“Are you counting me in on this?” she asked thinly.
“Of course,” said David.
“But you know that I can’t go.”
David tapped ash into the Delft ashtray. He looked at her face, at her lowered lids. “I knew I should meet opposition from you,” he said, “but I intend to wear it down. You need a break, perhaps more than any of us, and if we’re away only a week it will do you good. Paul can carry on here alone for that long. He said weeks ago that he’d be prepared to.”
She flickered him a glance, locked her fingers more tightly in her lap. “You can easily find someone to take my place. I’d just as soon remain here with Paul. Besides, I’m waiting for that letter from my mother.”
“I’ve thought of that, too,” David observed. “I’ll give Paul a list of places where he can reach us by telegram. It’s easily done, by using post offices. You can’t slide out of it, Susan.”
“You shouldn’t want to slide out of it,” said Clive, giving her his half-teasing smile. “Mozambique, Susan! The aroma of continental cooking, wine and cigars, tropic nights, senhoritas and cavalheiros, Africans with a Portuguese flavor. Just imagine—it begins only a dozen or so miles away!”
“I know, but I still don’t think I should go.” She smiled faintly. “It might be almost a holiday to be here alone again with Paul.”
Just then, David did not pursue the matter. They left the table and Susan went out and walked down to the cottage. Finding the door wide she went into the living-room. Near the table she paused, because a flat bowl of waxen white blossoms stood in the centre of it. They were magnolia flowers, gathered with some difficulty from the top of the great dark green tree at the back of the cottage.
A run-out gramaphone disc circled on the turn-table of the portable, and Susan lifted the arm and snapped on the brake. The record was of a popular love song that not so long ago Paul had described as “gush”. She heard him whistling the song softly, heard the slamming of a door and his quick footsteps as he came into the room.
He saw Susan and stopped, said nonchalantly, “Why, hallo, Susie. I thought you’d forsaken me.”
This was odd, coming from one who had curtailed her every visit during the past fortnight, but Susan let it pass. “We didn’t meet yesterday, did we? Have a good day?”
“Marvellous.”
Ostentatiously she raised an eyebrow. “New friends?”
“No, the Manleys. We did some fishing.”
“You usually find fishing dull.”
“I suppose it was, in patches. Good day on the whole, though.”
Particularly the last half-hour of it, thought Susan unhappily. “I like your flowers,” she said.
He had the grace to color slightly. “I used a ladder to get them, early this morning. They looked so good, all dewy in the sunshine.”
“One might almost think you were expecting visitors.”
“Even that’s possible,” he said rather shortly.
“Was it you who switched off the gramophone?”
“The record had come to an end.”
Paul made a complication of taking the gramophone record from the turn-table and slipping it into its paper cover. “I hear you’re all going off to Mozambique,” he said.
“Who told you about it?”
“David came by, only a few minutes ago.” He gave more studious attention to the gramophone. “You needn’t stay out of it for me, Sue. David’s right. You do look peaky.”
“You used to avoid loneliness like the dickens.”
“It happens that at the moment I have plenty to think about. Besides, a few big nights have been arranged at the club next week. I shan’t have time to be lonely.”
With unusual coldness and calculation, she said, “It’s bad enough living at the farmhouse with Mrs. Maynton. She’d be impossible on a camping trip.”
Rather abruptly, Paul closed the gramophone. He turned round, shot Susan a half-glance and felt in his pockets for cigarettes. “Deline is a type that you can know very little about,” he said. “It’s childish to dislike people simply because you don’t understand them.”
“Quite,” she answered clearly, above the fast beating of her heart. “And it’s very foolish to lose your head over someone who’s merely using you to further her own plans. You must know that as far as you’re concerned there’s no future in it.”
Paul had lighted his cigarette and disposed of the match. His face looked fine-drawn, but his manner was blithe as he responded, “I’m content to live in the present—always have been. Taken all round, this particular present is pretty good.” A pause. “How would you like it if I put a spoke in your little bit of fun with Clive Carlsten?”
“It’ll never be necessary.” Her tone softened, was pleading. “Don’t get built up too high, Paul.”
“I’ve been around,” he said pleasantly, with finality. “I can manage my own affairs. The boy has the day off. What about rustling up some tea?”
It was about noon when she left the cottage and walked down the garden. Apparently a tireless couple had turned up again for tennis, for from one point on the path Susan could see mixed doubles on the court: Clive and Deline playing two others. Deline was certainly demonstrating her return to good health.
In the living-room Amos had drawn the curtains, and she sat down in the cool dimness with her legs stretched in front of her. A drowsiness stole over her, in which she remembered the year at Willowfield with Paul as though it had happened in some other life. Everything then had been too perfect, too complete. Now, she realized that it had only seemed complete.
Something cool and velvety tapped her hand and she straightened swiftly, drawing in her feet. She picked the fragrant spray of lemon-flower from her lap, looked up into grey eyes that were speculative and a little enquiring.
“Take it hard, don’t you?” said David. “Have you decided never to give in to me on any point, without a fight?”
She touched the yellow stamens of the small white flowers. “What are we talking about at the moment?”
