“We mustn’t count on it,” Wheeler had said—“we,” as if it was his concern as well as hers.
She looked up at him swiftly, and for a second time a sharp question flashed through her mind: “Am I falling in love with him?”
As if, knowing as much as he did about her, he would ever give her a serious thought. He had been kind, very kind—but when the voyage came to an end … her heart contracted a little as she remembered that there were only two more ports before they reached Colombo, and then—what?”
Return journey … she would have to go back if she could find the money, and she would go back in a strange ship with strange people.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Wheeler said; and she gave a quick sigh.
“Nothing very much. I was only thinking that the voyage will soon be over.”
“Is that a thing for regret?” he asked.
Rocky nodded.
“Oh yes, I think so—I’ve been so happy—at least I was until— last night.”
He was silent for a moment, then he said: “There is an old saying that when one door shuts another opens.” And Rocky answered with a flash of her old humour:
“Yes, but supposing the new door opens on an attic?”
“We won’t suppose anything so depressing,” he said firmly.
Rocky leaned her chin in the palm of her hand and looked across at Sir John and Miss Esther. It would be lovely if those two fell in love and married, she thought fancifully—or didn’t people of that age fall in love? Not that there was any reason why they shouldn’t —love wasn’t a thing which belonged exclusively to youth. She would so like Miss Esther to be happy—she would like to know that she was away from Miss Pawson’s crabbing influence and happy in a life of her own.
Lady John Stannard—her lips curved into a little smile at the thought—Miss Esther would make a perfect Lady Stannard.
Wheeler said suddenly: “I am prepared to risk another whole penny in exchange for your thoughts.”
Rocky laughed. “I was thinking what a lovely Lady Stannard Miss Esther would make,” she said.
He raised his dark brows a little cynically.
“I doubt if it has ever occurred to Sir John,” he answered.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rocky insisted. “He has paid her quite a lot of attention—and there was no need to.”
“One always finds friendships of that kind on board ship,”
Wheeler said indifferently. “As a rule a man picks out—to him—the most attractive woman—or girl—and they go about together for the duration of the voyage—and then—” he stopped with a half shrug of his big shoulders; and Rocky added with a note of defiance:
“And then he goes back to his wife, I suppose.”
“Probably, if he has one.”
“Sir John is a bachelor,” she reminded him.
“Sir John is not the only man in the ship,” Wheeler said.
She flung him a quick glance, remembering that more than once Clive had expressed the opinion that this man was married.
She suddenly became aware that an attractive-looking Arab was standing beside her speaking in a low musical voice.
“I tell your fortune, Lady—I tell the fortune of many princesses from all over the world—and I tell them truly. For five shillings I tell you the past and the future.”
“Go away,” Wheeler said; but Rocky hesitated.
“I’ve never had my fortune told,” she whispered.
The Arab heard her and pressed his advantage.
“I tell you truly—I verry wise man—show me your hand, lady, and I tell you everything you know and many things you don’t know,” and before she could prevent him he was kneeling on the ground beside her and had taken her soft hand in his.
She flung an appealing glance at Wheeler, but he had turned sideways in his chair and was frowning.
As if it was his affair, she thought, whereas it was entirely her own.
She looked down at the man’s dark face.
“Well, tell me,” she said.
He traced the faint lines on her palm with his forefinger.
“You have had much trouble—for one so young the days have been dark as night—but now you escape, you go free like the birds, and for a little you sing also like the birds, but now—” he hesitated, glancing up at her with his deep searching eyes. “You not married?” he asked.
Rocky shook her head; and Wheeler said abruptly:
“You are paying him to tell you.”
The man flung Wheeler a little glance of contempt.
“I tell her—I tell her everything,” he said calmly. “And I tell you, too, Sir, though you not believe—I tell you that you will be married—very soon you will be married.”
“Rot,” Wheeler said angrily; but the man insisted.
“I tell you you will marry—in a strange country—not in your own country——”
Rocky broke in: “But you are telling my fortune.”
His eyes came back to her hand.
“And you will marry, also,” he said slowly. “You will marry a man—who… I think he not love you as you love him, but some day—the flower will blossom—a beautiful flower of happiness, for you to wear all your life.” He lowered his voice and added urgently: “Give me ten shilling, lady, and I tell you more—much more.”
Rocky laughed and shook her head.
“I can’t afford ten shillings, and, anyway, you said it would be only five.”
“If you start arguing you won’t get anything,” Wheeler warned him.
The Arab shrugged his shoulders and turned again to his task.
“First, you have good news—soon it comes—before the new moon you will have good news, but there is also a sad heart close beside you—and eyes which will look into yours, and they ask you a question which you cannot answer—you understand?”
Wheeler broke in: “These fellows all talk the same jargon— I’ve heard them a dozen times. Don’t believe what he says.”
