Love This Stranger

by Rosalind Brett

  “You’ll have to stay in Fort Leppa for the present,” he whispered close to her ear. “I’ll arrange for Mrs. Greaves to buy you some clothes, and she’ll look after you till you’re on your feet again. Don’t go beyond the garden. Just concentrate on being well and happy.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll spend the night somewhere around, but I shall leave too early tomorrow to see you.”

  “You’re returning to Lokola,” she said in flat, dry tones.

  “I’ve done no work since Wednesday. Besides, I have to allay curiosity.”

  “Yes, that’s rather important. The preposterous fiction had slipped my mind.”

  “Don’t, Tess.” He let her he back again, and straightened the sheet. “Shall I go now?”

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her cool, unresponsive lips. “I’ll be back within a few days. Don’t take any chances.”

  In the hall he met the doctor.

  Bluntly, he asked. “You’re sure there’ll be no complications?”

  “As sure as a doctor can be. Her vitality is naturally low after such an experience. It’s merely a matter of rest and correct feeding.”

  “In that case I’ll go to Lokola tonight.”

  “I’d advise you to take a few hours’ sleep before travelling.”

  “I’ll rest better if I can clear up a few points first. Thanks for all you’ve done, Doc. Good night.”

  Dave pondered. He could borrow a car easily enough at the club. Redding was staying there, and he knew one or two other residents. But he would sooner leave the town unobtrusively. He approached a bearded, white-turbanned Hausa, and gave him a ceremonial greeting. Did this most worthy son of a noble family know of anyone who owned a car and would be willing to hire it out for one week?

  A Hausa will trade anything, even that which has no positive existence. Dave got his hat, and by seven-thirty he had left Fort Leppa well behind him.

  The days were long and dreamy, the heat within the walled town so intense that few white people used the streets during the day. Tess had drifted into a state of mind in which nothing had much importance. She read novels or merely sat in the veranda and drowsed. Mrs. Greaves was usually busy over her husband’s clerical work, or out attending various committees for the welfare of the natives. The doctor himself came home only for meals. So most of the day Tess was alone, except for the houseboy who meticulously followed his master’s instructions in regularly bringing her meals. She seldom thought about the town, with its sixty white inhabitants and continual, if slender, flow of visitors from small stations like Lokola.

  Thursday evening came before she had a visitor. Dinner was over and the Greaves had gone to a friend’s house for bridge. A party was in progress at the house across the road. Tess couldn’t see anything because the place was screened off by casuarinas, but the music and laughter came over clearly, and made her restless. Not that she had any desire to dance or sing, or even for company. It was merely an atmosphere that shut her out, made her too conscious of her own isolation.

  When Luke came up the drive she nearly cried aloud, “Thank God!”

  He came on to the veranda and stared down at her with an odd, crooked smile.

  “You look wonderful,” he said.

  “I don’t feel it.”

  “I mean, you look wonderful to me, after last Saturday. How’s everything?” He dropped into a chair.

  “Progressing. In fact, I’m ready to leave this house.”

  “You mustn’t do that,” he said quickly.

  “Dave’s orders?” she queried. Then, point-blank, “Isn’t he coming?”

  “Of course he is ... later tonight. You may not see him till morning, but he’s staying the week-end.”

  “That will be nice.”

  She had spoken non-committally, but Luke’s expression went keen.

  “If, instead of boarding a freight train, you’d come to me, I’d have helped you.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t cause trouble between you. It’s no good now. Dave has my passport.”

  “You still intend to leave him?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Luke, take me for a walk. I’ll put a scarf over my head and even wear a veil if you insist, but for heaven’s sake take me for a walk!”

  Conquered by the undisguised anguish in her voice, he muttered: “Well ... perhaps to the end of the road. But make it a big scarf. That gilt curly cut of yours can be seen a mile off.”

  At the gate she said: “No car? Where did you leave it?”

  “Outside the club. I walked up.”

  They strolled between well-treed gardens and brightly-lit houses to an expanse of thorn scrub that smelled of the balsams and sage which clung here and there to a crevice in the stone outcrops. On the way back they threaded the avenues to prolong the distance. Except for an occasional car there was no one about and, with her arm caught comfortingly close to Luke’s side, Tess lost a little of the hunted feeling. But when, at a turning, she exerted a slight persuasive pressure, he demurred.

  “Not down there, Tess. That’s the centre of the town.”

  “Nobody knows me here.”

  “We hope not. You’ve had enough exercise, anyway.”

  “That’s not much farther.”

  “We’re near enough. This is the back of the club.”

  “Quite a number of cars —” She stopped abruptly. One of the cars was detaching itself from the queue; a large one with the interior softly-illumined. Dave was driving it, smiling as he curved out and put on speed. At his side sat a woman whose sleek, dark head was turned his way. In the moment of passing her profile was clear-cut and beautiful.

  Tess relaxed her grasp of Luke’s arm, and her feet began to move again.

  “So you came in Dave’s car,” she said without expression. “That was why you walked to the house.”

  “I wasn’t trying to fool you. We went to the club to book rooms.”

  “And Dave asked you to come and see me while he — Luke, who is that woman?”

