Stormy Haven Page 4

  “Do you know the old man well?”

  “Fairly. I’ve met him in Spain and Morocco. I only saw the cub once before—in England.” An instant’s pause. “Straight to the hotel?”

  “Please. It’s getting toward lunchtime, and in this sticky atmosphere one needs to change often.”

  “Couldn’t we just take a quick look at the shops?” pleaded Melanie.

  “I can’t think what you find so fascinating about these dirty bazaars. We shall see enough of them in the weeks to come.”

  “But we haven’t strolled in the streets, yet.”

  “From what I’ve seen of it the town is best negotiated by car.”

  “Couldn’t I walk back to the hotel alone?”

  “No,” said Stephen, in his well-known tones of finality, “you couldn’t.” He took the bend that brought them on the main shopping center. “I have to call at an office on the Marine Drive. We’ll drop Elfrida at the hotel and you can go with me, if you like. You’ll be back within half an hour.”

  This was so generous of Stephen that Melanie simply said, “Oh, thanks,” and subsided into her corner in an aura of self-congratulation. Elfrida lost her smile.

  At snail’s pace the car nosed through the multicolored crowds, avoided donkey carts and itinerant goats, and was peered into by inquisitive boys and the ever present beggars. When Elfrida had been deposited at the hotel, Melanie transferred to the opposite corner and peeped into the nearside shops as they passed. Much of the merchandise was rubbish bought in lots from trading ships, but an exclusive store that actually had plate-glass windows displayed bales of linen and silk, a few dusty pairs of new shoes, some handbags and raincoats.

  The Marine Drive was a semicircular thoroughfare edging the bay. Facing the sea were the government buildings and a string of offices and warehouses, and drawn up high above the gray-pink beach was a disorderly collection of sampans and dugout canoes.

  As Stephen pulled in, a dozen urchins cocked a hopeful eye and one of them brandished a filthy rag with which he proposed to clean the shining gray car. Stephen waved them off.

  “Stay where you are,” he bade Melanie. “I won’t be more than five minutes.”

  There was plenty to see. A sloping headland with tall, skinny palms at its foot where children played. The brown bodies of the fishermen who mended nets with raw jute, or lazily sharpened their spears. The Indian Ocean creaming over the sand, and a little way out a couple of bouncing flatboats with grass sails. Stephen came back too soon.

  As he slipped into his seat, Melanie leaned forward eagerly. “Stephen, where’s the coral reef?”

  “It practically surrounds the island. It’s been cleared here, for shipping. I daresay you can see it from the headland.”

  “May we go there now?”

  The glance he turned upon her was sardonic. “Agog for experience, aren’t you? If I were you I’d curb that impatience and take a rest between each lesson.”

  “Not if you were me,” she said.

  “Probably not. But if you aren’t careful that zest for discovery will land you in trouble.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  His eyes narrowed, critically examined her smiling face. “You’re only eighteen, Melanie—a woman in some things but a child in others. Go slowly, little one. If you don’t get too heated up over your first affair the bump when it’s finished won’t hurt much.”

  She laughed. “You’re being nasty about Ramon. I think he’s charming, such a change from cold-blooded Englishmen. And I’m not in the least danger. Elfrida told you that I’m not geared for high-powered romance.”

  “I never have believed that any one woman knows the more vital details about another. To Elfrida you’re the young and docile companion. To Ramon, on the other hand, your fair skin and all-too-apparent innocence present a challenge.”

  “But that is wonderful,” she exclaimed, and added mischievously, “What am I to you, Stephen?”

  “A nuisance,” he said laconically, “like a recurring toothache. And don’t ask me why, because I’m not too certain myself. I only know that since the day I saw you surrounded by the mob in Aden you’ve irritated me.”

  “That’s rather a pity,” she said, a little dashed. “Would you like me to keep out of the way when you’re with Elfrida?”

  He looked at her with exasperation, and turned on the ignition. “Let’s find the coral reef,” he said.

