Welcome to Paradise

by Jill Tahourdin

  “Go quickly, Francis,” she urged. “He might hurt you.”

  Francis threw her a dirty look and scuttled off. Nelson barked and tried to follow, but Alix hung on to him, and when the coloured man disappeared round the hedge, he quietened down.

  Alix told her aunt about the incident at breakfast. Lady Merrick was a little worried.

  “I’ll tell the police to keep a look-out for him,” she said. “But if he’s made up his mind, I suppose I’ll have to let Christina go. He’ll make nothing but trouble otherwise.”

  But Christina didn’t want to go.

  “What I do for money to feed the shildren?” she demanded reasonably. “That Francis drinking all he earn. Buying dagga, very dear. You don’t lissen to him, meddam. Where you get a cook like me?”

  “I don’t know, Christina. I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want Francis hanging around.”

  “You send Nelson after him, meddam. Francis is bang for Nelson. Nelson can bite for him.”

  So for the time, Christina remained. Francis was warned by the police to behave himself. Nothing was seen of him for some days.

  The following Saturday was the day of the Ball. Lady Merrick had insisted on giving Alix a formal evening gown, and they had gone in to the little shop in Edward that imported French clothes, and had chosen a crisp white pique, long, full-skirted, with a close-fitting top that left her shoulders bare and flattered the golden tan she had acquired.

  To go with it they bought high-heeled satin slippers and matching handbag, jade green. Lady Merrick lent Alix jade ear-rings and a bracelet of jade and heavy gold.

  Loraine cut her hair and dressed it so that it was m short curls all over her head. It was an enchanting style, and gave a piquancy to her face. The whole outfit, Alix thought, was the loveliest she’d ever worn.

  It gave her confidence to face the dinner party at Northolme, where because of Eric Gore’s obvious proprietorial interest in her, she was watched and commented on, criticised or approved or envied. It helped to dispel that feeling of being a fly caught in a web.

  But it didn’t, really, help her to enjoy the party. The other guests were strangers—friends of Eric Gore’s from elsewhere, staying the weekend at Northolme. He had quite a house party.

  The young man who took Alix in to dinner—he was a crack polo player, she gathered, from some place up-country she had never heard of—got a little drunk on the champagne Eric had so lavishly provided. Perhaps that was his excuse for saying, towards the end of the elaborate meal:

  “They tell me this is some sort of an engagement party. Would you be the lucky girl, I wonder? Are you going to take a chance on being Mrs. Gore?”

  He was a good-looking man; his smile was lazy, rather impertinent, as if he believed he could get away with anything, however outrageous. If she hadn’t been so allergic to making scenes, Alix would have left the table. As it was, the best she could do was to keep cool. She counted ten to allow her temper time to go off the boil, and said lightly, “Perhaps, don’t you think, I should wait to be asked?” Then she turned her back on him and engaged her other neighbour in talk.

  But the little incident spoiled her evening. She was in a state of dither when the party went on to the dance. She was terrified that Eric Gore might be going to propose.

  It ought to have been a wonderful evening. The town hall was splendidly decorated to look South American; there was a rumba band as well as the local five-piece dance band; the ladies had put up a magnificent supper; the night was balmy and gaiety was in the air. But even the glass of champagne she had drunk hadn’t succeeded in making Alix feel genuinely gay.

  Not that anyone would have known. She laughed and chattered and danced with the best of them. For a time, while Eric Gore was doing his duty dances with the elder ladies of his party, she wasn’t actually miserable. That only happened when it came to her turn.

  Eric Gore’s intent ice-blue look, the way he breathed “At last,” as he put an arm around her and took her hand in his, the feeling of suppressed excitement that seemed to flow from his body to hers through their clasped hands, made her so uncomfortable that her feet stumbled more than once—though she was a good enough dancer in the ordinary way.

  Her stumbles merely gave him an excuse to hold her closer. At the end of the dance he murmured, “It’s so hot in here. Shall we walk outside in the grounds to cool off, Alix?”