The Arab flung him an angry glance, but he continued imperturbably. “You must not be afraid of life—you understand me? Once you had cause to fear, but not now—it is all gone—it is all behind you—and it will not return. You meet a gentleman”—once again he lowered his voice mysteriously. “You meet a gentleman you will love—and he make life safe for you—that is what you want—someone to say I am here—there is nothing any more for you to fear.’”
Rocky listened with rapt attention, although her common sense warned her. “It is all nonsense—how can he possibly know—of course, it’s all nonsense,” and the soft voice went on, repeating itself in the manner of all fortune-tellers. “In the past there was tragedy and death—and sorrow—but now you stand in the sunshine with this gentleman beside you. You will see that my words come true!” and quite suddenly he released her hand.
“Is there anything you like to ask me, Lady? You ask me and I tell you.”
Rocky laughed. “Tell me who this fine gentleman is,” she said. Wheeler made an impatient exclamation.
“He’ll probably tell you it’s a millionaire or a Duke,” he said hardily. “Or Adonis come to life again, or——”
The Arab rose to his feet with great dignity. He did not look at Wheeler.
“You pay me the money,” he said to Rocky, his natural anxiety coming before his personal sense of outrage. “You pay me the money and then I tell you who the fine gentleman is.”
Rocky hunted through her bag for five shillings, remembering that it was about all she had in the world, and placed the coins in the man’s dark palm.
“There you are,” she said. “And now tell me—if you can.”
A slow smile spread over the man’s dark face.
“He is not far away,” he said. “He is closer to you than I am— now,” and with a deep ironical obeisance he backed away from her and disappeared.
Rocky watched him go a little blankly, before she turned to Wheeler. “What did he mean? Closer to me than—” She brok
e off, her colour rising; and Wheeler said dryly:
“I imagine he was referring to me—-seeing that I am the only other man within a dozen yards.”
He thrust a hand into his jacket pocket for his pipe.
“All these fellows talk the same rubbish,” he said a little jerkily. “You shouldn’t waste your money.”
She recovered herself with an effort.
“Well, he certainly talked rubbish if he meant that I should marry you” she said calmly, though she felt as if her heart had got somewhere up into her throat. She glanced round. “Don’t we get any lunch?”
“I told the waiter not to bring it till your friend had gone,” Wheeler answered. Rocky smiled at him across the table.
“Need you look so upset because I spent five shillings in a way you didn’t approve?” she demanded.
He flashed her a glance.
“I’m not upset, but I dislike seeing these fellows encouraged; but it’s always the same—they can get round any woman.”
“Are they never right in what they say?” she asked a little wistfully.
“I’ve heard people say that sometimes they are,” he admitted; “generally women, of course.”
“Then perhaps he’ll be right this time,” she said unthinkingly. Wheeler looked at her.
“You mean—right when he said that you and I will marry?” he asked.
Rocky flushed crimson.
“I wasn’t thinking about that—I meant——”
“It seemed to me to be the chief point of interest,” Wheeler said. There was an uncomfortable little silence; and then suddenly he asked bluntly: “Supposing I asked you to marry me, Rocky. What would you say?”
Rocky stared steadily across the restaurant to the table shared by Sir John and Miss Esther.
The determined fortune-teller was there now, smiling down at Miss Esther in his most ingratiating manner, and she was shaking her head in blushing confusion and protesting in alarm.
“Oh no, thank you very much, but I couldn’t. You see, I know my fortune already, I do indeed.”
Rocky could have heard what she was saying had she troubled to listen, but her thoughts were too concerned with her own affairs and with the amazing words which Wheeler had just spoken.
“What would you say if I asked you to marry me?”
Of course he was not serious; he was just teasing her, or speaking out of idle curiosity because he wanted to know what her answer would be. She felt painfully that Wheeler did not trust her, that in spite of his kindness to her last night and today he could not quite rid his mind of the memory of their first meeting or perhaps of the belief that she knew more of that last tragic night in Paris than she would admit.
People said that first impressions were so much, and of course he had seen her all dressed up in clothes which were perhaps not quite suitable—she realised that now, though at the time her father had assured her she looked most charming and attractive, and she had thought so, too; but, then, after the drab nightmare of her schooldays anything would have seemed wonderful by contrast.
She made a brave effort and laughed.
“What should I say?” She still avoided looking at him. “I should say politely, but quite firmly, ‘No, thank you, Sir,’ ” and she hoped that he did not notice the breathless hurry of her voice or realise that her heart was beating so quickly that it seemed to make every nerve in her body jerk in sympathy.
The little silence fell again until Wheeler asked calmly:
“Why would you say, ‘No, thank you’?”
“Why?” She looked at him at last, her charming face flushed and bewildered. “Why? Well, because I don’t want to marry you—or anybody else, if it comes to that.”
Wheeler picked up the little pink card which the fortune-teller had laid on the table; it bore a very flattering likeness of himself and a most eulogistic account, very badly printed and composed, of his fame and of the national calamities he had foretold.
“Then what do you mean to do?” Wheeler asked.
