'If they catch on and get hold of you . . .' said Davies.
'I've thought of that,' admitted Conway. 'That's why I think we ought to try the official way first. Give them a bit of bullshit of course, but keep it more or less on the level and,see what happens. But somehow I've got to do this.' He hit his palm with his fist. 'Somehow,' he said.
Davies said: 'It's that important? What happens if the whole thing goes to hell?'
Conway peered through the wedge in the blind again. 'I'll look the biggest bloody fool in Aussie,' he said. 'That's what will happen. I dreamed this one up and I want to see it's carried through. Modest though I am, as you know mate, I've got something of a reputation as a miracle‑man and I like that reputation and I want to keep it. So I'm going back with those buggers if I have to drug them and blackbird them like they used to do in the old days.'
They went from the room and walked down the stairs. Each step in the flight had slipped during the years of disintegration of the Sexagesima Hilton. Each had fallen into a different direction and angle with its neighbour.
'It's a pity you couldn't get a few villagers from this island,' said Davies. 'They're docile enough and they'll do anything for a couple of bob.'
'I've thought of that too,' admitted Conway, clambering down ahead. 'But it's not on. They've got to be the real, genuine thing. St Paul's is our only dependency in these parts and the recruits must come from there. If I get some men from this island and the Governor found out, or anyone else for that matter, I'd be right in it. It's too much of a risk.'
They went to the bar, Seamus was leaning on the wet top reading a three months' old copy of Irish Independent. 'One thing about livin' in a situation like this,' he said, his voice still Irish, 'is that it's no good worryin' about what you'll be readin' in the papers because it's too late. It's all over and done with long ago. If they dropped the Bomb on us today we wouldn't know a thing about it until midsummer.'
Conway bought the drinks. Davies said sarcastically: 'Here's to Dodson‑Smith.'
Conway said: 'Yes, he's a good sort. Here's to him.'
There was never any interruptions of the sun now. All day it burned the islands with unclouded coloured brilliance. People stayed under their verandas until evening, or went to the public library to read the magazines, or found other cool places. All work in offices and shops ceased before noon and did not continue until four. Sometimes it seemed that the sun was so fierce it must burn the sea.
It was four‑thirty when Conway went to see Mrs Flagg. Pollet gave him a lift as he was going to a village on the other side of the island to collect some graven heads which the villagers had been turning out on a secondhand lathe.
Mrs Flagg seemed glad to see him. She was spread along a wide, wicker rocking chair on the veranda taking tea from a dainty cup that looked twice as fragile in her big hand. On the lawn where the garden party had been held the six St Mark's natives, their banana leaf baloots tucked determinedly into their ex‑army belts, bent and pulled a giant roller over the grass. Conway took an offered wicker rocking chair ‑ the twin of Mrs Flagg's ‑ and rocked gently opposite her. He accepted a cup of Queen Mary's Nectar, from distant Fortnum's, poured and treated with sugar and milk by Mrs Flagg without diverting from her semi‑lying position nor her rocking motion. She handed the cup to him and there was a minor awkward moment when they realized that her chair was rocking out of time with his, and the teacup transfer would be difficult. Conway put his foot over the side to stop his chair, like a man arresting the impetus of a pedal cycle, and having stopped it he looked carefully at Mrs Flagg's movement, and began his rocking again, in time with hers.
'How thoughtful of you,' she said. Conway thought she looked more handsome than he had imagined‑ She had a round English counties face, ruddy not tanned, with full arms and legs and a substantial bosom. Her hair was straggling today but bright corn colour. She reminded Conway of a fatter version of the girl in the Ovaltine advertisements, the one with the red dress and the arm full of wheat. In Singapore he had seen that poster, but the girl's eyes had been slanted to make her more orieiital. Mrs Flagg's looked a bit like that too. She had blue eyes, but they were narrowed at the ends, perhaps through working too much, studying the natives of the outer islands.
She nodded fondly to the tribesmen pulling the garden roller. 'They really do a great job, you know,' she said heartily. 'Now they've got their skulls sorted out they're very happy and settled.'
Conway didn't ask what she meant. The St Mark's tribesmen were sweating at their task. Once they stopped pulling, straightened up, wiped their black brows, and straightened their banana leaves, before continuing with the task.
