by Amanda Doyle
Rennie didn’t want to be lured. She was happy enough where she was.
But Magda was different. For Magda she must be glad, must use her eloquence in an effort to enthral the little girl with all the exciting possibilities that the posters kept proclaiming. It shouldn’t be too difficult. And then there would be passports, inoculations, tickets, packing, goodbyes.
Rennie’s mind was still grappling with details as she got ready for bed that night. When she drew the blankets up, she also seemed to enshroud herself in a vague unhappiness, a dejection of spirit, a feeling too blurred and uncertain to allow definition, yet one that prevented her from falling asleep as the weary hours of the night ticked past.
Finally, when it was almost dawn, she drifted into uneasy slumber, and the dreams from which she could not rouse tormented and taunted her. They were of Keith, so near, so exquisitely near that she could have reached out and touched him. And then a voice was calling her away—a child’s voice—Magda’s high treble, full of desperate appeal. And just as she was kneeling down to gather the little girl into her arms to comfort her, there was quite suddenly no child there at all—just an envelope lying on the ground where Magda had been. A message that said ‘Option closes midnight tomorrow’—and Rennie woke in a panic, pale and unrefreshed, to the realization that Chalford Sandasen had had the last word, even in her dream, and that she herself had no further choice in the matter, after all!
CHAPTER TWO
The last days of October were crisply cold, with that still, pale sunshine and cloud-free sky that Rennie loved, and which were apt to make one forget that winter was just around the corner.
There had been a delay in Magda’s discharge from hospital, and the specialist had wished to see her again a fortnight later, but even so, Rennie found that she was hardly prepared for their departure when the day arrived. There had been so many things to which to attend, because, although she herself could only expect to be absent from Britain for a few months, at the most, Magda would be leaving England for good. For ever!
The thought chilled Rennie.
What would she do, once her responsibility and preoccupation with the little girl were so abruptly withdrawn? She loved the child, had made her the focal point of her own life over the past eighteen months—ever since Keith had gone out of it, in fact! Perhaps Viv was justified in what she had said, up to a point. Maybe Rennie had permitted Magda to gain too secure a hold upon her heart. Once this unique, absorbing interest was removed, she was beginning to ask herself bleakly what she would do instead.
She had been unable to resist spending lavishly upon Magda for her journey to her new home. Perhaps because of a subconscious wish to make up to the child for those angry scars upon her pale little cheeks, Rennie had indulged, in an impulsive spending spree, and as a result, Magda was now the possessor of two air-weight cases full of exciting and pretty clothes.
Rennie had thought of everything—dresses, both party and plain; skirts, tunics, and blouses: a neat little trouser suit, for best, and pretty sleeping wear; even a tiny kilt—with a matching Shetland jersey in the same periwinkle blue colour as Magda’s eyes.
Just as well that Chalford Sandasen was paying for their fares, she thought ruefully, as she helped Magda to fasten her buttons and slipped a smart blue pinafore over the child’s head.
‘That’s right, darling. How sweet you look! And we can change the top during our journey. I’ve got some spare shirts in this little hold-all, you see, so that we can both feel and look fresh when we reach Sydney. Now, put on your shoes, and you’ll be ready. I shan’t be a moment myself. The taxi will be here in just five more minutes.’
Rennie had done her own packing haphazardly. Her wardrobe was a sophisticated, professional one, and she had plucked a few of her favourite outfits from their hangers and placed them on top of her frilly, feminine underwear and night attire, crammed a silk kimono into a corner, and closed the lid of her solitary suitcase. That should be adequate for all the time she would be staying. Life between one big city and another was much the same, and what was suitable for London would no doubt do in Sydney too.
For the plane trip she had chosen a simple jersey blazer-suit in toast-brown and white. It was virtually un-crushable, completely classic, and she could vary her choice of blouses from light-weight wool to coolest cotton, as she had planned to do with Magda.
