Gone Away (9 page)

Dr. Wane, strangely like his sister, immediately inspired Patricia with confidence. Surely with Maimie, Claud, Ian, and the Wanes, even in this far country, she would not have to count herself friendless.

Patricia had been so preoccupied with her thoughts during the whole of that luncheon that she had been scarcely conscious of the food set before her. From Claud and Maimie her thoughts had strayed to Seymour. He hadn’t changed; with every nuance of expression, every inflection of his voice, she saw him again as she had always visualized him in her memory. There had been instants when she had believed that he, too, was not completely at ease. At unavoidable moments, his blue-grey eyes met hers, yet with quick decision turned away from her. With deliberate intention Patricia turned her thoughts from Seymour to other incidents of that absorbing day.

Her reverie was abruptly interrupted by the sound of voices. Seymour and Maimie had left the seclusion of the lounge where she had left them alone after dinner, feeling that, after so long an absence, they must have much to discuss together.

“Good night, darling. Sleep well.” Seymour’s words came clearly to her ears through the wide-open doors leading to the verandah. So Maimie was going to bed. She stretched her arms lazily above her head. She supposed she ought to be thinking of bed too, but somehow she hated to go in; it seemed as if, by sleeping, she would be losing something precious. The night appeared too intoxicating to waste in sleep. She dropped her arms as footsteps, resounding loudly on the wooden floor of the verandah, approached.

“Fallen asleep?” Seymour’s voice penetrated her consciousness.

“Of course not. I’ve no idea what time it is, but I heard you bid Maimie good night, so I suppose it’s late.” Patricia made to rise.

“Not very late. You needn’t go in yet; it’s barely midnight, but Maimie was very sleepy. I’m afraid the child has had rather a tiring day.”

Patricia could not repress a smile. Seymour’s words only served to verify the impression she had already formed: that, to Seymour, Maimie appeared a child; to be petted, cajoled, and altogether spoiled. Yet Maimie was not nearly so childish as she appeared, and their few weeks of acquaintance had taught Patricia that Maimie’s youthful air was no indication of her practical and sophisticated mind. Maimie might enjoy being treated as a child—for a time, but Patricia doubted whether constant petting wouldn’t eventually irritate a temperament so alert and restless.

“What are you considering so seriously?” There was a teasing quality in Seymour’s voice as ne asked the question.

“Nothing
...
” Patricia hesitated, and then, as if coming to a sudden decision, spoke. “Don’t treat Maimie like a child. She won’t like it.”

Seymour dropped down on to a chair by her side before asking, “Is that the conclusion you have reached—so quickly?”

Patricia forced a laugh. She felt inexplicably embarrassed as she tried to decide whether there hadn’t been a hint of sarcasm in her questioner’s voice. It was foolish of her to have offered an opinion—in fact, a criticism; after all, it was no affair of hers how Seymour chose to treat his future wife. “I’m afraid I have a habit of being horribly outspoken. Don’t take any notice of what I said.”

He turned impulsively to his companion. “But don’t you see that she is the sort of girl that arouses a protective instinct?’

“Yes, I appreciate that but, you know, protection, when overdone, becomes a little tiring.”

“You never wanted protection, as you call it; that’s why you ran away.”

Patricia was glad of the covering darkness as she felt the warm color flood her cheeks. There was no need to ask the meaning of that statement; it was all too clear, too obvious.

“I recognized you at once. I felt it better to remain silent.” There was a hint of appeal in his voice as he added, “It seemed kinder to Maimie to keep any question of our previous meeting to ourselves. After all, it was so brief. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” There was no hesitation in Patricia’s answer. “After all, it was a long time ago.”

“Did you realize that Maimie’s
fiancé
and your casual acquaintance of last year were the same person?”

Patricia looked up at the bronzed face close to her own. In the light from the moon the features were clearly defined—the high
forehead and strong, square chin, the finely shaped lips, firm yet strangely sensitive.

“You haven’t answered me
...
Didn’t you know?”

“Naturally I didn’t. How should I? You never told me your real name,” Patricia exclaimed a trifle resentfully.

“For the moment I had forgotten you knew me as Kay. My mother, and in fact most of my intimate friends, call me that; it’s my middle name, and Seymour is rather a mouthful, although Maimie always insists on using it. I’m sorry I hadn’t told you. I don’t think that I’d realized you didn’t know, although of course,” he added, “I signed my name in the letter I sent you.” He stopped abruptly, then added, “But then, I’d forgotten; you never received my letter.”

