Island in the Dawn (12 page)

“Then I suggest we have an early lunch, and set off soon after,” Paul said. “We won’t call on our friends on the other side of the island, because they might
think
it a little strange when we‘re supposed to be
—
on honeymoon!” His teeth actually gleamed a little quizzically. “But another afternoon, or mornin
g, we might drive over and see th
em, as you seem to have taken quite a fancy to Miss Menzies. It will give you a feeling of reassurance to know that you’re not altogether cut off from other human and social contacts, although you live on an island with me!”

“I don’t want social contacts
...”
she was beginning. And then she decided to say no more. She had already given herself away hopelessly, she thought, in her display of eagerness to go for a drive with him, when only the night before she had made up her mind that she could never forgive him for his cold treatment of her on the one day in her life that should have mattered more than any other day. As it was, she had only a memory that
hurt...

But so weak is human flesh that she couldn’t banish the pleased light from her eyes, and if he recognized it as such, her reward was in the increasing softness of his own eyes.

“Like Menzies, I’ve a few plans for our side of the island,” he admitted. “We’ll discuss them as we go along, shall we? Perhaps one day we’ll make the desert blossom like the rose!”

But as the big car wound upwards, Felicity thought it was already blossoming like the rose. Both the cultivated areas and the natural growth of the island were enough to gladden anyone’s heart on such an afternoon, and she realized that her heart was very ready to be gladdened. Even such a little thing as a piccaninny’s head-scarf flashing brightly amongst green com stalks sent a look of appreciation into her eyes. When they rolled through a village and saw babies playing in the dust, and mothers beaming at them approvingly beneath protecting palm
leaves, her heart actually seemed to expand a little.

The island was not large, and one could not travel inland for many miles and leave the sea behind. The sea was always there, either behind them on the horizon, or waiting just ahead. It was so blue it made the eyes ache a little, and Felicity thought of the morning of her arrival, and Cassandra’s complaint about her dark glasses. Cassandra, like film stars seeking to disguise their identity, loved to wear dark glasses with striking frames that drew the attention to the mat perfection of her skin. When she removed them she expected people to b
link
a little, because the loveliness of her eyes was all at once revealed.

But Felicity wanted to take in all that there was to take in without hindrance, and she wasn't interested in impressing people with the quality of her eyes. At least
...
When she turned sideways occasionally and caught her husband’s eyes on her, she knew that he had been actually studying the length of her silky dark eyelashes, and the way her small nose turned up slightly at the tip. She wondered whether the one or two freckles still adhered to it that she had noticed in the mirror a few days before, and hoped—with a tremendous lurch of her heart—that he had no particular objection to freckles. Then she couldn’t help but be aware that it was her mouth he watched sometimes. Her mouth was one of her best features—even she knew that. It was soft, and scarlet, and vulnerable
...
She wished he wouldn’t go on staring at it, as if it fascinated him.

She drew his attention to the blaze of growth. She spoke rapturously about the delicate mixture of greens in spite of the fact that the island seemed always to be drenched with sun, and he nodded and agreed that
there was very much to be said for this
corner
of the world in which they were proposing to begin their married life.

She was thankful for the fact that he didn’t dilate upon the beginning of their married life; from the way he spoke, they might have been a couple of partners thinking of expanding a business that had
imme
nse possibilities. He had great faith in Harry Whitelaw, whom he was thinking of sending on a course that would improve his knowledge of the citrus fruit industry. One day the fruit they exported might become world famous. Like everything else in these days science entered into it so much that one could not ignore it
—
not if one wished to expand and go on improving quality.

“And that’s what you do really wish to do?” Felicity asked, as Michael drove them as smoothly as the rutted surface of the roads would permit, and they sat shoulder to shoulder. “You’ve quite made up your mind that
—
that
thing
s that interested you once no longer do so?”

“I
think
so—in fact, I’m fairly certain of it,” Paul answered, realizing that she was referring in an oblique way to his music.

Felicity sat quietly for several minutes, and then said as if she really meant it: “It seems a pity!”

“I don’t think so.”

She noticed his hands out of the
corner
of her eye
—
beautiful musician’s hands that had fascinated her from the first. Would such a man
ever
be really happy cut off from the thin
g
s he could do so well that people flocked to be there when he lifted a
baton
—flocked from all
corner
s of the globe? He wasn’t a lotus-eater
—
he wasn’t even a sun-worshipper who could give himself up to this sort of life and be content with long, lazy days—surf bathing, sailing a yacht and competing with others who sailed for the sheer delight of it in that part of the world! True, there were other islands near, green jewels like this on the surface of the Caribbean, and if they had a launch they could make contact with them. But would that sort of thing satis
f
y Paul, year after year? Playing his piano in the watches of the night, and just drifting through the days, entrusting even the glowing of citrus fruit to Harry Whitelaw?

For Mr. Menzies, yes!
...
But Paul, year after year
—
he couldn’t be much more than thirty-five now!
—
with a wife who was not really a wife at his side
...
?”

Suddenly Felicity, keenly though she loved all the beauty around her, was appalled by the prospect
—
for Paul!

