Portrait of Susan Page 9

  “I’ll bet he’s taken a few fences,” she said with her impish grin. “He may be exciting but he’s not a good insurance risk. Such a man is hardly for you, my chicken.” Yet Susan felt safer with Clive than with many another, possibly because she felt in him a preoccupation with something which had nothing at all to do with herself.

  His days were full. He was no horseman, so he had hired a car from the Kumati garage, and in it he scoured the countryside, often alone, but sometimes with Susan. The native village above the town genuinely charmed and astonished him. Like any tourist he entered the chiefs hut, admired its cleanliness and marvelled at the block of wood and grass mat which were the chiefs pillow and mattress. Down the hillside he operated the goatskin bellows at the primitive forge, and he left the village laden with assegais, a tomtom, bead trinkets and boxes and ornaments made of vegetable ivory.

  As they drove home that day Susan commented on this simple streak in his nature.

  Clive wrinkled his nose at her. “Yes, it’s there, but mightily weighed down by commercialism. Pride will compel me to display in my sale-room everything I take home from Rhodesia—but this is the sad part. If I’m offered a good enough price I shall probably sell the lot!” It was his habit of collecting unwieldy mementoes that took him across to the cottage late one afternoon. Susan had been re-collaring one of Paul’s bush-shirts, and she had just snipped the final thread when Clive tapped on the open door and asked if he might come in.

  “Yes, of course,” she smiled, but she gazed with some apprehension at his armfuls of leatherwork and clayware. “No sale here, I’m afraid!”

  “I was wondering if you’d store them for me over here. David’s houseboy is already looking askance at the collection in my bedroom, and I thought that as you have a spare room you might not object to keeping them out of sight for me.”

  “Your sale-room in London is going to look as if the Barotse and Matabele had moved in!”

  “I shan’t take the lot—only those which appeal to me when I’m ready to leave. The rest I’ll have crated and shipped to a curio dealer.”

  She showed him the bedroom which would one day be her own, and after his load was deposited went back with him to the living-room. Clive looked about him and his glance lingered on the half-dozen orange watsonias which seemed to be growing from the root of a huge rubber leaf in the centre of the table. He put his hands behind him and rested on the straight back of a chair.

  “Whenever I see a simple room with a woman and a few flowers in it, I’m invariably reminded that there’s something vital I’ve missed in life. I’m not the type to need home cooking and a household of children, but sometimes it comes to me almost with a sense of shock that a bachelor who has heaps of interests is nevertheless incomplete.”

  “If I were Mrs. Maynton I’d say you were being trite. But I do know what you mean, and I’m afraid there’s only one remedy, and even that might not be successful.”

  His smile was whimsical. “Ever been in love, Susan?”

  Color came swiftly into her cheeks. “I’m ... not sure.”

  “Well, you will be, when it happens. I only hope you’ll love sensibly, and that he’ll deserve you. They say that in the marriage market you get exactly what you deserve, nothing more, nothing less. But sometimes I wonder if love has anything to do with marriage.”

  “That sounds jaundiced. Surely love is the foundation of marriage!”

  “It may be, in about twenty-five per cent of marriages. The trouble is, a good many people can love to order. A man will choose a woman who will further his career, and a woman will pick on the male who offers most security and love him afterwards.”

  Susan took a cigarette from the case he held out. “You sound like Mr. Forrest, only he’s cold-blooded about it.” She jutted the cigarette to his lighter and blew a small veil of smoke. Casually, she added, “Would you say Mrs. Maynton is his kind?”

  He pushed the lighter back into his pocket and took his cigarette from his lips. There was little change in his tone when he answered, “I don’t know. I’d say that Deline as she was a year or two ago might have made an instant appeal to him.” He paused, and the brief silence seemed to grow ominous, though his tones were light when he said, “I was once engaged to Deline, you know.” Susan found herself staring at him, and wrenched her gaze away. Clive engaged to Deline! It explained so much: Deline’s querulousness and David’s coolness, the whole situation as it stood at present.

  “How long ago?” she asked curiously.

  “About five years. I hadn’t much money because I’d invested my all in the elegant sale-room which now provides a tidy living. Even then the prospects were good and Deline said she was willing to wait to marry till the cash rolled in. In fact, she was willing to wait”—with a wry smile. “My clients were naturally well-lined, and she hooked one of them and married him.”

  “Oh, dear.” Susan felt sorry for what it must have done to him, but her thoughts had inevitably gone further. “Does David know?”

  “He knows, but I haven’t said much about it, so he inevitably believes her version. And, as you may guess, that strayed somewhat from the truth. The blame for the whole business now rests upon her youth and naiveté in those days—and upon me. I should have saved her from the bad man.” His laugh was short, a little bitter and self-derisive. “I had about as much chance of yanking her out of the man’s clutches as I had of matching his bank-roll.”

  “But what did you do?”

  “What could I do? For a year or so' I kept out of her way; then gradually I became friendly with both Deline and her husband...” He broke off, and said, “You’re far too young to hear this sordid stuff. I don’t know why I started on it.”

  She didn’t urge him, but commented, “Being here with Deline must have made it all very vivid. I don’t suppose love dies very easily.”

