The House of Seven Fountains (19 page)

CHAPTER SIX

On the afternoon b
efore the regimental ball Vivien rested in her bedroom. She was too excited to sleep and started to read a book about the aboriginal tribes that lived in the dense jungles to the north and east of Mauping, but by the end of the first chapter, she found herself scanning the lines without taking in their meaning. Presently, she gave up the effort to concentrate and put the book aside to study later when thoughts of the evening ahead no longer distracted her.

Would Tom be at the ball? That was the key to her tension. Julian had told her that “everyone who was anyone” would be there, but for that very reason Tom might well choose to absent himself. And yet, remembering their last meeting when she had called at his bungalow and a new harmony had seemed to kindle between them, she felt it possible that he might go. If he did not
...
she sighed. If he did not, then all her hopes would be as ruthlessly deflated as a pricked bubble. Indeed, the relationship between them was rather like a bubble, so insubstantial, so terribly easily destroyed.

She felt a little guilty at accepting Julian’s escort when all the eager preparations she had made were for someone else’s benefit. It was on the off chance that Tom would be at the ball that she had planned the dress that hung in the wardrobe; for Tom that she wanted to look beautiful. Earlier in the day Ah Kim had washed her hair, rinsing it again and again in soft rainwater to which the little
amah
—almost as keyed up as her mistress—had added some special Chinese essence so that when Vivien’s hair was dry it shone like a golden web and had an elusive fragrance.

After a light meal at six o’clock, she took a leisurely tepid bath followed by a quick cold shower, and then, tingling with freshness, she wrapped herself in a cotton kimono and began to do her face.
The
l
ightest dusting of face powder, a feather touch of
malachite eye shadow and a trace of brilliantine on her eyebrows and long dark lashes were all that was needed to enhance the clear sun-warmed texture of her skin. When she had outlined her mouth with azalea pink lipstick, Ah Kim twisted a silver ribbon through the silky fall of pale ash hair and wound it into a graceful coil on the crown of her mistress’s head.

“Now for the dress,” Vivien said, smiling.

Giggling with excitement, Ah Kim scurried to the wardrobe and took out the dress that Vivien had designed herself. It was made of cloudy white chiffon with a bodice cut in the simple flowing lines of an Athenian tunic and a skirt that had taken twelve yards of the delicate fabric. The waist was bound with a broad sash of silver-spangled Benares gauze.

Slowly and carefully Ah Kim lifted it over her head and fastened the concealed fastener at the side. Then, having arranged the floating streamers of the sash, she stood back and nodded her head approvingly.

Fastening the gold chain around her neck, Vivien
s
urveyed herself in the pier glass. For a moment it seemed to her that the mirror reflected a stranger. The cascade of snowy chiffon made her seem taller, with an almost ethereal slenderness, and her eyes were as brilliantly green as the jade pendant at her throat.

She was waiting on the veranda when Julian arrived.

“Excited?” he asked, tucking her into the car.

“Yes, terribly. I feel like Cinderella,” she said gaily.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to disappear at midnight. The dance will probably go on till dawn.”

As they turned in at the camp gates Vivien saw that an enormous marquee had been erected outside the officers’ mess, which was festooned with fairy lights and colored lanterns. The cloakroom was crowded with women jostling for room at the mirrors. Vivien unwound the chiffon stole that hid her head and shoulders and gave it to the
amah
who was in charge of the wraps. As she checked her makeup she listened to the babel of chatter.

“My dear, have you seen Sybil’s dress? Yellow satin
...
with her
f
igure! If she only knew what she looked like
...
”

“
...
so I docked three dollars from her wages. If it were the first time she’d broken something I wouldn’t have minded, but last week she scorched my best blouse and on Monday she smashed a Spode cream jug.”

“Of course, he drinks like a fish, but who wouldn’t with a wife like that? I suppose he married her for her money although from the way they live you’d think they were on their beam end.”

Vivien smiled to herself. It was just the same brand of gossip that had been relished at her aunt’s bridge parties in England.

Julian was waiting for her outside. There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he saw the smooth coronet of honey-gold hair and the glowing perfection of her skin.

