The Primrose Bride (11 page)

The few girls and women had pleasant smiling faces, slanting eyes and thick lips. Many of them wore frocks which in style were almost uniform—very plain and sleeveless. T
he
difference between them lay in the colors and patterns printed on the materials; scarlet leaves, blue blossoms, green and yellow curves which made up a lovely formal pattern. It was the same printed stuff that they used for the pareu or sarong, and Karen thought how well it suited the climate. Brilliant, bold patterns in strong color.

As she became aware of the people
’
s interest she realized she was probably the only white woman abroad in Government Town; and that wouldn
’
t do, of course. The men of the Senior Executive Officer should be resting up for the cool of the evening.

Karen went back to the car, but as she left the shopping quarter she knew she couldn
’
t spend the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom. She had to do something, with someone else if possible. Yet she did not feel up to facing any
of the other women. They were well married, those women, and inquisitive. If they caught her at a moment when the smile slipped she and Andrew would be this evening
’
s topic of conversation. For herself, she did not care a great deal, but for Andrew
’
s reputation she not only cared but was responsible. She didn
’
t want to have to be put on guard, anyway; she simply wanted action.

The sort of action was decided for her as she carefully ran the car into the garage; for Min Gan was there, bowing as she passed and waiting for her to emerge.

“
The mem will excuse, please,
”
he said in his high, sing-song voice,
“
but I have noticed the mem does not sleep after lunch. Please, I would very much like to make the big fruit cake, if the mem would show me.
”

Karen smiled with relief.
“
I
’
ll be glad to show you,
”
she said.
“
Let
’
s go
to the kitchen.
”

It took half an hour to find and measure ingredients, decide on substitutes for those the cook could not produce and get the oven of the range at the correct heat. The mixture was spooned into a paper-lined loaf-tin and placed low down in the center of the oven. Min Gan looked anxious, but Karen assured him that so long as the heat did not fade too suddenly the cake would be a success.

“
The mem has cooked such cakes in England?
”
he asked.

“
M
a
ny times. Our vicar used to love fruit cake.
”

“
Vicar? What is that?
”

“
Priest, minister. You know?
”

“
Oh, yes. There is one at the English church.
”

Karen decided to have a cup of tea. As she looked for a small teapot she observed,
‘
You and Anai speak very good English. Where did you learn it?
”

He looked mystified.
“
On Nemaka we speak only English. The mem did not know?
”

“
I knew your schools taught in English, but I thought you might have a language of your own, as well.
”

“
We keep some of the old Melanesian words, and those who do not go to school do not speak well, but gradually we improve.
”
Proudly, he added,
“
On Nemaka we have two
pr
imary
schools and a small upper school. The tuan will
have told the mem about the sports dub where we play tennis and football. He is the patron.
”

“
Really?
”
Karen turned away and looked for a tea caddy.
“
Why is he the patron?
”

“
The tuan started the
cl
ub and when our boys had made the grass he bought our equipment and helped to coach the players. Last year we sent two tennis players to a tournament in Hong Kong.
”

“
That
’
s marvellous. Where do you keep the tea?
”

Min Gan
’
s square little face looked shocked.
“
I will bring the tea to the bedroom, please.
”
He turned, down his hands as if to shoo her from the kitchen.
“
The mem will tell me when it is time to look at our cake?
”

“
Don
’
t open the oven for an hour. I think it will take about an hour and a half, but you must test it with a
...
do you have a steel skewer?
”

He took an eighteen-inch stiletto from a drawer.
“
This?
”

“
Good heavens, what do you use that for?
”

“
The tuan will have told the mem that sometimes he gives a party at the beach. We make a fire there and roast a small pig. The pig is stuffed with vegetables and spices, and then we need the big skewer!
”

“
Well, use it kindly on the cake, won
’
t you? Dead center. When it comes out quite
cl
ean the cake is cooked.
”
She walked through to the bedroom wondering how much more there was that
“
the tuan will have told the mem
”
.
.
. but hadn
’
t. She stood near the window and suddenly noticed that she was making a habit of twisting the ring on her finger. She let herself think about the scene in the office, the change in Andrew when she had suggested, quite wildly and without forethought, that they should go back to the atmosphere of those friendly days in Cornwall. If he hadn
’
t been angry just then she was sure he would have found a delighted amusement in her naivety. As it was, he seemed determined to take her suggestion seriously. Well, it couldn
’
t make matters much worse.

