesitated. No, she must be present to witness Christine’s astonishment on hearing who he was. Wouldn’t she be amazed? Perhaps she even knew him. She must know the firm, because the tall tower with its glittering neon sign was a landmark in Barston.
The following morning the ship anchored off Funchal, and after that day in Madeira Muriel knew that her feelings towards Andrew were very different from what she had supposed.
The four of them met at the gangway on ‘D’ deck as arranged, and boarded the launch together. The hawkers promptly brought their boats alongside, holding up their wares and shouting the prices in broken English. Muriel was fascinated by them; she wanted to buy so much, but had so little money. However, she did buy an embroidered tablecloth each for her mother and Dil. For her mother she also bought three fancy shopping baskets which fitted one inside the other, and when one man held up a wicker bedroom chair she would have bought that, too, had not Andrew stopped her.
‘The duty will be too much,’ he warned. ‘You can buy one cheaper at home.’
‘But that’s not the same; this one has “Madeira” worked across the back.’
‘I wouldn’t buy it,’ he said with quiet authority. ‘There are always rows of these things left in the customs sheds, you’ll see them when we get back.’ Muriel prudently took his advice, and as this reminded her that duty would have to be paid on what she had already bought, she decided against any further purchases at present.
They took a motor trip, visiting the wine lodges where they sat in the courtyard and sampled the wine offered them by the wine dealer. They continued by the coast road to Santa Cruz, climbed to Santo da Serra, stopping there for lunch and then returning to Funchal by the mountain road. During the drive, Muriel, entranced by the scenery, had the greatest difficulty in maintaining her role. The impulsive and childish habit of clapping her hands to give outlet to her excitement had many times to be sternly suppressed. In spite of this, however, she did make a few slips and, although the other two didn’t appear to notice, Andrew’s head would always turn sharply and his eyes subject her to a very searching scrutiny. If she wasn’t very careful, she thought fearfully, she’d make a complete hash of things.
‘I have such lots and lots to buy,’ Kathleen exclaimed when they arrived at the shopping centre. She had plenty of money and when she ran short of escudo notes the shopkeepers were only too willing to accept English money. She bought lovely flimsy underwear, an embroidered bed-jacket and several pieces of imitation jewellery which Muriel thought rather gaudy.
At length Muriel asked Andrew how much duty she would have to pay on what she had bought from the boats.
‘I should say about thirty shillings,’ he replied, watching her curiously. ‘Aren’t you going to buy one of those pretty bed-jackets?’
Muriel shook her head, then, noticing his odd expression, she remarked airily,
‘I have so many, though these are, of course, perfectly entrancing.’ Christine always said things were ‘perfectly entrancing’ or ‘just too heavenly’. ‘I think I’ll have one of these blouses, though.’ And that was all she bought.
Kathleen was undecided about a handbag, and Muriel’s face was a little wistful as she watched her holding it up.
‘Shall I?’ Kathleen asked Bill. ‘What do you think of it?’
‘I don’t know much about these things,’ he replied with a laugh, ‘but I’ll buy it for you if you want it.’ He picked up another. ‘I think I prefer this one. What do you think, Muriel?’
‘I like it very much,’ she said, fingering it. ‘The other is too large—for me, that is. I like small handbags.’ Unconsciously she had turned to Andrew, and he quickly dropped his eyelids to hide his expression of amused contempt. Then he offered to buy a bag for her. She looked startled, wondering if, somehow, she had given the impression that she wanted him to buy her a handbag.
‘Oh, no! I didn’t—I mean—if I wanted one I would buy it myself,’ she stammered, and once again Andrew’s brow creased in perplexity.
‘You should never refuse the offer of a present,’ he said. ‘Which one would you like? How about this?’ He held it up, apparently intrigued by the gilt and ivory clasp.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked shyly.
‘Yes, very much.’
Muriel hesitated, but looking anxiously up at him she found him smiling.
‘Then I’ll have it,’ she said, unaware of the childlike pleasure and gratitude in her eyes. ‘Thank you very much.’
Andrew bit his lip in vexation; was he finding himself baffled by a woman at last? he wondered.
Bill was spending on the most ridiculous trifles, but Andrew, like Muriel, went for the lovely embroidery, buying several tablecloths and dozens of handkerchiefs—women’s handkerchiefs, Muriel noticed with a little sinking feeling. He added to her uncertainty by picking up a pretty dress in white lace with brightly coloured sprays of flowers on the bodice and hem.
‘Will this fit a girl of fourteen?’ he asked her vaguely. ‘A rather tall fourteen?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ A girl of fourteen ... He was quite old enough to have a daughter of that age...
Andrew, suddenly noticing her expression, said with faint mockery,
‘It’s for my sister,’ and gave a satisfied smile at her obvious relief. He never made mistakes where women were concerned.
