The House of Seven Fountains (17 page)

Tom and Miss Buxton arrived together at half-past seven, and Vivien was waiting on the veranda to greet them.

“
There, did you ever see anything so charming, Tom?
”
Miss Buxton said, her own vast figure being encased in a mauve silk dress with a jacket of black lace. “You look like a butterfly, m’dear.”

Vivien thanked her, but it was the flicker of admiration in Tom’s eyes that brought the soft color to her cheeks. As she led the way to the drawing room where Chen was presiding over the cocktail trolley, her pulses quickened with excitement. Since their first meeting on the plane at London airport, Tom had been by turns aloof and friendly, angry and gentle, teasing and sarcastic. Tonight, for the first time, he had looked at her as a man looks at a lovely and desirable woman. For the space of a few seconds his gaze had swept over the filmy dress and rested on her rose-tinted mouth, and then, like a drawn blind, the mask of polite detachment had returned. But in those seconds Vivien’s heart plunged like a wild thing, a strange fire coursed through her veins, and she was filled with a new and unfamiliar longing that was half delight and half fear.

Almost at once Miss Buxton and Mr. Adams discovered that they had mutual friends in Singapore, and as the Scotsman had already met Tom on several occasions, there was none of the preliminary warming up that is inevitable among guests who are unknown to each other.

The dinner was a great success. The suckling pig, decorated with rosettes of spiced dough, was carried in with due ceremony on a silver dish, and when Vivien had served her guests and herself it was returned to the kitchen to be shared by the servants. At the end of the course Chen handed around linen cloths wrung out in hot water for the visitors to wipe their hands. When the meal was over Vivien called for the chef and complimented him on his skill. Then, rather shyly, she stood up and said, “I should like to drink a toast to my godfather. I never really knew him, but since I’ve been here I’ve learned what a fine man he was, and I’m very proud to have inherited his home. To John Cunningham!”

“
That was a very nice thought, m’dear,” Miss Buxton said as the two women returned to the drawing room, leaving the men to enjoy a glass of fine old brandy. “It’s a great pity that John didn’t ask you here before. He liked young people, and you’d have been good for him.”

“I wish he had,” Vivien said. “But I suppose there was a good reason why he didn’t.”

Presently the men returned and for a while conversation flowed easily over a variety of topics. Then, when Miss Buxton and Mr. Adams had become absorbed in a discussion on the laws pertaining to child adoption, Tom said to Vivien, “Shall we take a stroll around the garden? I don’t think we shall be missed for ten minutes.”

They slipped quietly out of the glass doors and through the lantern-lighted courtyard to the lawns.

“Oh, look! How pretty!” Vivien exclaimed.

The shrubbery was alive with fireflies, glowing pinpoints of greenish light that flickered among the leaves like winged jewels.

“I wonder where they go to in the daytime?” she said softly, glancing up at him.

The moonlight accentuated the strongly chiseled lines of his profile, marking the faint cleft in the square chin, and casting shadows beneath the high cheekbones.

“In the daytime they are just ugly little insects tucked away in crevices,” he said.

“It’s hard to believe. They look so lovely by moonlight, like fairy creatures,” she said.

“Moonlight has that effect on many things. It’s like water. You look in a pool and see a stone that appears to be only a few inches below the surface, but when you put your hand in you find it’s out of reach. Moonlight distorts reality in the same way.”

She smiled. “Are you a naturally down-to-earth person or is it the doctor in you that insists on seeing everything in its true colors, no illusions allowed?”

“Both as a man and a doctor I prefer facts to fancies,” he answered. “If a thing is of real value it doesn’t need to be shown in a favorable light.”

They were walking along a narrow path that bordered the lawn. A few feet beyond the path was the thick hedge that divided the gardens from the surrounding undergrowth. Suddenly Tom’s hands closed like a vise around Vivien’s wrist. “Stand perfectly still,” he ordered.

Startled into unquestioning obedience, she froze. Then, five seconds too late (had she been alone) she saw the dark shape on the path. It looked like a twist of rope, but with a stab of fear she knew that it was a snake. For less than a minute—but it seemed like five—it lay there, its stillness making it doubly evil. Then, with a questing movement of its head, it slithered forward and sideways, disappearing into the grass within a yard of her shoes.

“All clear,” Tom said, dropping her wrist. “I wonder what brought him over here. They usually stay under cover in the lallang.”

“Was it
...
poisonous?”

“Probably not, but there was no point in taking a chance. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing ... I just
...
She was unable to control a shudder of revulsion.

Suddenly his arms were around her, and her face was pressed against his shoulder.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of now. Snakes don’t strike unless they’re taken by surprise. That fellow is probably half a mile away by now, scared out of his wits
,”
he said reassuringly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen one before.” Her voice was muffled.

He tipped up her chin. “All right now?”

