Brittle Bondage (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE chef was borrowed from the Ellisburg Hotel. He was an Indian with a paradoxical flair for Continental cookery.
Blake brought
him
from town on Thursday afternoon and straightway he familiarised himself with the kitchen and the contents of pantry and refrigerator. In spidery script he made out his requirements, and while the jeep was gone for them he compiled his menu—seven oddly-tided courses.

Owing to the shortness of notice, Blake had had to drive round and deliver the invitations verbally, and he also brought from Paul the names of eight friends from the hospital. The guests would number twenty-six. Without surprise Venetia saw that Natalie had accepted; at the rest of the list she hardly glanced.

She had just finished her sandwich lunch when Blake drove up. Heart plunging, she put her plates and glass on the tray, but had no
tim
e to do more before he strode up into the porch.

“Had your lunch?” he asked.

“You didn’t say you’d be back.” Her nail traced the delicate pattern of a plate.

He bent to open and inspect one of the sandwiches she had left. “This is all right. The boy can make me some more.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“No hurry.” Perhaps unconsciously, he stood too squarely in the doorway for her to pass. “How is everything going?”

“Very well. The flowers came. I’ve put them in vases, but you may want to alter them.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve told you before that you’re clever with flowers. What colour are you wearing tonight?”

“Green.”

“You don’t seem to fancy white these days.”

She could not contemplate him without pain. Turning aside, she attempted, with some bitterness, to inflict a pinprick. “I’ve tried to avoid your contempt for girlishness. Hasn’t got me far, has it?”

“Listen, Venetia.” His tone was low and firm. “Tonight isn’t only Thea’s engagement party. A lot of these people, like the Scotts and the Allistons, haven’t seen you since ten days alter we were married. They’ll be as interested in you as in Thea. You realise that?”

“I won’t let you down.”

“I’m sure of that, but pretending to be jolly is a strain, and I feel sure you were right the other day when you said you can’t bear any more. I want to see that you
don’t
bear any more. Does it help if I tell you that at
th
e moment your happiness is more in my thoughts than anything else?”

“It does, a little.”

“Could you say the same about my happiness?”

Head lowered, she toyed with a knife. “I haven’t thought in terms of happiness for some time, but it has occurred to me that there are certain things you want from married life which aren’t in my power to give. I—I would like you to have those things.”

“Couldn’t you be more specific?” he demanded sharply. “That’s the most important thing you’ve ever said.”

She bit on her lip to still its quivering. “You know my limitations better than I know them myself. I disappointed you the day I came here, and I’ve been doing it ever since.”

He didn’t refute it, but studied her carefully. “This is no time for you to get strung up. I thought a brief talk
mi
g
h
t ease your mind, and allow you to get pleasure from the party. We won’t discuss it again till we get to Umsanga.”

“Umsanga?” Her gaze was wide and dark.

He nodded. “It’s been in my mind this past week or two—ever since the fever scare started. We’ll go down tomorrow for a few days—shed the repressions of Bondolo for a while.”

“We won’t!”

“That’s enough, Venetia. It’s for your good that we’re going—to help you shake off the depression that’s got hold of you.”

Her lips white, she said: “You can’t persuade me. I’ll never go to Umsanga again.”

Her vehemence brought him forward, and she slipped round him and into the house.

Umsanga! Could he possibly have thought she would agree? Later, when the car started up, she came out of her room. How she hated that prison of a bedroom!

Thea turned up at four.

“I had incredible luck,” she explained, planting an unusually warm kiss on Venetia’s cheek. “Matron’s coming for an hour tonight—after dinner. The honour is chiefly Paul’s, but she called me in to offer congratulations and the rest of the day off, from two-thirty, which you’ll admit was matey of her. I’ll have to leave here at seven tomorrow morning.”

“That’s not too bad. Mosi can give you breakfast in bed. Did you bring a carload of goods?”

“No, not much. Several pieces of china and glass, and some ornaments I bought months ago in the Indian market at Durban. As a matter of fact, my possessions are woefully few. Thank goodness Paul has a furnished house, so that I shan’t have to start from scratch. I may be a good ten years older than you, Venetia, but I certainly haven’t your aptitude for home-making.”