“You look very beautiful,” he said admiringly.

At the entrance to the marquee they were welcomed by Colonel Maitland, a tall gray-haired man in whom Vivien could see no likeness to his lovely capricious daughter. They were shown to a table by an orderly, and while Julian ordered drinks Vivien looked around her. The poles supporting the marquee were bound with palm leaves, and each table was decorated with an arrangement of tropical flowers. All the officers of the regiment wore tight black pantaloons with crimson cummerbunds and white mess jackets with gold insignia.

Several Malay dignitaries in ceremonial robes were sitting at the colonel’s table and in contrast to the European women with their d6collete bodices and long sweeping skirts, the Chinese women guests wore cheongsams of rich brocade, while the Indian women had on their most elaborate saris.

“What do you think of it?” Julian asked.

“It’s wonderful. I feel more than ever like Cinderella. I’ve never been to a ball before.”

“Shall we dance?”

“Yes, please. I don’t want to waste a minute of it.”

As they made their way to the lounge where the regimental band was playing Vivien did not notice the interested glances that followed her, but Julian was aware of them and there was a proprietorial touch in the way he swept her onto the floor.

“I scent competition,” he said with a smile. “Any moment
n
ow there’s going to be a queue of bedazzled young men trying to wrest you from me.”

Vivien laughed, but half an hour later she found that he had spoken the truth. No sooner had they returned to their table than a tall young man made use of his nodding acquaintance with Julian and asked her to dance. From then on she was besieged by a succession of partners until Julian came to reclaim her.

“What did I tell you?” he said amusedly. “The rest of our party has arrived now. Come and meet them.”

“I’m sorry I was away so long,” she said contritely. “I didn’t mean to desert you, but I couldn’t escape without being rude.”

He grinned. “I fear you’re going to leave some badly cracked hearts behind you tonight, my sweet.”

It was just after he had introduced her to his friends and while she was talking to Ross and Lisa Carter, a young couple who lived on a rubber estate some miles north of Mauping, that a sudden hush stilled the buzz of conversation in the marquee. As if by magnetic force all heads turned toward the entrance.

There, her blue eyes sweeping the crowded tables, stood Cara Maitland. For a long dramatic moment she faced the battery of fascinated eyes, and then with a smile at the man beside her, she made her way to her father’s table.

The spell broke and everyone began talking at once.

“That dress!” Lisa Carter said in an awed voice.

“That girl!” her husband teased.

Vivien glanced at Julian. He was lighting a cigarette, with a hand that was not quite steady.

She spread her ivory fan and stared thoughtfully at the delicate pattern. Without looking up she could remember every detail of Cara’s appearance. The sheath of scarlet silk clinging to the girl’s lovely figure—a dress that only a woman supremely confident and poised would dare to wear. The chandelier earrings glittering against the white throat; the silky black hair brushed back from the smooth forehead; the red lips parted in a mocking smile.

By eleven o’clock the ball was in full swing, and as the minutes passed Vivien’s hope that Tom would arrive gradually receded. She tried to rally her spirits by telling herself that he might have been called out on a case and would come along later, but it was an effort of will to join in the laughter of her companions when with every fleeting second her disappointment mounted.

“Shall we take a quick break?” Lisa Carter suggested between dances.

Vivien nodded, and the two girls went off to the cloakroom.

“You know you’re rather a surprise
...
not a bit like Julian’s other girl friends,” Lisa said candidly as they repaired their makeup.

“I’m not his
girlfriend
in the usual sense. Just an ordinary friend,” Vivien said.

“That’s what I meant,” Lisa agreed.

“Have you known him long?”

“Yes, he and Ross were at school together, and we came out on the same boat.”

“Lisa, I don’t want to pry into things that don’t concern me, but sometimes Julian worries me,” Vivien said slowly, holding her wrists under the cold tap.

“In what way?”

“Well ... it may sound ridiculous because, on the surface, he seems so casual and flippant, but I have this feeling that it’s just a facade and that inwardly he’s pretty miserable.”

