The House of Seven Fountains (18 page)

When he let her go she was breathless and trembling—but not with delight. The passion of his kisses had shocked her, and she knew now that an idle love affair would not assuage her heartache. These sham caresses could only sharpen her longing for kisses that were real.

Julian must have sensed her feelings, for without a word he started the car and drove up to the house.

“May I come in for a moment? I want to talk to you,” he said.

After some hesitation she nodded, and they went indoors. Chen had asked permission to go out for the evening so the second boy brought them hot coffee and sandwiches.

Julian lighted a cigarette and waited until she had poured the coffee, then he said, “Look, Vivien, you’re what’s known as a nice girl. A lot of girls are nice because they’ve never had the opportunity to be otherwise, but you’re the genuine article, my sweet. I think you know by now that I’m not a nice guy. Oh, I haven’t any criminal tendencies and I’m kind to children and dogs, but at the same time I lack what are known as ‘high principles.’ Live for today is my maxim. That’s one good reason why I don’t know many girls like you. For one thing most nice girls are either crashing bores or else they’re surrounded by a bodyguard of mothers and aunts and brothers. In the normal run of things you and I would never have met, but as it happens we have, and I find myself in a new and rather difficult situation. A, I’ve got mixed up with a nice girl, which is against my rules. B, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Vivien drank her coffee and poured herself a second cup.

“Must you do anything about it? Can’t we just go on being friends?” she said quietly, not looking at him.

“As I’ve already told you, poppet, there’s no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman. If you were the other kind of girl we could have a lot of fun together with no hard feelings when one of us decided to call it quits. If I were a different kind of man we could have a romantic idyll of sighs and soft glances and a few kisses. But, in the circumstances, neither of those solutions would work out.”

“If you were as hard-boiled as you pretend to be you wouldn’t be talking like this,” she said gently.

He gave a rueful grin. “Maybe I have a few scruples left that I’d forgotten about. But don’t try to convince yourself that I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing, my dear. It was my better nature that stopped me making love to you just now, and I can’t guarantee that it would get the upper hand again.”

She was silent again, not knowing what to say. The thought of their friendship coming to an end saddened her, and yet she knew that what he had said was true.

“Suppose you tell me why you changed your mind this afternoon?” he said.

She flushed. “I don’t quite know myself,” she said, nervously. He must never guess the reason.

Julian glanced at his watch. “I’d better get along,” he said. “Does this mean that we won’t be going to the ball?” she asked.

He smiled. “Not unless you want it to. I think I can promise to play the hero a little while longer. After that I revert to type, and we won’t see so much of each other.”

She walked to the front door with him.

“I shall miss you, Julian. You may be a black sheep, but I think you’re one of the nicest people I know.”

He tipped up her chin. “Maybe it’s just as well in more ways than one that we’re breaking it up. You’re a sweet kid, Vivien. You might have succeeded in reforming me, and I should hate to be a model of respectability.”

“Perhaps you’ll change your mind about that. One of these days you’ll meet someone who’ll make you want to settle down.”

“I doubt that. There’s only one girl
...
”
He stopped short and laughed, but his eyes were bleak. “Good night, poppet. Sweet dreams.”

He bent forward and kissed her very gently on the forehead. Seconds later the showy cream sports car was hurtling down the driveway.

Vivien turned back into the hall. “Only one girl
...
?” Could it be that Cara Maitland was the one girl whom Julian wanted and the one girl he could not have?

Some
days later
she drove her swimming pupils back to the children’s home after a boisterous afternoon in the pool and was invited to stay for supper by Miss Buxton. After the meal they sat on the veranda and talked.

“You’re looking a bit peaked, m’dear,” Anna Buxton said.

“It’s the heat, I expect. The last two or three days seem to have been extra hot.”

“Yes, I’ll be glad when the rains begin,” Miss Buxton agreed. “Even the youngsters are fagged out.”

“They didn’t seem to be this afternoon,” Vivien said, laughing.