  She tried to think of a sensible, plausible excuse, but he didn’t seem to hear. He made a way determinedly through the throng, holding her by the hand so that she had to follow. She saw amused, intrigued glances. Her face felt stiff with embarrassment as she smiled and nodded to acquaintances. She knew now what a lamb felt like when it was led to the slaughter. She caught Richard’s eyes on her and flushed crimson. She was thankful, after that, to find herself outside, strolling sedately along a path in the Municipal Gardens in which the town hall stood.

  There were one or two other couples strolling, too. Eric led her away from them, to a comer where a circular hedge enclosed a small open-sided pavilion, a shelter from rain or the heat of the sun by day.

  “Shall we sit down here a little?” he suggested. When she was seated he offered her a cigarette, and they smoked in silence for a while. Alix’s heart was thumping so hard that she thought he must hear it. Her mouth was dry. She felt slightly sick.

  Suddenly he threw away his cigarette with an abrupt gesture. Taking hers from her he threw that away too. He took both her hands in his. When she tried to free them she realised the steely strength of him.

  “Be still,” he rapped out. “And tell me when you will marry me.”

  Alix said quickly, “Please, Mr. Gore, let go my hands. And I’m never going to marry you.”

  He said: “But I’m in love with you. I want you to be my wife. You must have known that for some time. How can you say, now, that you are never going to marry me? Are you a flirt, or worse?”

  She stared at him in amazement and horror. She thought, He is some sort of a foreigner, as I thought at first. I’m sure he’s a German. A Nazi, I should think. People don’t talk this way. It isn’t real.

  But his anger was real enough. His eyes were frightening. Desperately she stood up, tried to walk away. But he caught at her wrists, held them again in that steely grip. He said, “You will not be allowed, do you understand, to make a fool of Eric Gore. Promise, now, to marry me. Or else...”

  He was standing up now, towering over her. He looked more Teutonic than ever. His eyes blazed into hers. She cried suddenly, urgently, “Let me go!”

  Her voice was higher than she knew. She heard footsteps running. A voice—Richard’s blessed voice—called “Alix?” She almost shrieked, “Here, I’m here.” She didn’t remember, afterwards, exactly what happened then. She saw Eric Gore turn, his face a mask of fury. She saw Richard’s hand grasp his arm—and then, so suddenly had he let go of her wrists, she lost her balance and fell back on the seat. When she recovered, Gore was picking himself up from the ground. He was rubbing one wrist with the other hand as if it pained him. He said through his teeth, “You dare to use your dirty ju-jitsu tricks on me! You’ll pay for this, Herrold. I’ll kill you for this!”

  Richard said shortly, “You’re welcome to try.”

  Eric Gore turned his baleful eyes on Alix. He said, “As for you, you ” He flung an evil word at her; she felt she could bear no more. With a little cry she went to Richard.

  “Richard, please, take me away,” she cried, “before he can say any more.”

  “Of course. You’ve got your handbag? And this is your stole? Come along. And you—keep quiet unless you want me to throw you again.”

  Oddly enough, Eric Gore made no move to stop them. He stood and watched them go, with a sneer on his too-handsome face. He looked like a devil.

  Richard tucked Alix’s hand under his arm.

  “You’re shaking, poor little thing,” he said kindly. “We’ll walk around a bit, shall we, till you’ve calmed down a bit. H
ad a fright, didn’t you? What was it all about?”

  “He asked me to m—marry him, and when I said no, he accused me of ... of ... he was terrible, Richard. Like somebody in one of those awful crime thrillers. I thought he was going to strike me.”

  “The swine!”

  “Thank heaven you came, Richard. How did it happen you were there?”

  He put a hand over hers and gave it a brotherly squeeze.

  “I’d been watching him. Didn’t like the look of him—sort of all lit up, and yet not drunk or anything like that. Sort of fanatic look. I saw him hauling you off willy-nilly outside. I thought maybe I’d better come outside too, and hold a sort of watching brief. When you yelled I fairly sprinted. I’d lost sight of you—was I glad when you called ‘Here!’ I was lucky to catch him unawares with that throw. He’s a big chap, stronger than me in an ordinary fisticuffs, I should think. But my ju-jitsu trick scared him. Lucky it did.”