She stole another look at his hands, and he extended them for her. He examined them with interest himself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, with a kind of final note in his voice, “but I’ve given up all thoughts of that sort of
thin
g
ever again,
Felicity! You’ve married a man who has said goodbye to the world. I hope the thought of your future life isn’t frightening you already?” rather grimly.

“No.” She shook her head quickly. “It isn’t that,
but
...
”

She decided to say no more, and he didn’t press her. He seemed to have sunk into a kind of mental abstraction in his
corner
of the car, and she was surprised when, on the homeward route, just as the sun was beginning to send a slightly crimson path across the surface of the sea, he stopped the car near a sheltered bay, more like a tiny Cornish cove save that it was overhung with palms, and they walked down to it, right to the edge of the water. Felicity felt temporarily happy again, and Paul stood quietly watching her as her radiant face was turned seawards, and the slight wistful droop to her lips betrayed the fact that there was no real radiance in her heart.

“Felicity,” he said suddenly, “you’ve
got
to be happy here!”

She turned to him. As always he was immaculately dressed, his thin silk suit impeccable, his tie flowing carelessly, but beautifully knotted. No concession to island life in the way he looked
...
She herself, in a rather faded lilac cotton dress, with slim bare legs and sandals that showed her pretty feet, was already much more of an islander than he would ever be!

“I shall be happy—don’t worry,” she said. She thought of starry nights and wild, rose-flushed dawns, and fingers of moonlight in the plantation; the endless surge of the sea, and the scent of the island’s flowers. She knew that she could be happy here, but not with him! No, they would never be happy as they were going on now. In time the island would be a prison to them both.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, and looked keenly into her face.

“Thinking?” She stared up into the vividly blue eyes a little blankly—a little helplessly, had she but known it. “Why, nothing—nothing!” She made a little helpless gesture, and then turned to walk back up the beach. “Don’t you think we ought to go now? Michael’s been sitting there waiting for about twenty minutes, and it’ll soon be dark! The darkness comes down
s
rapidly here, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agreed, and followed her up the beach.

But on the homeward drive Felicity was no longer happy because she had been given a treat in the shape of an unexpected expedition.

She remembered that she was now a married woman and that the whole of her life might be like this. Afternoon drives
—
purposeless afternoon drives! With
Michael at the wheel, and Florence and Moses ensuring the smooth
r
unning
of the house to which they would always return! An aimless existence, with a barrier between herself and her husband—not even a proper married life—and the days drifting by.

And she had chosen this path for herself—chosen it with her eyes open. She wondered, as she peered into the velvety darkness that was closing in even before they reached the house, whether her eyes had ever been really open, or whether they would be opened wider yet.

“I
think
we
need
a
drink before you
go
up and change,” Paul said, when they reached the house, and in the brightly lighted main lounge she could see from his face that he had been thinking in the car as well. She felt suddenly panic-stricken. Was he regretting even more than she was doing
...?

“Here’s to us!” Paul said, a little mockingly, as he lifted his glass. “Here’s to ail the days ahead on Menzies Island!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BUT that night he seemed to soften again. Felicity forgot how despairing she had felt on the beach that afternoon, and how convinced she had been while the sun slid in a crimson ball towards the edge of the sea that they had made the gravest of all mistakes. Two people who could sit one on either side of a dinner table in a lovely, candle-lit room and carry on a quiet conversation while being waited on by anyone as deft and attentive as Michael, surely had something to give each other? They had dignity, poise, and elegance
—
and when Felicity thought of the many moments in her life when those things had been missing and she had had to put up with cramped quarters, crudeness and contrivance, she knew that she, at least, had a great deal to be thankful for now. She could be thankful for security, for companionship, and the knowledge that she didn’t have to start looking for a job when this one ended.

She was no longer an employee—she was mistress in her own home!

Then horror smote her because she had sold her birthright for a mess of pottage—or so it might yet prove. Instead of love, and tenderness, family life and simple things, she would have coolness and austerity, detachment and a perpetual hunger in the region of her heart. She would listen to a voice that already made her quiver along every sensitive nerve of her being and wonder how much more achingly dear it could become? She would watch a slim, brown hand pouring her liqueur, or offering her a cigarette which she would seldom accept, and feel fascinated because it was so slim, and brown, and shapely—and, moreover, was the hand of her husband! And she would encounter a quizzical gleam, or perhaps an amused look, in dark blue eyes, when the
thing
she wanted to do more than anything else was to see them flame suddenly, like the tapering points of the candles!

She grew almost cold at this last thought, because it told her just how hopeless was the situation, when she wanted so much. She wanted so very much, and she hadn’t a hope of getting it!

He had wanted to kiss her, but she had declined to let him do so because he hadn’t any love to offer her. He had said she was sweet, and a very lovely young woman, and as a lovely young woman he plainly found her desirable!
...
But she wanted the whole loaf, not the half loaf, and her heart cried out against even dreaming of accepting the half! It wasn’t good enough!
...
She had actually recoiled, and he had seen her recoil. Yet he had married her—and, more amazing still, she had married him—and since their marriage he hadn’t betrayed even the smallest desire to repeat his offence. Not even for the sake of the guests at the ceremony had he given her the lightest peck on the cheek!

