by Nevil Shute
They sat down on the sand in the shade of the trees. “You said something about your dream last night,” she said. “Something about dying in a hut with a mad priest.”
“My word,” he said again, “it was a bad one, that.”
“Do you dream much in the ordinary way?”
He shook his head.
“Tell me about the mad priest.”
He sat silent for a time, looking out over the lagoon. At last he said, “It sounds a stupid thing to say but I was very frightened. I don’t know that frightened is the word. It was a sort of horror of the state that I was in.”
She looked at him curiously, impressed by the seriousness of his manner. “Was it as bad as that, David?” He nodded. “Tell me about it.”
He told her.
In the end she said, “Dreams always come from memories, don’t they? Things that have happened to you, and that you’ve practically forgotten. And then they crop up in a dream, all higgledy-piggledy.”
He said, “I know that’s supposed to be the explanation. But none of these things ever happened to me.”
“You can’t remember anything that could be the origin of your dream? Not any part of it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing at all.”
She smiled. “Then I should forget the dream as well.”
“I’m going to,” he said. “I’m going to forget it as quickly as I darned well can. And I can tell you this — it’ll be a long time before I eat another crayfish, even if I’ve seen it caught.”
From behind the point called London at the entrance to the lagoon a big motor launch appeared, a diesel-engined vessel ninety or a hundred feet in length. She came in at a smart pace between the land and Cook Island and headed into the lagoon, and revealed herself as a seaworthy, businesslike vessel painted white and in need of a new coat of paint; she flew the Australian blue ensign at the stern. Rosemary said, “Oh, look what’s coming!”
He smiled. “I’ll give you three guesses who that is.”
She said, “The District Officer from Fanning Island?”
He nodded. “Probably. He’ll never have had a thing like this happen in his diocese before, and he never will again.”
“He must have got a shock when he heard that the Queen and the Consort were living in his house on Christmas Island, and he was a hundred and eighty miles away and not there to receive them and do the honours.”
“He probably thinks it’s some sort of a deep plot to do him out of a knighthood.”
The vessel slowed as she came into the lagoon and brown sailors appeared on the foredeck and began to unlash the anchors and take stoppers off the chains. Then Rosemary said, “Oh, David — look!”
She caught his arm, and he thrilled at her touch. He glanced down at her hand, and then up again to see what had excited her. Three white men in spotless tropical suits had appeared on deck, and two white women dressed as for an afternoon function, with wide Ascot hats and gloves in hand, ready to come on shore to be presented to the Queen.
“Oh . . .” she said. “He’s brought his wife and all sorts of people with him.” There was a world of disappointment in her voice. “Oh, David! Even in a place like this she can’t live simply — not even for a day!”
He said uncertainly, “They won’t bother her much, will they? They’ll have to stay on the yacht.”
“They’re lowering a boat,” she said dully. “They’re all coming on shore. She can’t receive them sitting in a deck chair in her bathing dress.” They glanced up the beach, but the deck chairs were empty; the occupants had already gone into the house. She said furiously, “Oh, people are such fools! They won’t give her a chance!”
They sat silent in the shade of the casuarina trees and watched the boat row ashore to the small jetty in front of the District Officer’s house, loaded with the men and the women in their best frocks. Major Macmahon walked down from the house to meet the party on the jetty and stood in talk with them, and Rosemary woke suddenly to a realization of her duties. “My God,” she said suddenly. “I ought to be there helping to keep those blasted women off her.” She grabbed her towel and ran back to the R.A.A.F. mess. David sat on upon the beach for a few minutes, watching the party as they left the jetty and walked up to the District Officer’s house; then he, too, walked slowly to the camp. He passed Rosemary in a clean white frock hurrying to her job.
That evening before dinner, as David sat on the verandah sipping his tomato juice while the others drank gin, Frank Cox came to the mess and called him aside. “We’re going on tomorrow, Nigger,” he said. “Take off at about nine o’clock.”
“For Canberra?”
“That’s right. Is everybody fit to fly tomorrow?”
“Oh yes.” He paused. “She’s going straight to Tharwa, I suppose?”
“That’s right. It’s going to be a bit difficult here, now that these people have turned up. There isn’t really the accommodation on the island for us all.”
“Can’t they sleep on their bloody yacht?”
“Well — they can, but I understand it’s a bit primitive. Anyway, the Queen wants to go on. She can shut herself up at Tharwa and see nobody at all. There’s not the organization or the layout here to secure her privacy.”
The pilot nodded. “What’s Rosemary doing?”
“She’s been shepherding the women around. She’s gone off to the yacht with them now, with Macmahon. They’re having dinner on board.”
“Any idea when they’re coming on shore?”
“The boat was ordered for nine o’clock.”
David nodded. “I’ll walk down and meet her. It’s a bit dark for her to walk back through the trees alone.”
He strolled down after dinner to the jetty and sat on a bollard in the darkness. The rising moon made a glow in the sky behind Paris. The lights of the yacht were bright in the middle of the lagoon, and over the still water he could hear the sound of voices and laughter. In the District Officer’s house behind him there were now no lights except one in the kitchen at the back of the house. He could not see the deck chairs in the darkness, but he guessed that they were occupied.
