The House of Seven Fountains (2 page)

“Mauping? Why, that’s where I’m going,” Vivien said eagerly.”

“Indeed?” the doctor said stiffly.

The
spate of questions died on
her lips. It was clear that Dr. Stransom
did not want to
discuss Mauping with her.

Unaware of the reserve between
his companions, the professor inquired
if she was making
a protracted visit.

“I don’t
know how long
I shall be staying. It rather depends on whether
the natives are
friendly,” Vivien answered with a sting in her
tone.
But
the
doctor’s face was impassive. She could not tell whether
he had
taken her point.

“You will enjoy it, Miss Connell. The Malays are a delightful race and while the climate can be trying, the scenery is superb—quite superb. Now, if you have finished your drink, I suggest we adjourn to the dining room,
”
Professor Linton said.

“I must say I look forward to a good night’s rest,” he went on, as they settled themselves at a
corner
table in the cool pillared dining hall. “At my age it is difficult to sleep soundly in an airplane. However, I daresay you want to see something of the city before you retire, Miss Connell.”

“Yes, I should like to visit the Pagoda.”

“I think you would be wise to accept an escort.” The professor adjusted his spectacles to study the menu.

“Oh, I won’t walk. I’ll take one of those pedal carriages. There is a rank of them outside the entrance,” Vivien said.

“Professor Linton knows the East better than you do, Miss Connell. It isn’t advisable for an Englishwoman to go about unaccompanied after dark. I take it you don’t speak the language?”

“No, I don’t. But I think I am capable of looking after myself, Dr. Stransom.”

“No doubt—in your home town. This is Asia.”

“Aren’t you being rather alarmist?
”
There was an edge to her voice again and obstinacy in the slight lift of her chin.

His glance measured her for a moment. “These are unsettled times. If you had ever been in an Asian riot, Miss Connell, you might be a trifle less confident. Novels and films give a highly romanticized picture of the East, you know.”

“I’m not a schoolgirl,” she retorted cuttingly.

“My dear young lady, I a
m s
ure Dr. Stransom never meant to suggest that you were,” the professor interposed. “I shall be delighted to offer myself as your escort. I haven’t visited the Shwe Dagon since the war.”

Vivien’s annoyance melted at his gentleness.

“I’m sorry if I sounded ungracious,” she said sincerely.
“Actually, I think I will go to bed early, I hadn’t realized how exhausting the heat would be, and I expect I shall be able to see the Pagoda on my return journey.”

Having assured the professor that she really had changed her mind, she led him into talking about his research, and the rest of the meal passed in an amiable atmosphere, although Dr. Stransom made little contribution to the conversation. Once or twice she caught him watching her with a sardonic expression.

In fact, his patronizing advice had increased her determination to see the famous shrine.

Her life had been bound by convention for so long that now, tasting freedom, she was in a mood to resent the mildest stricture. Had he shown more friendliness during the past two days she might have
accepted
his caution, but since he had not, she felt that his attitude was infuriatingly presumptuous.

After dinner they returned to the lounge for coffee, and when the professor said good-night, Vivien made a pretense of going to her room. Taking the elevator up to the first floor, she then doubled back down the staircase, slipped cautiously through the foyer and hailed a
trisha.

Riding through the streets in the shabby but comfortable little vehicle with the
trisha
boy’s shirt flapping in the night breeze and his bare feet spinning on the pedals, Vivien felt an enjoyable sense of daring. Although he had no authority to stop her from visiting the Pagoda by herself, the fact that Dr. Stransom disapproved lent an extra spice to the excursion. Tomorrow she would tell him that she had been and add some casual remark about his unnecessary concern.

After what had seemed to be quite a short ride, the driver deposited her at the entrance to the temple. Seeing a Burmese woman discarding her slippers, Vivien followed suit, leaving her shoes with a flower seller from whom she bought a posy of jasmine.

She began to climb the great stairway, the steps warm and smooth under her bare soles. On either side of the ascent were stalls selling flowers, gongs, trinkets and miniature white umbrellas to be offered to the Buddha. The vendors glanced at her as she passed, but they did not seem unduly interested in her presence and certainly not hostile.

At the top of the stairs, Vivien found herself on an open terrace with the great golden domes towering above her. The terrace was ablaze with light from hundreds of wicks floating in tiny dishes of oil, and the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, lotus and ginger flowers. Nearby a Burmese girl was kneeling before a massive gilded image, her sleek head bent in rapt devotion, and all the way along the terrace there were other idols, some with the masks of fabulous beasts and some with bland, slant-eyed human faces.

By the time she had explored the shrine with its many shadowed galleries where shaven-headed Buddhist priests in saffron-and-orange robes walked leisurely among the kneeling figures of pilgrims, it was half-past nine.

Reclaiming her shoes from the friendly flower seller, Vivien decided to walk back to the hotel. It was a glorious night with a million stars glimmering in a black velvet sky, and she began to understand what people meant by the spell of the tropics . At this hour an English city would seem deserted and secretive, but here in Rangoon the streets seemed busier than they had by daylight. People were gathered together in groups, smoking and gossiping. Children romped in and out of alleys. Somewhere a record player was blaring. A scraggy dog foraged in a pile of garbage. A street trader chanted a sales slogan.

