The House of Seven Fountains (23 page)

“You don’t trust me, do you?” he said. “You aren’t sure that I’m capable of making a good husband? Lord knows, I haven’t shown myself in a very reliable light, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t match up to other men if I have a reason. Up to now there’s seemed no point in being a solid citizen, but I wouldn’t ask you to marry me if I didn’t mean to look after you properly, my dear.”

She shook her head.

“No, it isn’t that at all, Julian. I’ve just never thought of you as a husband. After all it’s not so long ago that you warned me you weren’t the kind of man that a ‘nice’ girl should think about in that way.”

“I know. I seem to have talked some confounded rot in the past few weeks,” he admitted. “But now that you are thinking about my possibilities
...
what’s the verdict?”

She smiled. “In general I think you might make a very good husband. You’re kind, you have a sense of humor and I daresay you’d do very well if you worked harder.”

“In general. What about in particular?”

“Oh, Julian, how can I answer that when the whole thing is so unexpected?”

“Why, Mr. Barclay, this is so sudden!” he mocked. Then seriously, “Are you trying to break it to me lightly that I haven’t a chance?”

She sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid I am. Don’t you see how hopelessly unsuited we ate? I’m not the right girl for you, Julian, and in a week or two you’ll thank heaven for your escape.”

“What makes you think we’re unsuited?” he asked gruffly.

“I know we are. There’s a lot of difference between being good friends and living together for the rest of our lives. We’d disagree over a hundred and one things.”

“I could never disagree with you,” he said softly.

“Oh, yes, you would. We look at life quite differently. I knew that a few hours after I met you. You said something about Asians being savages under a thin veneer of civilization, and then when I had that row with Mrs. Carshalton you couldn’t really understand why I was so annoyed at what she had said. That’s just one instance of how our points of view don’t match.”

“But surely a couple can’t be expected to see eye to eye on everything,” he persisted.

“No, of course not, but I think they should share the same view on important issues. Besides, you’re a tremendous extrovert and I’m not.”

He was silent for a while, jingling the coins in his pocket, a gloomy frown shadowing his good-looking face.

“I think I’ve handled this the wrong way,” he said finally. “I should be kissing you into agreement instead of arguing.”

She smiled. “All the kisses in the world wouldn’t convince me. Don’t be angry with me for saying this, but I think you’re acting on impulse because you’re not very happy just now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

She remembered how, last time she had approached the dangerous subject of Cara, he had flared up at her.

“Well, I think everyone comes to a stage when life seems rather like a dead end,” she said cautiously.

He made a restless movement of his shoulders.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted.

“It doesn’t last, you know,” she said softly. “Things generally work out in the end.”

“
Do they?” There was a note of bitterness in his voice. Then, with a wry grin, he took her hands and lifted her to her feet. “I wish all women were like you, my dear,” he said warmly.

She laughed. “It would be a very dull world if they were.”

“And a much simpler one.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Still, they say we get what we deserve, and I don’t flatter myself that I deserve you.”

“Oh, Julian
...
” She broke off, not knowing how to put into words the quick flow of kindness that she felt for him. Now, in these odd circumstances when a nervous constraint would have seemed the predictable aftermath, their relationship had suddenly crystalized into a deep and understanding friendship. “I must go,” he said.

It seemed natural to both of them that he should put his arms around her and hold her close for a moment.

But as they stood there in an embrace that was nothing more than an expression of friendly, understanding affection, there was a sound behind them, and turning her head, Vivien met the cold, contemptuous gaze of Tom Stransom.

Before she could move or speak, Tom swung around and strode back into the house.

For a moment
her only reaction was surprise. Then the meaning of his abrupt departure struck her like an electric contact. Pushing Julian aside, she rushed into the house, through the hall and onto the veranda. She was just in time to see Tom slam the door of his car and thrust the gear lever forward. Without thinking, she jumped the steps and dashed across the gravel, almost flinging herself on the hood in her anxiety to stop him.

“Tom! Where are you going?”

“Does it concern you?” His voice was a whiplash.

“But I thought ... the wedding
...
” she stammered.

“Well?”

She gulped a quick breath and steadied herself.

“I thought we were going to a wedding feast,” she said more calmly.

He laughed. It was not a pleasant sound and Vivien flinched.

“It seems you have other means of entertainment, Miss Connell. Don’t let me distract you.”

The savagery in his face appalled her. Surely he could not think
...
?”

“Stand aside!”

Automatically she took a pace backward and the car swept past her, flinging up a shower of gravel that stung her bare legs. She called out, but her voice was lost in the roar of the engine and it was already too late. He had gone.

How long she stood there, staring bleakly at the empty drive, she did not know. Finally, a touch on her arm roused her.

“What happened? What’s the trouble?” Julian asked.

She pressed her hands to her temples and gave a long sigh.

“He’s gone. He must have thought that you
...
that we were
...
”

Julian shrugged. “What of it? There was no need to dash off like that. The fellow must be losing his grip.”

She glared at him. “It was only last night that he had to knock you down. Don’t you see what he must think? Well, don’t you?” she demanded angrily.

He stared at her, noting her quickened breathing and the glitter of pain and fury in her eyes.

“Good Lord, I believe you’ve fallen for him,” he exclaimed in astonishment.

I
n
answer, she flashed him in an agonized glance and turned blindly back to the house.