  “Avia Redding. She’s living at the club. She was due back at Lokola, but her husband’s ill at the clinic.”

  “And Dave has to nurse Mrs. Redding through her husband’s illness. You’d have thought ...”

  Luke knew the rest of the sentence as if she had spoken it. “You’d have thought he’d have come to me first, if only from a sense of duty.” He lengthened his pace so that she had to hurry a little.

  “He’s probably giving her a lift to a friend’s house. I wouldn’t mind betting that he’ll be at the doctor’s by the time we get there.”

  Luke would have lost his bet, but Tess had no sooner brought him a drink to the porch than Dave did turn up, swinging back the gate and striding up the path with an arrogance that tugged at her nerves. With tensed sinews she bore his touch on her shoulder.

  “Hello,” she said, before he could speak. “Sweet of you to come as soon as you arrived.”

  Luke swallowed his brandy.

  “Don’t go, Luke,” she said hastily. “I want a drink, too.”

  “Have it with Dave. I’ll see you again before we go back. Good night, Tess.”

  When his footfalls had faded, Dave laid an arm across her shoulders. “Let’s go inside.”

  In the lounge she drew away from him and shed her jacket. “Will you have whisky?”

  “Later on. Don’t you feel too good?”

  “I feel fine.” The emphasis was overdone.

  He came to where she stood near the wine cabinet. “What are you worked up about? Haven’t things been going right?”

  “The doctor and his wife have been exceptionally kind, but I can’t live with them any longer.”

  “I’m here till Monday. There’s plenty of time to arrange something.” His hand lifted as though to hold her wrist but she withdrew it swiftly. “I see. You’d rather not be touched,” he remarked calmly. “I’ll have that drink now, if you like.”

  She opened the cabinet and indicat
ed where he would find bottle and glasses, crossed the room and sat down. He mixed his drink and tried it. Tess found her breath coming spasmodically; she wasn’t ready for the tension of a scene with Dave. But there wouldn’t be a scene. In her mind she could see him reasonably concluding that she’d had a rough time and was still on edge.

  She watched him put down the glass and come round to rest upon the arm of another chair. He folded his arms and smiled at her.

  “I believe it suits you better to wear your hair short like that. Reminds me of the first time I saw you.”

  “My face was different then,” she said.

  “Perhaps — rather more frank and clear. You never bothered to hide anything.”

  “I had nothing to hide.”

  “Is that meant as a kidney punch?” His tone remained even as he added: “I saw you out walking with Walt. I’d told him you weren’t to go near town till tomorrow.”

  “Don’t blame him. He had no option.”

  “I guessed that. You’re a damned idiot.”

  “I know — and an inconvenient one.” Her voice rose. “Dave, I must leave this district.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t. I’ve given my word to Claud Kent to keep you either at Lokola or Fort Leppa. When this gun-running crowd are caught, you’ll be called as a witness.”

  She paled. “But I don’t have to stay all that while! A signed statement...”

  “A statement under oath, remember. Would you sign yourself Teresa Paterson?” He paused, smiling slightly. “I thought not. The repercussions of a lightning decision such as the one I had to make on the night you arrived in Lokola can be hell, can’t they? The simplest way out would be a quick trip to one of the ports down-river to persuade a missionary to marry us — but that would put you in a spot with Richard Barnwell.”

  “Fantastically funny,” she said scathingly. “I think I’ve suffered enough at your hands.”

  His glance was mocking. “You didn’t seem to object to them the other evening.”

  He was rewarded by a sweep of high colour which completely displaced her pallor.

  “Only you would hurl a moment’s weakness at me. Just then I’d have behaved the same with ... Luke, or any other man.” She leapt up and found him barring her way of escape. “Get out and leave me alone.”

  “Not yet, my sweet. And don’t excite yourself, or I’ll tell Greaves to order you back to bed.” Thoughtfully, he went on: “I wonder if you and I will ever be able to talk together like two sensible human beings? Except for a brief interlude of madness we’ve spent most of the time we’ve been acquainted in baiting each other. You know why, don’t you, Tess?”

  Her chin came up. “Yes. We don’t really like one another.”

  “You’re wrong. From the beginning you challenged me. You were small and sweet, and tough and defiant — the queerest mixture I’d met in a girl. Your independence set my teeth on edge; your cheerful yielding up to your brothers of the money you earned maddened me.”

  She twisted and went over to a side table tor cigarettes. “I thought you didn’t care for exhumations.”

  “I don’t. Since the Thursday night when Claud Kent handed over to me the green suit you’d been wearing and I knew you were in danger, I’ve admitted to myself that what we shared never died — it was buried alive.”

  He had casually followed her, taken the cigarette from her fingers and slipped it between his own lips. Without comment she selected another and struck a match. His cigarette jutted to the flame.

  “Thank you, little one.” Smoke spiralled from his sardonic mouth. “It must be nearly your bedtime, Teresa. Don’t mind me. I’m waiting to have a word with Greaves. I’ll be over tomorrow — probably after lunch. There’s a meeting at head office in the morning.”

  “Bring Luke with you.”

  “Why? D’you feel more snug with him around? Walt has feelings, you know.”

