The Other Miss Donne

by Jane Arbor

  The boy nodded, ‘Yes, but they work. They are not at home now.’

  ‘Then you and I must—’ But Carey broke off, changing her mind on the wisdom of moving Madame Seid, supposing she were badly injured. ‘No, we must leave her where she is and get a doctor as soon as we can. A doctor, Absalom? The doctor you go to or who comes to you when you or your mother are ill?’

  His look was blank. ‘I do not know a doctor. We are here only since my mother is a widow and we have not been ill, she and I.’

  ‘Oh, surely?’ But with no time to lose Carey decided aloud, ‘Then I must get one who will come to her. You have blankets, coverings to keep her warm? And water, and a cloth to bathe that cut? Then bring them, and wait with her and comfort her if she begins to understand. But give her nothing to drink or eat—nothing at all, d’you hear?’

  Carey remembered there was a telephone booth at the back of the restaurant in the little square near by, and she made for that. The siesta hour was over now and the pavement tables had filled up. Intent upon her errand, she was threading her way between them when suddenly her wrist was caught and held fast.

  Irritably she wrenched free. ‘What do you want? Don’t do that!’ she snapped at the man who, as she turned on him, rose and stood squarely in her path. Randal! Of all people whom, an hour ago, she would have been most reluctant to meet, but who now appeared as a kind of sheet-anchor. ‘Randal—oh!’ In sheer relief she breathed his name, only to be daunted by the cold lack of comprehension in his look.

  ‘Where are you going? What are you doing here in Tangier?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, please—!’ she appealed breathlessly. ‘I need a telephone. For a doctor. For Seid’s mother, who has fallen in her house. I think she’s concussed and she may have broken some bones too. I left Seid with her. I dared not try to move her—’

  Randal continued to stare. ‘But you? How—?’

  Carey longed to beat understanding from him. ‘After you left this morning, Seid ran away and came home. I took a car and followed him to bring him back because— But he isn’t guilty. He never was. Frau Ehrens’s links are still in her room. He—’

  ‘All right, leave it,’ Randal cut her short. ‘What doctor do you want? Do the Seids have one of their own?’

  ‘Absalom says not.’

  Then I’ll call the man who serves Auto-Maroc. On second thought, I’ll go for him. Wait for me here. And’—as a waiter came with his order, a glass of cognac—‘drink that for me. All of it. You look as if you need it.’

  Carey watched him stride away and disappear before she sat and sipped gratefully at his drink. Later, she told herself, she would have to face and take whatever criticism he might have of her headlong dash in pursuit of Absalom. But for the moment, her senses cushioned by the warmth of the brandy along her veins, she could afford to see him as her rock, her reliance, the bastion a man should be for the woman who loved him. It was an experience which would not last. But while it did, she indulged it.

  Several hours later they drove back to Hassi Ain. Madame Seid proved to be shocked, bruised and to have sprained an ankle. She would be bedridden for a few days, and Absalom had been left behind to care for her under the eye of the doctor. Before they left Tangier Randal had put in a person-to-person call to Gerda, telling her where to find her property. It had been a long talk and, waiting for Randal this time, Carey had felt her earlier illusion of comfort in him gradually seep away.

  On the way he taxed her, ‘As you say you had seen Seid fooling at conjuring tricks, I wonder it didn’t occur to you that he might have been up to the same thing with the links.’

  ‘I know, but it didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘Anyway, it seemed incredible, if that was all he had done with them, that he wouldn’t have said so. But it seems he was afraid to. He thought he would be in as much trouble for that, and so he ran away.’

  ‘Falling over backwards to tar himself with guilt, the young idiot,’ Randal commented. ‘However, his mother’s accident is providential. It’ll keep him off our scene until Frau Ehrens, who isn’t going to be amused, has forgotten the whole silly business, and he can come back.’

  Carey said, ‘I heard you tell him you would take him back. But do you think he and his mother can manage, with neither of them working now?’

  ‘Don’t worry. That’ll be taken care of.’ Randal paused, then asked irrelevantly, ‘By any chance, an ancestor of yours—the much-quoted Donne who wrote that “no man is an island”—and the rest?’