The shopping finished, Bill and Kathleen said they were going back to the ship, and after accompanying them to the launch and handing over their own parcels, Andrew and Muriel strolled along the waterfront. He found nothing new, but he obligingly walked and walked, answering her numerous questions with patience and sometimes with amusement. A flower girl in native costume came up to them, displaying her wares. Andrew chose mountain flowers in preference to those from the gardens, and after the girl had moved on he turned to pin them to Muriel’s dress. It was cut very low and as his fingers lightly touched her flesh Muriel trembled as a feeling of sheer rapture swept over her, and her eyes were warm and glowing as they met his. There was a hushed and tense little moment as an entirely new and baffling expression entered Andrew’s eyes. It seemed to Muriel that he was annoyed with himself for some reason. Then he said, with a strange, half-smothered little laugh,
‘If you look at me like that I’ll be tempted to kiss you right here,’ and before she could think of anything to say he took her arm and they resumed their walk—this time much more briskly than before.
>
CHAPTER THREE
They dined at a small hotel, not making their way back to the quay until the lights had sprung up all around them. Reaching the ship, they did not join the others, but stayed on deck until midnight.
‘Well, have you enjoyed yourself?’ Andrew asked, slipping an arm round her waist.
‘It was wonderful!’ She looked up, giving him a rapturous smile. ‘Thank you for taking me, Andrew. I should have been so lonely if I hadn’t met you—and yet I was dreadfully embarrassed when Mrs. Worsley offered to introduce us.’
‘Were you, Muriel?’
‘Yes, but I’m glad she insisted.’
‘So am I,’ he said truthfully. ‘But I can’t agree about your being lonely if we hadn’t met. You underrate yourself, my dear; a girl like you will never be lacking in admirers.’
She didn’t like his tone, and her eyes sought his again; but he was smiling in a way that thrilled her and she dismissed the idea that he had spoken mockingly. That little inflection was just a permanent part of his make-up.
When she made no comment Andrew bent and kissed her hard on the mouth. Muriel was strangely disturbed by that kiss; she felt a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, but his arms about her were gentle and she returned his kiss in total ignorance of his inner contempt and amusement.
And in that moment she knew she loved him; that, whatever came of this, she would never again be the same girl who had served in her father’s shop only five days ago.
Her sudden realization brought with it a tremor of fear. Supposing she were wrong in thinking he loved her...?
Andrew felt her tremble and drew her more closely into his arms.
‘Are you cold, dear?’
‘No.’ She uttered a shaky laugh of relief. How warm and safe she felt against him ... and how stupid were her fears. Andrew wouldn’t hold her like this unless he loved her. ‘Just—perfectly happy,’ she whispered in a voice husky with emotion. ‘Are you happy, too?’
‘I think I’m always happy,’ he answered, and there was a little silence before Muriel said, her eyes clouding unconsciously,
‘How wonderful to be able to say that.’
‘Why, aren’t you always happy?’
‘Not always.’ She hastily changed the subject, lest he should ask about her home life. ‘I didn’t buy those stamps for Derek. I do wish I hadn’t forgotten, he reminded me so many times to collect all the stamps I could from every place we visited. He’s a very enthusiastic philatelist since he went to the grammar school,’ she explained.
‘You can get them at the bureau on “B” deck,’ he told her. ‘In any case, I have some; you can take those,’ and after a pause, ‘Derek is your brother?’
‘Yes; he’s just twelve.’ She thanked him for the stamps and after another pause he asked her about her family. She told him a little—a very little—and then again changed the subject. Andrew’s eyes became veiled and perceptive; he didn’t press her further, but turned her face up and kissed her.
‘Good night, Muriel,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll see you at the pool in the morning.’
‘Good night, Andrew, and thank you again for giving me such a lovely day.’
Entering her cabin, the first thing she noticed was the letter she had written to Christine; her heart missed a beat as relief poured through her. Thank goodness she had forgotten to post it; her cousin must never think she had married Andrew for anything but love. On a sudden happy impulse she sat down and, tired as she was, wrote another letter to her cousin.
When she was in bed she thought, drowsily, but with a chuckle, when Christine reads that she’ll think I’m crazy! Well, she was a little crazy, she supposed—and hoped she would remain in that state for the rest of her life.
The following morning her aunt came into her cabin just as she was putting the finishing touches to her hair. The old lady eyed her distastefully but made no comment on her appearance.
‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ she asked, glancing at her watch.
‘I won’t be a minute, Aunt Edith.’ Muriel hunted in the drawer for a handkerchief and when she turned her aunt was standing by the desk.
‘Two letters for Christine? I thought I told you not to have anything to do with that girl!’
‘Oh—’ Picking up the letter on the pad, Muriel put it into her bag. ‘That one isn’t important now,’ she said, and, tearing it across, tossed it into the waste paper basket. ‘Just one more moment, Aunt Edith, I’ve forgotten my perfume.’