Hatless, she gave her image a final critical inspection, picked up her tan pigskin bag, and with a last careful look around the room, followed Viv and Magda to the lift.
Viv was the only person to see them off.
She stood at the barrier, loyal and encouraging and bright to the very last moment, when they gave that rather forlorn wave from the other side of the Emigration barrier, and made for the departure gate.
Magda was flushed with excitement.
She slept for only a short while on the first stage of the flight, and pressed her face enthusiastically to the window when Bermuda’s green-fringed islands, with their pink sandy bays and bobbing white yachts, strung themselves out in the mottled emerald sea below. They went into the airport buildings, drank lemonade, posted a card to Viv.
Magda’s eyes were round with wonder as she surveyed the vivid scenes that surrounded her. Never before had she seen such depth of colour in the flowers that spilled in abundance over short, clipped lawns. Never before had she stood beneath such a stark, cloudless brightness, where fluttering flags made gaudy splashes as they waved against the blue sky. She stared with open curiosity at the helmeted policemen in their neat khaki shorts, at the stirring palms and gaily clad groups of people standing on the airport terrace watching as the plane was refuelled, and the laughing band of dark-skinned women who had been tidying the aircraft’s interior came giggling down the stairway again.
Shortly after that, the boarding call came once more.
At Nassau they climbed out again, glad of the opportunity to stretch their legs. By the time the plane neared Mexico, darkness had fallen, and Magda was sound asleep. Rennie leaned over her and looked down through the window into the night.
A fairyland of tiny lights winked up from the earth—a delicate tracery of golden lace, it seemed, so fragile and beautiful as to be unbelievable. They then lost height, and the lace resolved itself into wide, parallel streets and ordered squares. Mexico City—that remarkable city of the high plains—sprawled on its plateau some seven thousand feet above the sea, displayed in that nocturnal panorama all the mathematical precision of layout with which Cortez had rebuilt the plundered Indian civilization of some two thousand years before.
Rennie marvelled.
It was difficult to embrace the thought of thousands of years of continuous existence—and yet she had to try, for wasn’t she on her way to a land which was as old as time itself? ‘The land of living fossils’, Australia was sometimes called, with its strange mammals and marsupials clinging to the remnants of their prehistoric tails in a manner unknown anywhere else on earth, and its black skinned inhabitants still wandering in the deepest interior in a nomadic search for daily food, fashioning their bark water-carriers, their coolamons, making the woomeras to couch their spears, and sharpening their stone axes with a skill that had been preserved and inherited down the centuries from the Age of Stone itself.
Rennie sighed.
In different circumstances, she might have found herself looking forward to this trip! As it was, the feelings of uncertainty and unhappiness and apprehension for Magda were still uppermost in her mind.
What if Chalford Sandasen turned out to be even worse than his ogre image? What if his wife didn’t want another child in the household? (He didn’t sound the type who’d have consulted her, anyway, but Rennie had only to remember Enid to realize that there were a hundred subtle ways in which a woman could make another’s child unwelcome!) And what if his own family didn’t take to the newcomer? What if—
She stifled this unprofitable line of thought as the jet settled gracefully on to the runway,
and lights scudded past the windows. She eased herself over with care to look out, reluctant to disturb the sleeping Magda.
Shortly afterwards, at Acapulco, the child still slept, one hand clutching the disreputable panda.
‘I’ll keep an eye on her if you’d like to go into the building.’
‘Would you? Thanks.’ Rennie gave the steward a grateful smile, and got up stiffly.
It was a long, long distance to that shadowy mystery-continent, and they were not even half-way there yet!
It was at Papeete, at five o’clock in the morning, that Keith Stamford walked back into Rennie’s life.
Or, to be precise, he walked ahead—not back.
Then something made him stop and turn around, and his eyes met Rennie’s for a split second, as men’s eyes so often did—and then they returned to her face in a look of half-stunned recognition.
He left the little group of airline personnel with whom he had been walking and talking, and came back, over the dark expanse of tarmac, to her side.
