Gone Away (8 page)

“It’s all right, my dear, really it is!” Claud’s voice was unusually gentle, so gentle that Patricia experienced a momentary surprise at the tender inflection. “He’ll be along by the time we’re ready to go ashore,” he added consolingly as
h
is hand rested for a fleeting second on Maimie’s shoulder. “I suggest you both come along and have a farewell drink. We’ll find Alastar and get him to join us.” Maimie turned away reluctantly from the rail over which she had been leaning since the ship had been tied alongside, and
allowed her friends to lead her toward the smoke room.
“
There’s Alastar!” Claud called out as he espied Ian in conversation with a group of passengers, obviously indulging in farewell speeches, and promises—usually broken—to look them up at an early date.

“
We’re going along for a drink. Come and join us?”

“Rather!” Ian’s cheerful voice called in reply. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

The other three made their way to the smoke room, and, with one impulse, selected the corner table that, during those happy days of travel, they had always occupied. That was how it had been throughout the journey ... a special corner, a special chair or table always ready, almost like their own property. When they were comfortably ensconced in deep leather armchairs, Claud re-opened the conversation. “Strange to think this’ll be our last drink on board—but not our last drink together.” He beckoned a steward and gave the order. “I hope we’ll have many more meetings ashore.”

“You’re not living far from Maimie’s future home, are you?” Patricia questioned, conscious of anxiously awaiting Claud’s answer.

“Warinder’s estate is about six miles from my bungalow; we’re both a few miles outside Singapore,” Claud explained. “Ian’s right in Singapore. Dr. Wane, the fellow he’s joining, has got a big practice there.”

“I see.” Patricia lapsed into silence and sipped the cocktail the steward had placed before her.

“Dr. Wane will be here to meet Ian, I suppose,” Maimie suggested. “Did anyone spot him on the dock?”

“I didn’t, although I expect he’ll be there, and his sister too. They are bound to meet Alastar, considering he’s going back to stay with them.”

As Claud spoke, Ian Alastar’s figure appeared in the doorway, “I say, you must excuse me not joining you. The purser has just told me that Dr. Wane has come on board. I can’t stop now; I must go down to the gangway and find out.”

“Do you know if Seymour was there as well?” Maimie called after Ian’s departing figure.

“Can’t say, but if he was I’ll tell him where to find you,” Ian called back.

“I can’t bear waiting here; if he’s on board I must go and find him.” Maimie made to rise, but Claud urged her back to her seat.

“Don’t be silly; you’ll only miss him. Alastar will tell him where you are, and, if he has come aboard, he’ll be along in a moment.”

Patricia suddenly became aware of Maimie’s glance turned to the aperture of the doorway leading to the deck, where a figure stood silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the sky beyond. Before she had realized the probable identity of the newcomer, Maimie had struggled to her feet and made a whirlwind rush toward the advancing figure. “I wondered what had happened to you ... I thought you must have forgotten to come.” Maimie’s words were no longer coherent as the tall stranger caught her flying figure in his arms and, almost lifting her from the floor, held her in a tight embrace. It was not until the newcomer had released Maimie that Patricia obtained a view of Maimie’s future husband. Her first impression was of his extreme height, for Maimie, still held closely to his side, scarcely reached his shoulder. Patricia raised her eyes to his face; then, suddenly, it was as if the present had faded away and she was back again in England, standing cold and bedraggled, in the pouring rain, seeking shelter on a wet and draughty platform. She had never forgotten any single detail of her beloved stranger’s face—brushed-back hair, high forehead, and blue-grey eyes that underwent some subtle change even as the expression of that strong yet sensitive mouth had changed when he had smiled. He was smiling now. Her fingers unconsciously gripped more tightly on the stem of her glass. Surely this was just a trick of her imagination, a coincidental likeness. This man was Seymour Warinder, not Kay ... It couldn’t possibly be the same man. It was already a year ago; her memory was playing tricks; the whole thing was probably a ridiculous mistake
...