“To do?” Rocky shrugged her shoulders. “Does it matter what I mean to do? I shall get along—somehow—I suppose.”
His grey eyes were suddenly raised to hers.
“In a strange country—and without money?” he asked.
Rocky’s long lashes flickered.
“Oh,” she said on a note of pain. “I’d forgotten about that.” And then rallying quickly: “But something will turn up; I can find some work or—something will turn up. You said just now that when one door shuts another opens.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ve just opened one for you,” he said.
Rocky looked again at Miss Esther, not in the least surprised to find that she had at last given way to the Arab’s persuasive powers and had extended her slim hand for his inspection.
“I expect he’ll tell her just what he told me,” Rocky thought vaguely, and then she dragged her thoughts back to say as calmly as she could: “But you don’t want to marry me, do you, Mr. Wheeler?”
She was a little touched when he answered surprisingly:
“I should like to know that you are safe.”
She bit her lip to hide its sudden trembling.
“That’s kind of you,” she said. “But I am not sure that I should be safe—with you—if that is what you mean.”
“Why not? I am quite a respectable, commonplace member of society, without any particular vice or regrettable past.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that,” she told him simply. “I was thinking that I couldn’t marry anyone who didn’t love me. I used to think I could: there was a time when I almost decided to marry Louis—just to make sure of someone of my own—poor Louis!” Her voice trembled a little. “I wish I knew what—really happened,” she added in a whisper.
“I can tell you,” Wheeler said; but at once she was shaking her head.
“No—no … please don’t—I don’t think I could bear it.” She gave a deep sigh. “It’s queer, you know,” she said quaintly, “but when I came on board I thought—I was sure—that everything was left behind—ended—and that I could start again and be happy. I was happy until—” She stopped; and he added for her:
“Till you met me.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “And even then—I didn’t think it would make so much difference—spoil it all, I mean,” she added.
“Thank you,” Wheeler said calmly. “I suppose I should have behaved like the perfect little gentleman and have taken a header over the side of the ship.” And Rocky answered painfully:
“I suppose that is really what I should have done. It would have saved a lot of trouble—if I had.”
“Don’t be a little fool,” Wheeler said sharply. “You can’t get out of things so easily.” He tore the pink card into bits and flung them away. “Well, if you won’t marry me,” he said more quietly, “how can I help you?”
“You can’t help me,” Rocky answered. “ I don’t expect you to.”
“It’s the most unexpected things that happen,” he reminded her whimsically.
“I’ve proved that already,” she said; and then suddenly she asked the question which had been in her mind all the morning: “Have you been married before, Mr. Wheeler?”
Wheeler looked a little blank.
“Have—I been married?” he asked.
Rocky nodded. “Yes, I only wondered—you see—Sir John says that people on board ship are never what they appear to be.”
“And he should know,” Wheeler added dryly. There was something in his voice which drove her to swift defence.
“Sir John is a darling, and I love him.”
The colour rose slowly to Wheeler’s brown face.
“Lucky Sir John,” he said, but she realised that her question was to be left unanswered.
Rocky glanced across the room once more and, meeting Sir John’s eyes, she smiled.
“You see,” she explained inadequately, “he makes me feel so safe—he makes me feel that although I’m so—silly
, he just knows and understands.”
“Don’t you underrate your capabilities?” Wheeler asked.
Rocky clasped her hands in the lap of her frock.
“Now you’re being sarcastic again,” she said. “And I thought you’d—forgotten about it.”
He laughed. “What a child you are, with all your worldly experience.” She looked at him seriously.
“Do you really believe that I’ve got any worldly experience?” she asked, and then, before he could speak, she answered her own question. “Yes, I know you do. I know that you believe I’m just a —common little adventuress; you probably believe that I was—in league with my father in that horrible apartment in Paris. I suppose you don’t—really believe that I told you the truth—last night —do you?” she asked painfully.
“Yes,” Wheeler answered, “I believe that you told me the truth last night, and that is why I—I want to find some—safe way out for you, Rocky—to make such an experience impossible again.”
“It could never come again,” she said passionately; but he answered:
“You cannot be sure of that. You are young and attractive and optimistic—and quite without friends. What will you do when you find—as you will find—that for a girl like you there can be only one ending if you are left to yourself. If you try to take a job, either in Colombo or elsewhere, people will want references—and in the meantime you have to live—and living costs money.”
“You don’t mean me to forget that I haven’t any,” she said bitterly.
“No,” he agreed; and then after a moment: “How is it, after all that has happened, that you could look like an excited schoolgirl when you came aboard at Toulon? I should have said that you hadn’t a care in the world—that you were starting out on a holiday —that perhaps you were going to friends—that you had left a comfortable home behind you—that you knew nothing about life except that it was all good fun.”
Rocky nodded. “I know, and that’s how I felt. Perhaps I’m made that way so that I can—shake things off—and forget them—until someone or something makes me remember.”
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