Gone Away (11 page)

“Yes, we must. You see, Ian has gone into partnership with Bob, but while I’m away Bob will want someone, even if I take up the work again afterwards.”

“I’d love to do it,” Patricia agreed gratefully. Whether Kitty had manufactured the circumstances or not, it was a heaven-sent opportunity, and meant that for a few months at least she would be spared the unpleasant necessity of worrying about the future.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Seymour Warinder hummed softly to himself as he wielded his razor; he was still humming when he emerged from his bath and dressed himself in freshly laundered linen. The sun was just rising, and a filtering beam found its way through the shuttered windows of his bedroom and splashed a pattern on the polished floor. Crossing the room, Seymour threw back the slatted shutters and inhaled the cool morning air. He remained for a moment feasting his eyes on the beauty of the dawn. Time after time he had seen it, and yet it invariably stirred him with a sense of glorious mystery—the dawn of another day, as it had always been ... so it always would be. Reluctantly he turned from the window and, picking up his cigarette case, pipe, and tobacco pouch from the dressing table, he thrust them into his pocket. He adjusted his watch and, opening his bedroom door, he crossed the intervening lounge to the other bedrooms. For a moment he paused, and then, as if having come to a decision, gave a deliberate tap on Patricia’s door. At first there was silence, then a sleepy voice murmured something wholly inarticulate. A smile curved Seymour’s lips as he repeated his knock.

“Aren’t you awake yet? It’s me, Seymour,” he called softly.

“Seymour?” Patricia’s voice came more clearly. There was a sound of scuffling in the room, then the door opened and Patricia, a dressing gown clutched round her and her bare feet thrust into mules, peeped round at her visitor. “What on earth do you want?
...
Good gracious, you’re dressed
...
surely it’s not morning? I was fast asleep!” Her words tumbled out one after the other as she gazed at Seymour in wonderment. “Maimie’s not ill, is she?” she added anxiously.

“Of course not!” Seymour laughed. “It’s not the middle of the night; it’s morning! I know you were fast asleep, but I assure you it’s quite an orthodox hour for people to be about.” His eyes shone with merriment. “You said you’d never seen the dawn. Well, now you have!”

“Goodness! You didn’t wake me up for that, did you?” Despite her words, Patricia’s eyes had wandered past Seymour’s broad figure to the wide windows of the lounge beyond, where the tree tops showed in the distance and small fluffy clouds tipped in crimson spread across the sky. Patricia’s lips parted, but for a second no words came; she was enthralled by Nature’s inimitable beauty. “Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed at last, her eyes sparkling.

“Am I forgiven for waking you?” Seymour’s teasing voice questioned.

“Well, I was only dozing; just indulging in a lazy half-asleep, half-dreamy sort of condition.”

“Why is it no one will ever admit to being asleep? Whenever you
go to
wake people, they always declare they weren’t really asleep.”
S
eymour laughed. “You looked as sleepy as an owl when you first appeared, although I admit you have attained something approaching wakefulness now!”

“Nonsense!” Patricia joined in Seymour’s laughter. “I think I am extremely wide awake considering the unearthly hour.”

“Wide awake enough to dress and come round the estate with me?”

Patricia looked up eagerly. “I’d love to!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I couldn’t go back to bed now, and I do so want to learn something about rubber planting.”

“All right, you get ready. I’ll go and wait for you on the verandah.
”
He turned away; then, as if he had suddenly remembered something, turned back again. “I suppose ... I wonder, do you think Maimie would care to come?”

Beneath his nonchalant tone Patricia was quick to notice an underlying anxiety. It was patent to her how much he desired an affirmative answer, how much he would hate to hear what perhaps he himself feared—that Maimie wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in anything that appertained to the estate. It was clear to anyone that, much as Maimie enjoyed her new environment, it was the gaiety of the amusements, the dances and parties held in her honor, that excited her interest; the affairs of the rubber estate she frankly called dull and boring.