“You know well enough. I’ve been over to see the Colonel. He says he’ll have his trailer cleaned up for me to collect tomorrow. We can start out on Tuesday morning.”
Her fingers still hovered over the petals. “May I ask you something? Would you allow yourself to be rushed into something you didn’t want? I’m sure you wouldn’t. In some ways you’re too single-minded, Mr. Forrest.”
He sat back on the edge of the table, looking at her through narrowed lids. “The next time you call me Mr. Forrest I’ll make you sorry. It’s not the only sharp little weapon you have, but it’s certainly one you can dispense with. As for stampeding you into something you don’t want ... I wonder? Could you bear to think of Deline being able to do as she pleased with Clive?”
“Is that why you feel I ought to go along—to keep Clive occupied?”
“All right, twist it,” he said. “The fact remains that I first planned this little jaunt more for you than for either of the others. Clive makes a show of his interest in native scenes, but he wouldn’t care a damn if he never saw another. Deline may be keen on the idea, but she hasn’t yet got the feeling for Africa that you have. When you told me about the places you wanted to visit you were starry-eyed about it, and I believe that was your genuine reaction; your present attitude isn’t you at all.”
“Wasn’t it a little strange,” she said carefully, “your thinking up a little treat for me?”
He sounded exasperated. “Won’t you ever get it into your head that I’m as much of a human being as you are? And doesn’t it occur to you that there are other things I’ve done for you, merely for the pleasure of doing them? Your brother’s cottage, for instance.”
“Yes, I know. I’m ... sorry.”
“Don’t give me gratitude. I couldn’t stand that. Just be normal once in a while.”
“There’s nothing abnormal in my not wanting to go with you into Mozambique.”
“Oh, yes, there is
,” he said at once. “If any of your young friends proposed such a trip you’d move heaven and earth to go with them. I’d even say”—deliberately—“that if Clive were to be of the party you wouldn’t object.”
Her fingers crushed one of the flowers. “Whether I go or not isn’t really important,” she said doggedly.
“It is, to me. If you flatly refuse to go the whole thing is off.”
She lay back and looked at him, could make nothing of the expression in that lean face, the dark grey eyes. Hazily, she knew there was some facet of this situation that was totally obscure. She made guesses and rejected them—all but one. The four of them were accustomed to being together under one roof and a newcomer might create difficulties. There was also the possibility that he still felt responsible for her unhappiness since his return. Even so, he must realize that she would probably profit more from a week alone at Willowfield.
Then she remembered something. “You once hinted that a trip like this one might crystallize a few things for us all,” she remarked.
“Did I, Sweet Sue?” he answered mockingly. “I must have been crazy.”
He spoke in lighter tones.
“Let’s drop all these preconceived ideas and set out to have a really good time. Both Deline and Clive can be good companions and they’re as ignorant as you are about Portuguese East Africa. Let’s promise each other a week of superficial fun and no delving. You need it, Susan.” He laughed. “Heaven help me, I believe I need it myself! What do you say?”
The change in him brought an absurd pricking to her eye-lids. She couldn’t reply at once, and by the time she was able there were voices and laughter in the porch, and the tennis four came in. Deline had a high color, the china blue eyes sparkled with a sapphire lustre. She flicked a speck from an elegant tanned leg and threw her racquet into a chair.
“So you’re back, David! We had a splendid game.”
“Good,” he said. “You’ll be thirsty.” And to the visitors: “You’ll stay for lunch, of course?”
They thanked him and accepted. Clive got out drinks, called for iced water. Deline’s shrewd glance shifted from David to Susan and back again.
“Been back long, darling?” she asked.
“No. Everything’s laid on with the Colonel. We’ll get off on Tuesday.”
Clive looked up from working the siphon. “So Susan’s capitulated. That’s great.”
David said quietly, “She thought we could go without her, but she knows better now.” He drew attention from Susan, said over his shoulder, “You might tell Amos there’ll be two more for lunch, little one.”
Thankfully, Susan escaped. She felt like a scarred warrior who has been honorably beaten in battle. She tingled with an emotion that seemed to have some cockeyed relation to happiness, and much of the tension was gone.
If David intended helping, it shouldn’t be difficult to get into holiday mood. It was only now, when she had given in, that Susan knew how desperately she had longed to stay close to him for the remainder of her time in Rhodesia.
By the time the car had reached the first small town it had covered thirty miles of Mozambique territory.
An old settlement of flat roofs and pink and white walls dreamed beneath a sun that was lethal in its intensity. The gardens were orthodox, there were no white people in the streets and few Africans. One gained the impression of an eternal drowsiness.
The road ran on between sisal and coffee plantations. Because the caravan slowed them down, it was hot inside the car, but all four were wearing as little as possible, and between Deline and Susan in the back of the car stood a big vacuum container from which they could draw reasonably cold water whenever they wished. They stopped for lunch among tall palms, lazed there till the sun began to go down, and took to the road again, working south.
Deline, to Susan’s astonishment, was calm and apparently enjoying herself. Her shorts were tussore, her shirt of crocus blue silk, and her sandals were an exquisitely hand-made pair more suited to Deauville than the wilds of Africa. It seemed that she had now graduated completely from the interesting invalid into the graceful outdoor type. She had even used a clear varnish on her nails.