Together they carried the precious articles to Thea’s room. Each was unwrapped and admired, parcelled up again and laid away in the deep-drawered pine chest. Venetia was called away to instruct the two hired Malay waiters in their duties, and Thea sat down on the bed and gave her mirrored reflection a despairing grimace.

It sounded possible when Paul advised it. Now she was much less sure. Venetia wasn’t a dithering adolescent simply pining to unload her problems on to another woman. She was a woman herself, with a fairly rigid backbone and a large degree of newly acquired poise. Only someone watching her continually and anxiously would detect tenseness and grief under the agreeable surface. Obviously, Venetia had determined to shed no shadow over Thea’s party. She was blatantly normal. For the present it would be kinder to follow her lead.

So Thea pushed her finger into the solitaire engagement ring which she had taken from her bag, and went in search of Venetia in order to show it off in the accepted manner.

They walked down to the pool for a refresher and were half-way back up the path when they met Blake on his way for the same purpose.

“Hullo,” he said to Thea. “Are you nervous?”

“Not very. Dressed and fortified with a Martini, I shall face the horde with equanimity.”

He smiled. “You look about twenty-four. Being in love becomes you, Thea.”

“Being loved becomes any woman,” she returned swiftly. “Don’t be long. I need a drink.”

Paul, in the informal white jacket and black trousers which were the usual male garb for dinner engagements, came upon them in the midst of a first cocktail in the lounge. The utter sophistication of Thea’s parchment silk suit was offset by a dainty collarette of seed pearls and a faint flush.

Watching them meet, Paul only slightly taller than Thea but handsome in his deep content and frank admiration, and Thea unreservedly sparkling, Venetia felt a throbbing gladness for them. This moment alone was worth the extra days of dragging pain. She hoped desperately that Thea would forgive her in the weeks to come.

The lounge and veranda filled. The Scots, the Clarkes, the Allistons, then Natalie in the turquoise shade which somehow made sultry and mysterious her dark beauty. And one of the last to drive round and park on the lawn was Mervyn Mansfield. Whatever of curiosity was stirred by his sudden return to society remained politely masked. Mervyn was shaken by the hand and smiled at, and for a period he kept close to Venetia as if she, in this sea of charmingly-attired, perfumed women, were a familiar spar. A drink made him more expansive, and Venetia saw no more of him till he was seated, diagonally from Natalie, at the. larger table.

The food was abundant and superbly prepared, the wines mellow and plentiful. To Venetia the room seemed compounded of laughter, the heavy odour of rich cooking and a palpable, oppressive heat. The windows were open to the cool gusts of night air, but the faint breeze which reached her only made her more conscious of the damp heat of her skin. In a bemused state she listened to the toasts.

The women got up and the men carried drinks and cigars to the front of the house. The gramophone was set in motion by someone with a taste for dancing, and soon several couples were gliding round the denuded lounge, while the less energetic chattered outside and cooled off. Venetia danced with Paul and Dr. Dennis; she spoke to the Matron, a fine-looking, tastefully dressed woman in her late forties; and she had a brief spell with Margery Clarke.

Twice Blake sought her out. She was weary and nervy, and his solicitous enquiries provoked in her a dull anger. Trust Blake to appear always the considerate and attentive husband.

She danced again and sat with the Allistons till Fumana wheeled along the trolley-load of snacks. Dishes emptied, and she carried them to the kitchen for replenishment. The corridor blazed with light, but the dining-room had the dimness of a single lamp; Venetia noticed as much through the half-open door as she passed. But she hadn’t been prepared to hear voices from the room: Blake’s and Natalie’s. She stopped, recalling that Blake had snapped a corkscrew and gone off to get another
...
about ten minutes ago. Irresolutely she made to proceed on her way, and stopped again. The voices were too low to catch more than an odd word here and there, but their tones shared the peculiar harmony which comes from intimacy of thought.

Venetia compelled herself on and into the kitchen. The chef and waiters had departed, leaving the two houseboys to resume control. She heaped two of the servers with savouries from the mound on a large meat dish, and asked Mosi to bring the rest. On her way back the dining-room doorway gaped; the room was empty. When she entered the lounge, Blake and Natalie were there with the others.