“I’m sure she’d love to,” Patricia affirmed. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything else, and she couldn’t regret when she saw Seymour’s expression change from doubt and diffidence to one of pleasure.

“Oh, I’m glad you think so. She always declares that rubber trees are depressing and monotonous, but really they are nothing of the sort once you understand the way the rubber is tapped.” Seymour’s words were eager. “Try and persuade her to come
...
really she’ll like it.”

“Of course she will, but do go now or we’ll never be dressed in time.”

Seymour turned away and went outside to the verandah. He had awakened Patricia on the impulse of the moment. Only a short time before, she had intimated that it would interest her to see the inner workings of a rubber estate; of course, he assured himself hurriedly, it was not really Patricia he wanted, but Maimie. He could so readily visualize Patricia’s enthusiasm, how interested she always was in everything, but Maimie—Maimie, he kept reminding himself—was the one who really mattered. It was from her lips he longed to hear praise of the estate in which he took such pride. How much more easily he could have rid himself of this persistent ache in his heart if Maimie would only help him
...
help him by her support. He had believed that Patricia had gone from his heart, but now that they had met again he realized that his love had in no way diminished. He bit his lips; this duplicity was against his whole nature; he must school himself to remember that in a few days Maimie would be his forever, and Patricia—well, she would disappear from his path as she had done before, quietly and unobtrusively.

While Seymour was engrossed in his thoughts, Patricia, still clad in her dressing gown, softly entered Maimie’s room. She paused for a second by the door, then, on tiptoe, advanced toward the bed. Her precautions were wholly unnecessary; before she had advanced a half a dozen paces into the room Maimie raised herself on her elbow and addressed her.

“You needn’t bother to be quiet; I’ve been awake ages; but what are you doing up at this hour?” She pulled aside the mosquito net which enveloped the bed. “Is something the matter?”

Patricia laughed. “No, nothing is the matter. Seymour woke me a few minutes ago. He wants us to go round the estate with him.” Before Maimie could answer, she continued speaking: “It’s a lovely morning; the sun is just rising. It will be rather fun.” She could not keep a note of anxiety from her voice. Supposing Maimie refused. She couldn’t very well go alone, but oh, how disappointed she would be if the outing were cancelled.

“What, get up now?” Maimie exclaimed in dismay. “I couldn’t! It’s far too early; besides, it’s miles round the place; you know how I loathe walking, and, anyway, I’d be bored stiff. You can go with Seymour if you like—he’ll
b
e glad enough to show you everything—but I’m staying where I am!”

Patricia realized that further persuasion would be useless; with a shrug she made her way to the door, but just as she was about to open it, Maimie spoke again.

Patricia pause
d
expectantly. Perhaps she had changed her mind? But Maimie’s words soon showed she was doomed to disappointment.

“Don’t get back too
l
ate. My things are in an awful muddle, and Seymour says I can have that chest in his room for some of my belongings if I like to clear it out. I want to do it this morning, if you’ll give me a hand; I really must get some of my stuff put straight before we leave for our honeymoon.”

“A
ll
right ... I won’t be late. I probably shan’t go after all,” Patricia responded briefly, then left the room, closing the door behind her. Slowly she entered her own bedroom and sank despondently on the bed. She’d have to tell Seymour quickly; she couldn’t keep him waiting about half the morning and then inform him that he must go alone. Patricia jumped to her feet and crossed to the door, but even then she hesitated, her hand upon the handle. It really was ridiculous not to go herself now she was awake. After all, she argued, why should she care if her own keenness and interest showed up Maimie in a bad light? Wasn’t that exactly what Kitty, with her strong sense of what was right, was always telling her? She wanted to go so much
...
was it really the interest that appealed, or was it the beauty of the morning—the dawn, alone with Seymour? Patricia turned the handle and threw open the door. She was losing her head, becoming ridiculous. Kitty didn’t understand properly; she mustn’t allow herself to be influenced by her views.

“Seymour ... just a minute!” she called.

