She found the cupboard and the candles, but the lamps seemed to have been left out in the garden shed. Mark struck a match and set it to two wicks, pressed each candle into a heavy metal candlestick and snapped off the flashlight.
The twin flames were set one each end of the white kitchen table, and Lisa stood near one of them, her face pale in the restricted radiance, her hair cloudy and touched with a silvery whiteness. As she looked across at him her eyes were very dark. Without giving herself time to examine his features she said, “It was a beastly night to come visiting.”
“I arrived by air an hour ago, booked in at the hotel and came straight up.”
“You took a plane from England?”
He nodded. “From London, the night before last.” Just then he seemed disinclined to say more, and Lisa, still cold and apprehensive, could summon no banality to break the silence. With the electricity dead she could not even offer him a cup of coffee.
“Odd sort of meeting, isn’t it?” he said at last. “No one would imagine that we were in the least happy to see each other.”
She made a complication of moving one of the candles and pulling a chair from its place at the table. “I’m sorry. If you hadn’t arrived just as the lights failed I would have been more welcoming. Come into the lounge and I’ll get you a drink.”
“I don’t need one, thanks.” He hooked out the other chair and sat down, half facing her with the corner of the table between them. “Did you expect never to see me again?”
“You did break your promise to write.”
“No, I wrote you more than once, but the letters never got as far as the post box.” His voice deepened and took an edge. “If you hadn’t been in such a damned hurry for Dr. Veness to send me a cheque I’d have written you from Cape Town. Why did you do that Lisa?”
“Why did I tell Dr. Veness about Nancy at Las Palmas? I had to; he had a right to know.”
“But he wouldn’t have rushed the cheque to the ship by special messenger unless you asked him to. Men don’t act that way. He would have been satisfied to reach me in Cape Town, or even in London. You begged him to settle the debt before I left Durban because you wanted everything tidily closed. Isn’t that so?”
Her tones were low. “You know how it was. You disliked me because I wouldn’t please Astra...”
“Leave it,” he said abruptly.
So he still could not bear to hear words against Astral Carmichael. Then why was he here, and not in Johannesburg with the woman! Why did he have to bring his tormenting presence to Durban, to the house of Dr. Veness?
“I came,” he said deliberately, as if in answer to her thoughts, “because the doctor’s sister telephoned me that, you had fixed up your passage home.”
“Anthea? You’ve met her?” she queried, amazed.
“I had to meet her; she was my only link with you. I made her acquaintance the day after the Wentworth docked at Southampton and asked her to let me know anything she heard from you or about you.”
“But what on earth did she think?”
“I don’t know, nor do I care.” He leaned one elbow on the table, studying her face in the candlelight. “Have you been seeing Carne?”
“Occasionally.” This was like a one-sided, fencing match; she herself had no weapon.
“Is he settling down into the stolid young beau?”
“Not mine,” she said, her throat tight. “I’m going home.”
He tried to lean back but the chair was too small. It creaked. “This is the first time we’ve been together as two normal human beings. On the ship we had the whole crew and staff, the hundreds of passengers and all the rules and regulations between us. We never talked ordinarily, as man and woman, because being master of the ship tied me to a certain code of behavior—which didn’t include making love to one of the passengers!”
“Did you ... want to?” She hoped she did not sound as frightened as she felt.
“Is it hard to believe? It shouldn’t be.” He was cynical now. “You’re sweet and appealing, young and tender, possessed of a bright independence, and you have an exceptionally pretty neck. In the dining saloon I saw rather a lot of that neck with the hair curling about the nape. And I used also to see the line of your jaw and the corner of your mouth. Then one day from the bridge deck, I saw young Carne kiss that same cheek, and how glad I was I had never given way to that particular urge.”
“So that’s why you changed,” she said quickly. “You despised me. He only kissed me that once, and I hardly noticed it. I didn’t lie to you about it.”