“Patricia
... C
laud ... let me introduce you
...
Seymour, my
fiancé
!” Maimie’s excited voice recalled Patricia to the present. For a moment she felt her hand held in a strong grip, then became vaguely conscious of the conversation around her.

“I seem to know Burny. We need no introduction; we’ve met once or twice at the club.”

That voice—of course, she was certain now! Kay or Seymour, the name didn’t matter; Patricia glanced again at the lean, tanned face of the newcomer, but in the gaze that met hers she could read no sign of recognition.

“Miss Dare, I owe you my thanks for looking after Maimie! I hope she hasn’t been too troublesome? I’m sure she must have been rather a handful.” The fond look Seymour Warinder bestowed on his
fiancé
as he spoke belied his words.

“I’ve loved it. I am sorry the journey is over.” Patricia hoped that her voice was steady; she still felt as though she were living in a dream, and her customary poise had entirely deserted her.

“Don’t call her Miss Dare; her name is Patricia, and naturally she must call you Seymour.” Without awaiting a reply, Maimie prattled on excitedly:
“
You haven’t told me how you got on board. I’ve been looking out for you for hours. I thought you had forgotten to meet the ship.”

“I got a permit and came on board ten minutes ago, and have been hunting round for you ever since. Dr. Wane and his sister were with me; they are meeting a man named Ian Alastar who is to go into partnership with Wane.”

Maimie pouted. “And to think I’ve been scanning the quay for hours.” She paused, then added. “We were just having a farewell drink.” She pushed her
fiancé
down into a chair and seated herself on the arm beside him. “Have a drink with us. I don’t believe we shall be allowed ashore for ages yet. Claud introduced us to Ian Alastar, and we see, I’ve lots of friends in my new country already!”

“You’ll have hundreds before you’ve been in Singapore a month!” Seymour looked at her fondly. “I’m sure you’re going to love it.”

“Yes, Claud says I will. I’m longing to see your bungalow. Is it nice? Shall I like it?” Maimie inquired excitedly. “Patricia is going to stay with us until we marry; she’s never been out eithe
r
so you’ll have to see that she has a lovely time.”

Patricia rose to her feet. She felt there was only one thing she wanted, and that was to be alone. She longed for a few moments of solitude in which to collect her thoughts, to assure herself that she wasn’t dreaming. Over and over again she asked herself the question: Could she possibly have made a mistake? Could this be the same man of her adventure? “Excuse me,” she murmured. “There are one or two things I want to attend to before we go ashore. Down in our cabin ... the luggage
...
there are a few cases to be fastened.”

“But it’s all done,” Maimie interrupted her friend.

“I want to make sure
...
” Patricia hurried away before Maimie could make any further protest, and, edging her way past her fellow passengers grouped on the deck, she sought the shelter of her cabin.

How different the little room appeared now, denuded of their own possessions, the beds unmade, the luggage stacked ready for removal. Patricia turned the key in the lock and sank on to the bunk. Cupping her chin in her hands, she leaned forward and stared unseeingly before her. No, she decided, she hadn’t made a mistake. Seymour Warinder and Kay were one and the same man. Even then ... he had shown no sign of recognition. That was hardly surprising when she recalled that during those endless months she had changed from an untidy, unsophisticated child into an independent young woman. A sad smile curved Patricia’s lips. She had no doubt changed in appearance too. She lifted her head and stared into the mirror over the wash basin. How different she looked in her lavender linen dress and soft white shady hat from the girl who had stood in the station that night, a beret pulled over her rain-soaked hair and a mackintosh, the worse for wear, buttoned closely to her neck. Even the clothes she had worn in London had been shabby. Patricia jumped to her feet and, removing a powder-puff from her bag, carefully powdered her nose. It had been a shock, but, she decided, she must certainly pull herself together. Suddenly she paused and an expression of hurt dimmed her eyes. Kay must have recognized her, even if she had changed. Surely her name must have stirred some chord in his memory. She replaced her compact in her bag and stared, thoughtfully before her. How could she have imagined for one moment that he hadn’t known? He had been acting, playing a part, conveying to her more surely than any words could have done that he wanted that episode wiped out; that, as far as he was concerned, she had never before crossed his path. Patricia stifled the sob that rose to her lips. It was only natural ... he couldn’t wish to remember that miserable adventure now, with his future bride by his side, his marriage but a matter of days. She must respect his unspoken desire; it was the least, the only, thing she could do.