“Ah, they enjoy themselves up at the pool, bless ’em. You’re a good girl to do it. There are not many people who’d be bothered. That reminds me, Tom didn’t make his usual call this morning. Not that there’s anything wrong just now. I daresay he’ll come tomorrow. Have you seen him lately?”

“No, not since the night you came to dinner,” Vivien said in a care
fully
casual voice.

“Oh, well, doctors have their busy times like anyone else. That reminds me, I meant to send the
kebun
around with a parcel I promised him. I wonder if you’d do me a favor and drop it in at his bungalow on your way home, m’dear?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, since there seemed no reasonable excuse for refusing the errand.

Half an hour later she said goodbye, taking the package for Tom with her. She had seen his house, and it was only a few minutes out of her way. With any luck he would be out, and she could deliver the parcel to his houseboy or leave it on the porch.

But as she turned in at the gate she saw his car was standing in front of the veranda, and her heart began to beat in great nervous thumps.

Leaving the engine running, she approached the house. As she climbed the steps the houseboy came through the screen door.

She greeted him in Malay, thrust the parcel into his hands and was about to beat her retreat when a familiar voice called out, “Who is it, Joe?”

The Malay answered to his own language, speaking too fast for her to catch anything but the word
mem
.

Footsteps approached and Vivien turned and half-jumped, half-fell down the steps. She was hurrying to the car when she heard the screen door squeak and knew that Stransom had reached the veranda. Scrambling into the car she rammed the gear into reverse and let up the clutch with a speed that would have horrified Chen, who nursed the Rolls like a loving parent
.
But her urgency was defeated by the fact that she had forgotten to release the hand brake, and by the time she had realized her oversight Tom was beside her.

“What’s the rush?” he asked.

“Miss Buxton asked me to bring a package over. It wasn’t necessary to disturb you,” she stammered.

“You aren’t disturbing me. Come in and have a drink. You look as if you need it.
”
He turned the handle and swung the door open.

“No, really, it’s very late. I must get back. Chen is expecting me. Please, I
...
”

“If you drive off in a panic you’ll probably hit the first tree. Come in. It’s only half-past nine. Chen won’t send the runners out yet.”

Her shoulders sagged, and with a sigh of defeat she climbed out.

“Do you always deliver parcels as if they held time bombs?” he inquired as they went into the sitting room. “Why don’t you sit down before you collapse. What’s the panic?”

“No panic. I just didn’t intend to make a social call of it,” Vivien said flatly.

He raised his eyebrows but made no comment. A moment later the boy came in with a tray of drinks and a plate of sandwiches.

“Cold beef. I missed lunch. Are you hungry?” Tom said.

She shook her head. Her drink had the underlying smell of gin. After two or three sips she felt steadier. Tom was concentrating on his sandwiches and she glanced around the room, curiosity overcoming her uneasiness.

It was easy to see the house belonged to a bachelor. There were none of the feminine touches immediately discernible. But for the closely packed bookshelves lining one wall and the litter of male impedimenta on the table, it might well have been a hotel room. There were no flowers, no cushions, no pictures, and the only ornaments were an aboriginal blowpipe and some native knives hooked onto the wall facing the bookshelves.

Tom gulped down the long drink the boy had mixed and poured himself a stiff shot of gin from the bottle on the tray. For the first time Vivien noticed that he looked less cool and collected than usual. His hair was ruffled, and there was a dark shadow along his jaw. As she looked at him he brushed a hand across his eyes as if his head ached.

“You look tired,” she said involuntarily.

He lay back in his chair, stretching his long legs.

“It’s been quite a day. Three confinements, a motorcycle smash and, just to round things off, a suicide.”

“Oh—Miss Buxton wondered why you hadn’t been to the home.”

“I phoned her a moment before you arrived. She told me you were on your way.”

“I’ll be going. You must want to get some rest,” Vivien said, setting down her glass.

“No, don’t go. I couldn’t get to sleep yet. Talk to me.” He smiled and her heart lurched. She forgot the coldness of their last encounter. He looked so worn and, oddly, so much younger and more approachable that her defenses crumbled. “What were the babies?” she asked.

“All boys—to the delight of their fathers! One of the women had a rough time, but I’ve got her into hospital and I think she’ll pull through.”