“Hallo
...
ready?” Seymour’s step vibrated on the wooden floor of the verandah and entered the lounge. For a moment he stood in the doorway regarding Patricia as she stood, her dressing gown making a splash of color against the light wood. The words seemed to die on his lips, and his voice when he spoke had lost its former buoyancy. “You haven’t dressed yet?”

“No. I’m sorry, I ought to have told you before ... it was a shame to keep you waiting.” She passed her hand wearily across her forehead. “I’ve got a headache ... I went to wake Maimie; she was asleep. I thought perhaps you could leave it for another morning? She had difficulty controlling her voice, and all the time she was speaking she was hoping her words sounded convincing. “You understand, don’t you, as I didn’t feel energetic this morning and Maimie
...
” She forced a smile. “She seemed so fast asleep, it was a shame to wake her.” She lifted her eyes to his appealingly as she prayed he would accept her explanation and refrain from asking questions.

“Of course, it’s not worth disturbing her.” Seymour’s tone was frigid as his lips twisted into a half-smile. “You said you wanted to come ... if you remember. Otherwise I should not have dreamed of disturbing you so early.” He turned toward the garden. “I’m sorry you have a headache; it must have come on very suddenly.”

Before Patricia had time to reply, his tall figure had disappeared through the doorway and she heard the crunching of his steps on the gravel path. Patricia re-entered her room an
d
stood aimlessly before her table. She’d probably said quite the wrong thing. That she had angered him had been obvious. A long-drawn sigh escaped her. He hadn’t believed her; he thought she couldn’t be bothered to join him; but there was one thing he undoubtedly had believed— that Maimie hadn’t even been consulted, and was therefore blameless, and she was at least thankful for that small mercy.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“
So you didn’t go with Seymour?” Maimie queried, as she emerged from her bedroom and joined Patricia in the lounge. “I thought I heard someone about and I wondered if it could be you.” Maimie perched herself on the edge of the desk where Patricia, still clad in her dressing gown, sat writing letters. “You woke me up completely with your early-morning visit. I couldn’t get to sleep again at all.” Maimie crossed one leg over the other and clasped her knee. “I suppose you couldn’t either?” she asked.

“No, and it didn’t seem worth while going back to bed. Besides, I had a letter to write,” Patricia explained, indicating the writing materials spread out on the desk before her.

“I can’t think why you didn’t go with Seymour. You seemed so keen.”

“I was
...
” Patricia stopped writing and lifted her head. “I changed my mind ... I had a headache.
”
After all, she decided, it might be as well if she made the same excuse to Maimie as she had to Seymour; it would be awkward if he inquired about a headache of which Maimie hadn’t even heard!

“A headache?” Maimie echoed her concern. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t appear to have a headache when you visited me. On the contrary,
”
she laughed, “your exuberance at that unearthly hour was positively amazing.”

Patricia joined in her friend’s laughter. “My headache did come on rather suddenly. It’s gone quickly, too. I feel quite fit now.” She folded her arms on the table and contemplated Maimie’s attractive figure, so slim and almost boyish in the clinging nylon pyjamas. “You look cheery enough, and it’s still early,” she reminded her.

“I know.” Maimie grimaced. “I think it’s disgusting to be up already, but your early visit has put me all wrong for the day. I just couldn’t keep in bed any longer, and I thought it might be a good opportunity if you’d help me tackle that chest while it’s still comparatively cool.”

Patricia gathered up her writing materials. “You do seem energetic, and I’m not going to deter you! I’m quite game. I can finish this letter to Dad any time.”

“Good.” Maimie slithered down from her seat on the desk. “I expect that chest will be in an awful mess. Seymour says it’s full of bills and paper, and admits he hasn’t touched it for years.”

Patricia deposited her things in her bedroom, then followed Maimie into a small room which she had heard Seymour call his office.

Her eyes strayed to a small bookshelf packed tightly with reference books, fiction, and catalogues all muddled in hopeless confusion. Scarcely aware of speaking, she found herself giving voice to her thoughts. “Goodness, this place is in a muddle. Don’t you think we might have a go at everything while we’r
e
about it?”