Island in the Dawn (11 page)

He caught at her elbow and steadied her.

“Those heels of yours are ridiculously high,” he remarked coolly, glancing down at them. “I’ve never understood why women like to walk about on stilt-like heels.”

“No?” she said. She felt she could only talk in monosyllables.

Bruno appeared, looking rather absurd with a huge satin bow attached to his collar. It had been fixed by Miss Menzies, after she had raked through all her things for a length of ribbon impressive enough for the purpose. Paul bent and removed it, and patted Bruno’s magnificent neck as if in apology.

“Miss Menzies means well,” he said, “but she is not a very astute woman. In fact, I would say she can be very stupid at times.”

Felicity felt actual tears prick the backs of her eyes.

“She is very kind,” was all she could say.

Paul glanced at her, and then at the disordered buffet, which Michael and Moses hadn’t yet started to clear away.

“Would you like something to drink before you go upstairs?” he asked. “I don’t think you touched your champagne.” Her glass was where she had left it, still practically full, standing beside a plate on which an untouched chicken sandwich also reposed. “Shall I ring for some tea, or something of that sort for you? I know you’re not very keen on false alcoholic stimulus!”

His tone was very dry, and although she would have loved some tea
—
in fact, it was the one thing that might have removed that frightening dryness from her throat, and given her back a little courage
—
she knew she couldn’t endure to sit and drink it, there, with him, just then.

“No, thank you, I—I thin
k I’ll go straight upstairs,” sh
e said.

He nodded as if he approved.

He called the dog out
o
f her path as she made for the door, and although she and Bruno had become fast friends during the past three weeks, she was not surprised to see the animal meekly desert her side and go back to
his
master. After all, Paul was
hi
s master, and she was only a very new mistress. A blind man and
hi
s dog are very close
—
and it wasn’t so very long since Paul was blind!

But the fact that the dog deserted her so easily seemed to go through her heart like a knife. She had no real place in t
hi
s house, and she never would have. She was alone
...
Paul wasn’t alone because he had the dog, and
hi
s devoted Michael, and in any case he was where he belonged.

She was an intruder who had only know the place three weeks!

But as she went out at the door she had the distinct impression that her husband was helping
hims
elf to a stiff w
hi
sky and soda. It was most unusual for him to touch spirits in the middle of the day.

Florence was waiting for her in her room as if she had been expecting her. She helped her out of the linen suit and put her to bed between the cool sheets as if she had been a child. All the time her tongue ran away with her, like a relieved hen clucking over something that had been an active source of annoyance: about unexpected guests who arrived and turned the place into a shambles and then went away and left so much litter behind them that it was no easy task tidying up after them.

“That Miss Wood,” Florence kept repeating, “that Miss Wood is one I do not wish to see again
—
ever! I said to Moses, ‘What if the Master had married her!’ ” and her eyes rolled in a horrifying fas
hi
on.
“What if he had married her!’ ”

Felicity couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Would you have minded so much?”

Florence stood with her arms akimbo.

“Florence do t
hi
s, Florence do that!
...”
she
mimicked, copying Cassandra’s hig
h,
thin
voice very cleverly. “Would anyone wish for such a mistress? But you,” and she put the wilting gardenias into a vase of water, addin
g
an aspirin to help them revive, “you are the sort of little Missus that will be good for Mr. Halloran. Mr. Halloran very generous to Moses and me.” She explained that they had been given a fresh suite of rooms over the garage, where apparently they could be very comfortable. “Mr. Halloran also want to know whether you’d like to move into the big bedroom?” And she looked at Felicity as if attempting to read her mind with her huge, lamp-like eyes.

Felicity stared down at the gardenias.

“No, thank you, Florence. I think I’d rather remain where I am,” she said.

Florence nodded as if comprehending.

“When Master takes you away
—
perhaps for a little honeymoon later on?” And her white teeth gleamed
—
“Moses and me redecorate big bedroom, and when you come back you find big surprise! Everywhere all clean and nice, and perhaps new curtains and thin
gs
. Just now curtains and carpet not very nice, and Mr. Halloran will buy new ones. You speak to Mr. Halloran about buying new curtains and carpet?” The anxiety on her face convinced Felicity that she wouldn’t be happy until she had seen the big bedroom completely equipped. But as for herself it was like a reprieve to know that, according to Florence’s views, it wasn’t really fit for habitation by a bride.

“We’ll see,” she said.

Florence beamed.

“You ask Mr. Halloran, and Mr. Halloran say yes. Not possible he say anything but yes, huh?” And this time her eyes danced.

Felicity fell asleep as soon as Florence had left the room, and it was only when she woke up that she realized that that was probably because she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. But she could hardly say she
felt refreshed. She felt as if there was a load laid on
her spirits.