“Letter?” Patricia murmured in faint surprise. What was he talking about? Of course she’d never received a letter from him. She smiled; so little had their brief meeting meant to him that he had probably got her mixed up with some other girl.

“Patricia! Patricia!” Maimie’s voice called from the interior of the bungalow. “Aren’t you coming to bed? I’m nearly asleep!”

Seymour rose quickly to his feet. “I mustn’t keep you talking. Maimie is quite right; you ought to be getting to bed. You too have had a tiring day.” He field out his hand and assisted Patricia to her feet. For a moment he stood silently beside her, then, still grasping her hand in his, he continued speaking. “I am glad that this meeting was as much a surprise to you as to me. Somehow it seems more natural that way
...
” He paused for a moment as if searching for words, then, his eyes seeking hers, he continued, “Shall we both decide to forget that we have ever met before? It will be better, fairer to Maimie
...
” He stumbled over his words, then, his lips twisting into an apologetic smile, added, “Don’t misunderstand me; we have met before, and I, for one, shall always remember it, but under present circumstances it would be fairer if we never mentioned it again
...
even between ourselves. I’m afraid I’ve explained myself very badly.” He laughed ruefully.

Patricia returned the pressure of Seymour’s hand. “I really do understand. It would be a nuisance explaining an acquaintance that didn’t even include the knowledge of your name!”

“Thank you.” Seymour stooped and, lifting her hand again, pressed it for a fleeting second to his lips. “I knew you would agree. It’s better this way, better that we should meet again as strangers.”

“Of course
...
I’ve told you, I won’t say a word to Maimie.” Patricia pulled her hand from Seymour’s clasp; she felt she couldn’t bear to stay a moment longer. All her sel
f
-confidence was deserting her. It was as if this man’s very presence deprived her of her normal powers of discrimination. Nothing had changed; the months had swept across her as if they had never been. Kay was as irresistible to her now as he had been on that night, so long ago
...
if he held out his arms now she would go to him, give herself up again to the rapture of his embrace.

“Good night, Pat
...
little stranger!”

Patricia was scarcely conscious of Seymour’s whispered words as she turned blindly and groped her way back to the bungalow.

It wasn’t until Patricia was lying on her bed, tucked beneath her mosquito net, that part of Seymour’s conversation recurred to her. Surely he had made a mistake in mentioning a letter? Had he been mixing her up with someone else or had he really meant it? Patricia turned uneasily on her pillow. If he had written to her she could never have received it; in her hurried departure from the hotel to which Seymour had taken her she had purposely refrained from leaving an address. Her one idea had been to escape; yet, in her ignorance, she had escaped from the only man to whom in the whole of her twenty-three years she had ever given a second thought. It wasn’t any use speculating as to what was in the letter, or, indeed, if she were the person to whom it had been sent; in the morning she would ask him and clear up the matter once and for all; but, even as she came to that excellent decision, she remembered her promise to Seymour that in no circumstances would she ever refer to the fact that Singapore had not been their first place of meeting.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Patricia sat in her favorite spot on the verandah, a corner which, during the first few days of her stay, had become her sanctuary and resting place. She never tired of the half-wild foliage of the garden, and the unchanging panorama of hills and sky. For the hundredth time she found herself wondering about the contents of that letter, the one and only letter Kay had ever written her, a possession that might have been hers but for her ill-timed flight. Again and again she asked herself why fate had brought this man across her path again, why she should be forced to spend a whole month in his company, for she no longer denied to herself the frightening truth that Kay inspired within her an emotion dangerously akin to love.

As a rule, Patricia was not given to self-commiseration. Possibly had her own emotions been the only thing she had to combat she would have managed to submerge her feelings and, enveloped with the glory of her surroundings, attain a certain measure of contentment. Unfortunately, Maimie was also causing her no little distress. Maimie seemed entirely oblivious of the danger of furthering her friendship with Claud, and despite Patricia’s persuasion, insisted on carrying on a clandestine affair with her shipboard friend.

“Daydreaming again? How you love this corner. I always know where to find you.
”
Kay’s voice roused Patricia abruptly, and she watched as her companion seated himself on the wooden step of the verandah.