Vivien was so interested in all this nocturnal activity that she paid little attention to her route. The drive to the Pagoda had seemed to take about ten minutes with two left turns. So to walk should take approximately half an hour with two right turns. Presently, following a group of
trishas,
she turned right. It was not until she had walked some distance that she realized the street was quieter than the previous ones. At the
corner
she turned right again, and now she was in a narrow
lane
that was quieter still and rather dark.

Realizing she had missed her way, Vivien decided to walk on. She would probably come out onto a main road again in a minute or two, and then she could ask her way. Ten minutes later, when there was still no sign of a busy thoroughfare, she felt a prick of uneasiness. The quarter which she had penetrated was a labyrinth of back streets and cul-de-sacs. The houses were squalid, and the people in the doorways stopped talking as she went by and watched with an intentness that was more than a little unnerving.

Presently she saw an old woman coming toward her and as they drew abreast Vivien hesitated and said,
“
Strand Hotel. Strand?”

The woman glanced at her with unblinking dark eyes and moved on.

“Please don’t go
...
”
Vivien put out a hand and touched
her arm. “You must know the Strand
Hotel
. English people. Strand Hotel.”

T
his time the woman stopped and said something incomprehensible in a hoarse voice.

“Strand,” Vivien persisted. “Strand Hotel.”

The woman shook her head with a contemptuous expression. Then, suddenly, they were surrounded by a knot of onlookers
.
Unused to the almost magical way in which Asians converge on any predicament that seems likely to offer free entertainment, whether it be a motor accident or a neighborly squabble, Vivien was appalled to find herself hemmed in by a rapidly expanding crowd of bystanders. The old woman had begun gabbling at the top of her voice, and each time she paused for breath there was a murmur of response from the crowd and a dozen pairs of unreadable Burmese eyes swiveled in Vivien’s direction.

Fighting down panic, she said in a taut voice,
“
I want to go to the Strand Hotel. Surely someone must know where it is. Strand Hotel.”

They grinned derisively at her, and she saw that a youth with a pockmarked face and a sinister scar on his forehead was eyeing her handbag.

Realizing that they could not or would not help her, Vivien braced herself and made to get through the crowd. But instead of moving aside, they stood firm, and she was afraid to force her way through for fear that they might turn on her. She clenched her teeth, bitterly regretting the stupid pride that had led her into this situation. To call for help would be useless in such a district. Perhaps if she gave them what little money she had
...

Then, as abruptly as they had appeared, the crowd dispersed, sidling away from her so rapidly that she could scarcely believe her eyes. Even the old woman hurried off, muttering to herself
.

Weak with relief but at a loss to understand why they had gone, she fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief
.
Drops of moisture were trickling down her cheeks and her hands were wet.

“Well, Miss Connell? Were you fostering Anglo-Burmese relations, or is it possible that you found our friends’ attentions unwelcome?”

Vivien’s heart gave a sickening lurch and then, in a flash, she
understood what had happened. And even before she saw him standing in the road a few yards away from her, she knew that that cold, mocking voice could only belong to Dr. Stransom.

Speechless with humiliation, she watched him stroll toward her, hands in pockets, an unpleasant smile twisting his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” she said in a voice that was not quite steady.

“
I suggest we discuss that later. Come!
”
He slipped a hand under her elbow and propelled her firmly along the street.
“
This is not the most salubrious part of the city, and the residents are unused to foreign visitors, especially at this hour.”

Vivien’s instinct was to shake herself free of his grasp, but she knew that she
would only add fuel to his sarcasm and make herself look even more ridiculous. So she submitted to being led along, and within minutes they had reached one of the principal
thoroughfares.

The doctor hailed a
trisha
and helped her into it. When he climbed in beside her she found that the vehicles were built for people of smaller proportions than Europeans, and although she drew as far into her
corner
as possible she could not avoid the pressure of his shoulder against hers.

“
This must be a great satisfaction to you,
”
she said bitterly as they started off.

“Not at all. I should prefer to have spent my evening reading, but I was fairly certain you would lose your way or fall into a monsoon drain.”

A wave of color suffused her face, and she was thankful
f
or the shadow cast by the
trisha’s
hood.

“How did you happen to be there just then?” she asked in a
cr
u
shed voice.

He lighted a cigarette, and in the flare of the lighter she saw that he was still looking amused.

“
I
saw you slip out of the hotel.”

“You mean you’ve been following me all evening?”

“Yes.”

“Do you make a practice of shadowing people, Dr.
Stransom?”

“Only when they insist on running into trouble, he replied
smoothly.

“Well, I think that’s the absolute limit!” Vivien exclaimed furiously
.
“What right have you to trail me around the town because you don’t think I’m capable of looking after myself?”

“And are you?” he inquired softly.

“Just because I took the wrong turning and couldn’t make those people understand me, it doesn’t follow that I should have been robbed or murdered.”

“Certainly not. It is quite likely that you would have been badly scared—even more than you already were.”

“What makes you think I was frightened?” she demanded indignantly.

He reached out and took her wrist.

“Accelerated pulse beat,” he said briefly.

“Oh!” She was almost crying with vexation. “All right. I admit it. I was scared stiff. I hope it gives you immense satisfaction.
”