“Yes, quite.” She drew away, ashamed of her foolishness. “I’m not usually nervous. I don’t mind mice at all,” she added awkwardly.

He threw back his head and laughed.

“In that case I’ll forgive you for being afraid of snakes,” he told her teasingly. “Come, I expect you’ll feel safer in the house.”

He took her hand in his and led her across the lawn.

“You must think me an awful fool,” she said in a small voice as they reached the courtyard.

He paused, looking down at her with a solemn face. “Well, I must admit that some women would have shown more initiative,” he agreed. “After all, I am your guest. The decent thing would have been to have thrust me aside and killed the beast with your shoe.”

“Oh! You’re teasing again,” she said, half angry, half laughing.

He grinned and gave her hand a little squeeze.

“You’re a very teasable child,” he said. “By the way, the army is throwing a gala dance next week. I wondered if you would care to go?”

“Oh, Tom, I should have liked to, but Julian Barclay has already invited me.”

He let go of her hand and took out his cigarette case.

“I wish you had asked me earlier,” she said impulsively.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself with Barclay,” he said, offering the case to her.

She took a cigarette and inclined her head to his lighter. “You don’t like him, do you?”

He shrugged. “I have very little to do with him.”

“That’s evading the question.”

He drew on his cigarette and stared up into the branches of the frangipani tree.

“I don’t think your godfather would have cared much for him,” he said in a flat tone.

“Why not? Julian’s quite harmless. He’s been very kind to
me.”

“Barclay’s type make a career of being kind to women.”

“That’s a nasty thing to say. I know he’s a flirt, but there’s nothing wrong in that.”

“Providing you don’t take it seriously.”

“Of course I don’t. We’re just good friends.”

“As long as he realizes that,” Tom said meaningly.

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“Because his relationships with women in the past have not been confined to friendship.”

“I didn’t realize you paid attention to gossip,” she said coldly.

“I don’t. I just recognize the type.”

“I think you’re being extremely unjust,” she said crossly.

“You asked what I thought of him. I tried to avoid telling you.”

“I think I’m capable choosing my own friends,” she said with dignity.

“My dear child, nobody suggested that you were not. It is nothing to do with me who your friends are.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep calling me a child,” she exclaimed vexedly. “I’m twenty-two.”

As soon as she said it she felt a pang of contrition, for when, a moment ago, he had called her “a very teasable child” she had
liked it. In fact, the amused indulgence in his tone had given her an odd little uprush of pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” he said st
i
ffly. “It won’t happen again. Shall we join the others?”

He turned toward the drawing room, and she was obliged to follow, foolish tears pricking her eyelids. She blinked them away and compressed her lips to stop their trembling. Why must there always be this antagonism between them? Just when they seemed to be establishing a friendship, something would go wrong. Now the evening that had begun so happily was spoiled, and in the face of his withdrawal she had not the courage to try to recapture their earlier harmony.

At the door he stood aside to let her pass, and she saw that his face was blank with indifference.

Long after midnight she lay awake in the great mother-of-pearl bed, too troubled to sleep. Again and again she told herself that it was absurd to let a trivial wrangle with Tom upset her. Yet the fact remained that it had done so.

“Why? What does it matter? Why should I care what he thinks of me?” she whispered aloud.

The minutes ticked away, and as the hands of the clock reached one she tossed the sheet aside and climbed out of bed. Wandering restlessly about the shadowy room, she wondered why it was that her relationships with Tom and Julian were so different. With Julian she was relaxed and at ease. With Tom she experienced a whole gamut of unpredictable emotions, ranging from a kind of childish bliss when he was gentle with her to a burning animosity when he was sarcastic and overbearing. Tonight he had almost reduced her to tears.

I hate him,
she thought passionately.
I hate his confidence and his cold politeness and the way he raises his eyebrows when he doesn’t approve of something. I hate everything about him. I wish I’d never met him!

And it was then, telling herself that she hated him, that she knew she loved him. Unwanted and unwelcomed, love had crept under her guard and twined its clinging tendrils around her heart. The discovery was a bitter one, for she knew that loving a man like Tom Stransom could never bring happiness.

T
he following afternoon, M
r. Adams flew north to Penang where he had other business. His parting suggestion was that she should continue to enjoy herself for a week or two, during which
time he would investigate the possibility of her getting a post in either Singapore or the federation.

When Vivien got back to the house she found Julian waiting for her, and she greeted him with enthusiasm, hoping that his merry companionship would distract her from her troubled thoughts. They decided to swim until teatime and then go to the first show at one of Mauping’s two movie houses.

After basking in the tepid water for an hour they climbed out of the pool and lay down on outspread towels in the shade of the striped umbrella. By now Vivien had acquired a deep, golden tan, but she still took the precaution of rubbing oil into her arms and legs before sunbathing.

“You know, you make it very hard for me to keep my promise,” Julian said, leaning on one elbow and watching her smooth the protective oil over her shoulders.

