The House of Seven Fountains (3 page)

“Not at all. If you remember I warned you against exposing yourself to that sort of situation. Do you always ignore advice or was it the fact that I gave it?”

“You can hardly expect me to feel particularly friendly toward you,” she said tightly.

“Why not?”

She did not answer.

There was a pause.

Then he said, “You mean because I haven’t paid you much attention during the flight? Because I haven’t evinced any special enthusiasm at sitting next to the only young and attractive woman on board?”

This was so near and, at the same time, so far from the truth that she could find nothing to counter it.

“Is that what you’re used to?” he asked dryly. “Undivided masculine attention?”

“
No, it isn
’
t, and it
’
s not what I meant,” she said, goaded into defending herself against the implication that she was shallow and vain and given to pique if she was treated in a cavalier manner.

“Then suppose you explain what you
did
mean?”

“I
...
oh, nothing. It doesn’t matter,” Vivien said wearily.

She was suddenly desperately tired. The incident in the street followed by her rescuer’s taunts, had taxed her strained nerves more than she knew, and she longed to be alone, to sleep, to have done this verbal thrust and parry.

They swung around a
corner
and drew up outside the hotel. Stransom sprang out and offered his hand to her, but she ignored it and climbed out unaided, sick with fatigue yet determined not to let him see the extent of her stress. He tossed a coin to the driver, and they went up the steps and into the foyer.

“You should wash your feet in disinfectant before you turn in. I imagine you don’t want to arrive in Malaya with a skin disease,” he said.

Vivien nodded. However much she resented being indebted to him, she knew that she must apologize.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper, Dr. Stransom,” she said quietly.
“
I’m grateful to you for helping me. I won’t be a nuisance to you again.”

“You’d better not. I don’t make a habit of playing guardian. You will have to extricate yourself the next time you’re in a tight
corner
. Good night.”

Before she could reply, he gave her a formal bow and strode away toward the bar.

Next morning they began the last lap of the journey, stopping for an hour at Bangkok, the gleaming capital of Thailand, and arriving at Singapore by early afternoon. Vivien preserved a dignified silence throughout the final stage of the flight, but against her will she felt a faint pang of disappointment when Dr. Stransom did not say goodbye to her when they landed.

She was met in the reception hall by Robert Adams, her godfather’s solicitor, a genial gray-haired Scotsman in a white drill suit and panama hat. As soon as her luggage had been cleared, Mr. Adams drove her to the Raffles Hotel. He had evidently expected her to be older or different in some way, and kept shooting speculative glances at her as if she perplexed him.

“The plane to Mauping leaves at eleven tomorrow, Miss Connell,” he said, as they had tea in the palm lounge. “I’ve instructed your late godfather’s manservant to meet you. His name is Chen and he speaks excellent English, so you will have no difficulty in making your wishes understood. I shall be coming up country myself in about three weeks, by which time you may have formed some idea of how you wish to administer
the property.”

When they had discussed the estate for some time, Vivien said casually, “Do you know a Dr. Stransom at Mauping, Mr.
Adams?”

“
Indeed I do.” The solicitor nodded. “He was a close friend of Mr. Cunningham’s and a beneficiary under the will. No doubt your godfather has mentioned the doctor in his letters to you.”

Vivien shook her head. She had heard from her godfather twice a year, on birthdays and at Christmas. He had never referred to any of his compatriots.

Mr. Adams was fidgeting with his pipe as if he had something to say that embarrassed him.

“
I think I should tell you, Miss Connell, that your godfather was something of a recluse. He hadn’t much time for his fellow countrymen, and he made enemies in certain quarters. As far as I know, Dr. Stransom was the only British resident on intimate terms with him, so if you find yourself in any difficulty I advise you to seek him out.”

Vivien bit back a laugh. She wondered what Mr. Adams would say if he knew that she had already met the doctor and that he had already washed his hands of her.

“Now is there anything else you want to ask?” Mr. Adams inquired, unaware of the irony of his advice. “To tell you the truth, Miss Connell, I expected you to be older. Not that it makes any difference, of course. Young ladies are accustomed to traveling by themselves nowadays.”

Vivien smiled. He could not know how sheltered her life had been until the last few days.

“
Mr. Adams
...
this may seem an odd question, but do you know why my godfather left me his property? After all, there was no blood relationship between us and I hadn’t seen him for years. We were virtually strangers.”

The solicitor regarded her thoughtfully.

“Yes, in many ways it is an unusual bequest,” he agreed after a pause. “But then John Cunningham was an unusual man. He made his will only a few months before his death—I think he had a premonition that something was going to happen—and at the time I suggested to him that it might prove impracticable. The normal procedure would have been to arrange for the sale of the estate and leave you the proceeds. But he was most insistent that you should inherit the property as it stands.”

“Then he did intend for me to come out here?” she put in quickly.

“Oh, yes, he hoped you would. There’s no doubt of that. The reason he did not state his wishes in the will was that he did not want you to feel under an obligation to do so. He thought it possible that you were engaged to be married or that you might have a career, which you could not interrupt.”

“So I
was
right!” she murmured under her breath. Then aloud, “You see, that was what I thought when I received your letter, yet in some ways, it seemed so farfetched. For a while I thought I was mistaken. It’s rather a relief to know that I was right after all.”

“May I ask you a personal question, Miss Connell?”

“Yes, of course.”

“These relatives with whom you have been living, were you
happy with them?”

