Portrait of Susan

by Rosalind Brett

  “About the races?” asked the Colonel interestedly. “They say the Manleys’ Golden Grace will win the big handicap.”

  “It’s bound to.” Bill rubbed dust from his nose. “I thought Susan might like to hear about my sister. The silly little coot did some fancy diving and gave herself concussion. It’s not serious, but we’re going up to the Mountain Peak Hotel tomorrow just for the day, and I thought Susan might like to come.”

  “Why, yes!” exclaimed Susan. “Poor Wyn. I expect she’s furious with herself. Was that all you heard?”

  “Just that everything’s under control and we’re not to worry. There’ll be just the one spare seat in the car, or we’d have asked Paul as well.”

  “Shall I come down to your place?”

  “No, we’ll pick you up, probably around nine-thirty.” He gave them all a harassed smile. “Well, I guess that’s all.”

  “Have some tea, Bill,” said Mrs. Wardon.

  “I’ve just had a glass of fizz, thanks. ’Fraid I can’t stop. G’bye.” And he roared away.

  “That silly child,” said Mrs. Wardon, meaning Wyn. “Concussion through diving is the sort of thing that happens to an adolescent. I did think she was growing up, last time I saw her. I wonder why she went to the mountains for such a long spell? I don’t believe she’s ever done it before.”

  “It’s a good time of the year for it,” commented Susan. Ten minutes later David said it was time he and Susan moved. They said goodbye and got into the long silver-grey car, waving as they purred out on to the road. For several minutes he drove in silence, and Susan sat thinking in her corner.

  Then he said, “Slight concussion isn’t anything to be anxious about. From what I remember of her she’s tough enough to throw off almost any of the normal injuries.”

  “I’m not worried about Wyn’s health,” she said offhandedly.

  “Then what is it? You’ve only had this odd look since that boy turned up.”

  “I don’t think you’d be very interested.”

  His voice took a slight edge. “You could try me. Was Wyn Knight more than just a friend of yours and Paul’s?”

  It was the fact of his bringing in Paul that made her look at him quickly. His grey eyes were without warmth, but they were compelling.

  She said hesitantly, “Paul was fond of Wyn, I always used to hope that ... something good would come of it. He often admitted that of all the Rhodesian girls he’d met, Wyn was the only one who really seemed so understand his carefree approach to life, and to be something like it herself. But Wyn has eight hundred pounds a year of her own—she was left it by a grandparent—and because of it, Paul would never consider her as anything but a friend.”

  “Nothing wrong with that sort of outlook,” he commented. “I respect Paul for it.”

  She nodded, a little miserably. “Yes, I suppose in one way it’s commendable, but to me it seemed awfully silly to let money separate them. He just refused to think of her seriously at all.”

  Neither spoke for a minute or two. David was driving much more slowly than usual, apparently to give them time to discuss the matter. Susan felt both wretched and grateful. With David, none of her feelings were ever simple.

  “What about Wyn?” he said at last. “How do you think she felt about Paul?”

  “She never said, but ... well, I think she went into the mountains to get away from him.” Susan’s mouth was dry, but she added hardily, “Wyn knew that Paul had fallen rather hard for Deline, and she wouldn’t stay and watch it that’s my opinion. And if it hurt, it’s safe to say she was at least a little in love with Paul.”

  David flickered one of his glances her way. “Have you ever talked to Paul about it?”

  “Yes, but he and I haven’t been very close lately.”

  “You mean he resents your interference? He just stubbornly considers himself in love with Deline and won’t discuss it?”

  She shook her head despairingly. “I don’t know what he thinks. I ...I know you don’t like me to say anything against Deline, but I do feel that if she had discouraged Paul ... I mean...”

  “You mean,” he said with irony, “that Paul is only infatuated and that infatuation is curable. I’m inclined to agree with you, particularly as I’m quite sure Deline has only a feeling for him.”

  Susan said swiftly, unthinkingly, “They kissed—you saw them.”

