She saw the enormity of what was happening. The ship had stopped and the captain had left the bridge. As if she had sent out a thought line he said, “We often stop outside the harbor. We’re well on time and I insist on speaking to you.”
He took her elbow and compelled her forward. Nancy was already dancing ahead as though granted an eleventh-hour reprieve. They went down to the lower deck. Mark produced a key and let them into the book-lined cabin Lisa had visited once before.
The sudden quiet was like an impact of warning. Even Nancy felt it and gave a nervous giggle before sinking down into one of the armchairs.
Lisa stood facing Mark, straight and stiff, every trace of color driven from her cheeks.
“I’ve just had a message by launch from some people in Durban,” he said rapidly. “I told you before that I have business to do here—as I had in Cape Town—and it appears that I shall be tied up the whole thirty hours or so that we shall be in port. Well,” he gave a savage sigh, “that’s how things are for people like me. My duty to the ship has to come before everything else. I know your address in Durban. I shall be writing to you, Lisa.”
It seemed a mockery, this promise which he would not fulfil. Like a sword thrust came the suspicion that Mark had guessed! He knew she was in love with him and was trying to mitigate for her all the hopelessness and futility. In that second she thought her nerve would break.
But somehow the danger was past and she was still confronting him, with lowered lids and chin uplifted. “I shouldn’t bother to write, Mark. I shan’t be long enough in Durban.”
“That’s another thing,” he said. “I’m in the deuce of a position. I haven’t time to explain it...”
“Please!” She put out a defensive hand. “Your business is no concern of mine.”
“Very well,” he said in a harder tone. “Everything between us is in a devilish muddle and you’d prefer to leave it that way. In your mind you accuse me of wanting to hurt you, of having base motives for whatever I’ve urged you to do. Perhaps it would have been a thousand times better for both of us if I hadn’t tried to influence you in any way.” A pause, then he asked abruptly, “Are you going to stay with Carne’s people when you leave Dr. Veness?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t planned anything, but I hardly think Jeremy can have any part in my future.” She felt drained and empty, unsure of anything but the necessity for getting away from him. It was salvation when he cast a furious glance at his watch. “You ought to go,” she added. “The passengers will be getting restive.”
His eyes took on the narrow sparkle she detested. “I could shake you,” he said through his teeth. “Shake you hard, because you’re determined to oppose everything I say, and are well aware that I’m tied by the book of rules and the etiquette of the sea.” He might have matched his words with actions had not the scrape of Nancy’s foot reminded him of her existence. He looked sternly down at the child. “I must say goodbye to you now, Nancy.” Obediently, she stood up and raised her face. Mark bent to receive her kiss.
“If Lee doesn’t write to you,” said Nancy comfortingly, “I will.”
“Thanks. That’s generous of you.”
Nancy went to the door and looked back. “Aren’t you a going to kiss Lee?”
“I think not,” he said, his mouth twisted into a smile. “She wouldn’t care for the way I’d do it.”
Nancy, of course, took this as a big joke. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Momentarily, Lisa felt his grip on her wrist.
“Take care of yourself,” he said a little thickly, “and think about me sometimes. And for God’s sake be honest with yourself about Carne!”
Afterwards, Lisa could never clearly remember the details of the landing at Durban. She did recall an impression of the busyness of the docks, the shouting Africans and crowds of white people who had come to meet relatives and friends, but none of the tiny incidents, nor the larger ones of coming face to face with Dr. Veness and saying goodbye to Jeremy, really imprinted themselves on her consciousness. Her chief sensation was of horrible emptiness now that the Wentworth was behind her.
It was not till they had driven through the wide main thoroughfares of the town and climbed between gardens full of scarlet-flowering shrubs and luxurious palms, that she noticed the pull of strain about Nancy’s mouth. And then, of course, she looked at the head of the man behind the wheel and realized that in permitting Nancy to sit with Lisa in the back of the large grey car he had made a tactical error. Nancy’s place, from the very beginning, should have been at his side.