'The garden party made such a mess of the lawn,' she continued brightly. 'Mr Flagg was annoyed but, as I told him, it's only to be expected. He says they leave the lawn looking like the Somme every year. But there are a large number who turn up, after all, and the Highland dancing leaves a few holes. Did you enjoy the party, Mr Conway?'
'Very much,' said Conway agreeably. 'My friends did too.'
'I hope your friend ‑ Mr Dayies is it'? ‑ isn't being too carnal with young Bird. She's such a sweet girl and a very proficient hairdresser too.'
Conway blinked. 'Oh no, Mrs Flagg. Nothing like that. He's a married man with a family. He's not eh ... being carnal with her at all.'
She brightened. 'I'm so glad. I was a tiny bit worried. Yes, I thought the party went very well. It was a pity that poor man had to drop dead. Still it was a lovely day for it. The party I mean.'
She indicated coyly that he might like some more tea. He accepted. This time she stopped her chair rocking, gave him the tea, and restarted the movement in the correct time. 'You're Australian, of course,' she continued.
'Sydney,' he confirmed.
'Yes, yes. Oh, what a place Australia is, don't you think? All the Australians seem to try and get out of it. They even go to London.' She was conversing with plump sweetness, guilelessly, not looking for his reactions, but rocking beautifully, teacup poised in one hand and the other waving with a fat grace to emphasize her points. 'I always think of Australia as a sort of secondhand shop,' she continued blandly. 'It really does fit it rather well, don't you agree? Secondhand ideas, secondhand culture, secondhand everything. Even secondhand people.'
Conway choked in his tea. 'Cough up, Mr Conway,' Mrs Flagg said with concern. 'Don't let's have any more accidents here. One in a week is enough.'
Conway recovered, stopped rocking to find his handkerchief, and mopped up the splashes of tea on his shirt. He began rocking again this time out of time with Mrs Flagg. He had to be careful, but he said, 'There seem to be a few secondhand people around here.'
'Perhaps, perhaps. But shop‑soiled I think, not secondhand. Perhaps we like to imagine that we're all rather grand in our own small way, sometimes, but we're only playing a game, Mr Conway. And we're in such a small corner that no one takes any notice of us, so it's quite safe. We can act out our fantasies and nobody in the world cares or minds. Big places can't do that. People notice.'
Conway said: 'There are places where people can go to act out their fantasies.'
'Lunatic asylums,' said Mrs Flagg brightly. 'Of course, my dear Aussie, we know that. I've never thought of the Apostle Islands as anything but. Mr Flagg and I have the most marvellous laughs at dinner some evenings when we think of some of the odd people we have here. Push, lads, push!' The filial sentence was addressed to the naked islanders heavijig the roller across the lawn. 'You see,' continued Mrs Flagg, 'it has not occurred to them to push the thing back the other way. They have to struggle to turn it around. This sort of illogical approach to a simple mechanical process forms a particularly intriguing part of our study of the St Mark's natives.'
Conway finished his tea, stopped rocking, and placed the cup on the basketwork table. 'Have you studied the natives on St Paul's?' he asked.
'Not in the same class as these people,' pronounced Mrs Flagg firmly. 'Not a patch on them. They wer
e poisoned with this religious mumbo‑jumbo long ago and they were occupied by the Americans during the war, you know, which was almost as bad. They've got dreadful dental trouble over there. That was the fault of the Americans. Giving them sweets and candy or whatever they call it. The natives on this island have the most marvellous teeth. The Japanese were here.'
'It could be they didn't get much of a chance to use their teeth,' Conway pointed out reasonably. 'I don't suppose they had much to eat.'
Mrs Flagg seemed to consider this a fair point. 'Well, whatever it is, they're not a very healthy bunch on St Paul's. Not at all. These little chaps from St Mark's have a marvellous culture and a happy way of life. Even their gross product figure ‑ and I'm quoting from a Colonial Office thing now ‑ is nearly double that of those Christian savages across the water. Their copra hulk is always full when the collection vessel comes. Unloading the same size hulk at St Paul's takes half the time. This is why the St Mark's natives have to be in a state of readiness all the time. They're a peaceful people, but they have to have their war canoes at the ready and their spears and fire arrows waiting, just in case the St Paul's tribe turn aggressors.'