‘Perfume...!’ The old lady turned away in resignation and disgust; but as Muriel went into the bathroom she bent down and retrieved the letter.
‘Well!’ She could hardly believe her eyes. ‘Well—’
‘How dare you!’ Snatching at the letter, her niece tore it into little scraps. ‘You have no right to read my letters!’ Muriel blushed with shame as she dropped the pieces in the basket again.
‘How dare I?’ Aunt Edith looked at her scathingly. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I’ve never read anything so—so uncontrolled in my life. To think that you, a sensible girl, could write such drivel! Are you out of your mind?’
‘I didn’t send it, did I?’ Muriel burst out defensively, thinking that ‘drivel’ was certainly not the word she would have expected her aunt to use. ‘I’ve written another—quite different this time.’
‘I should hope so!’ Then she added impatiently, ‘Come on, child, we’re late already!’
Three days later there was another call, this time at Casablanca. Kathleen and Bill, both having visited the Sultan’s palace at Rabat, preferred to spend the afternoon at the seaside resort of Fedala, so Andrew and Muriel went to Rabat alone, in the car Andrew had hired privately. Once again everything she saw delighted Muriel. The Sultan’s palace and gardens threw her into ecstasies, but Muriel was careful to suppress her impulsiveness, keeping her remarks light and casual and accompanying them sometimes with the hint of a yawn.
Andrew watched her with a mixture of puzzlement and humour. It really was amusing, he thought, the way those eyes would become very big and round and serious when they were meant to allure him; at other times they would be coquettishly veiled under thickly curling lashes, or flickering with a faintly bored expression. But there were times when they would be very candid and innocent, and it was then that Andrew would be pricked by vague and uneasy doubts. He wished only to see her as an easy, grasping woman of the world, but he often glimpsed a child, a rather enchanting child of delicate instincts and timid reserve. He was used to women, he knew their ways, he told himself angrily, and this was just part of the act; it was no novelty, he’d seen it scores of times before; the worldly woman adopting an air of innocence. And yet he wished Muriel wouldn’t do it. When she was her natural self he knew where he stood, he felt safe, he enjoyed himself, and looked forward to the time when she would discover that he had been playing with her, that she had been wasting time which, to her, must be very precious. But when she adopted that air of childish innocence it worried him, it brought on these doubts and gave him a queer little feeling inside when he thought of the final parting between them.
They had walked to Sale, home of the Corsairs of the sixteenth century; they had explored the native quarter, then picked up the car again and gone on to the Oudaia Gardens, where they were having tea.
He found his eyes drawn irresistibly to Muriel as she leant back in her chair, gazing dreamily about her, her lips parted temptingly, the sunbeams glinting through her hair, seeming to set it on fire ... He’d never seen such hair! What did it look like when it was down?—falling on to her shoulders—? Andrew pulled himself up, scowling at his thoughts. What the devil did he care, anyway? This was a pleasant summer pastime; in a week it would be over, in a month, almost forgotten—and Muriel with it.
She had turned, meeting his gaze placidly; he looked rather mockingly amused, but she didn’t mind that at all, because, in her inexperience, she read complete sincerity in his expression, too. She sighed blissfully a
nd told him she would never, never forget this holiday. Andrew’s smile deepened; he wondered what she would say if he told her of his thoughts of only a moment ago. But, as they continued to look into each other’s eyes, he began to have the odd little conviction that he would not forget Muriel so easily. It was as though time stood still for a brief spell, giving him the chance to look carefully, to think, to learn ... before he did something he would regret. Regret? Andrew frowned heavily as the word flashed through his brain. What strange ideas came into his head these days. He was most unlikely to do anything he’d regret. As he turned his head a little sigh escaped Muriel. What had caused that sudden frown? she wondered, her eyes still fixed on his face. To her there had been something magical in that moment as their eyes held each other’s, and if Andrew had turned again he would have surprised an expression that revealed the secret of her heart far more eloquently than any words could have done. But he didn’t turn, and when they were in the car again he kept his eyes on the scenery, looking steadily out of the window and not even speaking to her.
Back on the ship, he took both their keys from the steward on duty and, giving Muriel hers, bade her a brief and rather curt good night.
Muriel felt that chill fingers had been spread over her heart. She had vexed him somehow, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask about it. How easily he could hurt her, she realized, and wondered if it would always be so. If only he didn’t look quite so austere, so formidable, she could have taken his hand, given it a little squeeze, and asked him what she had done wrong. She could have reached up and put her arms round his neck and told him how much he was hurting her, and that a smile would reassure her, a kiss make her whole world rosy again. Yes, that was how it ought to be ... but would she and Andrew ever be quite so intimate as that?
