Brittle Bondage (9 page)

CHAPTER NINE

THEA hated having to dress hurriedly, particularly after a bath, but last-minute emergencies on a night off were the rule rather than the exception. Venetia had turned on the water and laid out her clothes, but at seven Thea had made her put on her coat and go.

“If you keep Neil waiting he might take it into his head to seek you out, and a man wandering about nurses’ quarters definitely isn’t done,” she’d said.

“But I’m sure I could help you. It’s such a pity, your having to rush.”

“A shame and a crime, but that’s a nurse’s life. If you run into Paul tell him I won’t be long.”

Thea struggled into her dress and made up her face. She had been looking forward to the play tonight. Saturday’s function had been ruined for her by an early evening summons to assist at an appendectomy. She had arrived at the dance at something after ten, tired and fed-up. She had danced once with Paul, after which he was forced, by hospital etiquette, to take round the older sisters. For Venetia’s sake she had stuck it out till midnight, but what bliss it had been to slide into bed that night!

A pat at her smooth, dark hair, a readjustment to her belt, and she was ready.

The night was moist with mist; the grounds, neatly pathed and overloaded with murmuring date palms and gaunt cypresses, were oddly deserted. All who could had gone to the Town Hall. As she approached the entrance to the main lobby, Paul came out.

“Good evening, Sister.”

“Good evening, Dr. Rivers,” she replied politely.

He fell into step beside her. “You needn’t hurry. These things never start on time.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Where you’re concerned, I’m a patient man, Thea. Did you go in for an early supper, with the others?”

“There wasn’t time. I was too busy to think about food.”

“But, my dear, you can’t go hungry in the cause of culture. One needs to be exceptionally well fed to appreciate the Hospital Players—you ought to know that. We’ll get you a quick meal at the hotel.”

“We can’t do that. It’s late already.”

“What does it matter if we miss the first scene? I’m quite sure the rest will be as much as we’ll care to endure. You’re certainly going to eat.”

She let him put her into the car, but again protested. “Not the hotel, Paul. Venetia will wonder what’s happened to me.”

As he steered out towards the town centre, he remarked musingly, “You’re two women, Thea, the incomparable nurse and a guarded, unemotional woman.”

“The two go together, surely,” she said firmly. “A woman who has chosen nursing as her career has to be unemotional or she’d die a thousand deaths.”

“You didn’t choose nursing as your life work and now you’re using it as an escape from the more normal demands on a woman. You avoid emotion because you distrust it.”

“Don’t be silly. One can’t change one’s nature.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” His glance at her was speculative. “You
think
you know all about life because you’ve been through some sort of crisis. It was just before we met in Durban, wasn’t it?”

“It’s been over a long time. I’ve forgotten it.”

“Don’t lie, Thea. You may have got over it, but you’re remembering it for all you’re worth. It’s your suit of mail against other men.”

“Oh no, it isn’t. I don’t need one.”

With relief she felt the slowing of the car as it came alongside the hotel.

“Something cold and easy to eat,” she stipulated, when the Indian waiter had pushed in her chair. “Please tell them to be quick. They take more notice of a man.”

Paul did nothing of the sort. He ordered lobster salad and some wine, and settled himself as if they were here for the evening. His attitude plainly stated that he meant to enjoy their first meal alone.

The lights, the attentive waiter and Paul’s imperturbable calm gradually imbued Thea with a similar expansiveness. Once the play had started there wasn’t much point in hurrying. She tasted her wine and found it good. It was he who led the conversation round to the subject uppermost in her thoughts.

“I saw Venetia at the polo this afternoon. We didn’t speak—I attended in my professional capacity because Dennis was held up by a confinement—but she waved to me from the stand. She’s naturally high-spirited, you know.”

Thea said, “Yes,” and paused. “Paul how does she strike you, generally?”

“I know what you’re getting at,” he said, “but you can’t do anything about it, Thea. At Bondolo she lives under a strain—a pretty severe one, and occasionally it affects her nerves. It’s probably due to being newly married, and the loneliness—no woman companion. Venetia’s quite tough and she has plenty of intelligence. She’ll get through.”

The wine, or Paul’s sincere gaze, caused in Thea an extraordinary mental reaction; as if one of the blinds usually left drawn against the world were lifted.