  ‘John Donne, the poet, related to me? Not that I ever heard. Why?’ Carey queried, puzzled.

  ‘Just that you seem to live by the same light of involvement; more than somewhat top-heavy with conscience and concern for other people, I’d say. For instance, for your sister, who showed she meant to go her own way. And for young Seid, quite outside your line of duty. Supposing I’d taken enough exception to your leaving your post this morning to give you notice—what then?’

  Carey looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. ‘Of course I knew you’d be entitled to do that. But I felt I had to risk it.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s my point. You take too much on your shoulders. In this case you put your own job in jeopardy—which is taking knight-errantry a sight too far, I’d consider.’

  ‘Would you? Would you really?’ Suddenly from somewhere, Carey found spirit enough to take him up. ‘Then, if you haven’t any use for knight-errantry, as you call it, how is it that only this morning you bothered to remind me that failing at it needn’t be all waste? And supposing I reminded you of your own involvement with people? According to Rosalie, yours with Martin was quite as deep as mine with her. And there was Michael. You hadn’t any obligations to him, but you helped to put him through school and you gave him a job—’

  ‘And who told you anything about that?’

  ‘Michael himself. What’s more’—Carey warmed to her theme—‘I don’t believe you’d be so complacent about the Seids if you didn’t mean to see them safe yourself. Denise too, you took her on—’

  ‘With an ulterior motive, as I think I told you. And according to you, I bungled that particular ploy, if not the others.’

  Carey looked at him sharply. ‘How do you mean—according to me?’

  ‘Well, didn’t you take me to task over her idleness and her discontent? Another bit of quixotic zeal on your part, if I may say so.’ As Randal spoke, he braked and stopped at the entrance to the hotel, and reached to put on the courtesy light to enable her to see to get out of the car.

  His hand still raised to the switch, he subjected her to that downward, slightly hooded look which she always found unnerving. ‘Well, the ball in whose court now, would you say? Or do we call the whole argument off at a score of love-all and agree that we’re two of a kind born meddlers and do-gooders, both of us; a couple of Too Alikes, who’ll never really jell?’ he taunted lightly. And then, on that piece of cynicism, he nodded at the wilting myrtle spray she still wore.

  ‘It’s dead,’ he pointed out.

  She looked down at it herself. ‘It may revive in water,’ she said, glad—or was she?—that he couldn’t guess that its sentimental fate was to be pressed between the pages of some treasured book, the memory of its giving kept alive, long after its blossoming was over.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CAREY felt it was too much to expect that, when next they met, Gerda would not make some slighting reference to Randal’s empty flirtation in the conservatories. But in fact Gerda chose to ignore it, treating Carey instead with an hauteur which she kept just short of open contempt for ‘upper staff’ which apparently invited its employer’s gallantries. Though inwardly Carey raged, obviously she had no retort for taunts which had not been made.

  The El Gara’s season went on, punctuated by comings and goings and the occasional crisis and contretemps, but for the most part rewarded by the guests’ enthusiasm and their eager promises that they would ‘be back’.

  The Theodore Calvins left for England, but
Auden Calvin stayed on. Gerda showed no signs of departing. Sadie Hobart finished her researches and made ready to go, though not without giving Carey her last of many invitations to join her as her secretary. As often as Carey was asked, she declined with thanks, demurring always that she had her season’s contract at the El Gara to honour—and yet, at the back of her mind, keeping the thought of far-away America as an escape route she might one day need.

  She heard from Michael, and it was evident from the number of sessions between Randal and Auden Calvin that their talks on finance for the airport were under way. But naturally Michael kept his employer’s confidence as to how they progressed, and it was by mere chance that Carey learned they were virtually at deadlock. This was through Denise, who appeared to take some warped satisfaction in the news.

  ‘Auden says it will do no harm for Randal to be kept guessing on whether or not he’ll advise Calvin Holdings to put up the money Randal wants,’ she told Carey.

  ‘You sound as if you agree with Auden Calvin,’ Carey remarked drily.