“A kiss, a special smile and linked arms.” He shrugged; his manner sharpened. “You’re still only half alive, Lisa. ’You’ve never experienced a stab of frustration or jealousy, you’ve never wanted something you daren’t touch or had feelings strong enough to keep you awake night after night!”
He got to his feet so suddenly that the chair toppled with a little thud. Hands dug into his pockets, he came nearer and looked down at her, and she thought there were lines of strain at the corners of his eyes and a grimness at his mouth.
“You’re not happy, Mark,” she whispered.
“No, I’m not, and somehow I can’t even laugh it off with sarcasm. Mockery used to be an infallible outlet, but it isn’t any longer. The strange part of it is that it did seem as if everything had decided to work towards one end. Before we left on that trip I knew about the business proposition in this country, that I might be leaving the sea.”
“Tell me about it,” she pleaded, still almost below her breath.
He stepped back a bit into the shadows, and half turned away. “It’s not complicated. The shipping company decided to start a new coastal line—both for passengers and freight—round the coast of, the sub-continent, from Lagos to Mombasa. It was under discussion for about a year before they acted. I had to consult with officials of the company in Cape Town and Durban to take back a report, and in London there’s been endless detail to work out—board meetings and debates on the legal aspects without end. We’re starting with a small fleet in two months’ time, and I have charge of the organizing and running of the service.”
“Is it what you’ve been after?” she asked softly, hesitantly.
“More or less, but like most of the things one chases for a long time, it’s lost savor.”
“You’ll want it again,” she said. “You’re tired now.” He made no reply for some while. A draught bent the candle flames and sent wisps of smoke into the air. Rain still hammered upon the roof but the thunder was rolling far away, over the sea. The smell of rain and mud was everywhere. Above the noise Lisa heard the thin chime of the dining room clock. It was only nine, yet she seemed to have been imprisoned here with Mark by the darkness for ever.
He shifted. “You’re a coward, Lisa. You’ve fought away from every implication in what I’ve been saying.”
“No, I haven’t.” Her head bent low. “I don’t think I’ve quite believed them, that’s all.”
“Doesn’t it ring true—that I’m in love with you?” Before she could even look up he went on roughly, “Your attitude is comprehensible, I suppose. I couldn’t get near, you on the ship and you continually misunderstood my intentions. If I’d been certain of this new shipping service coming into being I’d have made you give me a promise that last morning—a promise that you’d travel back to England by air as soon as you were through with Veness. Everything was so difficult; there was the money end of it—forgive my saying this, but I couldn’t help knowing you weren’t by any means rich, and I knew that unless we understood each other completely I’d stand no chance of forcing an air ticket on you. It was hell, Lisa.”
“I do see that,” she said shakily.
“Well, the next best thing was to fix you up with Astra, so that I could be sure I’d find you here the minute I was finished with all the negotiations, but you wouldn’t have it—and I wasn’t in a position to demand it!”
She was standing as well, and gripping the back of her
chair for support. Her breathing was so uneven that she ' spoke in jerks. “So all depended ... on this ... shipping business? What if it had fallen through?”
“I was due to take three months’ leave. I’d have come here, and after we’d understood each other we’d have arranged something.” He stopped for a moment. “Well, there it is,” he said, with a curious lack of emotion. “I’m in love with you. I’m not going to ask the impossible of you, Lisa, but I do insist that you get to know me in orthodox surroundings. Tomorrow or the next day we’ll go to Cape Town. We’ll spend every day together, we’ll talk and explore each other, and at the end of a month—no, two weeks—I’m going to ask you to be my wife.” Unnerved, she stared at him, saw his drawn brows and dark set face. To be his wife! Did he know what he was saying? She gave a short, sobbing laugh and moved round the chair.
“Isn’t it,” she enquired unsteadily, “a joyous thing to be in love with me?”
“It will be, when you love me. I warn you, though, I’m going to be ruthless. No subterfuge, no velvety lies—only perfect truth between us.”
“Oh, Mark!”