“What makes you think that?” Lisa asked guardedly.

Vivien hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was treading on dangerous ground. But she had taken an immediate liking to the other girl and felt sure that Lisa could be trusted with a confidence.

“I think he’s in love with Cara Maitland,” she said frankly.

Lisa smoothed her lipstick with the tip of her little finger before replying.

“Clever girl,” she said. “Most people think Julian is the hard-boiled type. As you say, it’s just a facade. Every man has a chink in his armor. Oh, he used to be a good-time boy all right
...
until he met Cara.”

“But what happened? What went wrong?”

Lisa lighted a cigarette and watched the smoke drift up to the ceiling.

“I was at the club the night they met. Julian has always been a pursuer of pretty girls, but this was different,
”
she said thoughtfully. “He looked as if he’d been hit on the head with a spiked club. So did Cara. They could hardly take their eyes off one another all evening. After that the thing had all the symptoms of a raging affair. He brought her out to our place once. They spent the whole day sparring with each other, making such barbed wisecracks that even Ross felt uncomfortable, and usually he never notices any undercurrents. It was when they thought the other
w
asn’t looking that they dropped their guards and you could see that they were crazy about each other.”

She paused and flicked a drift of ash into the glass tray.

“Then why
...
?”

“Why did they break up?” Lisa asked dryly. “Why do so
many of us complicate straightforward issues? Because neither Cara nor Julian had the courage to risk looking foolish. You see, they both had the reputation of being philanderers. Julian had always boasted that he was a confirmed bachelor. Cara had amused herself with dozens of men and left them flat as soon as the novelty wore off. When love, real love, finally caught them they dared not admit it for fear of the tables being turned.”

“But that’s crazy,” Vivien exclaimed. “Surely they must each know how the other feels.”

Lisa shrugged. “I doubt it. Ross and I didn’t, and we are a most uncomplicated pair. Fortunately, Ross had never boasted that he was womanproof so he wouldn’t have looked ridiculous if I had turned him down. Look at it this way. If you were madly in love with some man and he’d never given any sign of how he felt about you, would you have
the nerve to tell him the truth on the chance that he was equally mad about you?”

Vivien bit her lip. “No, I don’t think I would. But then women don’t generally do the proposing.”

“Agreed. But they can give some pretty clear indications that a declaration would be acceptable. Cara has never let Julian guess one tenth of her feelings.”

“Couldn’t you tell him?” Vivien suggested.

“He’d never believe me. It will take a major catastrophe to make either of them acknowledge the truth. If they were both trapped in a burning building they’d probably blurt it out, but short of staging a disaster there’s nothing one can do to help the poor pig-headed mutts.”

The cloakroom had been empty except for the
amah
when they arrived and now a group of women hurried in and the conversation was broken off.

“We’d better rejoin the others. It’s almost time for the supper interval,” Lisa said.

“I wish you would come out to the estate for a day,” she said as they strolled back to the marquee. “I love to chat, but most of the women here have no time for anything but juicy morsels of scandal. How about next Sunday? Ross would fetch you in the estate car, and it’s not a dangerous road.”

“Thank you. I’d love to,” Vivien said sincerely. There was something very warming about the young planter and his wife.

They had just got back to their seats when the supper dance was announced, and Julian shepherded Vivien to the ballroom. It was while they were dancing that she noticed how his eyes glittered and that there was the faintest suspicion of a slur in his voice. Drinks had been flowing freely all evening, and she herself had already had three glasses of champagne. She wondered how many whiskies Julian had had. Although she was becoming accustomed to the large quantities of alcohol that everyone seemed to consume in the tropics, she guessed that he had had more than usual, and for the first time she wondered uneasily if he knew his limitations.

When they returned to their table the waiters were serving cold salads and trifles with curry puffs and miniature sausage rolls made in the camp bakery.

It was while she was toying with a pineapple sundae that a voice said, “Good evening. May I join you?”

Julian pushed back his chair and stood up. “Hello, Stransom. I heard you were out of town. Waiter, could you rustle up another chair?”

Vivien steadied the glass dish that she had almost spilled onto her lap.