For the child’s sake Lisa was pleased with the big house and garden which became visible as they curved into the drive. The colonial pillars smothered in bougainvillea enhanced the stark whiteness of the dwelling, and if the garden did appear too formal to English eyes, Nancy wouldn’t mind. She was a tidy child and fond of flowers which had neat habits.
Over a cup of tea in the spacious but over-furnished lounge, Lisa sensed an awkwardness in Dr. Veness.
“You’ll meet Mrs. Hatherly at lunch,” he said, smiling without humor at the grave-eyed Nancy. “I was very fortunate to procure her services last year. She’s elderly, the widow of an army officer, and she’s looking forward to having you under her wing. You’ll like her, Nancy.”
To Lisa it sounded as if he were saying, “You’d better like her!” Tone and manner meant so much in dealing with Nancy, or with any child. It was strange, she thought, that a man accustomed to handling the sick should flounder when it came to renewing acquaintance with his own young daughter.
He had mannerisms which made him seem older than he really was, and his face was more lined, his hair thinner and greyer than Lisa remembered. If she had not felt somewhat sorry for him she would have put in a word or two on Nancy’s behalf.
As it was, a protracted pause followed which Dr. Veness ended with a spuriously bright, “Will you excuse me? I must take a peep at my telephone pad. Houseboys are not too good on the telephone and I often have to do a bit of translating from Zulu!”
When he had gone Nancy pushed aside the glass of iced orange squash which had been brought for her. “He’s sorry,” she said in a closed little voice. “Sorry I’m here.”
Lisa suppressed an impulse to go to her and put an arm about her. “No, he’s not, darling,” she said reasonably. “I believe he’s just a scrap afraid that you won’t like him, which means that you must take care to show him that you love him very much. You and he have to help each other because you’ve been apart so long. Try to smile and show an interest in the house. It’s your house, too, now, and he’d love that.”
Lisa went on talking in the same soothing voice, telling Nancy that she now had what she had wanted literally for years—a home with her father. Presently, she took her to the bedroom and unpacked her clothes and books. Thoughtfully, Dr. Veness had provided bookshelves upon which stood a brand new set of Dickens and a few children’s classics. Nancy fingered The Wind in the Willows.
“My poor old copy with the chewed edges will have to be wrapped up and put away,” she said, and tacked, on fiercely, “I won’t have it destroyed, though.”
The books and the pink-and-white bedroom helped to spread a tenuous tranquillity which, however, was threatened at lunch time, when Mrs. Hatherly sat at the head of the table and showed rather too many porcelain-white teeth in a set smile.
She was not an endearing person, though her appearance suggested the slim and managing matriarch. Her hair was piled in soft white coils about a wrinkled, alert face, and she wore a navy linen frock with white at the throat and cuffs. It was easy to believe she was a good housekeeper. She spoke to the dark-skinned houseboy who served the salads and cold meats with the correct degree of authority, and the dishes, prepared under her supervision, were tastefully arranged with an eye to form and color.
But there are some women that the more innocent among us instinctively distrust and dislike; Mrs. Hatherly was one of them. Lisa was conscious
of Nancy’s inward shrinking, which would not have far to go to reach panic proportions; and she did not blame the child. The woman had no depths, no well of affection to draw upon. As the day progressed Lisa was confirmed in her opinion that Nancy must attain immediate friendship with her father; the child had to survive the initial disappointments. When Nancy had gone to bed that evening and Mrs. Hatherly was in her own room, Lisa approached Dr. Veness in the sombre lounge which had one or two incongruous pieces of art-craft lying around, no doubt slipped in by the housekeeper.
He looked up from writing a letter at the small bureau, and his smile, though tired, was more spontaneous, more sincere. He took off his glasses and leaned back. “Sit down, Lisa, and we’ll have a talk. I must congratulate you on making a wonderful job of Nancy. She’s .twice the girl she was three years ago, and so self-possessed that it’s not too simple to get through to her.”