“Wouldn’t it be appalling,” she found herself saying, in a low voice, “If Blake were not in love with her?”

“Why, T
h
ea!” Fingers which had impersonally contacted hers a hundred times in the course of duty now imparted warmth and strength as they closed over her wrist; and Thea did not wince; she was grateful for them. “You mustn’t think such things. Venetia’s sweet and appealing, and she’s his wife—he can’t help but love her.”

“That’s what I try to convince myself. But if it’s so, why isn’t he happy? And why hasn’t he made Venetia happy?” Unobtrusively she withdrew her hand. She had said too much. “Not that I’ve yet had an opportunity to judge. Woman-like, I’m building most of my fears on one tiny incident.”

Not so tiny, either. Blake’s behaviour over the kist rankled. Why should he try to withhold from Venetia the symbol of married felicity, a receptacle for the trifles a woman foolishly treasures, the storehouse for her baby clothes? A man in love with his wife wanted her children, but it seemed that Blake didn’t want Venetia’s.

“The marriage was sudden,” Paul reminded her, “and she and Blake are opposites.”

“There are so many reasons why it could fail,” she answered. “Venetia’s young, she isn’t rooted in the soil, and she doesn’t understand Blake in the least. She looks the type to cling to him, but she doesn’t. And I do believe her pride is nearly as stubborn as his. If Blake were mad about her, the rest would be unimportant.”

He smiled. “You surprise me, Thea. That was spoken like a true romantic. If you’d seen Venetia this afternoon you’d agree with me that there’s little wrong with her. After only three days in town she has more sparkle.” Which, Thea decided, was the safest point at which to abandon the discussion. She gathered her purse. “We must go, Paul.”

It was later, after Neil had bidden them a blithe good night and Paul was driving the two women back to the hospital, that he issued the invitation which Thea had been expecting.

From his seat at the wheel he threw a quick smile at them over his shoulder. “When are you two coming out to look over my castle?”

“I’ve no leave due this week,” said Thea, “so you’ll have to count me out.”

“On the long shift you have three hours off in the middle of the day.”

“During which we are supposed to rest.”

“Do you rest?” he enquired pointedly.

“No, she doesn’t,” put in Venetia. “She swims and plays table tennis, and sometimes she even joins a bridge
-
party. Thea, do let’s go to Paul’s house.”

“I can’t manage it” she said with finality. “Get Neil to take you out there to lunch.”

“That wouldn’t be the same. Neil’s good fun, but he doesn’t fit in with houses and gardens. I see enough of him, anyway. Paul wants you to go.

Paul offered no emphasis. He went on driving and waited.

“It’s not a matter of life and death, is it?” came at last, very coolly, from Thea. “We all live in the district and the house won’t decamp.”

“Perfectly true,” said Paul. “It will have to be some other time Venetia.”

Venetia lay back in her
corner
, disconcerted to have stumbled upon a core of hardness in Thea. How like Blake she had appeared just then, the words falling like pebbles on ice, her nostrils slightly dilated, her mouth compressed just as he compressed his. Didn’t she care that her refusal had hurt Paul? How could any woman who had once known deep, gruelling love not be altered and softened by the experience?

The next day she spent more quietly, reading one of Thea’s books and cooking some tasties for supper. When Thea came off duty she relaxed in a dark silk tailored dressing-gown, wrote some letters and took up her novel. As she never talked about her work, and Venetia preferred not to mention Blake, they smoked and shared a tenuous tranquillity till bedtime.

It had been arranged that Venetia should meet Neil at the tennis-courts at eleven next morning. They were to watch the finals of a tournament and to have lunch together, and Neil had said that, with luck, he would be at her disposal for the rest of the day. He seemed to be one of those persons whose star is ever in the ascendant, so Venetia set out from the little bungalow to walk to the tennis-courts in a state of
p
leasant expectancy.

Neil, of course, was waiting on the wide lawn which slo
pe
d up from the
principal
court. Fleetingly she doubted whether he had reported at his cousin’s office at all today; he was not particularly conscientious.

“I’ve bagged our seats,” he said. “Let’s slip over to the pavilion for a cooler.”