Seymour fumbled in his pockets and withdrew tobacco-pouch, and pipe. He slowly filled his pipe and lit it before speaking again. “Maimie has gone to her room to have a rest before changing. We needn’t leave here until eight o’clock.”

Of course they were going to a dance that night, Patricia, wrapped in her thoughts, had almost forgotten it. Claud, as usual, would make a fourth, of that she had no doubt. Sometimes it irritated her to think that Kay should imagine that a fourth was necessary; she didn’t mind a bit being partnerless; in fact, she wouldn’t have minded had they left her at home. Anything, anything would be better than Claud’s perpetual presence.

Seymour seemed unaware of his companion’s silence as he drew at his pipe. “Don’t you want a rest?” he suggested.

“I think I prefer it here. It’s only sixish, isn’t it?” She glanced at her watch, then continued to speak. “The sun’s just sinking. I think this is the loveliest time of all. Isn’t that red on the horizon just like fire? Almost as though the plantation were aflame. It’s strange how quickly day turns to night in this country.”

“You like this country?”

“I love it. I can’t believe I haven’t lived here always. I can’t imagine ever leaving it.”

“Why must you ever leave?”

Patricia looked up quickly. She had hardly realized what she had said. “Of course I shall have to leave here
...
one day, but I know I shall come back. I feel it is inevitable.”

“It’s strange you should love the East so much. I love it too. I’m not only here because my living lies here, but because, to me, it is the most wonderful place in the world. Sometimes I’ve been lonely; even beauty needs to be shared before it can be perfect. I want Maimie to love it as much as I do. Do you think she will?”

The question was unexpected, and the hint of anxiety in
Seymour’s
voice did not escape Patricia’s attention. She hesitated, staring before her at the gradually darkening sky, carefully choosing her words. “I’m sure she’ll be happy here. Surely you don’t doubt it?”

“I don’t really doubt it.” Seymour knocked out his pipe and restored it to the depth of his pocket. “I just wondered if she’d get restless. I’m out a lot, you know, and when we are married and you’ve gone
...
”

“But there are plenty of people she’ll get to know. She hasn’t been here long yet. Why, already there’s Kitty. She’s charming, and Maimie makes friends so quickly,” Patricia broke in reassuringly.

“Yes, Kitty Wane is a dear, and I know she’d do anything to help Maimie. I’ve known both Kitty and her brother for some
y
ears. I understand that Ian Alastar is an old flame of Kitty’s. I
h
ope something comes of that.”

‘I think something will!” Patricia smiled. “It’s still a secret, but Kitty did drop a hint or two about it. I think an engagement may shortly be announced.”

“I guessed as much. I saw Bob Wane this morning.” Seymour paused and twisted round on the step to face his companion. “You
...
you’re not engaged or anything, are you?” Seymour regretted the question the moment the words had left his lips. After all, it was no affair of his. He hoped his words sounded casual and disinterested, but he was, almost to his annoyance, keyed up to hear the answer. From the first moment he had seen her on the
Rajah,
he had recalled vividly every detail of her appearance, but by now Seymour had forced himself to the realization that, as an engaged man, other girl’s charms should no longer be any concern of his; yet he was unable to deny how much he hung on the answer to his question.

“No, of course I’m not engaged.” Patricia made an abrupt change of subject, as if she too were aware of the curiously charged atmosphere. “Look, the sun’s just disappearing. It’s practically dusk already.” must go in now, I really must.” The words trembled on her lips as she pulled herself from his grasp. “I’ll never be dressed in time, and like every other man, I expect you hate being kept waiting,” she ended with a levity she was far from feeling.

Seymour made no further effort to detain her, but with a murmured “See you later” he let her go, watching her slender figure as she swung away from him and, crossing the verandah, entered into the bungalow. For a moment his eyes lingered on the doorway through which she had disappeared. His thoughts were many miles away, back again in England. It was wet and cold, and beneath a rain-drenched hat he visualized a face just as he had recently seen it, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. His lips formed the words, “
I
thought I had managed to forget her
...
”
Then he noticed the white jacket which she had left behind, and with a swift, uncontrollable impulse he lifted the soft garment in both hands and held it caressingly against his cheek. For one moment he breathed in the fragrant perfume Patricia always used. This was madness. He was engaged to Maimie—actually engaged this time. Why—oh, why could he not thrust Patricia into the background of his mind? With a deliberate gesture he replaced the jacket on a chair and strode into the lighted bungalow.