  ‘And so I do. For a lot too long Randal has been ordering too many people to jump when he says so, and if he has met his equal in Auden, that’s all right with me,’ Denise declared.

  ‘Even though you know how much the airport development means to Randal? And to the El Gara, and, though only indirectly I suppose, to you?’

  ‘How to me? Oh, you mean you think I’m prepared to sit around, waiting for it all to happen? But what if I’m not? There are other bits of the world than this, you know!’

  ‘Are there—for you, while this is Randal’s world?’ Carey asked. ‘I thought you—That is, aren’t you glad about how he treats you now—as his equal, instead of someone he orders to jump? And wasn’t that what you wanted? To prove yourself to him, because he—matters to you so much?’

  Denise shrugged. ‘That was the idea, yes. And yours, if I remember, the rather corny one that I should do it by showing him I was capable of running the shop.’

  ‘Well, was it so corny, if it has worked?’

  ‘Not as good as my own idea, though. I mean—Auden.’

  Carey nodded. ‘Yes, I thought that was why you have cultivated him—to impress Randal.’

  ‘And the ornamental widow-woman. To show her she’s not the only female around here that a man will look at twice.’

  ‘And assuming you’ve succeeded in both objects, what next?’

  Well, presumably she’ll get tired of making a play for Randal some time and take herself off. She’s the sort who can’t stand competition.’

  Remembering Gerda’s threats, Carey advised drily, ‘I’d say, rather, that she wouldn’t tolerate competition—which isn’t the same thing at all. What’s more, if the only other use you have for Auden Calvin is to make Randal jealous, I wouldn’t take the affair too far, if I were you.’

  ‘And who says that’s all the use I have for Auden?’

  ‘Well, isn’t it? You said that was your idea.’

  ‘Ah—was!’ Denise confirmed airily. ‘I’m not so sure that it is now. Auden is rather sold on me, and he’s quite something in his own right. And what do you suppose I meant about this place not being the whole world, h’m?’

  Carey drew a long breath as she took in the implications of this. ‘You mean it’s serious between you and him? That he is serious—about you?’

  ‘If he isn’t, he goes through all the proper motions,’ Denise smirked. ‘And why shouldn’t he be serious? I’m no gargoyle. He may very well be thinking of asking me to marry him, and if he did, I might do just that.’

  ‘But—Randal?’

  ‘What about Randal? He doesn’t own me. Anyway, I think I’m growing out of him, if I haven’t already. It was probably only a teenage crush. No, I’d settle instead for Auden’s position and his money now.’

  ‘I meant,’ Carey urged, ‘that I can’t see Randal approving Calvin for you. You’re so young, and he is so man-of-the-world experienced—’

  ‘I’m of age now. And would you say you are really qualified to speak for Randal?’ Denise enquired sweetly.

  Carey sighed. ‘Probably not,’ she agreed.

  ‘Just so. You and Michael can’t stand Auden, so you’d like to think Randal would interfere. But supposing he ... daren’t, for just one good enough reason—because if he doesn’t keep on the right side of Auden, the airport deal won’t go through?’

  Carey flared at that. ‘Randal not dare—if he were concerned for your good? Well, if you can believe that, you’ll believe anything!’ she flung at Denise who, however, appeared unmoved.

  ‘And so—we shall see, shan’t we?’ she hinted smoothly. ‘I can hardly wait—you and Michael agog for Randal’s reaction when Auden has asked me and I’ve accepted him—if I do! Care to bet that we’ll have Randal’s blessing, would you?’

  ‘That’s not funny, and I wouldn’t,’ Carey snapped. ‘Moreover, I don’t believe you could be so airy and throwaway about Auden Calvin if you were serious about him yourself. People in love just don’t talk that way.’

  There was a pause. Then Denise said, ‘Couldn’t I? And don’t they?’ and made that her exit line, leaving Carey hot with resentment of her slur on Randal and no less disturbed by her involvement with Calvin, whatever the outcome might be. If Carey read it aright, Denise’s cryptic hint implied that she had fallen a willing prey to the man’s flattering attentions. For all her mask of nonchalance, she could be in love with him—or imagine she was. And against the possibility of that, Carey’s instinct rose in revolt.

