Stars Over Sarawak (14 page)

 'I expect I'm feeling excited at the idea of seeing Andrew again.' It had to be said, the words coming between them to form a protective shield against his strength, and her own desire, a desire she failed utterly to understand, for she was not
that
kind of girl at all. On the contrary, she was of a cold disposition — at least, where physical ardour was concerned. Wasn't it this which made her and Andrew so eminently suited to one another? Yes, most certainly it was.

 'Your ideal,' with heavy sarcasm now, and he released her and took up his glass. The contents disappeared and the glass was filled up again. 'Come, child, drink up and have some more.'

 'No — I don't want any more.'

 'Afraid?'

 'Of what?' she challenged, lifting her head in a little gesture of defiance.

 'Of me and yourself, and the night.'

 'The night?' she faltered in a very different tone. 'What do you mean?'

 His slow smile dawned, bringing an unfamiliar fulness to his lips which seemed to become sensuous all at once.

 'Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I've had you at my mercy for over three weeks, so had I wished to try anything on I'd have done it before now.' His outspokenness again! Roanna blushed in the dimness, but without warning her head was brought up even as she bent it and Carl turned it towards the light issuing from the open flap of the tent. She tried to free herself, but his grip tightened on her chin and she knew that should she continue to struggle she would only get hurt. 'Colour,' he murmured. 'Attractive colour.' The amber eyes burned with a peculiar light and she shivered involuntarily. Was she safe with this man? Rather late to bring up the question now, but hitherto she had taken it for granted that she was the last type that would appeal to him. Besides, he was so cynical and unapproachable that she naturally felt safe with him. Sex was of no interest to him— She broke her thoughts as the vision of Neesa intruded. Neesa with her seductive brown body covered only to the waist, with her beautiful eyes, like those of a fawn, her long, long ears that a man might like to fondle...

 Roanna had lain awake that night, telling herself one moment that Carl would never consent to accept the girl, and the next moment certain that he must, whether he wished to do so or not, for he would never offend the chief by refusing the 'hospitality' offered. It was a normal custom, the acceptance of which was neither more nor less than a conforming to the laws of tribal etiquette.

 That Carl had accepted the girl was proved the following morning when Roanna, rising early, actually saw Neesa come from Carl's room, her beautiful body wrapped in a length of brightly-coloured cotton cloth which Roanna suspected was Carl's gift to her, for he had brought several such lengths of cloth, which he gave out to the chief's wife and other female relatives, to make themselves sarongs or other garments.

 'This fiancé of yours—' Carl turned to her, the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other. 'Is there now any need for him to come?'

 'No, but I've no way of getting in touch with him.'

 'A cable sent immediately on our arrival back in Kuching would reach him in time, surely?'

 'It might,' she agreed, wondering why Carl should care whether or not Andrew came to Sarawak. 'But expect that by now he's looking forward to coming, and although I did at first hope that it would not be necessary for him to come I now think that he might like the experience of the visit. We are now free to enjoy his visit, to make it a holiday instead of having to waste our time on investigations.' She paused momentarily, expecting Carl to make some comment, but he was silently staring into the amber liquid in his glass, a brooding expression on his face. 'We shall never again have the chance of coming so far from home, so we might as well make the most of it.'

 Carl looked from his glass to her face, subjecting her to a very searching scrutiny.

 'You're happy — really happy at the idea of the reunion?' he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

 'Of course I am. That's a strange thing to ask, Mr.

 'Denver—'

 'Carl,' he interruped softly. And he took a couple of strides to bring him close to her once more. 'Say it, Roanna,' he commanded, still in that quiet voice which she had heard many times — and understood.

 'Carl,' she said obediently, thinking that Andrew would never have ordered like this but on the contrary would have asked her persuasively — a little timidly perhaps. Dear Andrew! She longed to see him, to be able to focus his features again without their being superimposed by a darker face, harsh and arrogant, with a mouth twisted by cynicism. More than anything she longed to return to a state of calm equilibrium where she could begin to forget Carl and the power of his personality— Suddenly she closed her eyes tightly, admitting to the fact that she wanted to burst into tears because her heart was hurt and her mind confused, because her body desired that of a man who, even if by some miracle he should desire her in return, would treat her with the same brutal disrespect as her husband had done. Yes, she told herself again, Carl Denver with his arrogance and domineering manner was too much like Rolfe, and it astounded her that she could have fallen in love with him at all, for right from the first she had known of the forcefulness of his personality.

 'That sounded just as delectable as I expected it to.' Carl's rare smile appeared; he said in the same commanding tone, 'Repeat it — over and over again.'

 She frowned at him and said,

 'You're different tonight. I don't understand you at all.'

 'Repeat it,' he ordered in a very soft tone.

 'Carl,' she murmured after a small hesitation.

 'Carl ...'

 'You're shy,' he said as her voice faltered away to silence. 'And refreshing ...'

 She looked up at him and shook her head.

 'You're different,' she said again.

 'Am I, Roanna?' He studied her expression, seeming to take in every beautiful contour, as he had done once before. 'Perhaps I am,' he admitted, surprising her. 'And what of you? Are you different too?'

 'Why should I be?'

 'These three weeks haven't done anything to you?'

 'No, no, certainly not!'