After a shower she felt more like herself. By the time she had slipped into her pale mauve evening-dress, and discovered that a
couple
of the gardenias had revived marvellously and
that
she could wear them tucked into the front of her
dress,
she even began to experience a sensation like
hope at
her heart.

She was too
young
to feel utterly downcast and frightened for
long, and
too sensible to delude herself. She had
married
a man when he asked her to do so because she was
in love
with him
...
She had known him for only three weeks, but she knew she would never love any
other man,
and whether he loved her or not
—
whether he would ever want her as a man wants a wife who is dear to him!
—
she had been granted the privilege of living near
him
, sharing his life, his interests, on an island that had enchanted her from the moment she set eyes on it.

What more could she want? W
h
at more could she reasonably ask, knowing all that she did know about the disaster that had come to the man she loved two years before? He had lost something precious to him
—
more precious even than his sight, which had since been restored to him!
—
and if her love was big enough, and genuine enough, she ought to be able to make it up to him, in some small degree, for all that he had lost. Surely she could school herself to
be content with just a little
...
?”

She was ready and willing to be content with very little when she went down to dinner
—
her first dinner alone with her husband in her own house
—
but when she came face to face with Paul after being separated from him for several hours the realization struck home to her that the little she was to receive was to be infinitesimal. Even his voice was like a sla
p
in the face, his distant manner
a
rebuff for something she hadn’t done. She
bewilder
e
dly
asked herself what she had done to be treated like this on the very night of her wedding?

The dinner was a very special one, and she knew that Moses had put
hims
elf out in order to win praise and delight the newly married pair. He received the praise, because it was conveyed to him by Michael, who reported his master’s few words of appreciation; but if the newly married pair were delighted they didn’t look it. Felicity felt as if the food would choke her, and Paul appeared to have no sort of appetite that could put hers to shame.

They talked, above the centre piece of flowers, about things that had happened during the day
—
the little missionary’s refusal to remain and have lunch because he was anxious to get back to his own little house and his books: Miss Menzies’s enthusiasm for the island; and James Menzies’s plans for his new house. In time, Paul said, in a voice that seemed to be coming straight off some arid waste, they probably would have an airfield on the island, and other facilities as well. At present the nearest doctor was to be located only on the nearest island, but a fast motor-launch could bring
him
without any trouble. They would have the launch
—
in fact; it was already ordered
—
and they could have another car, as well. If Felicity drove she might like to have her own car, although the island roads were bad, and apart from visiting the Menzies there wasn’t much purpose that another car could serve.

“If you want to go shopping you must go across to Kingston,” Paul said. “And if you want a change
—
a real change
—
then you
can always fly home to England. I wouldn’t expe
c
t you to spend the whole twelve months of the year here.”

“And what would I do in England?” Felicity asked, her eyes suddenly intent as she watched him across the table. Michael had served them with coffee in the
dinin
g room. Now they were alone, and no longer need keep up any sort of a pretence for the benefit of the servants.

Paul lifted his eyes and looked straight back into hers.

“I suppose you have friends?” he said. “You might care to visit them from time to time.”

“I haven’t very many friends.”

“No?” He looked downwards into the green brilliance of a liqueur. It was Chartreuse. Felicity had refused a similar accompaniment to her coffee. “No young men like Mervyn Manners, who are wondering when you are going to return home?”

She rose, as if the atmosphere of the room suddenly stifled her, and he followed her more leisurely as she walked on to the veranda. He drew forward a chair for her, but she clung to the veranda rail. It was then that he said: “I expect you’d like to go to bed?” And suggested that she might also like to breakfast in bed.

Within a very short while after that she was upstairs in her room. And she had locked the door!

She undressed with cold, shaking, humiliated fingers, and went to bed. She was glad she had told Florence not to wait up for her. In bed she lay watching the moonlight on her balcony, and listening to that eternal surge of the surf, and the rustling of the palm leaves that tapped against the glass of her window. By degrees the sounds, and the glitter of moonlight, must have hypnotized her and sent her off to sleep, deathly miserable though she was.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CONTRARY to her usual custom the following morning, Felicity did breakfast in her room, but that was because she hadn’t the courage to go down and breakfast on the veranda with her husband.

The two of them sharing the usual table, with the electric fan cooling the air and the lawns lying bright and green and splashed with sunshine beyond the whiteness of the veranda rails, and no Cassandra to monopolize the conversation, struck her as too much like an ordeal. And she remembered that he hadn’t seemed particularly keen to have her join him at breakfast.

