The House of Seven Fountains (27 page)

For the next
twenty-four hours Cara brooded over Vivien’s advice, to
rn
between alternating moods of confidence and doubt. Then, late the next night when her father had gone to bed and the house was still except for the agitated buzzing of a tree frog trying to get through the shutters, she suddenly jumped up and hurried to the bedroom to change her slippers.

All day the sky had been sullen with slow-moving monsoon clouds, and as she slipped out to the garage a light breeze sprang up, rustling the leaves of the casuarina hedge and stirring the pliant branches of a rubber sapling in the center of the graveled parking space. As she drove onto the main road the wind grew stronger and the first slow drops of rain began to fall, but she was too intent on her destination to notice the weather.

Five minutes later a tremendous roll of thunder reverberated across the inky sky, and as if at a signal, the heavens opened and a torrential deluge came pouring down.

Cara braked, narrowly avoiding a skid, and glanced at the backseat to see if she had left any kind of covering there. But there was only a pile of magazines that she had forgotten to deliver to the camp hospital. She drove on, leaning forward to peer through the curtain of rain illuminated by the headlights. Soon her hair was plastered to her head and her dress was soaked. Still she drove on, passing an occasional
trisha
and catching a blurred glimpse of the drivers enveloped in glistening oilskin capes, their legs working furiously.

Reaching Julian’s bungalow, she left the car in the drive and dashed for the shelter of the veranda, gasping for breath. Her dress clung to her body and rivulets of water coursed down her legs. The rain thundered on the corrugated iron roof, pouring over the eaves and gushing along the shallow drainage channels, swishing and gurgling like a mountain stream in space.

A light was shining from the windows beyond the front door, and she moved toward them and looked cautiously through the Venetian blinds.

Julian was lounging on the couch, a cigarette dangling between his fingers and an empty whiskey glass on the table at his elbow.

At the sight of him Cara realized what she was doing. To come here in the middle of a cloudburst looking like a half
-
drowned cat was crazy.

I must be raving mad,
she thought wildly.

Another crash of thunder shook the whole bungalow and Julian glanced toward the window. Before she could draw back, he had seen her. For an instant the expression on his face was so comical that she wanted to laugh. He looked completely flabbergasted, and no wonder! One would scarcely expect to find a face peeping in at the window at a quarter to twelve at night with the f
u
ll fury of a monsoon gale thrashing the countryside.

She was still held by the absurdity of the situation when he recognized her and sprang to his feet. Seconds later the front door was wrenched open, and he came onto the veranda.

“What the blazes are you doing here?”

At that Cara’s control dissolved, and she began to rock with laughter.

“My God, a mad woman!” Julian said in an outraged voice, and dragged her forcibly into the house.

She was still choking with laughter when he pushed her into the bedroom, dived into drawers and cupboards, thrust some garments at her and said, “For heaven’s sake get out of those soaking things. You must be off your head.”

Whereupon she collapsed into a chair and went off into another gale of laughter.

“Your face
...
oh, Julian
...
your face
...
!”

She clutched her middle and shook her head in a breathless convulsion of mirth. It was a long time since she had laughed like this, not since her schooldays when some exaggerated parody of the headmistress had reduced the whole class to hysterical shrieks of joy.

When at last she was able to breathe again without succumbing to another paroxysm of laughter, she said contritely, “I’m sorry, Julian.
Oh,
dear, I haven’t seen anything so funny for years. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly sane.”

Julian raised speculative eyebrows. “Hurry up and change. I’ll get you a drink.”

He went out and closed the door, and Cara began to peel off her sodden clothes. When she had rubbed her hair, she put on a shirt and shorts that were several sizes too big and went into the sitting room.

He was standing by the radio, sipping a whiskey and soda. There was a large brandy on the table for her. She drank it down quickly, feeling tendrils of warmth spreading through her limbs. Outside the rain was still beating down with undiminished ferocity, but already the sound was becoming an accustomed background noise, as familiar as the croaking of bullfrogs and the whirring of cicadas.

“Now, suppose you explain what this is all about?” Julian said when she had set down the glass and helped herself to a cigarette.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she answered composedly.

“Hmm. Must be something urgent to drag you out in this. What?”

She took a deep draw on the cigarette and laid it on the edge of the glass ashtray. Then she stood up and moved slowly toward him, her bare feet making no sound on the thick rugs. Within an arm’s length of him, she stopped.

“Can’t you guess?” she asked gravely.

He looked down at her. The rain had washed the makeup from her face and her skin glowed like a child’s. The air of bored sophistication that she normally wore had disappeared, and standing there in his shirt and shorts that enveloped her slender body, she looked oddly defenseless. She was a Cara that he had never seen before.

“Tell me.”

She drew a deep breath and her mouth trembled slightly, but she kept her eyes on his face.