“What promise?” she asked, replacing the cap on the bottle and lying down.

“That I wouldn’t get out of line again,” he reminded her.

She turned her face toward him, but her eyes were shielded by dark glasses and her mouth gave no clue to her reaction.

“Was the ban a permanent one or just a probationary measure?” he asked.

She plucked a blade of grass and twisted around her forefinger. Was it possible that by embarking on a flirtation with Julian she could deaden the futile ache in her heart?

“I haven’t thought about it, Julian,” she said.

He moved closer and gently removed her sunglasses.

“Might I suggest that you do so now? I don’t like breaking promises, but if you will persist in looking like a beautiful water nymph I’m afraid temptation will be too strong for me.”

She stared at him, searching his face for an answer to her question. He was very handsome and probably very expert at making love.

“It was just a probationary period,” she said, expecting him to gather her into his arms.

To her surprise he sat up with his arms clasped around his knees and his back to her.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What makes you think you’d like me to kiss you now? You didn’t enjoy my first attempts.”

She sat up beside him. “Well, things have changed,” she said, finding it a rather awkward question. “I know you better now.”

“And I know you better too, my poppet,” he said. “You’re the kind of girl who thinks that kisses mean love and love means marriage.”

“I’m not deluding myself that you’re in love with me, Julian, if that’s what you are getting at,” she said calmly.

“No, that’s not what I was getting at. But since you mention it, I’m not in love with you. I don’t even believe there is such an emotion,” he said bluntly. “But you believe in it, my dear, and you’re not in love with me, so why this willingness to be kissed?”

“
For heaven’s sake, are you always so analytical about these
things?”
she asked, both amused and discomfited by his odd reaction.

“I don’t know many girls like you,” he said. “Usually there’s nothing to analyze.”

“But you think I have some deep, dark motive?”

“I think there’s a reason, yes.”

“You’re very modest. I should think any girl would like to be kissed by a good-looking man.”

He grinned. “Flattery will not avail you, wench. If that’s the case, how come you resisted my sinister fascination before?”

“Really, Julian, I think this is quite the most fantastic discussion I’ve ever heard,” she said, a shade crisply. “I’m going to swim again.”

But as she reached for her bathing cap he caught her arm and swung her around to face him.

“You’re quite right. This is no time for talking,” he said thickly, and drawing her closer, he kissed her on the mouth.

Some time later Vivien pushed him gently away and said, “It must be nearly teatime. Chen will be out soon.”

“To the devil with Chen. Come here a minute
...
.”

She shook her head and before he could argue she had jumped up and dived into the pool.

Julian lighted a cigarette and watched her brown limbs flashing through the water to the opposite side, where she hauled herself out and sat on the edge kicking up a flurry of spray and laughing across at him.

“Why fly away?” he called. “Did I frighten you?”

“Perhaps.”

She disappeared again, leaving a ring of ripples on the surface. She stayed in the pool until Chen appeared with the tea tray, and then she climbed out and wrapped herself in a long, white, terry-cloth robe.

“In the circumstances your departure was a trifle abrupt,” Julian said, pouring out the tea while she combed her hair.

“Could I ask you something very personal?” she said, disregarding his remark because she had no answer to it.

“By all means. My life is an open book. I have no secrets and no shame.”

“Julian, have you ever been involved with Cara Maitland?”

Only by the tightening of his hand on the teapot did he betray that the question hit home.

“Why do you ask?” he said, his face inscrutable.

“Because I had the impression that there was something between you. I mean either that you loved her or she loved you.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t believe in what you call love. I don’t imagine that Cara does, either. She’s strictly a good-time girl.”

“That might be just a facade,” Vivien said thoughtfully. “She doesn’t look very happy. Perhaps she’s tired of being a good-time girl, as you call it.”

“If she looks fed up it’s because she is getting bored with young Ferguson. Cara likes variety.”

“I wonder?” Vivien said softly. “I wonder if she really does?”

“Anyhow, what have Cara’s affairs to do with us?” Julian inquired.

“Oh, nothing. I was just curious. You’re not angry, are you?”

“Why should I be?” His shrug was a shade too casual.

After tea Vivien changed into slacks and a cotton sweater and they drove into Mauping. The film was a technicolor melodrama with some impressive crowd scenes and a familiar plot. They sat in the front row of the circle, and Julian insisted on holding her hand.

Afterward they strolled around the town and spent some time talking to the old Malay who owned the pet shop and who tried to sell them a sad-looking monkey. Then they had a drink at a cafe and drove home.

Just inside the gates Julian stopped the car and took her in his arms. He kissed her eyelids and the curve of her cheek, but when his lips strayed to her mouth she drew free.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

“It’s so ... so cold-blooded, Julian. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I can easily remedy that,” he said softly, and this time his arms held her more closely and his lips were ardent and demanding.