Full Tide (20 page)

But there are some women that the more innocent among us instinctively distrust and dislike; Mrs. Hath
erl
y was one of them. Lisa was conscious of Nancy’s inward shrinking, which would not have far to go to reach panic proportions; and she did not blame the child. The woman had no depths, no well of affection to draw upon. As the day progressed Lisa was confirmed in her
opinion that Nancy
must
attain immediate friendship with her father; the child had to survive the initial disappointments. When Nancy had gone to bed that evening and Mrs. Hatherly was in her own room,
L
isa approached Dr
.
Veness in the sombre lounge which had one or two incongruous pieces of art-craft lying aroun
d
, no doubt slipped in by the housekeeper.

He looked up from writing a letter at the small bureau, and his smile, though tired, was more spontaneous,
m
ore sincere. He took off his glasses and leaned back.
“
Sit down, Lisa, and we’ll have a talk. I must congratulate you on making a wonderful job of Nancy. She’s
.twice the girl she was three years ago, and so self-possessed that it’s not too simple to get through to her.”

“You will, though,” Lisa said, the lightness of relief in her tones. If only he’d been as natural with Nancy this morning! “She’s very anxious to have you proud of her.”

He nodded. “It had to be embarrassing, this first day. She’s very like her mother.” He went straight on, eschewing memories: “You’ll
h
ave to tell me all about her—the things which mean a lot to her, and her habits. I learned a great deal from her letters, but I want your version, too.” His smile was kindly. “I’m inclined to believe both Nancy and I were very lucky the day Anthea brought you to the house in Richmond. I’m writing to Anthea now, telling her how happy I am about your arrival
.
”

Lisa edged forward on her chair. She hated the task she had set herself, but it had to be got through. “Perhaps I’m less deserving of your compliments than you think, Dr. Veness. There
was a ...
a rather unpleasant incident at Las Palmas which I feel you ought to know about.” Quickly, but not sparing herself, she gave him details of Nancy’s escapade in the capital city of Gran Canaria, and continued: “It was all
my fault, and the speed with w
hi
ch she was found was due entirely to the efforts of Captain Kennard of the
Wentworth.
I’ve had the hundred pounds he paid so much on my conscience that I had to explain it all this evening. You see, the ship leaves tomorrow night, and I thought
...
”

“I understand.” And she felt he really did. “I’m glad you were so frank with me, Lisa. It’s additional proof, if I needed it, that Nancy has been in the best of hands. These spots of bother happen with children, you know, and no one is to
blame. By the so
u
nd of things, Nancy handled her own end of it with admirable self-assurance
,
which is good to know. I don’t, forget the fretful child she was when I left her with you in England. So put i
t
out of your mind. I’ll send a cheque to Captain Kennard tomorrow by messenger.”

“I want to pay the hundred pounds myself, eventually.
”

He gave her
a shocked smile. “Good heavens, I couldn’t allow that. You can’t pay the price of he
r
growing pains.”

“Still
...”

He gestured to silence her. In his gentle way he asked a few questions, and by the time Lisa left him and went to her bedroom she knew she had done the right thing in bringing Nancy home to her father and in being entirely frank with him.

During the next few days Lisa and Nancy were taken by car to the beaches long the Natal coast. They saw the endless undulating acres of sugar, the riot of wild banana which grew down to the sea and the cycad palms with their enormous green fruit. They saw the small tin houses of Indians set in the midst of banana groves, an Indian temple cheek-by-jowl with European dwellings, and buxom Zulu girls swinging their beaded hips among the white people in the streets of Durban. And they saw the famous rickshaw boys, magnificent Zulus with immense and colorful head-dresses of ostrich and peacock feathers, jackal tails, beads and ox-horns, their legs a-clatter with many strings of sea-shells.

There was so much to do that the time passed fairly quickly, even to Lisa. She had heard the siren announcing the departure of the
Wentworth
,
had felt her throat go tight for tears and lived through a night of grief so intense that it could not possibly last. She had risen to face the next day calm and empty.

It was fortunate that Dr. Veness had hired
a
c
ar and driver to take them about during that week. Whenever he could spare the time he went with them, and gradually, very gradually, Nancy loosed up with him.

Mrs. Hath
erl
y, however, was a more complex problem. The woman set out to charm and succeeded in repelling.
N
ancy addressed her only when compelled, and her manner
w
as invariably freezingly polite. Consequently, Lisa was tackled in private and accused point-blank of setting the child against the very person who needed to win her confidence. Inevitably, a state of underground
tension came into being.

It took Dr. Veness just over a week to become aware of the fact that his housekeeper and his daughter had not yet discovered anything in common, and on that day he called
Lisa into the lounge and asked her if what he had surmised were true.

“I’m afraid it is,” said
L
isa. “It’s naughty of Nancy, and I don’t think she’ll improve till I’ve gone.”

“I wonder.” Pensively he tapped the desk with a pencil. “Children are adaptable, but it’s been an enormous transition for Nancy. Could you stay on for a while, Lisa?”

“I suppose so,” she said slowly. She wasn’t wanted anywhere else, she thought with a hint of bitterness, and in any case the shipping office could not fix her up with an immediate passage except in one of the smaller freight
-
passenger vessels.

“I wish you would. I can’t get rid of Mrs. Hatherly because such wom
e
n are so hard to come by in this country and she’s really very good in the house. In time Nancy may capitulate. It will be nice for you to have a holiday, anyway.”

“The voyage was a holiday, and I’m happier working.
”

“Well,” he said, with man’s usual airy dismi
ss
iveness of feminine argument, “do jobs about the place, if you like. It will relieve me to have you here.” He thought of something and drew an envelope from his pocket. “I had a letter from Captain Kennard this morning, thanking me for the cheque. Seeing that you all became friends you might like to read it.”