  “Yon were marvellous, Richard,” Alix said warmly. “I can never thank you enough.”

  Richard’s eyebrow went up; his look was quizzical. “Never?” he echoed.

  But he didn’t pursue that line of thought. He said, “If you feel up to it, how about giving me that dance?”

  “Of course.”

  The orchestra was playing a medley of old tunes—Begin the Beguine, Night and Day, Deep Purple, Some Enchanted Evening, Some Day I’ll find You.

  Dancing with Richard—whose performance was no more than adequate, for like Bernard, he had never really been a dancing man—Alix felt relaxed and at ease for the first time that evening. This is Richard, whom I know and can trust, she thought dreamily. Dear Richard...

  They didn’t talk much. Once he said, “Nice your hair smells.” Once he said, laughing, “No more rides in super launches and rich limousines, Alix. D’you mind?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  Once he said, laughing again, “Lady Merrick is giving me some very stern looks. Do you think I’d better take you to her, and discreetly fade away?”

  The leader of the orchestra was playing that long elaborate twiddle on his saxophone that meant the end of that particular dance. Alix looked at Richard from under her lashes.

  “Maybe you had,” she said.

  “You’ll have some rather difficult explaining to do, won’t you? She’s going to be disappointed, isn’t she? She didn’t know what he was.”

  “No. Did you, Richard?”

  “Nothing definite. Just a feeling I had that he was a phoney. Actually I know very little about him. Always a bit of a mystery man. And then all that money. Out of my class.”

  Alix said, “I was always—afraid of him.”

  Richard gave her a quick look. He tucked her arm in his. “Come along,” he said. “Chin up. Get it over—then forget it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “There are better things—and people—to think about. M’mm?”

  “I know, Richard. I’ve said I’ll try.”

  It wasn’t much fun, though, later—when they had thanked their host, who behaved as if nothing at all had happened, though the look he gave Alix as she said her formal thanks was chilling in its malice—telling Aunt Drusilla.

  Alix got it over in the car, driving back to Paradise. She finished flatly, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Drusilla, but there it is, that’s the sort of person he is.” Lady Merrick was disappointed, bitterly. But she was also a sensible, honest-minded woman. She saw that she had been foolishly wrong about Eric Gore—blinded by his looks and his money and the way he had gone all out to charm her.

  “Thank heaven,” she said, “we found out in time.” Alix said soberly, “Thank heaven Richard turned up when he did.”

  “Yes. And I suppose it wasn’t just a lucky coincidence, was it? I suppose he’s in love with you too, isn’t he?”

  Alix said, “He was. Now I’m not sure.”

  “And you?”

  Suddenly impatient, Alix said sharply, “Do I have to be in love with anybody?”

  Then she was ashamed of her little flash of temper. “Forgive me, Aunt Drusilla. The fact is I don’t know quite where I am. This business of Eric Gore, coming so soon on top of ... of Bernard ... I feel uncertain, a bit bewildered. I don’t think I’m ready to fall in love.” They were turning into the gates of ‘Laguna.’ The lights were on in the house, and an agitated Effelina, with her hair screwed into tiny plaits and a sheet draped round her, was talking to a native policeman on the front veranda. She was holding Nelson by the collar. Lady Merrick said, “What on earth...?”

  She got out of the car, and lifting her long skirts in her hands, picked her way up the steps.

  “Something wrong, Constable?” she boomed. Effelina said excitedly, “Meddam, Nelson barking, barking. This fellow was walking round, he came to see what the noise about. He saw somebody hiding in the bush by the gate.”

  “Didn’t you catch him, Constable?”

  “No, madam. When Effelina came out, he ran away.”

  Lady Merrick tut-tutted crossly.

  “That’s what comes of Herrold bringing all these labour gangs into the district. I suppose there are the usual percentage of thieves and rascals among them, and none of us will be able to sleep peacefully in our beds till they’ve gone. Drat the man!”