  They slid around to the end of the drive, and he parked under a casuarina. He dropped down to the beach and reached up to lend her a hand. She landed beside him, bent and scooped up a handful of sand.

  “What queer stuff. Is it powdered coral?”

  “Coral and shells. You get some of the same sand on the eastern coast of Madagascar. In the hurricane season the houses are full of it, in spite of the shutters.”

  “When is the hurricane season?”

  “December to April. The cyclones don’t occur more than once or twice a year, and there may not be any at all. I shall have left Mindoa before Christmas, and I daresay you will, too.”

  She trod cavernously on the yielding beach, mounted with him to the grass from which the palms leaned. December was four months away. She didn’t want to think about it.

  They climbed a short incline and found opening before them a new and beautiful stretch of coastline. Tiny inlets and soft green promontories, a hushed blue sea upon which lay a curved chain of rose pink and pure white.

  “Coral islands,” she breathed. “All misty and shining. They’re enchanting.”

  “And like most enchanting things they’re dangerous,” he said.

  “You’re such a mocking person, Stephen!” She twisted to look up at him. “Even when you’re a sport you have to be overbearing and sarcastic about it. Anyone would take you to be forty and entirely warped.” She stopped, then inquired interestedly, “Why have you never married?”

  “Because I’ve never wanted to.”

  “You mean you’ve never been in love?”

  “No,” he said with tantalizing calm. “I mean I’ve never wanted to get married.”

  “Aren’t you ever going to?”

  “I couldn’t say, my child. Maybe one day I’ll relinquish my freedom, but at the moment it’s as inviolate as it ever was.” Fleetingly Melanie thought of Elfrida; but it occurred to her that if Stephen was weakening toward her cousin he would be the last man to reveal it before he was ready. What a strange experience to be in love with Stephen Brent, to be loved by him! Hastily, before she could mention anything to make him angry, she said, “What are you going to do on the island—what sort of work?”

  He shrugged, and leaned back against the rubbed gray trunk of a palm with his hands in his pockets. “For me the next three or four months are in the nature of a vacation—a busman’s holiday. The Development Corporation—I’m their technical adviser—owns lands and plantations throughout Africa and the East. We have a tract on Mindoa that has never been assayed, so I’m here to take deflections and made a report.”

  “Deflections? Does that mean you bore and extract samples?”

  “Quite right. What else do you know about geology?”

  “Very little. Is the public allowed to watch you on the job?”

  “An occasional member of the public—if she’s well behaved and not too facetious.”

  “Thank you, Stephen,” she said demurely. “When do you start digging?”

  “In a week or two, but there’ll be nothing of interest for a long time.” He shot back his cuff, gave her a swift, hard smile. “It’s nearly one o’clock and you’ve learned plenty for one morning. Let’s get moving.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At THE MIRAMAR one dined in the open air, at a table on the terrace. A band played European music with an Eastern rhythm, fireflies flittered about the vine-clad pillars and bright green parrots winged from branch to branch in the brightly illumined garden. Food and wines were French; the waiters, in soft slippers and wearing puttees over thei
r white trousers, were a blend of several races; and the guests were the most exciting mixture Melanie had ever seen. There were women in Paris gowns and others in floor-length pastel silks and saris; men in white dinner jackets, in khaki drill, in wide-sleeved Chinese coats. Jewels flashed, laughter tinkled and came in masculine gusts.

  Melanie wore pink and white striped silk and a chunky white necklace at her slim throat. She was considerably fortunate to be here at all, for Elfrida had not taken kindly to Ramon’s invitation. He had charmed Mrs. Paget as he charmed every woman, had brought her a magnificent bouquet for her room and used much subtle flattery. But there was no varnishing the fact that Melanie was to dine out while Elfrida spent her evening alone at the hotel, which was a condition of things that the older woman could not be expected to tolerate with equanimity. Melanie knew that tomorrow Elfrida would have a bad head and a fiendish temper, but just now it hardly mattered. The night and the music was exotic, and right across the table sat the most handsome and attentive of cavaliers.