She turned toward the door, then hesitated; she must be absolutely certain of her ground, she decided, before rejoining the others. She hadn’t mentioned any names when telling the story of her adventure to Maimie. That had been easy; she had never known her rescuer’s real name. ... Of course, one day Maimie might find out that Seymour had been the man, although it wouldn’t really matter because, in recounting her adventure, she had never admitted the most important point of all—that since that memorable night Seymour Warinder had filled her heart to the exclusion of all others.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

P
atricia reclined on a wicker chair on the wooden verandah fronting Seymour Warinder’s bungalow and stared out at the vista before
h
er. The still warmth of the tropical night enveloped her and the deep blue canopy of the sky reached down to meet the seemingly endless rows of grey-hued tree-tops, which in the dim light of evening, resembled the density of a forest. Patricia recalled her first impression; by daylight and in the heat of the sun, they had that afternoon reached the bungalow. Then the rubber trees planted in long lines had stretched in regular columns, like files of soldiers, far into the distance. Only a few hours ago
...
Patricia sighed. Already it seemed days since, from the deck of the
Ra
j
ah,
they had first discerned the green richness of Malaya stretching across the horizon, its background of mountains rising against the azure sky. Such a long day it had been, and a day crowded with emotion, excitement, and a strange premonition of the future. What would this exotic and beautiful country do to her? In its first moment of welcome it had played a trick on her: it had brought her face to face with someone who had become a mere memory, a dream. Patricia started forward in her chair and stared fixedly into the distance, as if there she would find an answer to her questions, something to allay the fear she felt in her heart. For a moment she sat immobile, then, with a shrug of her shoulders, she sank against the cushioned back of her chair. What was the matter with her? She was unaccustomed to such sensations; independence had taught her to stand on her own feet and, whatever happened, to face life happily and unafraid. Surely she was not allowing herself to be influenced by a memory, a memory upon which, she now realized, she had always dwelt, perhaps subconsciously, far too much? As far as the future was concerned, she had weighed it all up before embarking upon this adventure; she wouldn’t allow herself to be scared now. She had arrived at her journey’s end, and as she had always found on previous occasions, something would turn up; she utterly refused to believe otherwise. No one could feel anything else but exaltation in such surroundings; the sensuous warmth of the air was as intoxicating and exhilarating as wine.

Dreamily she recalled the diverse emotions of that long day—the thrill of arrival, of landing, meetings, and farewells. They had lunched at an hotel with Claud, Ian, and the Wanes. Patricia had found herself surreptitiously watching the bewildering intrigue layed around her. Seymour and Maimie, how affectionate they
h
ad appeared, how delighted with one another’s company, and yet Maimie was subtly different with Seymour; perhaps it was because he treated her rather as if she were a child, whereas Claud had always met her on her own level and their relationship had consequently appeared to be one of mutual irresponsibility. Maimie now seemed more subdued, more restrained, and altogether different from the carefree girl of the voyage. Patricia had marvelled at the easy manner in which Claud and Maimie had adapted themselves to their changed circumstances. Not by one glance did either betray the intimate understanding that must have existed between them.

Patricia had taken a liking to Kitty Wane. From the moment of reunion with Ian, the friend of her childhood days, she had seemed to have no interest in anyone else. Ian appeared equally engrossed and more animated than at any time during the voyage.

She hadn’t, after all, been wrong in her surmise that Ian’s quiet demeanor had concealed a hidden happiness. Kitty Wane,
rose cheeked
and gay, possessed the happy knack of drawing Ian out of his shell, and Patricia felt a glow of gratitude towards the girl who, she felt sure, would be a tremendous aid in helping Ian to adjust himself to the new life.