She acquiesced, and as they angled round the court, enquired, “Doesn’t your cousin object to your forsaking the desk twice in one week?”

“
Mildly, but he’s not so old that he forgets his own heyday, though he’s occasionally bitter about it—his youth, I mean. It was a long, hard stru
g
gle with demon poverty so I believe. You’ll have to meet him some time.”

“It’s rumoured that he doesn’t care for women.”

“He certainly shuns them these days, and it’s only this last week, in Ellisburg, that I’ve discovered that poor old Mervyn once had a kidney punch. You’d be amazed at the gossip that goes on around here.”

At the steps to the modest pavilion Neil grasped her elbow. What a boon was the sudden shade of the terrace. Venetia drew off her sun glasses, blinked, and stared a little blindly into the dark velvet eyes of Natalie Benham.

Why, hullo!” exclaimed the other woman agreeably, her thin black eyebrows lifted. “I’d no idea you were still in town or I’d have invited you to the races with our crowd yesterday. It was a marvellous day in every respect. You didn’t go, I suppose?”

“No. I know hardly a thing about racing.”

Natalie cast an oblique, smiling glance at Neil. “I didn’t see you there either, and you do know a thing about racing. You two probably went off together somewhere else.”

“No such luck,” he replied, with engaging candour. “I spent six solid hours stewing over maps and plans. It was plain purgatory—enough to last a lifetime. Won’t you sit down and have a drink with us?”

He pulled out the chairs from the nearest table and called one of the attendants. When he had ordered, got out cigarettes and made his lighter work, he smiled from one woman to the other.

Natalie inhaled slowly, her strong, rose-tipped fingers drawing the cigarette from narrow, red lips. Thoughtfully she followed the drift of a curl of smoke.

“Is Mervyn still hard at it?” she asked casually. “He was always a dogged worker. With all these building and
irrigation schemes coming along he’ll soon be a rich man.
”

“
Possibly, but he hasn’t much interest in money. After all, a bachelor of his sort has little incentive to become wealthy. It doesn’t cost him much to live out of town in the midst o
f
a game reserve, and he seems to have chosen to do so for the rest of his days. Beats me how he can face it. I
f
eel sorry for him.”

“You do?” she said, a trifle sharply. “Why?”

He smiled charmingly. “Why shouldn’t one pity a man
who
dwells five days a week with blueprints and textbooks and the other two with the birds and beasts?”

“Your cousin derives tremendous pleasure from both his work and the wild things. He doesn’t need your pity, Neil.”

Venetia had listened and looked on. Natalie, in a cream linen suit with tan shoes and bag, and an outsize tan ruffle cascading over the cream lapels, had beauty and the type of poise which comes with years and self-knowledge. She must be nearly as old as Thea, an age which seemed to Venetia the most desirable in a woman: when doubts and fears had commonsense solutions, and despair could be tempered by wisdom and experience. And she liked Natalie for defending Mervyn Mansfield’s delight in his hobby. There couldn’t be much wrong with a woman who loved animals as she apparently did.

Yet when Natalie turned an appraising glance in her direction Venetia felt her whole body steeling in self
defence.

“When do you return to Bondolo, Venetia?”

“The day after tomorrow—Friday.”

“Of course. Blake said as much on Sunday. It slipped my memory.”

“You went over to see him on Sunday?” Stupid to be upset because Natalie had seen Blake since she had.

“He’s helping me over the purchase of some Frieslands. Most of my cattle are Afrikanders—my father had a liking for them—but now that the farm is mine I intend to vary the stock. Blake has promised to inspect the herd before I buy.” She flicked ash to the stone floor. “You don’t object to my seeking your husband’s advice?”

“Not a bit.”

“I’m glad of that. Since I’ve been farming alone it’s been wonderful to have Blake to rely on in my dilemmas.” As she got up her smile included them both. “I have friends waiting, and I daresay you’d rather be two than three. Thanks for the drink, Neil. Good-bye.”

Neil sat down again and twisted his glass between his hands. His smile was puzzling.

“Perturbing sort of woman, and she dislikes me—probably realizes that I’ve heard all the tattle and judged her. I’ve met a good many people who are friends of hers.”