So she had coffee and some fr
u
i
t in her room, and then dressed herself with rather more than her usual care in a lilac dress. The dress was crisply laundered, and it had a deep white collar that lent her a Quake
r
is
h appearance. Because it promised to be a very hot day she looped a lilac ribbon through her curls to keep them from bobbing about on her forehead, and when she went downstairs at last she also looked very young. Very young, and a little apprehensive.

She encountered Paul in the hall. He was looking out through the open door into the sunshine when he heard her footsteps on the stairs. Long before she reached the last tread he was standing looking up at her, but his expression was quite unreadable when she finally stood beside
him
on the cool floor of the hal
l.
“You slept well?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you, I slept very well!”

But she simply could not meet his eyes, and she knew that the color rushed up over her face and neck, staining the creamily-gold skin almost painfully.

Although she didn’t realize it, his blue eyes seemed to find it difficult to remove themselves from her face.

“You were wise not to hurry things this morning. You probably didn’t wake very early?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, lifting her eyes to his at last, and fighting to banish the confusion from them, “I woke at my usual time. In fact I had my breakfast rather earlier than usual. But I thought perhaps it would be a good plan if I started to have breakfast in my room, because I
—
we
...”

“Yes?” he said, as he watched her.

Her cheeks burnt as if they were on fire.

“You’ll see quite a lot of me in the daytime, and it isn’t as if Cassandra was here, and
—
and you might
find it a bit boring!”

“To face you at breakfast every morning for the rest of my life?”

Her brown eyes reflected something like a deep hurt, and she felt an actual pain in her heart. It seemed to him that she winced.

“Do you think you’ll be able to bear it?”

He answered very gravely: “You and I are committed to sharing everything for the rest of our lives and in time, no doubt, we’ll get used to it! And that provides me with an opening for something I want to say to you, Felicity
—
something that must be said! Will you come out here on to the veranda?”

She followed
him
on to the veranda, and he pressed a bell for Michael.

“Shall we have some more coffee?” he asked. “Or would you prefer a long drink?”

“Some coffee, I think, please.”

The coffee was brought, and there seemed to be a
n
extra deference in Michael’s manner as he set the tray down at the new Mrs. Halloran’s elbow. Felicity didn’t dare to look up into his expressive Irish eyes, but she suspected that they were twinkling a little. She felt sure he attributed her nervousness to an overwhelming consciousness of being a new wife.

“If there are any changes you’d like to be brin
ging
about here, madam,” he said, before he withdrew, “perhaps you’ll let us know.”

“Thank you, Michael,” she answered, with her heart fluttering, “but I’m sure I shan’t want anything changed.”

“Moses bad it in mind that you would wish to be visiting him in the kitchen.”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t dream of interfering with Moses’s arrangements!” she almost gasped.

The Irishman’s eyes twinkled more noticeably.

“Ah,
‘
tis early days, madam,” he agreed; “but in time
—
in time, no doubt, you’ll be wishful to make a few alterations.”

And he withdrew like the polished manservant he was, only sending one glance in his master’s direction which told the latter that, so far as the staff were concerned, the new mistress was an entirely acceptable addition to the place, and she had their permission to make changes if she wished.

Paul accepted his coffee, and then leaned a little towards his wife.

“That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about,” he said quietly. “This is your home now, and you must turn it into the sort of home you want, if it isn’t that already. I’ve lived here for two years now, end during the past year—” he meant, she knew, since he had recovered his sight
—
“I’ve attempted to improve things. But from a feminine viewpoint there may still be very much to be done, and I’d like you to tell me if you feel that is so.”

Felicity twisted the wedding ring on her finger, but desisted when she realized what she was doing.

“There honestly aren’t any improvements I could make,” she told him, and her heart wasn’t merely fluttering now, but pounding heavily, because he was watching her closely as if determined to get her reactions. “I don’t know what this house was like when you took it over from Mr. Menzies, but it is delightful now.”

“I had a lot of stuff brought from Italy.” He lighted a cigarette with much deliberation. “My flat there was closed after
—
after my accident. Michael made a trip to Rome and sorted out my things. He had instructions from me to select those that he thought I would like to have here, and arrange for their transportation. Michael is completely dependable about such matters
—
in fact, I find him dependable in every way
—
and the house such as it now is more or less his creation.”

“Then I think he ought to be congratulated.” She paused. “What happened to
—
to your other things? The things he passed over? Are they still in Italy?”

“No, they were sold,” rather shortly. “My flat in Rome was a large flat
—
actually much too large for a bachelor
—
and by the standards of this house almost oppressively luxurious. But, then, my way of life in those days demanded that my background should be impressive, and of course there was always an enormous amount of entertaining.” She wondered whether the tightness of his lips was due to the fact that he was regretting those days, or whether he had never really enjoyed entertaining. “Michael did everything in those days, just as he now supervises the r
unning
of the house. He has an instinct for making people comfortable, and can be safely left to see to it that no one is ever uncomfortable.”