“I thought Asian women had their babies much more easily than Europeans,” she said.

“Ah, yes, the old legend about the native woman pausing to produce an infant and then carrying on with her road breaking or grass cutting or some other man-sized job.” He gave a short laugh.
“
That may be so in one case out of a hundred. The other ninety-nine share just the same pangs as a white woman. It’s true that Asians have a more natural mental approach to childbirth. They need it, poor devils. But a lot of them go through hell because they haven’t had proper nourishment, or because they’ve swallowed some poisonous native brew that is alleged to ensure that the child is a male, or because their muscles are knotted by years of manual labor.”

“You make me feel very ignorant,” Vivien said ashamedly.

“
Ignorance doesn’t matter provided you’re willing to accept the truth. Too many people refuse to acknowledge the facts and cling to false beliefs.”

He finished the gin and came over to the couch where she was sitting. “Cigarette?”

“Thank you.”

He stayed beside her, and she could smell the antiseptic on his skin.

“And the accident?” she asked.

He made a noncommittal gesture. “They’re doing their best for him at the hospital. I happened to pass before the ambulance arrived. Some crazy young speedster on a motor bike. He’ll probably pull through. We were too late to help the girl who wanted to die.”

“Why do people kill themselves? It must take a lot of courage,” she said soberly.

“Courage or desperation. They haven’t got gas ovens in this country, so they throw themselves in the river or swallow caustic soda. It’s not a pleasant end. This kid was only about sixteen or seventeen. She was pregnant. Pity, Anna would have taken care of her.”

He caught sight of Vivien’s face. “Forget it. I shouldn’t be talking to you about these things.”

Vivien turned her head away. She was not easily upset, but the thought of the Asian girl reaching a pitch of misery from which death seemed the only escape was such a tragic negation of youth and hope that a choking lump rose in her throat and her mouth quivered.

“Vivien!” He drew her around to face him. “Don’t cry, my dear. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The touch of his hands on her arms and the concern in his voice were more than she could bear. A moment later she was cradled against the comforting strength of his shoulder, and he was stroking her hair and murmuring reassurance. Her compassion for the dead girl was the spring that released all the repressed emotions of the years in England, and she was helpless to control the tide of reaction that swept over her. At last the storm of anguish slacked and, in its place, came a wonderful sense of relief and relaxation. Unconsciously, she nestled closer to him.

“Here, blow your nose.”

He tucked a large khaki handkerchief into her hand and like an obedient child she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and expelled a long wavering sigh. He shifted slightly and his arm slid from her shoulders to her waist. Beneath her palm she felt the steady beat of his heart and it was then that a wave of the most exquisite bliss welled up inside her.

“Better now?”

She nodded and gently but firmly he put her awa
y
from him.

At once the heavenly glow of peace and contentment faded, and with an embarrassment more acute than any she had known before, Vivien realized what an exhibition she had made of herself. Her cheeks flamed, and she cringed with shame at her own abandonment.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said in a stifled voice.

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said quietly.

“I must go. It really is getting late.”

She stood up, and this time he did not attempt to detain her.

“You should have brought a sweater. It’s turned much cooler now,” he said as they walked to the car.

“I’ll be all right.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition.

“Sure you can manage the driveway in the dark?”

Yes. I’ve been up it several times now.”

Her fingers paused on the starter.

“Thanks for bringing the parcel.” He leaned forward, and for a second she felt the warm pressure of his hand on her arm.

Then he said good-night and turned back to the house.

A quarter of an hour later she was sitting in the study drinking a hot nightcap when the telephone rang in the hall. She heard Chen answer it and wondered who could be calling at this hour.

Switching off the light she went into the hall just as Chen replaced the receiver.

“Who was that, Chen?”

“It was the
tuan
doctor,
mem
.
He wished to assure himself that you had returned safely.”

“Oh ... I see. Good night, Chen.”

“Good night,
mem
.”

Vivien went to her room. She sat down at the dressing table and began to cream her face, smiling at herself in the mirror. She was suddenly very happy.