Her voice creaked, and the rough lump was still there at the base of her throat, as painful as if she had swallowed a peach stone. He took the long pace which divided them, held her face and gazed down at her with eyes which were leaping blue flames.
“You understand?” he said indistinctly. “I love you.”
“I’m ... so glad,” she managed inadequately.
She was in his arms then, and being kissed as she had never dreamed, in her most fantastic flights of fancy, of being kissed by Mark. When the kiss ended he did not let her go, but lowered his cheek to hers.
“No comments?”
“Plenty,” she whispered, “but first a request. Please don’t wait too long before asking me to marry you.”
He held her away from him, searching her features. “Are you beginning to love me?”
“I began weeks ago—in fact, we probably began together, without quite knowing when. I remember feeling horrid when you said we could never meet on the same plane.”
“That was a pitiful attempt at self-defence. We’d known each other such a short time, yet I found myself thinking of you while I was about my work. No woman had ever come between me and my ship before, and it made me uneasy. Then there was Carne.” He gave her a little shake and released her. “It beat me how you could take so much to heart the affairs of a man who meant nothing to you. I realize now that it was the essential goodness in you, a real need to save his parents disillusionment, but he was ever-present, and candidly I hated his hide.”
“Then why were you so keen that he should go to Johannesburg with Astra—and for me to work with her too? That way we’d have been together.”
He let out an impatient sigh. “I’m afraid I underestimated him, just as Astra did. I encouraged Astra to see him every day because I felt sure he’d become infatuated with her—and that you wouldn’t get a look in. That was how it would have happened with any other man of his age and type. I imagined the same situation in Johannesburg— just couldn’t credit him with enough discrimination to pick you out as the genuine article.”
Cautiously, wonderingly, she queried, “Don’t you regard Astra as genuine?”
“She’s pure gold—as an actress.” He stood above her, almost morose, then reached for one of the candlesticks. “Now we’re beginning to see where we stand let’s have some comfort. Lead me to the lounge.”
She took the other candle and went into the corridor. Halfway along it she pointed to the glow from the open doorway. “The lights have come on again. That’s the reading lamp.”
“Thank the stars,” he said. “Now I can get a really good look at you. God, how I need it!”
In the brightness of the lamplight a shyness descended upon Lisa. She had been in Mark’s arms by candlelight, yet now there was constraint between them.
She said, “Please have a drink. There’s quite a selection in the cabinet.”
“Are you permitted to give drinks to strange men?”
“You’re not a stranger here. Nancy often talks about you and Dr. Veness has said more than once that he hoped to thank you in person for the rescue at Las Palmas.”
He pulled open one of the heavy doors of the cabinet, chose a bottle and two glasses and placed them on a table. But instead of pouring he gave Lisa a gentle push into a corner of the chesterfield, hitched his trousers and sat beside her, leaving a foot of space between them. A slanting glance showed him intent upon some problem, and unsmiling.
“Have you had any contact with Astra?” he questioned.
“I spoke to her last Saturday, in Johannesburg.”
“You did? So you’ve heard about the house in Cape Town?”
She nodded, but made no reference to the conclusion to which she had leapt. Better to shelve that till she could regard it more objectively. “She didn’t give any details.”
“The place was built by a director of the shipping company, but for some domestic reason he was unable to move there. When I saw it, it wasn’t quite completed but there was everything one could wish for in a home, and it was suggested I send a cable as soon as I was certain of coming out to settle for a while. I didn’t send the cable, though. I wired Astra instead, as soon as I’d booked my air passage; I knew nothing could be signed and sealed till I got here. A ten-roomed villa hasn’t much appeal for a bachelor.”
“Hadn’t you already considered that aspect when you looked over the property?”
“I’d hardly had time. You and I had been acquainted just two weeks, and only an hour or two earlier I’d heard Carne’s aunt twittering about an engagement. I pinned a hope or two to the dinner at the Monarch that evening, but you’d decided to enjoy yourself elsewhere.”