 He fell silent, appearing to be looking at a point beyond her shoulders, but she rather thought he was merely staring into space, unseeingly. This change in him, which he had owned had taken place ...? What was it basically? Had he softened — become less cynical after having her companionship for three weeks in the loneliness of the
ulu
where jungle life was all that shared their own? He had become her friend and she felt instinctively that when the final parting came he Would ask that they keep in touch by correspondence. This she was determined not to do, for then she would never be able to forget him at all, whereas she desired to forget him as quickly as her heart would let her. Her heart ... Rolfe had never touched it; for him it was made of stone. Andrew had found something soft and tender ... but Roanna had to admit that the only man who had really come anywhere near to possessing her heart was the formidable Carl Denver, a man she would never consider marrying under any circumstances whatsoever.

 But why keep telling herself this? She would never be asked to marry him, so she wasted her time in thinking about it.

 'Come, Roanna,' said Carl at last, his eyes moving to meet hers. 'Have another drink and then let's dance again.' The tape recorder was still running and the lovely strains of another waltz drifted on to the air, the Waltz of the Flowers from
The Nutcracker
, Tchaikovsky's delightful ballet.

 'I don't want anything more to drink—'

 'Where is your glass?'

 'Mr. Denver — Carl,' she said pleadingly, 'it goes to my head.'

 'Good. Your glass!'

 'I won't be dictated to!' The angry protest surprised her much more than it surprised her companion, who merely produced a faintly mocking smile and said,

 'So you do have a little spirit after all!'

 'You've tried my patience many times,' she told him, whereupon he wanted to know why she had not shown a little spirit before now. 'Because I'm always so very conscious of my debt to you — my debts, rather,' she amended. 'You not only allowed me to come with you, after saving me from those dreadful people in the long-house, but you've also saved my life at least twice.'

 'Saved your life...' He murmured the words to himself. 'For what?' So low the tone now that she only just managed to catch what he said. 'For the admirable Andrew, your ideal whose wife you're falling over yourself to become.'

 Roanna, puzzled and bewildered by his manner, and wondering if he had had too much to drink, in which case his strangeness would be explained, was just about to advise him to go to bed when without more ado he put clown his glass and, taking her in his arms, he swung her into a waltz, whirling her round and round on the rough ground. It was exhilarating, with the breeze on her face and the full silver moon above, with her companion's strong arms about her and his muscled body close... moulding with hers in a far too intimate way. Breathless, she looked up into his face when at last he stopped, and she parted her lips slightly in a very conscious and provocative manner. He looked down from that incredible height of his. He bent his head, slowly as if he would afford her the opportunity of escaping what she knew was about to come. She made no attempt to escape it and his lip claimed hers, lips that mastered and possessed, yet never for one second lacked respect.

 It was a revelation, for she had expected a degree of roughness and an arrogant approach. These seemed to fit his personality as she had assessed it after living so close to him for over three weeks.

 Could she have been mistaken in her assessment of his character? Could a man whose whole demeanour spelled a sort of lordly arrogance, and whose exterior was undeniably harsh, be gentle underneath? Roanna recalled those times when her impression had been that there was another side to this man who appeared so tough, a side that would welcome a true and dear friend. She had in one fleeting glimpse seen him as a man who could for solace lay his head upon a woman's breast.

 Roanna's senses stirred, as they had done before, but now she was in no doubt about the cause. Why, she suddenly asked herself fiercely, had she elected to come with this man? Had she not done so then there would have been no confusion of mind, no doubts about her future with Andrew. But now her doubts, conceived and born in her subconscious, were growing rapidly — and she was afraid of what the future held for her.

 'Have you nothing to say to me, Roanna? Aren't you going to make some angry protest?' The old mocking satire in those deep-set eyes, the familiar twist of his lips in that sardonic smile. 'I believe it is usual in these particular circumstances for the woman to say "How dare you!" and proceed to slap the offending fellow's face.'

 Roanna's eyes filled with tears, for she was hurt excruciatingly by this unexpected change in him. The kiss meant nothing; he had taken it because the moment was right, and because he had had too much to drink.

 'I think it's time I went to my tent,' she said, a catch in her voice. 'And you—' She raised her eyes, not caring that he might notice her tears. 'You ... Carl... you're tired too.'

 Turning at once, she went past him and walked slowly the short distance to her tent, acutely conscious of his eyes following her.

 He had long since provided her with a light and this was already on. She undressed, taking off the jeans she constantly wore, the ones that had so providently turned up in the longhouse. The nightgown, washed that day, smelled of fresh air, and it was clinging and transparent, and cool against her skin. She dared not think, or dwell on that scene enacted just now. She dared not allow the desires of heart and body to intrude.

 Fighting all conscious thought, she turned to the low small bed over which was spread one of the hand-woven blankets made in the Dyak longhouses. It was a gift to her from Bang Kulong's wife.

 '
Puak Kumba
? she had said as she handed the blanket to Roanna.

 'That's what they're called,' Carl had immediately explained, then told her how to say thank you in Malay.

 Roanna stood by the bed for a while, gazing down at the coloured blanket and allowing her mind to wander backwards, going over the many incidents that would be remembered no matter how determinedly she tried to forget the man in whose company these incidents had occurred. There had been another party at the longhouse which they next visited, farther up river, and Carl had been called upon to perform several small ceremonies — to bring luck to the longhouse. He had been the honoured guest, and very highly thought of. But when asked to kill the poor bound pig that had been placed at the entrance to the longhouse he had frowned, she recalled, and his brain had worked furiously as he looked down at the knife that had been thrust into his hand by the chief's son. He must adhere to custom, and it was the custom in that village for the guest of honour to stick the pig which afterwards would be cooked for the evening meal. He had spoken eventu ally and after some talk together the chief and his son appeared to come to an agreement.

 Carl later explained that he had said that his 'sister' could not stand the sight of blood and that should she see it she would most probably faint. Certainly she would become too ill to take part in the festivities.