‘Rennie! I can’t believe it!’
‘Hullo, Keith.’ She smiled tremulously.
He was a Captain now, a four-striper. In the well-cut, dark uniform, the braided cap, he was as debonair and dashing as she remembered.
She felt light-headed with shock.
‘You aren’t with K.L.M. any more?’ What a prosaic question, when her heart was almost suffocating her with its hurried beating, and her limbs felt as if they had been turned to jelly!
‘Does it look like it?’ The old smile flashed out, but for all his bantering tone, Keith’s eyes were lingering. Something of the familiar, male possessiveness lurked in their dark depths as they held her in a strangely fascinating gaze. ‘No, I switched lines, and in due course promotion followed. The devil takes care of his own, you know! But you? Are you boarding just now?’
She nodded.
‘Magda’s in the aircraft, too. I’m taking her to her new guardian in Sydney.’
Keith’s gaze was still locked with her own, but there was an instant, subtle sharpening of his expression.
‘To Sydney? Do you mean—for good?’
‘On Magda’s part, yes, for good,’ Rennie agreed somewhat bleakly, and explained quickly what had happened.
‘I see.’ Keith glanced at his watch impatiently. ‘Damn it all, Rennie, I’ll have to go, and so will you.’
Yes, I know. Goodbye, Keith. It was fun to run into you.’
‘Fun, hell! Is that all you have to say? Listen to me, Rennie—’ his voice was hurried, urgent, as he thought fast—‘Where are you staying in Sydney?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then wait for me at the airport, do you hear? Don’t leave the building till I’ve seen you again. You’re not going to walk into my life and out of it again, just like that, whatever you think. I’m on this run for another few months, Tahiti to Sydney. I’ve a couple of days’ leave coming to me just now, and I get it fairly regularly, so don’t you dare walk out of Mascot until we arrange something.’
‘But I—’
‘But nothing. Will you, Rennie? Promise?’
He was looking down at her in that old, endearing, cajoling way, and Rennie felt herself weakening. For all her resolution not to become involved again, there was no doubt that Keith still had that old magical power over her. He had always been aware of the fact, and had never hesitated to use his charms ruthlessly as and when the need arose. He had been perplexed and hurt when Rennie had refused to have an affair with him, that she knew. Keith was accustomed to getting his own way where women were concerned—even beautiful, independent women such as Renata Bentmore—and he had been entirely unable to understand Rennie’s attitude.
It had all hinged on the child, though—on Magda Sandasen, who was even now fast asleep in the big jet airliner that Keith was taking on its final hop to Sydney, and who was soon to be handed over to another guardian permanently.
When he smiled at her, caressingly, like that, Rennie found herself quite unable to do more than smile weakly back, and mutter an indistinct and somewhat breathless assurance that she would speak to him again at their destination.
Satisfied, he strode off to rejoin the group who were by now entering the plane’s forward section, and Rennie herself walked blindly up the passenger gangway.
The remainder of the journey passed in a daze.
They touched down at Nadi in the Fijis—‘the last duty-free call’, the steward reminded them, and Rennie bought a small flask of French cologne and a few cigarettes, which was all that her meagre purse would allow, although she had wisely set aside a more generous sum for emergencies. She did not smoke herself, but supposed that these items might be acceptable and unembarrassing gifts for her host and hostess, when she and Magda finally met them.
Approaching Sydney, the flight route took them over the coast, and there—scarcely any way down, it seemed, and clearly visible in bright sunshine—were the wonderful beaches of which Viv had spoken so enviously. They stretched for miles both ways, like a scalloped border against the coastal scrubland—the sand so clean and white, the frothing surf gnawing tirelessly at its pale edges. These were the very beaches where Magda would soon be playing, probably in the company of Chalford Sandasen’s own children. Soon her limbs would become strong and brown, and the sea breezes would whip colour into her pallid cheeks, and gradually the thin, livid scars would recede and Magda would become a gay, laughing, energetic, pretty little girl—a little ‘new’ Australian.