  He set aside his fruit plate and leaned forward, “You are happy, Melanita?”

  “Ecstatically. This is a marvelous place.”

  “It pleases me very much that I make you happy.” Melanie had not quite meant that. She would have been happy here with anyone. But as it was Ramon who had brought her she smiled at him and sipped her wine. After all, half the women here envied her escort; all knew him for the fastidious and rich son of the aristocratic senor. Melanie was unaware that her own pale sweetness, the green eyes and silky brown lashes, her slightly reddened lips, were attracting as much comment as the familiar figure of Ramon. He put it into words.

  “How lovely you are, Melanita. I have never known anyone so flowerlike.”

  “Flowers don’t eat roast chicken and iced walnuts.”

  “Please. I am serious. I know that it is shyness that makes you joke—but, please, not with me.” His dark face bent nearer, his white teeth shone. “I want us to talk, to learn each other. Tell me about your life in England.” That was safely prosaic ground, at any rate, and Melanie didn’t mind talking about those dull days because they were over, and her life could never slide back into the rut where adventure was unknown. She was positive of that. It was the school that was unreal now, and the inky-fingered juniors banging out scales.

  “So you play the piano!” he exclaimed delightedly. “But what a pity that ours has spoiled with dampness. In our house at Cadiz we have a fine piano that my sister played before she was married. You would like Cadiz—it is a city that sparkles. How I wish it were near, so that I could take you there to meet my mother.”

  Ramon had the faculty of steering the drabbest subject into perilous seas. It was really safer to say little and smile a lot. Melanie leaned back, drummed her fingers in time with the music.

  “Will you dance?” he said.

  “I’m longing to.”

  They entered the ballroom, which was too large ever to be crowded, and moved away to a waltz. Ramon danced with resilient grace, and Melanie followed him as if she, too, were a born dancer. They danced together again and again, till others begged Melanie to favor them and Ramon was seized by older acquaintances. He made many introductions, and between times gaily wrested her from her partners.

  It was at about ten o’clock that a middle-aged man with a pleasant smile upon his rather gaunt, tanned face, came to Melanie and made the usual inquiry, “May I have the pleasure?”

  Melanie murmured, “Of course,” and lifted her arms.

  For a minute they glided around without speaking. Then he said, “No doubt you think it odd that I asked you to dance without being previously introduced?”

  “I wasn’t sure we hadn’t. I’ve met so many people tonight.”

  “D’you mind if we go outside? I’d like a word with you.”

  “Not at all.”

  She couldn’t imagine what this stranger would find to say to her, but he had very blue eyes that she felt she could trust. She passed him and went out to the terrace, sat on a bench and watched him curiously as he sat down beside her and took out a cigarette. His nails were well-shaped but blunt, as if he worked with his hands.

  “Will you smoke?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He lighted up and methodically placed the dead match in an ashtray on the low metal table at his knee.

  “You’ll be wondering what the deuce I’m up to, getting you out here like this. As a matter of fact, I was standing near you when the young man was presenting you to some of his friends, and I heard your name. Am I right in assuming John Paget was a relative of yours?”

  “John! Yes, he was my cousin.” She looked at him in sudden eagerness. “Did you know him here, on the island?”

  “Very well. He was my closest friend.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said sincerely. “I always had an idea that he was lonely and friendless. It’s good to hear that he wasn’t.”

  “He was lonely, particularly when he came back after his marriage.” He paused. “Miss Paget, did you come to Mindoa with his widow?”

  “Yes. We’re at the hotel.” On the point of demanding that he visit them there, she halted. Elfrida was emphatically against meeting any of John’s friends, or even people who had known of him. Yet, if this man had been close to John he would naturally wish to know Elfrida.

  “What is she like—Mrs. Paget?”

  She hesitated. “Dark and beautiful. She wasn’t too well on the boat, and it may be some little while before she’s able to get around much.”

  “That suits me. I’ve no wish to contact Elfrida Paget till I’ve grown accustomed to her presence on Mindoa.” No bitterness in his measured voice, only perhaps a shade of contempt. “Why is she here?”