  “She was sorry for him,” said David curtly. “Women are unwise in the liberties they allow to men whom they don’t really care for at all.” He paused. “Would you say that whatever Paul felt for Wyn was genuine?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure of it. He’s just ... bewitched now, that’s all. I’ve been hoping you’d send him away to Bartlett’s, or insist on his taking a holiday. Occasionally I’ve been quite desperate about it.”

  “Then why in the world didn’t you come to me? No sister could possibly handle this kind of thing.”

  She looked down. “You’re not often approachable, and I felt it was our own business. Except that if Mrs. Maynton...”

  She broke off. They were through the kloof and coming up towards the pillars at the entrance to Willowfield. Above the tecoma hedge she could see Paul standing in the veranda, and the moment they had entered the drive she saw that Clive and Deline were seated up there, near him.

  David said quietly, “Let me manage this. Don’t say a thing, except to bear out anything I might say.”

  “But he’ll think it strange if I don’t tell him at once!”

  “Not if there’s been a coolness between you. Just leave it to me.”

  As they came up into the veranda Deline gave David a sweet expansive smile. When the smile passed on to Susan, however, there was a sharpness in it.

  “I didn’t know you’d gone out, David,” she said. “We were going to wait tea for you, but Clive said he saw the two of you go off together.”

  “And I added,” stressed Clive gently, “that if I were out with Susan for the afternoon I’d certainly see that we had tea together somewhere.”

  I’m sure of it,” commented David, pulling up a chair for Susan, but himself leaning back against the pillar next to Paul’s. “We had tea at Maringa.”

  “Oh,” said Deline. “I’d like to have gone with you. But perhaps I wasn’t invited?”

  “We weren’t invited, either.”

  David got out cigarettes, and all five of them lit up. It was as he steadied the match Paul was holding, that he said,

  “You know the Knights rather well, don’t you, Paul?”

  “Yes, of course. They were our first friends here—weren’t they, Sue?”

  Susan nodded, and because she was a little frightened, said quickly, “We heard some news about Wyn—you remember she’s up in the mountains?”

  “Hasn’t got herself into some scrape, I hope!”

  “You might call it that,” said David. “She’s given herself a nasty crack on the head. Concussion, so her brother said. He came to Maringa while we were there.”

  Paul had taken his cigarette from his mouth and was staring at his sister. “How bad is it, Sue?”

  “The family are going up tomorrow,” said David, “and as they have a spare seat in the car Susan’s going with them. Concussion can be dangerous.”

  “Well ... didn’t they know?” asked Paul. “Who brought down the message?”

  Susan had rather gathered that it had come by post, but David answered again.

  “Bill Knight was in a hurry. He seemed a bit breathless and wound up, but that was natural, seeing the girl has none of her family with her.”

  “But why haven’t they gone up today?” demanded Paul. He threw the scarcely-smoked cigarette down into a flower-bed. “Imagine any family being as casual as that! Supposing they can’t get a doctor in such a remote spot?”

  “Oh, I rather gathered she’d had a doctor,” said David, with a nice degree of uncertainty. “Of course, it may not be very serious, but with concussion you don’t know for some time. I knew a c
hap who went out like a light for four days, but he got over it, eventually. I shouldn’t worry.” And he took a deep pull at his cigarette.

  Deline, who had been absorbing the scene, spoke softly. “Paul isn’t worried—are you, my dear? You told me once that she’s only a child, and children are always hurting themselves. If it were a dangerous condition her people would certainly have gone to her at once.”

  “Except that the Knights are rather apt to underestimate these things,” said David, shrugging. “They’re a charming, slapdash crowd, and totally unable to believe the worst till it’s thrust upon them. Some years ago they were amazed to find themselves nearly bankrupt. That’s the sort of people they are.”

  “It’s true,” said Susan weakly. And to Paul, “I’m so glad they can take me along tomorrow. I was thinking I might stay a night or two.”

  “I only hope you’ll find Wyn not so badly hurt, after all,” said David, and he sat down.