'They have to have a deterrent,' said Conway.
'Naturally. The St Paul's tribe used to make raids on St Mark's a couple of times a year. But about three years ago they got such a mauling that they haven't bothered since. Mind you, we'd take them on any time.'
'Of course you would,' nodded Conway supportingly, 'and beat them again.'
She glanced at him to decide the tone of the remark. 'You seem very interested in native culture, Mr Conway?' she said. 'Are you making some sort of study?'
'In a way,' he agreed. 'That is why I asked you if I could come over and see you. I find the whole thing terrific and I'd like to know more.'
Mrs Flagg smiled at him like a healthy milkmaid. 'How truly marvellous,' she said. 'I'm sure I can help.' Then she added cautiously, 'Well, Mr Flagg and I can help. We were beginning to despair of anyone sharing our passion for the islanders. People here do tend to cling to traditional interests you know, the ex‑Service club, the Highland Dance Society, the people who save stamps and matchbox tops and all that sort of thing. But if you really want to know in detail about St Mark's...'
'And St Paul's,' pointed out Conway.
'Oh yes, those too,' she said, slightly hurt as though he had mentioned a rival boarding school. 'We have quite a lot of material. Ouite a lot. Let's see, we have all the official reports of studies of the islands, going back for literally years, and all our own material gathered over quite some time, and then there's our tribal museum, of course. We're very proud of that and we like to show it to people.' She tumbled on, her fair hair falling over her strawberry face and being brushed back by her large double‑cream hand. Abruptly she pulled up and put h‑,r hand to her mouth. 'Stay now!' she said. 'Why not stay for the evening and I'll show you all the things we have! That would be most fruitful, I'm sure.'
It was a warm late afternoon and Conway looking at her in her rocking chair thought again that she was really quite a handsome woman in a big, perspiring sort of way. 'Well,'
he began, 'I'd like to.. .'
'Good, good, then you shall,' she exclaimed, rocking the chair backwards violently and allowing herself to be quite gracefully catapulted to her feet on the return movement. 'Stay to dinner and then you can see all the collection.' She suddenly returned her hand to her mouth. 'Oh my goodness, though. I've just remembered. Mr Flagg won't be with us. He's gone over to see some tribal sacrifice of a goat on the other side of the island. I quite forgot. Never mind, more for us! You don't mind dining alone with a strange woman, do you?'
'There's nothing strange about you, Mrs Flagg,' said Conway politely.
Before dinner Conway spent two hours going through the sheafs of manuscripts and blocks of books that Mr and Mrs Flagg had accumulated during their native studies. Mrs Flagg closed the doors and lit the lamps in the big room. She gave him two schooners of Australian sherry, which she said she kept for special occasions and had two schooners herself. She padded about the place, arranging the table setting, and getting her Vietnamese chef and his assistant, a Wallis Islander, advancing with the dinner. lle St Mark's houseboys, constantly tucking their cocoons inside their army belts with the same habitual movement as a fat man keeps pulling up his slacks, moved about the house helping Mrs Flagg.
Sometimes she moved over to the alcove where Conway was studying the papers, leaning over him like a cow over a byre, letting her splendidly hanging right breast rest significantly on his shoulder. She had changed into a fresh dress, a Marks and Spencer's green and floral pattern which her sister had sent from Watford. As she leaned near him Conway could smell a peppery perfume which she had added to her neck. Some of the papers were of great use to him, detailing life on St Paul's, the traits of the natives, the history of the tribal leaders right up to Lazarus who had so disappointingly failed to recover from being dead. Each time he found some item of particular interest he called Mrs Flagg and she came over, moving cheerfully and quickly like a farmer's wife at a square dance, hung across him, and discussed the point.
They enjoyed an excellent dinner of fish soup, tinned duck from Australia, yams, rice, tinned tomatoes in juice, and mangoes, with two bottles of Queensland Reisling which Mrs Flagg brought out in preference to French wines from Noumea in deference to her visitor. They had a strong pot of Typhoo afterwards and following that drank a lot of Mr Flagg's superlative Denis‑Mounie cognac which Sir Wiiliam, the Governor, had received in error, and passed on to Mr Flagg as a spot prize at a masque ball held in Government House. Both Conway and Mrs Flagg had a lot of stories to tell and they laughed like a crowd, sitting on the billowing cushions of the damask couch. The chef and his assistant went home to get some reasonable food, and the little men from St Mark's, after busying themselves around the table and wiping up the crumbs and other pieces from the floor, went off into the deep night to talk for a while with their skulls.