  “It’s a private matter, to do with the plantation.”

  “Oh.” He smoked for a moment. “I ought to have told you that my name is Henry Jameson.”

  Melanie sat carefully still. Jameson, the plantation manager! The man upon whom Elfrida was preparing to heap blame for her reduced income. Incredible that he could have let the place go. She had known him less than ten minutes, yet she would wager that he was not only an excellent farmer but an honest one. And besides, he had a quiet air of breeding.

  “You’re a little bit like John,” he said, “but I’d hate to think you’d be pushed around as he was. Maybe it would be best if you forgot having seen me tonight.”

  “Say nothing about you to Elfrida?”

  He nodded. “And do me a favor, will you? Put her off going to the plantation. I had to come into town on business today, which explains my presence at the Miramar tonight, but in an hour or so I shall drive back. When I’m ready to deal with Mrs. Paget I’ll have an interview with her at the hotel.”

  Somewhat out of her depth, Melanie said, “Supposing I can’t dissuade her from visiting the plantation?”

  He smiled; Melanie had the feeling that had they been longer acquainted he would paternally have patted her shoulder.

  “She’s difficult, is she? Well, it wouldn’t be catastrophic if she did come, but do your best to keep her away.”

  Other questions crowded into Melanie’s mind, but there was no time to voice them. Ramon had emerged onto the terrace, was bowing and glancing with some hostility at her companion.

  “I promised your cousin that I would take you home early,” he said stiffly.

  Henry Jameson rose. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Paget. Good night.”

  Ramon stood straight and silent till the other man had disappeared. Then he shrugged. “He is just one of the planters. They do not often patronize the Miramar. Come, Melanie, the car has been brought to the front.”

  She was scarcely conscious of Ramon as they drove along the palm-lined roads toward the center of the town. He spoke and she answered, but it was of Henry Jameson that she thought; Henry Jameson, who had evidently been a staunch friend of John and for fairly obvious reasons was an enemy of John’s widow. She wished there were someone with
whom she could discuss the subject, but could think of no one but Stephen—and he would probably advise her to mind her own business.

  At the hotel Ramon helped her from the car.

  “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” she said.

  “When can I see you again?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t make any appointments.”

  “Then I must once more cross a gentle sword with your cousin.” He raised her hand to his lips, turned his cheek to its smoothness and gazed at her with glinting eyes. “Good night, Melanita... chica.”

  He was gone, racing around the driveway with the maniac speed of youth overcharged with emotion.

  Elfrida had gone to bed. Melanie teetered at her door, decided not to face her cousin tonight, and went to her own bedroom.

  As she had anticipated, Elfrida complained next morning of having been awake half the night with a migraine. She sent for remedies and suspected them all because the pharmacist was not English. Melanie came in for pettish scolding because the fingers with which she massaged the aching brow were not cool enough, because the iced drinks tasted of the disinfectant with which the hotel water had been treated, because the servant who was tidying a bedroom along the corridor persisted in singing.

  In the afternoon came an hour or two of blessed respite; Elfrida slept. Melanie put on a hat and ventured into the open air. She looked into the shops, and stood on the corner of a narrow side road enjoying a restricted view of the dazzling blue bay. Presently she turned from the main road into a street of pink-washed houses ornamented with sculpture birds, fishes and flowers. Indian women in saris were hanging out washed garments and dyed lengths of material. Their men had vivid turbans and white cotton suits and the children wore pajamas.

  Another street of meaner shops had an offshoot of clean whitewashed dwellings with bamboo blinds and an atmosphere of inscrutability. An old Chinese sat in the shade of a wall and puffed contentedly at the very long stem of a very small pipe. Two youths were carpentering a chair apiece, flimsy things with grass seats. A group of almond-eyed girls sat in a tiny veranda, weaving; incuriously, they watched Melanie pass on to the end of the lane and turn into the Marine Drive. Here the color and noise were clamorous. Melanie would have retreated had not a tall figure in white detached itself from the mass and advanced upon her.