Presently, as he waited, there were steps upon the jetty behind him, and he got to his feet. The moon was not yet up, but in its coming light he saw the Consort and the Queen. She said, “Is that Commander Anderson?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I was waiting for Miss Long to see her home.”
“How nice of you. I was so sorry to hear about the crayfish. Are you all right now, do you think?”
He laughed. “Oh, yes. Dr. Mitchison fixed us up. Fixed himself up, too.”
She said, “I was so sorry when I heard about it, because I know you sent us up the tins out of the aeroplane. But for that we might have had the crayfish, too.”
He said a little awkwardly, “Oh, that’s all right.”
They stood looking out over the lagoon as the moon rose in sight. “It’s a very lovely place,” the Queen said. “I’m so glad to have had this time here. Some day I should like to come back here again.”
“It’s the best place to refuel between Canada and Australia,” the pilot said.
The Queen turned to the Consort. “Perhaps we might have a little house of our own, if we come here often. A very little house, with just two bedrooms, where we couldn’t entertain.”
He said, “I should think that would be possible, my dear.”
On the yacht there was a sound of voices upon deck, and a light at the companion ladder showing the boat manned below it. They saw Macmahon and Rosemary get down into the boat, and watched it as it pushed off, with a rhythmic beat of oars.
“They’re coming now,” the Queen said. She turned to David. “I am sorry that it wasn’t possible for us to have that game of tennis,” she said. “I was looking forward to it. We must have it one evening at Tharwa. Would you bring Miss Long one evening, and have supper with us afterwards?”
“I’d like that very much,” he said. “I’m sure she would, too,
madam.”
“She’s been such a help to me today,” the Queen said. “I’ll let you know which evening when we get to Tharwa. Good night, Commander.”
“Good night, madam.”
They walked off into the shadows of the casuarina trees, and he stood waiting for the boat. Presently he was walking slowly back along the beach with Rosemary. “How did your party go off?”
“Oh, all right,” she replied. “They’re quite nice people, but of course they just can’t understand that she’s got to have a rest sometimes, and muck about like other people, and do what she wants. She was terribly good with them, of course — she always is. And they were so excited at meeting her . . .” She paused. “One couldn’t be bad tempered,” she said quietly. “It’s just the way things are.”
He looked down at her as they strolled together in the moonlight. “I don’t believe that you could be bad tempered any time at all,” he said.
“You’re wrong there,” she replied. “I had a vile temper when I was a child, and I’ve got it still.”
They strolled along the beach a little way in silence. “The Queen wants us to go and play tennis with her one evening when she gets to Tharwa,” he said presently.
“The Queen does? When did you see her?”
“Just now, while I was waiting for you to come ashore. She walked out with Philip to the jetty.”
“She wants both of us to go?”
“That’s right. Tennis and supper.”
The girl said in wonder, “But she hardly knows my name. It’s all right here, of course. But Tharwa — well, it’s different. It’s more like the Palace.”
“She said that you’d been such a help to her today,” the pilot said. “You’ve got to allow her to be grateful.”
“I know. It’s just that it takes a bit of getting used to. I mean, I’d never have thought of such a thing in London.”
He smiled. “Nor would I. I don’t know what Aunt Phoebe at Chillagoe would say if she knew that I was having supper with the Queen. Maybe they’d promote her to serve in the bar.”
She stopped, and laid her hand upon his arm. “I don’t like to hear you talk like that, David,” she said. “Aunt Phoebe’s your mother’s sister, so she’s almost certainly a nice old thing, half caste or not. But anyway, she’s just a measure of what you’ve achieved. You started further back than most people, and you’ve worked up to the point when your own country puts you forward as the best man that they’ve got to serve the Queen. If she wants you to have supper with her, it’s because she wants to know you better, for the sake of your achievements. Don’t be cynical about it.”
He turned and faced her, and took both her hands in his. “Look,” he said huskily, “I think it’s time we had a talk about things.”
She raised her eyes to his. “What sort of things, David?”
“I want to clear the air about this colour business,” he replied. “I want to know if you could ever bring yourself to think of marrying me.”
7
SHE STOOD IN the slanting light of the low moon, looking up at him. “If I wanted to marry you, I’d marry you for what you are and what you’ve done, David,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind about the colour. But I’m not marrying anybody yet.”
He smiled down at her. “How long is Yet?” he asked.
She looked down at her hands that he was holding. “It’s a long, long time,” she said. There was a pause, and then she raised her head and faced him. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you, David,” she said. “I know you’re fond of me. A girl knows that, and it’s made me very proud that you should like me. But now I’ve got to tell you I’m not marrying, not for a long time, anyway. Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t go about so much together.”
“I think it would be worse,” he said.
“I’m not so sure,” she replied. “You must try and understand that I’m not marrying anybody, David — anybody at all. If I was, I’d probably jump at the chance of marrying a man like you. But there’s no question of it. So far as I’m concerned, marrying is out.”