Conway and his hostess laughed so much when they realized that they had finished half a bottle of DenisMounie, that they somehow tumbled together on the couch, and decided immediately to make a start on the second half. They were both demonstrative laughers. They threw themselves about a lot. Even if a laugh began as a snigger, with the person sitting upright and proper, it was not long before a second snigger ignited the whole thing and they were rolling over each other on the stormy sofa.
'Lishen,' said Conway, waggling his finger at her. 'Aussic ain't any secondhand shop. Unnerstand.'
Mrs Flagg hooted. 'Hooo! Hooooo!' she bellowed. 'I thought that would get in! You're all so very, very, very touchy about it. Poor old Aussie, and poor old Aussies! Who will buy? Come on, buy a lump of our sunshine! Heee! Heec! Come and buy ‑ it's remnant week!'
Conway bravely assayed a leap to his feet at the affront, but his knees went and he fell forward heavily across Mrs
139
Flagg's upland chest. It was good there, he thought., like falling into a warm snowdrift. He moved his face a few degrees. He thought he felt her stiffen in her stomach and she had stopped laughing or saying anything. Eventually, carefully measuring his words so that they came out in the intended order, Conway said: 'I'd like to know how they get those banana things on.'
She said in a low tone: 'The baloots?'
'You guessed.'
'It's not really too difficult when you know,' she said persuasively. 'There's a proper way, of course, and once they're on it's very, very difficult to get them off.. There's a proper way of doing that too.'
'Show me, Mrs Flagg,' he asked softly, his head still on her bosom.
She stroked his fair hair. 'You'd really like it?' she asked. 'You wouldn't be shy or embarrassed.'
'Oh no,' said Conway, turning his face to hers and pushing the fat of her breast over with his chin. He felt her react. 'We could treat it as purely educational. That's what we'll do.'
'Good idea,' she agreed. 'Keep
it very educational. even medical‑clinical ‑ if you like.'
'I like,' he said. 'There's nothing like education, Mrs Flagg.'
'Nothing indeed,' nodded Mrs Flagg. Her round face was redder and warmer now, with the cognac and the proximity of Conway. Her hands were heavy and damp like cloths around his neck. Crickets were rattling in the garden and a sigh of night wind blew warmly into the room exciting the curtains and moving the hanging lamps.
'I'll need to go into the garden, dear man,' whispered Mrs Flagg. She began to wriggle away from him on the couch. 'There are some banana fronds hanging on the line. They have to be dried out you know and one of the little chaps was going to change his tomorrow ... He won't miss them.' She stood unsurely and wandered somewhat aimlessly, one foot all but treading on the other, across the carpeted room, until, with a sudden resolution, she turned towards the latticed door, opened it with a bang, and staggered out into the garden.
Conway enjoyed the engulfing sensation of well‑being that always filled him immediately before and after a sure conquest. The cognac helped and he poured two more generous glasses, sampled his, poured some of Mrs Flagg's into his own glass to make the levels right again, and wallowed back into the cushions. He watched the door through relaxed, splintered, eyes. A gentle laugh stuck somewhere down in his chest. He felt tempted to let it loose, but refrained. He felt happy.
Mrs Flagg came back, entering with a sort of pantomime villain's arched step, at a crouch, carrying in one hand the banana leaves. She smiled wickedly, turned, and exaggerated her backward look from the door, spying out to make sure no one was coming. t
Without a word, hardly a sound except for the bellows movement of her agricultural breasts, a look of honest eagerness on her face, Mrs Flagg advanced on Conway. He cowered back in pretend fear. Continuing her comedy villain's step she closed with him and began to take off his trousers. Conway felt a quick onslaught of boyish panic such as he could never remember. There was suddenly something frightening about being in the clutches of this big, healthy woman. He struggled symbolically like a virgin, his throat full of grit and his eyes wide.
The Love Beach Page 14