“You will, though,” Lisa said, the lightness of relief in her tones. If only he’d been as natural with Nancy this morning! “She’s very anxious to have you proud of her.”
He nodded. “It had to be embarrassing, this first day. She’s very like her mother.” He went straight on, eschewing memories: “You’ll have to tell me all about her—the things which mean a lot to her, and her habits. I learned a great deal from her letters, but I want your version, too.” His smile was kindly. “I’m inclined to believe both Nancy and I were very lucky the day Anthea brought you to the house in Richmond. I’m writing to Anthea now, telling her how happy I am about your arrival.”
Lisa edged forward on her chair. She hated the task she had set herself, but it had to be got through. “Perhaps I’m less deserving of your compliments than you think, Dr. Veness. There was a ... a rather unpleasant incident at Las Palmas which I feel you ought to know about.” Quickly, but not sparing herself, she gave him details of Nancy’s escapade in the capital city of Gran Canaria, and continued: “It was all my fault, and the speed with which she was found was due entirely to the efforts of Captain Kennard of the Wentworth. I’ve had the hundred pounds he paid so much on my conscience that I had to explain it all this evening. You see, the ship leaves tomorrow night, and I thought...”
“I understand.” And she felt he really did. “I’m glad you were so frank with me, Lisa. It’s additional proof, if I needed it, that Nancy has been in the best of hands. These spots of bother happen with children, you know, and no one is to blame. By the sound of things, Nancy handled her own end of it with admirable self-assurance, which is good to know. I don’t, forget the fretful child she was when I left her with you in England. So put it out of your mind. I’ll send a cheque to Captain Kennard tomorrow by messenger.”
“I want to pay the hundred pounds myself, eventually.”
He gave her a shocked smile. “Good heavens, I couldn’t allow that. You can’t pay the price of her growing pains.”
“Still...”
He gestured to silence her. In his gentle way he asked a few questions, and by the time Lisa left him and went to her bedroom she knew she had done the right thing in bringing Nancy home to her father and in being entirely frank with him.
During the next few days Lisa and Nancy were taken by car to the beaches long the Natal coast. They saw the endless undulating acres of sugar, the riot of wild banana which grew down to the sea and the cycad palms with their enormous green fruit. They saw the small tin houses of Indians set in the midst of banana groves, an Indian temple cheek-by-jowl with European dwellings, and buxom Zulu girls swinging their beaded hips among the white people in the streets of Durban. And they saw the famous rickshaw boys, magnificent Zulus with immense and colorful head-dresses of ostrich and peacock feathers, jackal tails, beads and ox-horns, their legs a-clatter with many strings of sea-shells.
There was so much to do that the time passed fairly quickly, even to Lisa. She had heard the siren announcing the departure of the Wentworth, had felt her throat go tight for tears and lived through a night of grief so intense that it could not possibly last. She had risen to face the next day calm and empty.
It was fortunate that Dr. Veness had hired a car and driver to take them about during that week. Whenever he could spare the time he went with them, and gradually, very gradually, Nancy loosed up with him.
Mrs. Hatherly, however, was a more complex problem. The woman set out to charm and succeeded in repelling. Nancy addressed her only when compelled, and her manner was invariably freezingly polite. Consequently, Lisa was tackled in private and accused point-blank of setting the child against the very person who needed to win her confidence. Inevitably, a state of underground tension came into being.
It took Dr. Veness just over a week to become aware of the fact that his housekeeper and his daughter had not yet discovered anything in common, and on that day he called Lisa into the lounge and asked her if what he had surmised were true.
“I’m afraid it is,” said Lisa. “It’s naughty of Nancy, and I don’t think she’ll improve till I’ve gone.”
“I wonder.” Pensively he tapped the desk with a pencil. “Children are adaptable, but it’s been an enormous transition for Nancy. Could you stay on for a while, Lisa?”
“I suppose so,” she said slowly. She wasn’t wanted anywhere else, she thought with a hint of bitterness, and in any case the shipping office could not fix her up with an immediate passage except in one of the smaller freight-passenger vessels.