Lisa took the letter gingerly between quivering fingers. She willed herself to open it and scan the page of heavy, regular writing. Yes, it was merely a receipt, except for the final sentence. “Please give my very best wishes to Miss Maxwell and your inimitable daughter.”

She handed it back to the doctor. “Well, that’s the last of Captain Kennard,” she said, with the detachment of pure sorrow.

“Perhaps he’ll call next time he’s this way,” said Dr. Veness easily. “The
Wentworth
docks here every six weeks.
”

Six weeks! Lisa would be well away before then. Besides, she could never be a casual acquaintance of Mark’s.

“Please give my very best wishes to Miss Maxwell
..
. Could any words be more heart-breakingly distant
,
more obviously intended to convey finality? He hadn’t meant to write to her at all.
The attempted farewell in his cabin had been just a gesture, and a cruel one at that.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

A
da
y
or two later came
a
telephone call from Jeremy. Lisa was astonished at her own gladness at the sound of his blithe voice. He was in Johannesburg helping Astra to train
a
man to work with her.

“
So you’re not taking it on, Jeremy?” she queried. “Were your people against it?”

“Of course they were—you told me they would be
!
But if I’d convinced them I couldn’t
be happy doing anything else they wouldn’t have raised any objections. Such is the stuff of which parents are made!”

“How long are you staying up there?”

“Only a few days now—till the end of the month. Then
c
omes the torture chamber.”

“It won’t be as bad as that.”

“I hope not. Your Dr. Veness looked rather grim when he met you at the boat. When are you leaving him?” He listened to her explanation and gave an exhilarated laugh. “So you’re there indefinitely? Darling, that’s perfect. When I get back home I’ll show you places to which the good doctor wouldn’t dream of taking you! Will he mind your having a follower?”

In a minute or two she rang off. It would be good to see Jeremy again and to hear his news about Astra. It was stupid to wish to keep contact with shipboard acquaintances, but they seemed to be curiously stable in a bewildering world.

Oddly, another friend she had made on the ship turned up at the doctor’s residence that afternoon. Having spent an energetic morning with Nancy on the beach, Lisa was sewing in her rather over-shadowed little bedroom at the back of the house when the boy brought the information that she was wanted by, a “missus.”

Lisa stopped in the doorway of the lounge and exclaimed with pleasure: “Mrs. Basson
.
What a marvellous surprise to see you here in Durban!”

“Not so surprising. I booked on the very next ship from Cape Town. How are you, my dear?” She took in
L
isa’s composed pallor, the shadows under her eyes. “The sub-tropics don’t agree with you.” A sigh. “Cape Town didn’t agree with me, either. My children think I’m dreadfully selfish to want to take them back to England with me when they’re so settled in their schools here; they’re half South African, you see. I’ve arranged to leave the boy for a year, but the girl
...
” her shoulders lifted. “She must finish at the end of the term.”

They gossiped quietly for a while about Nancy and other things, but presently Laura Basson cast a humorous glance at the heavy furniture and rust-colored carpet and curtains.

“Something of a mausoleum, isn’t it? Particularly for this climate. The chairs and cabinets look like the outlandish stuff the early settlers used to bring with them.”

“I believe
Dr. Veness bought the house as it stood from an old couple who were retiring and going back to England.”

“Poor man. Do you sleep in a four-poster?”

Lisa smiled. “It is rather feudal here—we even have a female dragon—but with thought and a little expenditure the place could be made charming. He can
aff
ord it, but I’m afraid he doesn’t care enough.”

“Well, he
sho
ul
d
care,” declared Mrs. Basson warmly. “When Nancy goes to school she’ll be invited out and want to bring friends home. She’ll compare this museum with the houses her friends live in, and she’ll loathe the Victorian atmosphere. Children—girls, particularly—are sensitive about
...
” She had stopped precipitately because Lisa was making small but frantic signs that they were not alone.

Dr. Veness hesitated, and then came right into the
room. “It must be around tea time,” he said, quite pleasantly but with a sideways, glance at Mrs
.
Basson
.
“Will you ring for it,
L
isa? Tea for three.”

L
isa hurriedly made an introduction. Not a whit discomfited, Laura Basson accepted a cigarette and a lig
h
t and lay back in her chair.

“This house is built on a slope, isn’t it?” she remarked conversationally to Dr. Veness. She waved smilingly at the
side window. “If you kept those trees pruned you’d have a glorious view of the bay. The room would be lighter, too.”

“I daresay. We don’t use this lounge much—at least, we didn’t till Lisa and Nancy came. I haven’t bothered with views myself for years.”

Nor with much else besides his work, thought Mrs. Basson, watching him. She remembered Nancy’s merry outburst, “He’s nearly fifty!” and reflected that the man certainly looked it. A withdrawn type who had given all he had to one woman and found himself drained dry when she was gone. He had come to South Africa to forget, but doubtless discovered that bereavement makes one place singularly like all others. She knew the pain of that discovery from experience.

As Mrs. Basson pressed out her cigarette and said thank you for the tea, Nancy came into the house. She had been in the garden shelter, and she stood at the lounge door blinking and staring. Then, apparently, she believed her eyesight, for she hopped across the room and hugged Laura’s arm.

“Hallo, Mrs. Basson! Are you living in Durban? Where are all your lovely rings?”

The answer to the second question came equably. “They were stolen from my hotel room
in Cape Town.”

“Good heavens,” said Lisa. “What a blow.”

“They weren’t worth much and they’ve always been insured.”

Not worth much! Those huge diamonds and sapphires, the milky pearls. And what of their priceless value as gifts from her husband? Something funny here, mused Lisa.