Vivien traced a pattern on the arm of her chair, her delicately marked eyebrows drawn together in a troubled frown. Then she gave him a frank look and said, “No, I wasn’t happy. They were good to me and in many ways I’m grateful to them for taking me in, but I was never happy.”

“
Hmm.
That’s what your godfather suspected,” he said
shortly.

“But why? He didn’t know them.”

Mr. Adams knocked out his pipe and refilled it from an ancient pouch. It was some minutes before he had completed the operation to his satisfaction, and then he had to hunt through his pockets for matches. When at last the pipe was drawing well, he settled himself more comfortably on the cane sofa and said slowly, “Maybe I ought not to tell you this, but I think it might help you to see your way more clearly. When your parents died, John Cunningham was traveling in China. As soon as he heard what had happened he went to England to see your aunt. He wanted to adopt you. She refused to part with you but accepted his offer to pay for your education and other expenses.”

“
What
?”
Vivien sat forward, staring at him aghast. “But ... I had no idea! My aunt never mentioned such a
thing!”

“No ... somehow I imagined she hadn’t,” he said dryly. “So you see the bond between you and your godfather was stronger than you thought.”

It took her a few minutes to recover from the impact of this startling news.

“So all the time I thought I should be grateful to her, it was really my godfather who was supporting me,” she said flatly.

“That is so.”

“But if he wanted to adopt me, why did she refuse? She was never fond of me.”

“The workings of human nature are often obscure. People
’
s motives are seldom clear-cut. I hope I haven’t upset you by telling you the facts, my dear, but I had a great affection and respect for John Cunningham, and I think you should know the truth. It may influence your decision on the future of the
prop
erty.”

“I’m very glad that you have told me, Mr. Adams,” she answered quietly. “I wish I had known long ago. It clears up many things that I never understood.”

Mr. Adams was not a demonstrative man. He was a bachelor and rather nervous of the usual run of
modern
women with their makeup and cigarettes and casual manners. But now, for the first time in many years, he felt an odd tenderness for this wee slip of a lassie with her clear eyes and air of uncertainty. To his surprise he found himself patting her hand.

“
I think you should rest now,” he said with a kindliness that was usually hidden under a mask of disciplinarian severity. “You’ve come a long way, and there’s a busy time ahead of you. Once you reach Mauping you’ll find Chen will take good care of you and, as I said, I’ll be up myself in a week or two. In the meantime, you can always telephone me at my office. Chen knows the number. I wish you luck, my dear, and if I may say so, I think your godfather has left his land in good hands.” When he had taken his leave, Vivien sat thinking over the astonishing revelation he had made. At first she was completely mystified as to why her aunt should have refused consent to her adoption. Then, gradually, she began to see a possible motive.

John Cunningham had been her father’s closest friend They were probably much alike. By her refusal to surrender the custody of her niece, Mrs. Sinclair might have felt that, in some obscure and perverted way, she was having revenge against Michael Connell whom she had disliked so bitterly. Yet, she had accepted money for Vivien’s keep.

The longer she thought about it, the more Vivien felt sure that this was truth. It was so cold-blooded, so mercenary, that she felt an uprush of revulsion.

I
will never go back
, she thought vehemently.
Never!

It was not until a Chinese waiter asked her if she wished for an aperitif before dinner that she realized she had been absorbed in her thoughts for more than an hour. Smiling and shaking her head, she went to her room and unpacked her night things When she had tidied herself, she called at the reception desk and wrote a terse cablegram to the Sinclairs informing them of her safe arrival. She also checked the time that her plane left for
Mauping in the morning and ordered a taxi to take her to the airport.

She was walking toward the dining room, wondering how to spend the evening when a voice said, “Excuse me, but did I hear you say you were going to Mauping?
”

A slim, fair-haired man in immaculate white drill trousers and an open-necked shirt was standing beside her.

“Please don’t be annoyed at my speaking to you like this, but you see there are only about thirty Europeans in Mauping, and whenever we hear of a new arrival we naturally prick up our ears.” He grinned
disarmingly, showing very white teeth. “My name is Barclay, Julian Barclay. I’m going back on the morning plane myself, so I might as well introduce myself now, Miss, er
...
?”

Vivien told him her name.

“You aren’t angry, I hope, Miss Connell?”

“No. Why should I be?” she asked in surprise.

He looked a little amused. “Pretty girls are always warned not to speak to strange men, aren’t they? And Singapore is supposed to be swarming with dissolute characters. Look, why don’t we have a sundowner together, and I can tell you all about Mauping. Or are your people with you?” He gave a quick glance at the third finger of her left hand.

“No, I’m here alone,” Vivien said.

“Oh, fine. Shall we go into the cocktail lounge then? It’s cooler there and it won’t be too crowded for some time yet.
”

While he was ordering the drinks, Vivien took stock of him. He appeared to be about twenty-seven and had a rather rakish air. It crossed her mind that he was the very antithesis of Dr. Stransom both in looks and manner. Odd that her first acquaintances in Mauping should be such contrasting types of men.

“How long have you lived in Malaya, Mr. Barclay?” she inquired when their drinks—a whiskey and soda for him and an unknown concoction containing tendrils of cucumber for her had arrived.

“Six months—unfortunately!” He produced a gold cigarette case and offered it to her. “I’m what used to be known as a remittance man. My family didn’t think I was taking life seriously enough, so they packed me out here to live life in the raw for a couple of years. It could be worse, I suppose. What brings you out? You don’t look like a welfare worker, and I’m sure you’re not a missionary.”