  He smiled. “No, but it does die; take my word for it. I think you should know the gist of it all because it may help you in your dealings with Deline.” With unnecessary sharpness he tapped ash into the little bowl on the table. “She spent her husband’s money, tried to fool with me to get a divorce, and no one was happier than she when he smashed up that car—and himself. Oh, yes, I know she collapsed and had to spend several weeks in a nursing home; it wasn’t altogether an act, because she’d had the shock of finding herself poor, and that hurt! All that time I saw her daily, and one day she asked if I still had her engagement ring and whether she could have it back. It was all very gentle and lover-like, with no mention of my present success in business.” Cynically, he shook his head. “I didn’t get round to responding properly because David showed up, very masterful and willing to do his best for his kinswoman. Well, I’m somewhat jaded and shop-soiled; David was the virile Colonial with good rich stakes in both England and Rhodesia. There was no doubting which of us she would choose.”

  Susan’s lips had gone dry. “So you think she’s already chosen David. Then why did you come to Rhodesia?”

  He reached out and patted her shoulder. “Don’t bother your pretty head about it. Just be careful how you deal with Deline. Her nature is as jealous as green hell.”

  But Susan had to say, “You wouldn’t have come all this way if you were entirely without hope.”

  He laughed and flipped his fingers. “I came because I needed a holiday and to show how little I care. My motives were entirely selfish.”

  He took a pace or two towards the door, and she moved with him, saying with a sigh, “She’s the fatal woman type, isn’t she? Do they ever make good wives?”

  “Not in the sense you mean”—with a hint of affection in his glance at her. “But there’s always a man somewhere who can’t resist them. You know the sort of thing. To live in purgatory with the she-cat you love is better than to live with a good woman who only loves you. Human nature’s queer, isn’t it?”

  “Incredibly,” she answered soberly, as they went out to the narrow veranda. “I wish there was something we could do
about all this.”

  “There’s something you can do,” he said quickly, as the sound of hoofbeats drew close. “Keep what we’ve talked about under that yellow hair of yours.”

  Before the sentence was finished David appeared in the archway through the frangipani and come up the path. Without preamble he said, “I came to tell you that Paul will be home about an hour later tonight. We’ve discovered a few termites in the new curing shed, and he’s staying on to give the wood another spraying.” He looked at Clive, and asked levelly, “Had a good day?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  David’s attention returned to Susan. “If you’d rather stay and have dinner with your brother tonight, it’s all right. But I’d like to see you after breakfast tomorrow. You might ride up to the office at about ten.”

  Clive moved off. “So long, Sweet Sue,” he said negligently as he wandered down the path.

  Quietly, Susan asked, “Can’t you tell me now, whatever it is?”

  David rubbed a brown hand over his forearm. His eyes were narrowed as if he had been riding hard, and his mouth looked inflexible. “I’m not in the mood. Will you stay for dinner with Paul?”

  Her chin went up. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

  ‘‘I doubt if that’s the truth,” he said a little sourly. “See you tomorrow, then.” And he followed Clive down the path. Susan had the sensation that some part of her physical being went with him.

  She walked back into the house and sat down. Without volition her thoughts went straight to the news Clive had given her about his own engagement to Deline.

  Susan shivered. Was the story happening all over again? Would Deline use all the artifice and stratagem of which she was capable to capture David Forrest? Was that the reason she had dropped Clive a second time? Her persuasions must have influenced David’s return to Rhodesia, and a woman as clever with men as Deline would have small difficulty in getting herself taken along with him, and incidentally away from Clive Carlsten, to whom Deline was as transparent as rain-water.

  Paul, when he came in, was fed up but uncaring. “It’s me again, of course,” he grumbled as he poured himself a generous gin and soda. “The curing shed was up before he came. It now appears that I should have bought the timber from a reputable firm who guarantee that their stuff has been proofed against white ant and borer beetle. This afternoon we’ve had to uncover every surface of the wood and soak it with chemical. What a tyrant that man can be.”

  “You can’t blame him. Paul, I ... I do wish you’d take more care. It would be too dreadful if he started up that dairy farm and put someone else in charge.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” he agreed, looking exasperated. “It would take us the rest of our lives to buy a place of our own. Independence is grand, but too darned expensive.”

  “Surely you haven’t already given up the idea of saving!”

  “Not altogether, but I’d give a lot to know a quicker way of collecting a spot of capital. Are we going over to the house for dinner tonight?”

  “No,” she said evenly, “we’re both staying here. Mr. Forrest has decided that he must occasionally remind us of our position. Shall we go down to the club after dinner?”

  “If you like.” He sounded morose. “Recently, though, I’ve found it a bit of a bore. Deline’s right, you know. They’re a pretty raw crowd.”

  “Perhaps, but we didn’t notice it before she came, so we must have been pretty raw, too.” She hesitated. “You haven’t seen the Knights lately; I think they’re beginning to wonder if they’ve offended you in some way.”

  He looked at his stained hands and moved towards the door. “You get tired of coltish behavior,” he said. “They’re a nice bunch, but they’re too darned outdoor and horsey.”