  The topic changed, but neither Susan nor Paul took part in it. Paul remained near the pillar, his hands in his pockets, his gaze on the Chimanimani Mountains. David solicitously asked Deline how she was feeling, and Clive suggested that they might all have dinner at the club tonight.

  “It’s all wrong,” he said, “but I feel in the mood for a celebration. Hasn’t somebody got a birthday round about now?”

  “No,” said Deline firmly, “and I’d rather have dinner here. Will you come over, Paul?”

  He came back from a distance. “Yes,” he said automatically. “Thanks very much.” He straightened, gave a nervous tug at the collar of his jacket and added, “I have something to do over at the cottage. Will you come with me, Sue?”

  Not looking at anyone, she got up and followed him down the steps, and as they moved round the path she fell in beside him. Paul didn’t speak for a while; they were actually in the cottage porch before he made a gesture which was almost a renunciation.

  “Sue, you must have heard more about Wyn than David admitted. He tried to make out the concussion wasn’t serious, but I know how reckless she can be, and it’s possible she’s hurt herself really badly. Tell me exactly what Bill said.”

  She walked ahead of him into the living-room, noticed that there were no flowers on the table, but knew that because Deline was not yet stirring from the farmhouse their absence meant nothing.

  “Bill told us very little,” she said. “But it’s not really so important to know the details.” She turned. “The news shook you, didn’t it?”

  He was a trifle white about the mouth. “Yes, it did. She’s such a crazy little fool that she could do herself untold damage.”

  She clasped her hands tightly behind her back. “Suppose she were gravely ill—what would you do?”

  “I ... I’d have to see her.”

  “But if it’s something slight it doesn’t matter?”

  “Of course it matters, but I wouldn’t be on edge about it.”

  She stared him out, and hardened her heart. “Only you can make up your own mind, Paul, but there’s nothing to stop my being cruelly candid with you. I think you half-realized when Wyn went up into the mountains that your antics with Deline were the cause, but you’d let yourself go too completely. You’ve found it inconvenient to remember Wyn, or remembered her only as a gay childish person, and been contemptuous. Deline is mature and sophisticated. She flatters you...”

  “Leave Deline out of this!”

  “You can’t leave her out, because unless you face up to what she means to you, you’ll never be able to solve anything. What will you do when ... when Deline leaves Rhodesia, or marries David?” She steeled her voice. “Perhaps then you’ll look around for Wyn, and offer her what’s left! Well, let me tell you that she’d throw it back at you! She won’t want the leavings...”

  “Give over, Sue! You know damn well why I’ve never thought of marrying Wyn.”

  “Yes, I do. She has eight hundred a year, a car of her own, unlimited clothes. But have you ever considered offering her what she hasn’t got? Such as a home and a husband who loves her very much, mental security? If Wyn’s in love with you she’s wished a million times that you were big enough to overlook her financial assets.”

  He threw out his hands. “Where is this getting us? Wyn’s away in the mountains. She may be very ill!”

  Susan felt suddenly tired, played out. “Well, what do you suggest? Be honest with yourself for once.”

  He seemed to go a shade paler. “I’m going up there to see her!”

  “You’ll make me a promise first. Deline’s out ... right out! I won’t have you raising Wyn’s hopes and then walking out on her when she’s well again. You’re not to go unless ... unless she means everything to you, Paul!”

  He shoved his hands through pale hair, his voice was unsteady. “I’m going tonight,” he said. “It’s too soon to say how I’ll be feeling about Deline when I get back, but I can tell you this. I want to ... look after Wyn for the rest of my life.”

  Susan let out a painful sigh. “I hope so,” she said from the depths of her heart. “You’d better go down and see the Knights.”

  “That bunch!” he said angrily. “If they’re going to be my in-laws I’d better not see them till I feel cooler. I’ve got to have a car. Sue, will you go over and ask David if I can use the jeep?”

  “Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait till the morning? You can take my seat in the Knights’ car.”