He stood looking down at her, holding her hands, puzzled by her attitude. At last he asked her, “Can you tell me honestly and truthfully that it’s not the colour? If that’s really in the back of your mind, I’d like you to tell me now. Because that would be definite and final, and I wouldn’t worry you again.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the colour.”
He felt he had to press the point, to search her mind before they went on any further. “Suppose some day you were to marry me, and we had a kid,” he said. “You might have a dark baby.”
She nodded. “I’ve thought of that. I don’t think that would worry me, David. Honestly, I don’t think the colour comes into it.” She paused. “You see, if I were to marry you — ever — it would be because I was proud of you, and because I was in love with you. I’d be marrying one of the coming men in the Royal Australian Air Force. I don’t believe I’d care about the colour any more than you do. I’d probably be more troubled about leaving England to go and live with you in Australia than I would be about the black baby.”
“Brown,” he corrected. “I’m not as black as all that.”
She said seriously, “But you can get a throwback.”
“Well . . .” She looked up at him, and became aware to her amazement that he was laughing at her. “That depends on you.”
“On me?”
“You want to read up your genetics, if you’re thinking of marrying a quadroon,” he said.
“I’m not. But if I was, what ought I to read?”
“A gentleman called Edward M. East. You can only get a really dark child if both parties have a touch of the tarbrush.” He grinned down at her. “I didn’t think you had.”
“I haven’t — not that I know of, anyway.”
“Too bad. If you married me and we had a kid, it couldn’t possibly be darker than me. It’d probably be a good bit lighter.”
“But you’re not dark at all!” she exclaimed.
“Perhaps you’ve got a touch of the tarbrush you don’t know about,” he suggested helpfully. “You could get a black baby that way, but you won’t get it any other.” He paused. “Not unless you adopt one.”
“I don’t know that this is a very desirable conversation,” she remarked. “But tell me, David — if a throwback doesn’t happen, why does everyone believe it does?”
“It’s been a useful superstition to a lot of half caste women living in coloured countries,” he said. “It explains a lot of things that might want a bit of explaining any other way.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, David! Do you mean to say that’s all there is to it?”
“That’s right.” And then more seriously, he said, “It’s true, Rosemary. If we had a lot of kids, most of them would be light in colour probably, but one or two of them might be as dark as me.”
She laughed up at him. “You’re going too fast, Nigger. It was only one just now. But I’m telling you there aren’t going to be any at all.”
He drew her a little closer to him. “Why not?”
She stood quietly in his arms, watching the yellow path of moonlight on the calm water of the lagoon. “If I married anyone I’d want to make a job of it, and make a home, and have kids like a normal girl,” she said. “I’d have to give up my job at the Palace to do that — one couldn’t possibly do both. And this isn’t a good time to chuck that up.”
“You’ll have to chuck it up some day, if you’re ever going to marry,” he said. “Of course, you’d have to give a good long notice, so that they could get someone else of the right sort.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do it.”
They stood in silence for a minute. Then she turned back to him, and put her hand upon his shoulder. “I want you to understand about things, Nigger,” she said quietly. “I know you’ve been getting fond of me, and perhaps I’m a bit fond of you. If we gave up thinking about anybody but ourselv
es — if we turned thoroughly selfish and behaved like people on the movies — we might get to feeling we were passionately in love, and then we’d have to marry or do the other thing. I’m not going to relax like that. I’m not going to leave Major Macmahon’s office at a time like this, or any time until this thing is over. As far as I can see, it may go on for years.”
“They could get someone to replace you,” he said. “I could be replaced in my job. No one’s indispensable.”
“I know,” she said. “That wouldn’t stop me hating myself if I left them now.” She raised her head. “I don’t know if you realize quite all that’s going on, Nigger,” she said. “The Queen’s in the middle of a first class constitutional crisis. The job of ruling England has become so unattractive that her children won’t take it on — not one of them. That’s the long and the short of it.”
“Is that really true?” he asked.
She nodded. “If she was to die tonight, there’d be abdications — one after another, and the Monarchy in England would come to an end. You just can’t treat people the way she’s been treated. If you could see some of the things I’ve seen in the State papers in the office — the way these stinking little politicians write to her, as if she was nobody at all . . .” She paused, and then she said, “She must love England very, very much, or she’d have chucked her hand in before this. It’s not as if she was a coward.”
“I didn’t know it was as bad as that,” he said.
“Of course you didn’t. I wouldn’t have talked about it now, Nigger, but for us — personally. I want you to understand why I’m not even thinking of marrying anybody till all this is over. I know they could replace me. I’m only a cog in the machine, but I’ve been there three years and I’m run in now, and working smoothly. If I left, it would be one more worry for them. And there’s another thing — I’ve got to know so much. If I left, they’d be anxious that I might start gossiping, perhaps, or they’d be worried that the new girl might not be discreet.” She turned, and looked out over the still lagoon. “I couldn’t have that happen. If I miss the chance of marrying you I may be sorry for it all my life, and that’s just something that’ll have to be borne. But I’m not leaving the party at a time like this.”