“I love you, Julian.”

What happened next was as cataclysmic as the breaking of the monsoon.

One moment they were silent and tense, the next they were locked in a passionate embrace.

It was a long time before they dared to let go of each other and longer still before all their questions had been satisfactorily answered.

“Great heaven, look at the time. Your father will be out for my blood,” Julian said anxiously.

Cara nestled closer in the circle of his arms. “He went to bed hours ago and he doesn’t know I’m out,” she said drowsily.

Julian kissed her softly parted lips and there was a pause before he said firmly, “A
ll
the same it’s high time I took you home, sweetheart.”

“It’s still raining. We’ll get soaked. Let’s wait till it stops.”

“It probably won’t stop till dawn, and a fine sensation there would be if the neighbors spotted you creeping out of here at first light,” he said, grinning.

Reluctantly, Cara sat up and smoothed her rumpled hair. “I don’t want to leave you for a minute,” she said softly. “It’s
like a wonderful dream, and I’m terrified of waking up.”

He took both her hands and kissed the palms.

“I hope you won’t ever wake up, Cara,” he said tenderly.

CHAPTER NINE

An hour b
efore dawn the fury of the storm began to slacken and by sunrise the sky was clear. After breakfast Vivien went out of doors to inspect the damage. Lying in bed listening to the rain battering on the roof she had expected the whole garden to be laid waste, but apart from a few broken lilies and a to
rn
branch lying on the steaming lawn there was surprisingly little disorder.

At ten o’clock the manager of Whiteway’s and two assistants arrived to pack up the jade collection, which was being sent to Singapore for safekeeping until it was sold. Vivien had chosen one piece—a fiery Tang stallion with a proudly arched neck and curling mane—to keep as a memento. The rest was put carefully into padded containers and loaded into a special strong box with combination padlocks. Not long after the removal van had returned to town there was a loud hooting in the driveway and Julian’s car swept into view. As soon as she saw him helping Cara out of it, Vivien guessed what had happened. She stood on the steps and they came toward her, smiling and holding hands.

Julian cleared his throat, but before he could speak Cara held out her left hand. A magnificent emerald engagement ring sparkled on the third finger.

“You’re engaged! Oh, I
am
so glad. When did this happen?” Vivien asked warmly.

“Last night. We wanted you to be the first to know.” Cara’s eyes were shining.

“I’m so pleased. Congratulations, Julian. When are you going to be married?”

Julian grinned. “As soon as possible. Cara’s coerced her father into giving his consent, and I’ve cabled my people that I’m bringing home a bride by the first available boat. It’s goodbye to die tropics for us. We’re going to settle down and become the most respectable stick-in-the-muds you ever met, aren’t we, sweet?”

He squeezed Cara’s hand, looking down at her with all the tender pride of a man who cannot quite believe his good fortune.

Cara nodded. She had never looked so lovely. Before, her beauty had had the cool, still quality of an exquisite statue. Now, the strange alchemy of love had given her a new and vibrant radiance.

“Come inside. I want to hear all your plans,” Vivien said.

She showed them into the drawing room and went to ask Chen to bring a bottle of champagne. When she returned, she found them in each other’s arms. They drew apart, smiling apologetically but not really minding if the whole world witnessed their happiness.

“You will stay on for the wedding, won’t you?” Cara said eagerly.
“
Julian’s getting a license, and I shall buy my trousseau on our way through Singapore, so there’ll be only a day or two’s delay.”

“I should like to stay, you know that, but I’ve arranged for Miss Buxton to move in on Thursday, and I really must get down to Rangore as soon as possible after all the delay there has been already,” Vivien said.

“Oh, nonsense! Another few days can’t matter. Cara wants you to be her bridesmaid. You must stay,” Julian insisted.

“I don’t see how I can,” she answered reluctantly. “Please don’t be offended. You know I
should like to be there, but
I
have promised to arrive at Rangore on the nineteenth, and the sultan may change his mind about the job if I postpone things again.”

They argued with her for some minutes, but although she knew they could not understand the real reason for her refusal, she held firm. Fortunately, their persuasions were cut short by the arrival of Chen with the champagne. Vivien explained the engagement to him, and he joined her in a toast to their future happiness.

“What about your job, Julian?” she asked, when the little ceremony was over and Chen had departed to the kitchen. “Will you be able to leave as soon as you like?”

“Yes, I’ve already arranged for one of the lads from the Singapore office to take over. It’s not as if I’m a key executive,” he said dryly. “However, once we get back to the United Kingdom, I shall turn over a new leaf and become a pillar of the business.”

“You’ll have to, darling. I want at least three babies
and
a washing machine,” Cara teased. “Can you imagine me as a bustling housewife?” she asked Vivien.

“Good lord, I forgot to ask if you can cook,” Julian exclaimed with mock concern.