  “I can’t stick around here waiting. Go and ask David for me. Tell him...”

  “I know what to tell him,” she said, and went out. The other three were still on the veranda, but there was now a tray of drinks on the table. David stood up, gave Susan an unsmiling, questioning glance.

  “Paul has decided to go up to the Mountain Peak Hotel this evening,” she said. “He wants to know if he may borrow the jeep.”

  “Of course he can. Is he really worried about the Knight girl?”

  She nodded. “It seems so. They ... were very good friends.”

  It was Clive who spoke next, very pleasantly. “I say, let him take my car. He doesn’t want to look like a farmer chasing up a stray lamb.”

  “A good idea,” said David suavely. “If he takes the car he can stay as long as he likes. We’ve just had our break, so I don’t see why he shouldn’t take one. Tell him to pack enough clothes for a week. By then Wyn Knight should be out of all danger.”

  “Thank you very much,” she said in low tones.

  “And here are the car keys, Susan,” said Clive.

  She took them, but stood there uncertainly, aware of feeling shaken and spent. She didn’t want to go back to Paul, and couldn’t bear to remain here, where Clive was unnaturally light-hearted, David inscrutable, and Deline...

  She stole a glance at Deline and was rewarded for the effort by an opaque blue stare. There was no place for her here, none at all. She murmured her thanks once more, declined a drink, and went back to the cottage.

  Paul was changing into a lounge suit, and through the door she told him about the car and the permission to take a week’s holiday. Paul came from the bedroom, shrugging into his jacket.

  “Help me throw a few things into a bag, will you, Sue? At least, will you go ahead while I get out the car and check up on one or two things?” He paused, raked back his hair in a manner that was both nervous and excited. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t take the full week, do you?”

  “Not at all.” She tried to sound animated. “I think it will do both you and Wyn a lot of good.”

  He gave her a brief, awkward smile. “I do understand how you’ve been feeling, Sue. Things will be different when I come back, I promise you.”

  “As long as you’re going to be happy,” she said.

  “We’re all going to be happy.” Another pause. “Sue, I hate to ask this, but ... do you mind not going up to the hotel with the Knights tomorrow? I’d rather get through it all alone.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, and went into the bedroom, hoping he
wouldn’t say any more.

  But there was one final thing: “You’re tops, Sue. I’ll do as much for you, one day!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NEXT morning Susan had toast with her early tea instead of the usual breakfast. She took a ride on the gelding, paused on an eminence to watch Africans gathering down in the valley for some sort of religious feast. There were bands of different sects, men and women dressed in uniform scarlet and white, and others wearing brilliant emerald with a white cross on the back of the robe. The crowd became a thousand strong, seated in a circle about a black-garbed priest who addressed them in Matabele.

  It was nearly ten when she got back to the house. The veranda was brightly polished and empty, the house quiet, but Deline sat near the open french window of the living-room, and as Susan entered the hall her name was called, sharply.

  Susan pressed back hair which had risen in the wind, and went into the room.

  “Good morning, Deline,” she said politely.

  “I suppose it does seem a good morning to you,” was the cool reply. “Your luck seems to have changed.”

  “Does it?” Susan looked down at the languid, elegant figure stretched in the lounger. “Naturally, I’m glad my brother has gone, but I hadn’t much to do with his going.”

  “Oh, no. You only begged David to put over the news about the Knight girl in a way that would wring your brother’s heart!”

  “If Wyn is capable of wringing his heart at all, it’s right for him to be with her.”

  Deline shrugged impatiently. “Let’s leave it. He’s gone, and I’m not likely to weep over it. What I don’t much care for is the fact you haven’t gone with him.”

  “Did you call me to tell me that?”

  “Not exactly. David is out, and I thought this might be a good time for an all-round chat.” The blue glance flickered upwards. “Sit down, Susan.”

  If possible, Susan grew a little more rigid. “I’d rather not. We’ve nothing to say to each other. All you need to hear is that I’ll leave Willowfield as soon as I can.”