She had some tea, washed and changed into a pink glazed cotton. She looked at the cake, told Min Gan it needed another ten minutes and should cool thoroughly before being put away in a tin. Then, as she went along the pa
ssage towards the living room, sh
e heard a
car
outside.

Her heart leapt. Had he come back early, for her sake? Would he continue in the vein in which they had parted, bait her a little and tease her, find joy in bringing a flush to her cheek? Could they possibly recapture that heavenly friendliness tempered by her own shyness and reserve?

She entered the living room a little blindly, stared without focusing too well at the young woman who stood in the open doorway. A quite beautiful young woman of about twenty-five. Creamy complexion, smooth features, a cloud of curly black hair, thickly fringed dark eyes and a full scarlet mouth. She wore an off-white pleated skirt and a sapphire blue blouse with a fly-away collar, and a heavy silver bracelet clasped her slim wrist. She had the sultry look of a plantation belle, but her voice wasn
’
t thick an
d
syrupy; it was the normal voice of an educated person.

“
I
’
m Camilla Marchant,
”
she said.
“
May I come in?
”

CHAPTER FOUR

Karen h
ad never tried to visualize the woman whose name had been linked with Andrew
’
s. Rather, she had striven to keep her only as a name she might never hear again. True, it had occurred to her once or twice that Camilla Marchant lived here on Nemaka, that her father had his business here and therefore it was unlikely she would move away. But Karen had also been convinced that Andrew
’
s marriage would prove a barrier which no woman who knew him would try to surmount.

Unprepared, she fell back on her usual reserve.
“Y
es, do come
in
. I
’
m Karen Eliot.
”

The dark girl took a pace or two into the room, hesitated, and sat in the chair Karen indicated. Karen remained standing, and from this angle she thought the mouth looked self-willed, the lashes a trifle overdone. But there was no doubting that she was the loveliest white woman on Nemaka.

“
You
’
ll be wondering why I
’
ve called,
”
she said.
“
I
kn
ew Andrew hadn
’
t quite finished his holiday and I thought he might be free. He ... he helped me once or twice, and now something has turned up that
...
that I think he
’
d like to hear about.
”

“
He should be home within half an hour,
”
said Karen.
“
May I get you something to drink?
”

“
No, thank you. I
’
ll just wait for him, if you don
’
t mind.
”

“
Not at all.
”
But Karen was rasped by the other
’
s self
-
assurance; the hesitant tones were obviously assumed.
“
Your father is the shipping agent here, isn
’
t he?
”
she queried politely.

A dark glance flickered upwards.
“
How did you know? I
’
m sure Andrew wouldn
’
t have told you about us.
”
Mercifully, Karen remembered seeing the name painted on the side of a building during her drive; she mentioned the fact.
“
Do you live here permanently?
”
she asked.

“
It
’
s where I was born, but I hope to live somewhere that
’
s a little more sophisticated some time.
”
She leaned back, looked up at Karen and said musingly,
“
I imagined he
’
d marry someone like you; it had to be someone fair and restrained and easy to command. I
’
m not being rude, and I
’
m not echoing all those old witches who gossip over the bridge table. It
’
s simply that he had to marry someone as different from me as he could possibly find. That
’
s not conceit. It
’
s true.
”

Fleetingly Karen reflected that had her marriage to Andrew been as idyllic as she had hoped, this conversation might have been comical. As things were, though, it had all the elements of renewed heartbreak. Except that in a way she wasn
’
t so unprepared as she had felt at first. It was lucky, really, that she knew about this woman.

She smiled coolly, nipped a fading blossom from the posy Anai had placed on the coffee table. Rallyingly, she said,
“
Are you telling me you
’
ve had an affair with Andrew? He
’
s thirty-two; I wouldn
’
t put it past him to have had several affairs before he married me.
”

Camilla
’
s head rose, her chin took an aggressive slant, but her words came evenly, almost sweetly.
“
I know your type. I went to a finishing school with them in England for two years; they made me feel I could set light to the building for the fun of seeing them scream their heads off. Nothing else would have got a peep out of them.
”
She paused, and then asked abruptly,
“
Have you a cigarette?
”

Karen took a new flat fifty from a drawer, opened it and placed it on the low table,
close
to the table lighter.
“
Help yourself.
”

“
I suppose you don
’
t smoke!
”

“
Only after a swim, or with coffee at night But go ahead. Andrew shouldn
’
t be long now.
”

Her effort at seeming absolutely cool while lead was forming round her heart went unrewarded.
Camilla
puffed furiously for a second or two, crossed her long slender legs and sat back as if she were ensconced for good.