“Mark, I’m terribly sorry. You see...”
“Don’t apologize, Lisa.” At last a small smile came to his lips. “You were right that last night before Durban when you said I expected too much of you. I seemed to feel that you should know everything about me without being told—every important thing, anyway—perhaps by instinct. If I’d had an inkling that you cared only a little I’d have got rid of the doubts; we’d have talked together more intimately and known where we stood when we parted. Instead, I went through such a filthy patch while I was hung up in England that I’m not quite right yet. It’s all very puzzling to you, isn’t it—this extraordinary confession from a man?”
“Heart-breaking, not puzzling,” she said. “If only you’d posted one of those letters! Darling...”
Her wrist was imprisoned. “Say that again!”
She did, looking at him with a soft light in her eyes. “You don’t believe yet that I love you, do you, Mark? I’ve been horribly wretched as well because Astra once told me that you were the only man she’d marry, and last Saturday she talked of your house and in the same breath went all ecstatic about connubial bliss.”
He laughed outright, and a burden lifted from Lisa’s heart.
“You dear little idiot! Astra’s an actress, she’s never off the stage. She’s also a dramatist who tries out lines and-emotional scenes as they enter her head. Thank heaven you’ve been jealous though. That evens things up a little.”
“So ... everything’s all right?”
“So right,” he said, “that we’re going out to celebrate.”
“In this rain? How did you get here?”
“By taxi. I’ll use your phone and call one!”
“Will they come out in such a downpour?”
“Of course—and charge treble.”
“But I can’t leave Nancy! The housekeeper is down the road, playing cribbage.”
“It’s time that all good housekeepers were homeland m in bed. We’ll send the cab for her first.”
“Everyone will think we’re mad.”
“So we are, my dearest girl, and it’s a delicious madness. Tonight we’ve found each other and we’re engaged. We are engaged, aren’t we, darli
ng? I don’t have to go through all this again?”
“We’re engaged,” she agreed breathlessly.
“And I’m practically free for a whole month, and it seems to me we ought to get married very early in that month.”
“Oh, but Mark...”
“Oh, but Lisa...” he said, and silenced her mouth with his own.
Much later they stood on an hotel balcony overlooking the sea. The rain had stopped and a pale patch in the clouds indicated a hidden, struggling moon. Water still dripped from the big-leaved hibiscus, but the feathery casuarinas had waved their branches free and gave off a perfume both elusive and refreshing.
Mark and Lisa had danced, had eaten savouries and drunk coffee. They had walked to the sea’s edge and seen the phosphorescent darting of small fish in the calm black waves. And all the time they had talked, made little discoveries and laughed about them.
Now, Mark leaned back upon the balcony wall and looked at her teasingly. “What are you thinking, Grey Eyes?”
“That this is a wee bit like the ship—the rail and the sea down there. But I’m so thankful it isn’t.”
“So am I. If this were the ship I’d be saying, ‘It’s time you turned in, Miss Maxwell. Goodnight,’ ”
“All crisp and official,” she said. “Mark, are you sure you’re not going to miss the sea?”
“Miss it? If we take the house in Cape Town we’ll go to sleep with the sound of the sea in our ears and awaken to see it through the window.”
“I mean your ship. Won’t you be sorry?”
“It’ll be good to be anchored. With the ocean on our doorstep, so to speak, we’ll be able to take a trip now and then.” He went on reminiscently, “I used to think that giving up the command of a ship would be an appalling wrench, but it came at a time when other things were a sight more important.”
“What other things?” she murmured, knowing the answer yet anxious to hear it once more.
He waved vaguely. “A funny, straight little nose, two large eyes, two very sweet lips and hair as fine and pale as sea mist. I love your hair, Lisa, I love your eyes, lips, nose and the pretty background they’re attached to. And I want you so much,” he ended a little thickly, “that I don’t altogether trust myself. Satisfied?”
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