  She could be wrong, though she felt mother-wit certain she was not. Auden Calvin wasn’t the type to be deeply or permanently taken by mere ingénue charm. Budding tycoon he might be, but in his relations with women he was a playboy. For her own purposes Denise had gone out of her way to woo him, and he had gone along with being wooed; a little intrigued, perhaps, but marking agreeable time with her, no more. And if, as Carey suspected, Denise knew as much and feared it, there was danger for her ahead. Danger from which Carey couldn’t see how to guard her. For who, in love and blind with it, could ever be warned?

  A few days later the sureness of her instinct was to be proved when Auden Calvin wanted some copy-typing done and she was called by Reception to join him in the business writing-room. Formally enough he explained his requirements, but when she settled at the desk he took the spare chair and appeared to be going to stay.

  Carey looked across at him. ‘There’s quite a lot of this. It may take some while, and I can bring it to your suite when it’s finished,’ she said.

  He merely slouched more deeply into the leather chair. ‘No hurry. And I’ve always got time on my hands to watch a pretty girl at work when I needn’t be. May I smoke?’

  ‘Of course—if you’re staying.’

  ‘That’s right—I am.’ He lit up and allowed her to do the typing of several sheets before he spoke again. Then in her pause to adjust carbons he said, ‘You certainly write your Welcome on the mat in invisible ink. Do I take it you haven’t forgiven me yet for my shanghai bit of—oh, weeks ago? Or is there a clause written into your contract that you are to keep the male guests strictly at arm’s length?’

  That was so near the truth of Randal’s edict that she flinched involuntarily, and her enemy pounced.

  ‘Oh-ho—so there is, and you stick to it to the letter?’ Carey recovered herself and raised candid eyes to his.

  ‘When I judge it’s necessary, I don’t need a ruling on the matter,’ she told him.

  ‘How very evident!’ he mocked.

  ‘But wise—in some circumstances.’

  ‘And how inexpressibly dreary. What a blessing for us freelance types that the whole of the local girl population isn’t of the same starchy mind!’

  He was brash and thick-skinned and his approach was corny; how was it that Denise couldn’t see him for what he was? Carey wondered as she said, ‘Then that’s all right, isn’t it? If you’ve found other people who are more accommodating than I
am, I’m glad.’

  He laughed shortly. ‘Famous last words! You’re not glad; you’re jealous, and you’ve no need. Believe me, despite recent evidence to the contrary, I’m not wholly sold on the dewy, willing variety. I’m always prepared to chance my arm with all sorts, even if I do risk its getting bitten off at the wrist!’

  ‘As, I should think, it very well may be,’ Carey retorted.

  ‘As it has been before now, though I’ve survived to rise above it. There—that’s a True Confession from me, so what about one from you? Some man you’ve wanted who hasn’t wanted you—is that what’s made you so quick on the draw? Too bad!’

  Carey made no reply, and when she pointedly resumed her typing he did not continue to bait her. Except for the clack of the typewriter keys there was silence in the room until Carey suddenly checked, having noticed that the wording of one page of the original script did not run lucidly on to the next.

  ‘What’s the matter? Something wrong?’ Auden Calvin asked.

  ‘Yes. It could be a page missing. Or wrongly numbered, perhaps—’

  ‘Let me see.’ He rose and went round the desk to stand at her side, ostensibly scrutinising her papers but more intent—as Carey realised too late—on the opportunity she had unwittingly offered him.

  A second or two more and his fingers ran suggestively up her arm to grip her shoulder as he ogled her upturned, indignant face and he sought her mouth. Utterly revulsed, she turned her head aside and made to jerk free. But his vanity, given its chance, persisted in its little moment of triumph, and though she managed to deny him her lips, the distasteful tableau endured until a small unidentifiable sound behind them broke it up.

  Carey stood, pushing back her chair. Though she scorned speaking to him, the question forced itself. ‘What was that?’