Julian started to follow and then stopped short. He chewed his underlip thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head in a perplexed fashion and walked over to his car.

Lying on her bed, her fists clenching the bedspread, Vivien listened to the sound of the engine fading to a distant hum that was lost in the heavy silence of late afternoon. Then she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

Some time later she dragged herself off the bed and into the bathroom. When she had had a shower and changed her clothes she went to the study and sat down behind the massive teak writing desk. Somehow she must explain to Tom that what he had seen in the courtyard an hour ago was not a betrayal of their friendship.

Julian had not understood why Tom had been so angry, but to Vivien it was dreadfully clear just how damning the circumstances must have appeared. Anyone, coming upon them at that moment, would have assumed that they had blundered on a tender interlude. That Tom should think her capable of encouraging Julian within a few hours of that other interlude was less understandable. Yet he had good reason to distrust women.

The image of his lean dark face rose before her, and she remembered the terrible, scalding contempt with which he had looked at her as she stood in the circle of Julian’s arms. Surely he could not believe that she would deliberately amuse herself with both of them? He must know by now that she was not like that. And yet, on the face of it, what else could he have thought?

With shaking fingers she dipped a pen in the silver ink stand and began to write with almost feverish urgency. But it was not easy to explain the truth when all the time the memory of those stony blue eyes seemed to bore into her brain.

When Ah Kim tapped at the door to tell her tea was ready she was just tearing up the fourth sheet of writing paper.

“I don’t want any tea, thank you,” she said, keeping her head bent and pretending to be very busy so that Ah Kim could not see her face.

But, a little while later, crunching the sixth sheet of paper into a ball, she knew that it was hopeless. She could never make the explanation on paper, and to try to see Tom or to telephone
him
would be to court further humiliation.

She scarcely touched her supper, and the servants exchanged worried glances.

“The
mem
is not well?” Chen suggested tentatively.

She gave him a wan smile.

“Just tired, Chen. I think I’ll go to bed, early.”

In fact, she sat in her dressing gown, waiting for the telephone to ring. By ten o’clock the faint hope that he would have thought over his hasty summing up had died. With impotent despair she knew that the whole fragile structure of her happiness was to
rn
down.

For several days, V
ivien wandered aimlessly about the house and garden, struggling against a misery that was like a physical malaise. Julian phoned twice to ask if she would like to go to Ipoh races or for a day trip to Penang, but she made excuses and to her relief he did not press the invitations.

On the fourth day she went into Mauping to buy some underwater swimming equipment for the children from the home. When she had ordered three sets of goggles and flippers, she went into a cafe. She was idly flicking through the pages of a dog-eared magazine when a cool voice said, “May I join you, Miss Connell?”

It was Cara Maitland, contriving as usual to make all the other women in the restaurant look dowdy and uninteresting. This morning she was wearing scarlet matador pants and a scarlet-and-white striped jersey.

Without waiting for Vivien’s assent she sat down, cast her shopping on the spare chair and clicked her fingers to summon a waiter. It was not until she had ordered a tomato cocktail, lighted a cigarette and appraised her fellow customers that she turned to Vivien and said, “I’ve been looking for you.” Vivien made an inquiring sound. She could not think of any reason why Cara should seek her out, and she wished the other girl would take off the scarlet-rimmed sunglasses that made it so difficult to read her expression.

“To be quite frank, Miss Connell, I don’t like you,” Cara said blandly.

“Oh
...
why not?”

The blunt statement was not surprising, since she had sensed Cara’s antipathy at their first encounter.

“Because you’re a hypocrite,” Cara said as smoothly as if she were discussing the prolonged drought. “Ever since you arrived here you’ve behaved as if you were a cut above the rest of us, just as old Mr. Cunningham used to do.”

Vivien smiled. “I take that as a compliment,” she replied calmly. “I should like to be thought like my godfather.”

“My dear girl, it doesn’t worry me if you want to put on a holier-than-thou attitude. Personally, I think the goody-goody angel was played out years ago, but if you want to behave like a cross between Mary Pickford and Little Nell that’s your affair. What I don’t care for is the sly way you trade on that air of innocent helplessness.”

“I don’t think I follow you,
”
Vivien said.

“No? I think you do. You may be able to bamboozle the men, but you can’t expect to deceive another woman.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Vivien said.

Cara gave a cynical shrug. “All right, if you want it in words of one syllable. If you’re really so pious, why are you trying to lead Julian Barclay up the garden path?”

So that’s it,
Vivien thought.
She must be getting worried. If I can make her a little more worried it may solve Julian’s problem.

Aloud she said, “I wasn’t aware that you were Julian’s guardian, Miss Maitland.”

Cara blew a thin stream of smoke into the air.

“I’m not,” she said carelessly. “But he’s a friend of mine, and I shouldn’t like to see him taken in by a cheap little gold digger.”

Vivien stiffened.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know that his father is a director of three of the biggest industrial firms in England,” Cara went on. “Oh, I know you aren’t used to living in a big house and having plenty of money to spend. It was obvious from the clothes you arrived in and the way you behaved that you hadn’t a bean to your name until that cranky old man left you his place. Now, having had a taste of luxury, I suppose you want to make sure you don’t lose it. Well, take my advice, and write Julian off your list, because if you don’t I’ll make it my business to show him what a grasping little schemer you are at heart.”