Rennie gazed down in awe, feeling somehow slightly happier about the whole thing. The glaring sun and sparkling sea and inviting sands were telling her that she had done the right thing in allowing Magda to come, after all. If Rennie had to part with her, at least it was to a better, healthier, and more exciting way of life. One could hardly argue with such bounties of nature as those!
And then they were wafting down for the final halt at Kingsford Smith airport, and for the last time Rennie was bracing herself against the seat and smiling reassurance at her little companion through the rush of noise as the brakes were applied, and the giant jet came to rest and then began to taxi to its disembarkation point.
They were here! Rennie felt weary but triumphant now that the journey—an entire half-world’s flight—was over.
She claimed their luggage, went through Customs, and out into the milling throng at the bustling terminal. She had just spied Keith when a call came over the speaker, and Rennie heard her own name called.
‘Would Miss Renata Bentmore please report to the Information Desk. Miss Renata Bentmore, to Information. Thank you.’
‘Over here. I’ll come with you.’ Keith put a guiding hand beneath her elbow, and steered her through the crowd, while Magda waited obediently beside the cases.
At Information, a man came forward and raised his hat.
‘Miss Bentmore? Krantz is my name. I’ve come from Mawsby Investments on Mr. Sandasen’s instructions, to meet you and your—er—cousin, is it?—and to take you to your hotel.’
‘Hotel!’ Rennie took his extended hand, shook it politely, and collected herself. ‘But I thought we would be going to Mr. Chalford Sandasen’s own home. Does he live in a hotel, perhaps?’
The man, middle-aged, unremarkable in a pepper-and-salt worsted suit, gave her an odd look.
‘Chad? Good lord, no! He’s out of town just now, though, and reckoned he probably couldn’t make it, so he asked me to deputize for him. I’m to take you to the Eucalypt Grove, where you’ll be quite comfortable for the night. Or maybe two nights. In any case, you’re to remain there till Chad gets in touch himself.’
‘I see. Thank you, then, Mr. Krantz.’ She indicated her baggage, upon which Magda was patiently sitting, and followed the man from Mawsby Investments.
‘It’s perfect,’ murmured Keith in her ear. ‘I’ll be round tonight, Rennie. I know the Eucalypt Grove, of course—it’s very central.’ He smiled in that disturbing way. ‘We’ll go out on the town.’
‘Tonight? Oh, Keith, I can’t. How could I, with Magda and everything?’ Rennie felt torn between common sense and longing—the old yearning that his proximity could awaken so easily still, it appeared.
‘Of course you can! The Eucalypt Grove doubtless runs a child-minding service—places of that standard always do. Presumably you’ve brought some of the famous Renata Bentmore haute couture along? Good! Dress up for me, Rennie, and I’ll dig out my dinner jacket. We’ll paint the city red!’ He bent his head and kissed her, fleetingly but deliberately. ‘It will be like old times,’ he promised in a murmur. And then he was shouldering his way back through the people, and Rennie herself was following the porter and Magda and the unremarkable Mr. Krantz to the exit.
There was a strange singing in her head, and her feet suddenly seemed to have grown wings.
Soon they were nudging through the heavy traffic in Mr. Krantz’s comfortable car. To Rennie the drivers appeared to lack the discipline and orderliness of London’s controlled lanes of vehicles. Once or twice she found herself catching her breath as a brightly coloured cab shot inconsiderately across their bows, and several times other drivers gestured angrily as an unruffled Mr. Krantz made a swift and probably lawless dash into a position they already obviously coveted for themselves. He appeared not a whit perturbed, and Rennie eyed his profile with increasing respect after that.
‘What do you do, in Mawsby Investments?’ she asked politely, during a lull at a traffic light.
‘Accounts, mostly. Why?’
‘I just wondered. You referred to Mr. Chalford Sandasen as Chad. I thought you might perhaps be a relation, or a—a director?’