  “Where I’m concerned they’re nice ones — refreshingly so in this hothouse of the baser emotions. I’m not surprised that some of you go warped.”

  “Engaging child,” he said. “Since we’re being personal, you look like something from the native market in that dress. I’ll try to get you a tailored one,”

  “Yes, do,” she said coolly. “Ask Mrs. Redding to choose it. I’m sure she has perfect taste.”

  “That’s an idea,” he stated equably. “Good night.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE north road from Fort Leppa ran straight across the burnt-up surface of Africa. At one of the villages they stopped to stretch their legs. Dave and Luke disinterestedly lounged in the shade of a rest-house while Tess roamed around.

  As Tess came back to the rest-house Luke made room for her between himself and Dave on the wooden seat which flanked the back wall. There were only three walls: it reminded Tess of a primitive bus shelter.

  “I wish we hadn’t finished the drink,” she said.

  Dave regarded her with some displeasure. “You had it — a whole pint of lime water. If you weren’t so restless you wouldn’t be eternally thirsty.”

  Luke raised himself from the rickety bench. “I’ll go and see if I can beg some sort of fruit. It’ll help till we can buy a drink.”

  “Walt has tactfully left us alone,” Dave murmured.

  “Luke doesn’t despair of keeping us out of the divorce court,” she remarked.

  Dave leant one arm along his crossed knee. “You’ll have no bother in moving to the club tomorrow?”

  “No. I don’t possess much more than what I’m wearing.”

  “I’m hoping to put that right next week-end — you can’t buy much here. I haven’t seen you as often as I promised, but I’ve been busy ... and that’s not a cue for you to make a crack about Mrs. Redding.”

  “How’s the sick husband?”

  “Pretty bad. Avia is going with us to Lokola in the morning. She plans to empty the house and close it up”

  “What will she do then?”

  “If Redding gets well she’ll take him home.”

  “But she’s hoping he won’t.”

  The corners of his mouth curled with distaste. “That’s hardly the sort of comment I’d expect from you. Avia’s having a tough time.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped. “When I came to Cape Ricos I almost prayed to hear that you were dead.”

  “I?” he said, startled.

  She nodded moodily. “I thought death would take you right out of my life, and let me go wholeheartedly to Richard. I’ve never been ... safe.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Her eyebrows lifted, a shade wearily. “Sometimes, though that wouldn’t be a bit important if I were happy. How did I manage to make such a muddle of my life?”

  “Men,” he said laconically. “There’s something in you that makes you tackle them two or three at a time. I hope Richard is jealous and possessive. That’s the only way he’ll keep you.”

  “I’m not going to marry Richard.”

  “No?” There was no astonishment in the query. “Well, maybe he’s better off that way.”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t take me with you tomorrow?” she asked.

  “You suppose right.”

  “You said the danger is over.”

  “So it is. The gun-running has been stopped and the police have arrested two Portuguese who were selling the stuff to native chiefs.”

  “What about that man?”

  “You won’t be called as a witness against him, after all. It seems to be a clear-cut case. He’ll probably be fined heavily for certain contraventions of the law and kicked out of the country.”

  “Rather a tame ending to so much excitement.” She bent to pick up a twig and trace lines with it on the floor. “I didn’t think you’d let him get away with trying to poison me.”

  “I didn’t,” he said casually. “I shot him in the hip.”

  The twig dropped. For a long moment Tess was still, gazing close at the pattern she had drawn. Her hea
rt seemed to be hammering into her thigh and her throat at the same time. She straightened up.

  “When?”

  “The day after I found you in the forest. I hadn’t dared to use natives in the search for you in case the alarm should be given — in which event you’d doubtless have come to a hasty and violent end. But once you were virtually under lock and key I turned some boys loose. We found the remains of the shack, and cars tracks led along a concealed path. Then we came across the car itself; it was smothered by vines and branches, which I noticed had been literally torn from the earth and the trees only a short while before. It was easy to follow him a mile or two into the undergrowth, and when I did come up with him, crouching among ferns, I let him have it.”

  She made a small sound of sick distress. “He was like a trapped animal. Need you have done it?”

  “I’m afraid so, Teresa. I felt decidedly better afterwards.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t kill him. I’m sure he was fundamentally decent.” She pressed a clammy hand over her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “We’ve hardly been alone since I arrived last Thursday. Besides, I knew you’d be disgusted — your whole sense of values is cockeyed.”

  After a minute she got up and went to the opening of the rest-house. About a hundred yards away, in the shade of a bokungu tree, Luke sat surrounded by coconuts. He was piercing holes and emptying the milk into the metal cap from the thermos flask.

  “It seems that I’m free to leave West Africa,” she said thinly.

  Dave shifted. “If you care to wait a month we can all leave in style.”

  She turned and regarded him queerly. “Is this another joke?”

  “Not at all. At the company meeting on Friday morning I resigned — gave a month’s notice. The usual notice is three months, but I slipped into the job without a contract. Brig can do what he likes with my share of the tin mine. When Walt hears that I’m finishing here he’ll wind up, too.”

  She held on to an ant-ridden post. “Where are you going?”