  But Alix wondered if the prowler could have been Francis, whom she had caught prowling before. She had had a feeling, then, that his presence boded no good for ‘Laguna.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ALIX woke next morning with the feeling that she had a whole lot of thinking to do, and would like to spend the day alone.

  She and Lady Merrick were invited to a Sunday morning after-church party at the Leighs’, but she hoped her aunt would excuse her. She didn’t care for drink parties, and there would be nobody of her own age to talk to. Besides, she was afraid that somebody might have been listening in to the scene in the garden last night, and might have spread the story round. She didn’t feel brave or composed enough yet to bear intrigued looks, and whispered comments, and speculations about what or who next.

  She went out into the garden and sniffed the air. It was going to be a perfect day. The wind was moderate, from the south-west. That meant that if she took the sailing boat she could sail on a reach—with modifications according to the way the channels wound—both up and down lagoon. She could go right up the river and get away from the fishing dinghies, and the odd speedboat and yacht, and have a swim, and a picnic on her own—and think things out. Her recent mistakes; the future ... she needed to get her mind really clear about that.

  Aunt Drusilla was understanding. She said, “Of course go off for the day, dear. You’d really rather go alone? Then tell Christina to put up lunch and flasks and whatever you fancy. And have a lovely think.”

  “Thank you. I need to.”

  While the cook jointed a spring chicken and made a salad and french dressing in a bottle, and buttered rolls and hard-boiled some eggs, and brewed coffee and packed fruit, Alix got into her swimsuit, collected her towel and a shirt and slacks to change into, and when all was ready waded out to her mooring, carrying the picnic basket and her clothes and the red sails, and started to rig the boat.

  Nelson wanted to come too—she didn’t know how he would behave in a small boat, so had to take him back and tie him up, with instructions to Effelina to let him loose when she was safely away. He whined sadly and gave her reproachful looks. She said, “I’ll have to teach you to be a boat dog, Nelson,” but he wasn’t appeased. He wanted to be a boat dog...

  The tide was coming in, but slowly. She had to wait a little before she was afloat. Then she let go her mooring and sailed over to deeper water, and went spinning off up-lagoon on a “soldier’s wind.”

  It was a little stronger than any she had ventured out in up to now. She wondered if she ought to have taken a reef, but soon she saw that she had nothing to fear. The sturdy clinker-built boat heeled over, but not too sharply; by letting out her sail a littl
e she could hold it without difficulty. It was glorious. She didn’t attempt to think, yet, of anything but sailing the boat. Plenty of time for serious thought later, when she was anchored in quiet water up-river.

  She passed a number of fishing boats, each with their one or two anglers patiently watching their lines. The water was popply and the boats bobbed gaily on the small sparkling waves. The foothills and mountain slopes were richly green, the sky a clean, clear blue, with a few clouds whose dark shadows chased over the earth below. You couldn’t have imagined a more enchanting scene, a lovelier day.

  She had tried to take note of the leading marks during that first trip up-lagoon in Eric Gore’s launch. Now she had to pick them up and follow them. If she ran aground it didn’t matter much. She would pull up her centre-board, jump into the water and push the boat clear. Or pole it with an oar. Or something. Not to worry, she thought.

  Somebody hailed her from a small motor launch.

  “Oi, Alix, want a tow?”

  It was Valerie, with a young man, tall and flaxen haired and attractive, with whom Alix had seen her dancing a good deal last night at the Ball.

  She waved, laughing and shaking her head. The launch was going across her course—perhaps to one of the beaches on the other side of the lagoon. Valerie looked gay and pretty, her hair bound in a cherry-red scarf. She had a lovely tan; so had her swain.

  Now the lagoon was narrowing; she was nearing the river proper. The hills were closing in a little; now and then a small squall blackened the face of the water as it rushed down a gully, and the little yacht heeled sharply, then righted itself as the squall passed. Alix enjoyed that; it was a lovely feeling, using the wind, seeing the bow toss off its white moustache of water, hearing the chuckling noise of it, so much more satisfactory than the noise of any motor could be.