“Natalie hasn’t anything to fear from gossip. Hers is one of the oldest families in Ellisburg.”

“That makes her a more appetizing subject. Personally, I don’t care for her type—too much backbone.” His eyes moved appreciatively over Venetia’s small, vital face. “I can’t believe that a man who has you for a wife would spare a second thought for Natalie Benham. In fact
...”

“Neil.” She jerked out his name in a sudden anxiety to hear no more. And a second later she knew that it was too late; you can’t ward off trouble by ostrich tactics. Her heart plunged sickeningly. “What are they saying about Natalie
...
and Blake?”

He leaned forward, really distressed. “Venetia, don’t look like that. She hasn’t a chance, now.”

“Please answer me.”

“I don’t see how I can. Hasn’t he ... your husband
...
ever talked about her?”

“Why should he?” Her head was beginning to ache with the control she had imposed upon herself. “Till this moment I regarded her as merely a neighbour and a friend. Blake does, too. I’m sure of it.”

“Then why so distraught? If she’s still sweet on him that’s her bad luck, not yours. Gosh, I wish I’d kept quiet.”

“I’d rather be told everything.”

“Well ... I’ll give it to you as I got it. Natalie’s father died round about the time that Blake came home for good. Before that they were scarcely acquainted. It seems that they got on together, because people began to talk of marriage between them. Then Blake confounded them all
by marrying you. They say that Natalie took it fairly well.”

“Do you think she’s in love with Blake?”

“Candidly, I do. Not that I’ve ever seen them together, but there’s another side to it, which points that way. You see, before Blake came into the picture my cousin hoped to marry Natalie Benham.”

“Your cousin?” she echoed dazedly.

“It’s not so complicated. Mervyn’s forty-two—he was about thirty-eight then, I think, and the business was only just beginning to prosper. He’d always been slow with women, and he waited too long. No one knows what occurred between them, but he retired from the social round to his game sanctuary, and he’s never spoken to Natalie since.”

“How does that prove she loves Blake?”

“It doesn’t, completely, but she does stick close to Bondolo—she’s been there while you’re away. Even though he’s happily married, Blake holds more attraction for her than a well-to-do bachelor.” Ruefully, Neil shook his head. “I ought to be kicked hard and shoved behind bars. I’ve spoiled the day for you.”

“You haven’t.” She dabbed at the spot she had bitten in her lip. “Let’s go and claim our chairs.”

For two hours she gazed and applauded, her mind a hot and whirling void, but to lunch with Neil would tax her endurance too far. Naturally he protested against her breaking their engagement, but he gave in quite soon. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“I’m afraid not.”

“But tomorrow’s your last day in town, and I must dance with you again.”

“I’m sorry, Neil.”

“If you really mean it, when can I come to Bondolo?”

“I’ll find out how we’re fixed and let you know.”

“You’d better.” His smile was easy and assured. “Because I intend to come and I’d rather be invited than tolerated. This week has been grand, Venetia.”

She was relieved to be able to get out of his car, to wave a perfunctory good-bye and run along the path which led to Thea’s quarters.

The bungalow was empty and a note in the bedroom stated that Thea had had a snack and gone off to a lecture. The whole place was steeped in a painful hush, relieved slightly if one stood near the open window and caught the faint stirring of the breeze through the leaves and the sleepy whirring of a distant mowing machine.

Venetia leaned against the window-frame and moved her cheek over the rough surface of the tweed curtain. These intolerable minutes would pass away; they must, and then she would see the extent of her own silliness. Neil had only related gossip, and though it might be true that all gossip grew from a germ of fact, she had not the least reason to suspect that Blake had ever loved Natalie Benham; he could have married her at any time in the last three years.

No, she must be reasonable and try to fight her way out of the emotional tangle that threatened her sanity. Blake had admired the woman—possibly still did for she possessed many of the qualities that are known to magnetize men—but his admiration had stopped short of loving. Her heart reiterated, ironically and hollowly, that Blake was not a man in love.

Insidiously her thoughts swung back to the night of their first dinner-party and chance-heard remarks: “A pretty girl
...
but hardly Blake’s cup of tea. I always thought he’d marry a woman of farming stock, like Natalie Benham.”