The party seemed endless. At eleven-thirty doctors and nurses laughed their thanks and shouted good-bye, but to the rest the night was young. They danced, played cards, sauntered in the garden and a few even took a midnight splash in the pool.

Venetia had strolled down with the bathers, and she sat on a bench
thinking
that this time tomorrow she would be in Durban, or perhaps on her way round the coast to Port Elizabeth or Cape Town. The dregs of her uncertainty had been dissolved by the spearing seconds outside the dining-room. Eventually Blake would marry Natalie and install her here
...

“Tired, Venetia?”

She looked up at Paul, and shifted to make room for
him
on the bench. “Getting that way, though no one else seems to be. The air is sweet, isn’t it?”

“And just a wee bit treacherous. The dampness keeps the pores open and the cold air gets in. I’d sooner see you swimming than sitting here all hot and barebacked.”

She had to give up listening to his calculated kindness. It hurt. With relief she saw that one or two cars were reversing from the lawn on to the drive and women in wraps were collecting on the steps. The exodus was about to begin.

It took an hour. It was nearly two before Paul could go. Thea went with him to the car and returned to the hall, yawning luxuriously.

“Do you own an alarm clock, Blake?”

“I believe there’s one in the kitchen.”

“Don’t bother, Thea,” said Venetia. “Mosi will knock on your door at six o’clock and deliver your breakfast at ten past. He’s had instructions. I’ll come in and see you before you go.”

“Do, my dear. Pop off to bed now.”

“I think I will. Good night.”

In her room Thea drew off the silk suit and slipped on a tailored dressing-gown. She was wide awake and overwhelmed by a renewal of intense dread. She couldn’t forget Venetia’s eyes as she had said good night; stricken, with the lights gone out of them. And that slight jerk at the side of her neck
...

The soft thud of a drawer brought her to a halt in the middle of the floor. Venetia must be next door, in that room where she slept alone, and she wasn’t in bed yet. Why not tackle her now, when she might be too spent to offer resistance?

Carefully, Thea edged from her room. She gave a muffled tap at Venetia’s door, and after a pause it was opened.

“May I come in?”

Venetia fell back. “Of course. It’s difficult to get sleepy after so much excitement.”

In pyjamas and a sky-blue dressing-gown, her face clear of make-up, Venetia was small, pale and tender. The bent curly head wrung Thea’s heart. She closed the door and perched on the foot of the bed.

“I came in to thank you for the party. It was a magnificent affair—an absolute credit to the Garrards of Bondolo.”

“Blake arranged most of it. Everyone appeared to enjoy themselves; in fact I was afraid they’d hang on for eggs and bacon.”

“Thank heaven they didn’t!” Thea swung her feet.
“
Venetia, it isn’t my business, but there’s still something wrong between you and Blake, isn’t there? It has the atmosphere of a first-rate row.”

“Blake doesn’t quarrel. You know that.”

“I know he’s making you miserable.”

“Don’t misjudge him. Blake’s not at fault. I’ve been making myself miserable.”

“That doesn’t ring quite true. Please don’t hold out on me because I’m Blake’s sister. I’m terribly anxious about both of you, but I can’t approach him. Whatever you say, this estrangement between you is obviously his doing, but I’d rather hear your side of it.”

Venetia made a nervous sweep at her hair with the brush. “My side of it is insignificant. You’ve probably guessed that we married more for convenience than for love. He took pity on me and gave me a home.”

Thea said quietly, “But you do love him, Venetia.”

“Both he and I would be happier if I didn’t. You see, there’s nothing to tell you, Thea—nothing that isn’t patent to anyone who understands Blake as you do.”

Thea’s hands were curled up in her pockets. “I wonder if I do understand him—or if anyone does. What are you
going to do?”

Venetia sank down upon the padded stool
in front of
the dressing-table.

“Whatever is best for Blake.’ She stretched back her shoulders and lifted her chin. I don
’
t need pity, Thea. I haven’t deluded myself with false hopes
—
that’s one mistake I haven’t made. This mustn
’
t detract
one iota from your happiness with Paul.”