  “I see,” she said. “You prefer Deline’s fragile sophistication. You’ve forgotten that you managed only a small dairy farm in England, and that when we came here it was the Knights who first accepted us almost as the owners of Willowfield. You used to be fond of Wyn.”

  His lower lip jutted, disguising the weakness of his chin. “I’m still fond of her. You know why there could never be anything deeper than friendship between Wyn Knight and me. She has eight hundred a year of her own!”

  “I don’t see that as the obstacle that you do, but if it is one, there’s surely a far more important reason why you shouldn’t give any serious thought to Deline Maynton. When will you realize that she doesn’t care a fig for anyone but herself?”

  Paul flushed easily, particularly when he was angry. “I’m expecting nothing whatever from Deline. She’s so far beyond my reach that I haven’t the remotest hope, but there’s nothing to prevent my being grateful for what I’ve learned from merely being occasionally in the same room with her. She’s spoiled me for girls like Wyn Knight. She’s so entirely different.

  Without any hope of convincing him, Susan said, “You’re right. They’re honest, and she isn’t.”

  He was in the doorway now. “You don’t understand. After all, you are like these local people and that’s why you get along with them so well. I only took to them because they were jolly and there was nothing else available.”

  “That isn’t true! All last year you said how glad you were to have so many good friends, and that one wouldn’t find better anywhere.” With desperation, she added, “Paul, it isn’t fair to let that woman tear you away from the people to whom you really belong. Don’t you see that she’s a highly experienced widow on the lookout for a rich second husband?”

  His expression was one she had never encountered in him before; it was compounded of surprise and dislike. “You’ve certainly got it in for her, haven’t you?” he said. “I suppose that’s how women are when they’re envious. Too bad, Sue. You’ll be happier if you mind your own business.” And he went through to the bathroom.

  Susan was trembling. She pushed her fingers through her hair and moistened her lips, and after a moment she was able to begin setting the table. It was fantastic that Deline, merely by being herself, could force a division between Susan and Paul, who had always lived so nonchalantly under one roof and never known more than a fleeting tiff. But Deline, it seemed, possessed untold powers. There was Clive, who averred that he was cured of loving her but had never married anyone else; Paul, who knew his case was hopeless while he clung obstinately to a dream; and David, who had actually altered the course of his life for Deline’s sake.

  What could one do about such a woman?

  CHAPTER SIX

  DAVID’S office was one of the several low buildings which were grouped well away from the house at the other end of the orchard. It was built of logs and banana-leaf thatch, presenting an exterior that might have mushroomed of its own accord from the sub-tropical earth. Worker’s and crop records were kept there, the wages were paid at a table set outside its door and it was the meeting place of the boss-boys with their master in the early morning.

  Inside, the room was businesslike, with a desk under the window, a single swivel chair, an office table and a green steel filing cabinet against one wall. When Susan rapped and walked in the office was empty and the clock on the wall pointed to ten minutes to ten.

  She wished David would come and get through whatever it was he had to say. Nothing was worse than waiting and uncertainty, though inwardly she had little doubt about his reason for wishing to see her in official surroundings. The very look of him yesterday had been ominous .

  At exactly two minutes to ten she heard the slap of a hand on the gelding’s flank, and then the doorway was filled by David’s height and breadth. He came right in, slid a glance over her and closed the door.

  “No, don’t get up,” he said. “There’s not much room in this place but I’ll manage.” He went round her, pushed his hands into the pockets of his shorts and leaned back upon the edge of the table. The sun slanting through the window glinted on the dark hairs of his forearm and lay in a bar of warmth across her lap. The room was well-ventilated but she felt sti
fled.

  “You look keyed up,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

  She flicked a horse hair from the knee of her slacks, ignored his question and said with admirable calm, “This is the first time I’ve been in the office since I used to help run it myself. I thought it would have been altered.”

  “I couldn’t improve upon it,” he said. “Your card system is perfect, and I’ve already complimented you on your book-keeping.”

  Her tone lowered. “Please don’t say you wish Paul were as efficient. I know his carelessness annoys you and I wish with all my heart there was something I could do about it. Just lately...”

  “Hold on,” he said. “You don’t have to work yourself up over Paul.”

  “But ... isn’t he the reason you wanted to see me here?”

  “Good heavens, no. I don’t need a woman’s help in dealing with Paul. I’m not too sure about him yet, but he’s been subject to ... unsettling influences. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t come round in time.”

  Her glance rose a little but did not quite meet his. “You’re being awfully patient with him—more patient really than he deserves. I wonder why?”

  “Do you?” He didn’t elucidate, but queried, “Why are you pale this morning?”

  “I’ve been a little disturbed. You’ve never asked me to come here before, and I naturally thought you’d grown intolerant of Paul.”

  “I see.” He paused. “Well, from now on you may be sure that in things that concern him I’ll deal direct with your brother, and not with you. As a matter of fact, it’s you yourself I happen to be anxious about at the moment. Candidly”—with an impatient sigh—“I had far easier problems when I was working on jet design. At least we had no women tangling up the works.”

  “You came into this of your own accord,” she said coolly. “In fact, the whole situation was your brainchild.”