“I wish you would. I can’t get rid of Mrs. Hatherly because such women are so hard to come by in this country and she’s really very good in the house. In time Nancy may capitulate. It will be nice for you to have a holiday, anyway.”
“The voyage was a holiday, and I’m happier working.”
“Well,” he said, with man’s usual airy dismissiveness of feminine argument, “do jobs about the place, if you like. It will relieve me to have you here.” He thought of something and drew an envelope from his pocket. “I had a letter from Captain Kennard this morning, thanking me for the cheque. Seeing that you all became friends you might like to read it.”
Lisa took the letter gingerly between quivering fingers. She willed herself to open it and scan the page of heavy, regular writing. Yes, it was merely a receipt, except for the final sentence. “Please give my very best wishes to Miss Maxwell and your inimitable daughter.”
She handed it back to the doctor. “Well, that’s the last of Captain Kennard,” she said, with the detachment of pure sorrow.
“Perhaps he’ll call next time he’s this way,” said Dr. Veness easily. “The Wentworth docks here every six weeks.”
Six weeks! Lisa would be well away before then. Besides, she could never be a casual acquaintance of Mark’s.
“Please give my very best wishes to Miss Maxwell ... Could any words be more heart-breakingly distant, more obviously intended to convey finality? He hadn’t meant to write to her at all. The attempted farewell in his cabin had been just a gesture, and a cruel one at that.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A day or two later came a telephone call from Jeremy. Lisa was astonished at her own gladness at the sound of his blithe voice. He was in Johannesburg helping Astra to train a man to work with her.
“So you’re not taking it on, Jeremy?” she queried. “Were your people against it?”
“Of course they were—you told me they would be! But if I’d convinced them I couldn’t be happy doing anything else they wouldn’t have raised any objections. Such is the stuff of which parents are made!”
“How long are you staying up there?”
“Only a few days now—till the end of the month. Then comes the torture chamber.”
“It won’t be as bad as that.”
“I hope not. Your Dr. Veness looked rather grim when he met you at the boat. When are you leaving him?” He listened to her explanation and gave an exhilarated laugh. “So you’re there indefinitely? Darling, that’s perfect. When I get back home I’ll show you places to which the good doctor wouldn’t dream of taking yo
u! Will he mind your having a follower?”
In a minute or two she rang off. It would be good to see Jeremy again and to hear his news about Astra. It was stupid to wish to keep contact with shipboard acquaintances, but they seemed to be curiously stable in a bewildering world.
Oddly, another friend she had made on the ship turned up at the doctor’s residence that afternoon. Having spent an energetic morning with Nancy on the beach, Lisa was sewing in her rather over-shadowed little bedroom at the back of the house when the boy brought the information that she was wanted by, a “missus.”
Lisa stopped in the doorway of the lounge and exclaimed with pleasure: “Mrs. Basson. What a marvellous surprise to see you here in Durban!”
“Not so surprising. I booked on the very next ship from Cape Town. How are you, my dear?” She took in Lisa’s composed pallor, the shadows under her eyes. “The sub-tropics don’t agree with you.” A sigh. “Cape Town didn’t agree with me, either. My children think I’m dreadfully selfish to want to take them back to England with me when they’re so settled in their schools here; they’re half South African, you see. I’ve arranged to leave the boy for a year, but the girl...” her shoulders lifted. “She must finish at the end of the term.”
They gossiped quietly for a while about Nancy and other things, but presently Laura Basson cast a humorous glance at the heavy furniture and rust-colored carpet and curtains.
“Something of a mausoleum, isn’t it? Particularly for this climate. The chairs and cabinets look like the outlandish stuff the early settlers used to bring with them.”
“I believe Dr. Veness bought the house as it stood from an old couple who were retiring and going back to England.”
“Poor man. Do you sleep in a four-poster?”
Lisa smiled. “It is rather feudal here—we even have a female dragon—but with thought and a little expenditure the place could be made charming. He can afford it, but I’m afraid he doesn’t care enough.”
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