“Then I certainly shan’t dream of interfering in any way,” Felicity repeated. “It would be like offering an insult to Michael!”

“It would be nothing of the kind;” He frowned. “This is your home
—
it may be your home for many years, if we don’t decide to live elsewhere, and it is what you want that counts from now on. I mean that, Felicity.” His voice was quiet, but earnest. “Florence has been pestering me about the big bedroom that Menzies planned as a main bedroom in this house. It is only right that you should occupy it. In any case, you are no longer a guest, and a guest-bedroom is hardly suitable. So if you and Florence like to go into the matter, and discuss furnishings, and so forth
...
All we shall have to do after that is to get the things you want shipped to us, and Michael will make himself responsible for the d
e
cor,” with a tiny smile lightening the tautness of his
li
ps.

“Oh, but
...
Please
!
” she sounded agitated. “The
bedroom I have is all that I want, and
—
”

“Nonsense! As I’ve said, you are no longer a guest. You are Mrs. Paul Halloran.” His blue eyes held hers deliberately.

“Even so
...”
She felt like a swimmer who was getting out of her depth
...
“Even so, I can still choose what I want
—
can’t I?”

“I’ve said that you can.”

“Then I want
—
I would prefer!
—
to remain in the room I’m occupying now.”

“Very well.” He looked down at his cigarette, which had burnt almost to his fingers. “If that is what you really wish; but sooner or later I imagine there will have to be changes.” She dared not think what he meant by that. “In the meantime you mustn’t hesitate to give orders, and you must never forget that you are mistress here. The servants have instruction to look to you as their mistress, which of course you are.”

“Th-thank you!” She bit her l
ip nervously, and wondered how sh
e could change the subject. “How
long have you known Michael?” she asked, not because of any red curiosity concerning Michael, but because it was the only thing she c
ould think of to say just then.

“For about ten years, I should say.”

“He was with you in the
—
the days of your triumphs?”

“If you can call them triumphs—-yes!”

There was no doubt about the slight bitterness in his voice, and impulsively she flung at him: “Of course they were triumphs!
...
Cassandra says you were marvellous! Just to watch you!
...”
She looked away, and her breath caught, and then she sighed. “I wish I’d been able to watch you just once!”

“Why?” he asked, curiously.

“Oh, because
...”
Her whole being was palpitating with a desire to be closer to him
—
if not physically, then mentally, spiritually. To have shared his past; to have known his triumphs and witnessed the way he reacted to all the applause; to have been with him when it was all over, been a part of the quiet times when, perhaps, he was exhausted and needed the solace of quiet companionship and someone who wanted to be with him above everything else, and shared in all his interests
—
that
was something that could never happen to her now! She had known h
im
too late. Not merely because apparently there would never again be musical triumphs for him, but because she had come into his life too late to be loved by
him.

“Because?” he echoed.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, rather feebly. “Only Cassandra
—
Cassandra made it all sound very wonderful.”

His eyes grew strangely narrow as he studied her. “You were not much more than a schoolgirl when I first received the plaudits of the crowd. In fact, you were a schoolgirl.”

Slowly she lifted her eyes to his face.

“But I’m not a schoolgirl now.”

“No, you’re not a schoolgirl now
—
you’re my wife.” Hurriedly she poured herself another cup of coffee, not because she wanted it, but because she had to do something with her hands. It was the first time he had called her his wife, and looked at her in quite that way, and she felt confusion spreading through her.

“I know you’ve been on one tour of the island,” he remarked suddenly, as if he sensed her acute agitation
—
since it was acute she realized he could hardly miss it
—
“but it has occurred to me that you might like to go for another! Just a short tour this time, and not in the jeep. Would you care to go for a drive this afternoon?”

“With—you?”

“Since you are my wife, perhaps it would be as well if I accompanied you.” But there was a sudden gentleness in the smile he sent her, and also it was such an unexpected smile that it set her trembling a little inside. “What do you say?”

“Oh, I’d love it!” She tried to keep the shine out of her eyes. She would love a drive with him in the sunshine of the island, knowing that whatever the relationship between them
—
whether or not it was strained and unnatural
—
she had a right to be with him. When they returned to the house no power on earth could order her to part from him, and live away from the shelter of his house. Legally he was hers, just as
—
legally
—
she was his; they had a right to be together, and the very thought of being together on a drive in his long cream car made her feel a little dizzy with gratitude for the random thought that had entered his head, for some reason or other. “I’d love it!” she repeated.