Susan, of course, wore khaki linen shorts and a white cotton shirt. Her sandals were the leather sole and crossed-strap sort known as “coolies” and sold by the hundred for ten shillings a pair in Kumati. David had warned them both that they must not appear in anything but feminine garb in the streets of Mozambique, so each had a button-through dress handy which could be slipped on when necessary. That first day, though, they saw few signs of white civilization, and after dark it was as if they had penetrated the deep heart of Africa; even the native fires were too far from the road to be seen.
They stopped for the night in a clearing which David vaguely remembered from his last trip into the territory, some years ago. There was an expanse of savannah encircled by trees, and where the elephant grass was shortest he drove off the road and braked.
He remained still for a moment behind the wheel. “It must be all of six years since I spent a night outdoors,” he said.
“This will be the first in my life,” remarked Clive lugubriously. “I think I’d sooner sit up over a game of cards than try to make friends with the ants and mosquitoes.”
“We’ll take care of the pests.” David turned. “Are you two girls stiff?”
Deline stretched slender arms and gave him a sweet smile.
“A little, darling, but it’s glorious to be here.”
“The first night is a novelty,” pronounced Clive heavily. “How you doing, Susan?”
“I’ve camped out before. Paul and I did it one weekend, with the Knights, but it was near the river, and cold. This air is like warm milk.” Susan opened the car door and slipped out on to the grass. “Just look at the stars! And what’s that smell?”
“Coffee,” said David as he joined her. “We can’t be far from somebody’s drying grounds. Ever eaten fresh coffee beans, Susan?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen them, outside a shop.”
“Then you must—and chew some, too. They taste wonderful.”
Deline had come between them. “It’s the roasting, of course, that gives coffee its distinctive flavor. I could drink some—couldn’t you, David?”
He answered, “Yes, but we’ll make it on the spirit stove. Seeing that we’re near a coffee farm there won’t be much game about, so we don’t need a fire. We’d better conserve those fire-lighters Amos made for us.”
“But we need some sort of light.”
“That’s taken care of. Let’s open up the caravan and see how things have fared.”
The caravan was a blue and cream affair in which the Colonel and his wife had taken many annual holidays. Two bunks, already made up with mattresses and blankets, were strapped to opposite walls, and above them were long hinged counters that could be let down for use as kitchen tables. Higher still were the food and china cupboards, and at the front end, fixed to the wall, stood yet another cupboard neatly packed with hardware.
David brought out two very modern battery lights that he had bought only the day before. The kettle was set on the spirit stove, the folding table and stools put up, and Susan poured tinned sweet corn and braised beef into saucepans, ready for heating. The bread, which had been wrapped in a damp cloth, smelled peculiar, the butter was almost oil and the sugar lumps had to be prised apart; but even though Deline sniffed twice at everything, Susan found it an enjoyable meal.
When it was over she sat on the grass and lay back on a cushion. Warm air drifted over her bare legs and arms, stirred the pale hair and drugged her senses. She heard Clive disclaiming recognition of himself in such surroundings, and David outlining their route.
A lighted cigarette was put between her lips and she willed herself not to open her eyes to find out who was the giver. Happiness was so tenuous and mental; she had only to convince herself that David’s lips had touched the cigarette before hers to be transported
to a tiny world of bliss.
Deline was saying, “I do hope we’re able to go dancing in Lourenco Marques, and I’d like to bathe in the sea, too. Your rivers are very lovely, David, but they’re no substitute for the blue sea.”
“At Kumati, we’re only two hundred miles from the sea,” he said. “It’s quite easy to go to Beira for the weekend.”
“What’s Beira like?”
“Improving tremendously. There’s a magnificent hotel—the best in Africa.”
“Is it the sort of place where one could have a seaside cottage?”
“Yes, but the summers are hot.”
“Still, one could use a cottage for half the year?”
“I suppose so.”
“Not thinking of setting up home in Beira, are you, Deline?” asked Clive lazily. “You wouldn’t stick it.”
“One’s permitted to show interest without committing oneself,” she answered equably.
“I wonder how long you could live in Africa without chafing?” mused David. “So far you’re done remarkably well.”
“But what about you?” murmured Deline. ‘You’re a Rhodesian only by birth, you know. By inclination you’re still deep in aeronautics.”
Tautly, Susan listened for his reply.
“I’m naturally interested in developments,” he said. “When you change your occupation you don’t drop your interests.”
The husky murmur came again. “I love your farm, David, but I was awfully proud of having you as a relative in England.” An engaging hesitancy came into her voice. “Don’t you really thing you were doing a ... well, a bigger job over there?”
“What job could be bigger than providing beef and corn for the masses?” he said, “not to mention dairy products, when I really get going. I’ll admit tobacco is a luxury commodity, and I’d cut it out if it were necessary, but if we’re comparing jets with produce, I’m all for the farm.”
“I hope you’re satisfied, Deline,” said Clive, with what sounded like his tongue in his cheek.
Portrait of Susan Page 15