“At the moment I can just about boil an egg,” she informed him cheerfully. “Don’t forget I’ve been living in hotels and army quarters ever since I left school. But don’t worry, I’ll learn. You may have to suffer in silence for a month or two, but
I
aim to be a second Mrs. Beeton before I’ve finished.”

“I love your ring. Is it an heirloom?” Vivien asked.

“Heavens, no. Julian isn’t the type to keep an engagement ring in his pocket in case of emergencies. We dashed into town after breakfast and bought it from old Li Yen on Main Road,” Cara explained, spreading her fingers to admire the flashing green stone. “Dam it, I’m covered with ink. My pen must be leaking again. Could I wash my hands?”

Leaving Julian with the champagne, they went to the bathroom, where Cara put her ring carefully on the shelf and scrubbed the ink stains from her fingers.

“I shall have to have a platinum wedding ring to match the hoop of this,” she said. “Oh, Vivien, you can’t imagine how blissful I feel, and it’s all thanks to your g
o
od advice. How could I have been such a fool? Why, we might have been engaged ages ago if I hadn’t put on that stupid cold shoulder act all the time.”

“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Vivien said, managing a grin.

“I feel it. Twenty canaries. It’s like winning a million pounds—only much, much better,” Cara said ecstatically. “Hurry up and fall in love yourself, poppet. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Vivien turned her back, pretending to rearrange the thick, lilac-and-pink hand towels folded over the chromium rail.

“There, that’s better. I hate anything on my hands. It makes me feel grubby all over. Now about your staying for the wedding
—
”

Half an hour later Vivien locked the door of her room and flung herself on the bed. The seemingly interminable effort to control her face and voice had left her as spent as if she had been through a physical ordeal. She was genuinely delighted at Julian’s and Cara’s engagement, but after the first feeling of
e
xcitement and interest, their exuberant happiness had been a subtle torture, their every word a cruel barb in the raw wound of her misery. To have to listen to their eager plans, to watch their eyes meet and kindle, to sense the unmistakable current flowing between them—it had been worse than anything she had ever known.

“Hurry up and fall in love yourself, poppet!” If only Cara knew!

I must get away from here
,
she thought wildly
.
I can’t stand any more of this. Not another day.

“
Why, Vivien,
m’dear, I
didn’t expect you down this evening.
”
Miss Buxton looked up in surprise as Vivien came into her office.

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? But I thought you were going on Thursday morning?”

“Yes. I was. But
...
I’ve changed my plans. I’m leaving tonight instead. We’ve made all the arrangements, so there is really no point in hanging about. Chen is sending my heavy luggage on later.”

“I see.”

What Anna Buxton saw disturbed her. The girl was as pale as a ghost and had a strange, almost feverish look in her eyes. Something was wrong. That was plain enough.

“You’re taking the eight o’clock train to Kuala Lumpur and going the rest of the way tomorrow, I suppose,” she said calmly. “Then you’ve time for a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, but I’m not very thirsty. I think I should be getting to the station. The train may be in early,” Vivien said in a strained voice.
“
I hope you’ll write to me. I should like to hear how you’re getting on.”

“
Of course I’ll write. It’s a wonderful generous thing you’ve done for us, m’dear. I’m not likely to forget what we owe to you. But you’ll be coming to see us from time to time, I hope. It’s not so far from Rangore, and you’ve made several friends here who’ll want to see you. Is Tom taking you to the station?”

“No. I
...
I thought perhaps you would say goodbye to him for me. I only changed my plans a few hours ago, and I haven’t time to see him myself.”

“But, my dear girl, you can’t leave without saying goodbye to Tom!” This time Miss Buxton was too startled to hide her astonishment. “He’d be most hurt and quite naturally so. I must say I don’t quite see why you’re leaving in such a rush. Is something the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that
...
oh, please don’t question me, Anna. I must catch the eight o’clock train and I can’t see Tom. Tell him
...
tell him I’ll write in a day or
two.”

Before Miss Buxton could expostulate with her, Vivien flung her arms around her in a quick despairing hug and rushed out of the house.

Twenty minutes later she was pacing restlessly up and down the station platform. The train was overdue; as Chen informed her, it was always liable to be delayed by half an hour or so. He spoke with the philosophical acceptance of an Asiatic who secretly regards the British insistence on punctuality with tolerant amusement. A model of domestic efficiency, in some respects Chen was a true son of the Orient.

The station was crowded with other travelers who squeezed onto the few rough benches or squatted patiently against the wall, gossiping or bidding prolonged farewells to their assembled relatives. At the far end of the platform a group of youthful-looking soldiers were sitting on their kit bags playing cards, while the corporal in charge of them chatted to the station policeman, a tall, hook-nosed Sikh with a fuzzy black beard.