Sometimes she wondered whether the sight of her that night with Mervyn had upset him
...
a Mervyn who was trying to make her see sense!

The complacency that had settled on her during the early part of the dinner had vanished altogether by the time the coffee stage was reached. She felt as if she was being tormented by questions to which she could supply no answers, and when they went out into the veranda for their coffee she could feel, rather than see, Paul looking at her as if he, too, was seeking the answer to at least one question.

Finally he put it to her, when she was poising the sugar-tongs over the sugar bowl. They fell with a clatter and Michael stepped forward to retrieve them. Paul waved him away and rescued the sugar-tongs himself. He waited until Michael could be heard closing the door of the room behind him, and then he repeated curtly:

“How long have you really known Mervyn Manners?”

Felicity
was so taken aback that she couldn’t answer immediately. At last she stammered: “Not as long as Cassandra, of course! I met him for the first time shortly after I went to live with Cassandra!”

“That’s about six months ago, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And in six months you became familiar enough with him—despite his attachment to Cassandra—to permit him to talk familiarly about your eyes, and to sit with him in the plantation here, on the very eve of your marriage to me, and let him hold your hand. While I searched
for you, and couldn’t find you.”

Felicity experienced a sensation of shock after his voice had died into silence. The stricken expression on her face could have looked like guilt. So that was it! That was why he had been so ic
ily
cod until this afternoon, and why even now he was looking at her with a kind of judicial disapproval that suddenly aroused in her so much resentment that she started to say things she would never have said otherwise. Not, at least, until she had had an opportunity to prove whether they were right or wrong.

“If you must know, Mervyn sought me out to—to make me see that I was making a mistake hi marrying you! At least, he thought I was. Both he and Cassandra told me I was making a mistake. It was Cassandra who told me about
the
photograph you kept beside your bed
until only a few days ago, and as Mervyn was the one who actually saw it he felt that he had to point out to me that it was unusual, if nothing else! I don’t suppose he knew it was
Signorina
Carlotti
...”

“But
you
know it was
Signorina
Carlotti?”

“I—Cassandra knows all about—all about her
...”

“And has passed on her information to you! That was kind!
...
Well?”

“You told me something about her yourself,” Felicity reminded him. “In fact, you made it very clear that you
—
you could never forget her! Mervyn didn’t know the circumstances under which we were marrying
...
That it was not going to be an ordinary marriage!”

“I see,” as her voice trailed off rather hopelessly, as t M her little burst of indignation had died in the humiliation of having to make such an explanation. Although his voice was quiet it was also deadly cold—far colder than before. “And did you explain to Mr. Manners that ours was not to be, as you phrase it, an ‘ordinary marriage’?”

“Of course not!” aghast.

“Then what explanation did you give—in view of the photograph—for going on with the marriage?”

“I
—
” She looked down at her hands, and the fingers were laced so tightly together that the nails dug into her soft flesh. “I didn’t give an explanation at all. It was nothing to do with Mr. Manners.”

“I am glad we agreed there,” he said dryly.

“It wasn’t that he wished to interfere
...
It was just
—
well, he has known me for several months, and one day he hopes to marry Cassandra. I don’t think he’s very sure of her—or even of the wisdom of marrying h
e
r!—and it was a sort of bond! He felt that he ought to offer me some advice, even although one day he may make a complete hash of his own life!”

“Solely on account of the photograph?”

“I don't think he thought our relations with one another were altogether normal.”

“No white wedding, no honeymoon, and the rest?” His mouth twisted. “Well, they say the looker-on sees most of the game, and very likely it’s true. But I’m sorry about the photograph of Nina. It was most unpleasant for you that someone should t
hink
it necessary to tell you about it, even with the best intentions, and
...
I apologize for my suspicions of Manners. I should have known you are not the type to do the
thing
vaguely suspected you might be doing that night in the plantation. If you’d wanted Manners I think you could have won him ages ago, even with the obvious Miss Wood in the picture. But when I first saw you I knew
—
I knew you’d never had a serious affair with a man.”

“Oh!” Was all she could say.

“Don’t ask me how I knew,” he went on, rising and walking to the veranda rail, “but I did. So there was very little point in my behaving like a jealous lover, was there?”

Jealous lover!
...
Her heart knocked. What was he trying to tell her
...
? Was he going to offer some explanation about the photograph? Was it just an accident that it had been where it was, beside
his
bed? People got used to photographs in prominent positions
...
They forgot sometimes, even when the subject had once been much beloved.
Once been much beloved
...
She felt as if her violent heart-beats were
fillin
g the silence with sound as she waited for him to put an entirely different complexion on their relationship. She felt he was about to tell her something that would color her whole world with rainbow hues, even at this hour of the night when they were waiting for the moon to rise to lighten the darkness.

But after a minute of waiting, what he said didn’t even introduce a tinge of greyness into the darkness.

“I’m not going to offer you any explanation of the photograph being where it was. In future, however, it will not cause you any embarrassment, because I’ve put it away where even the servants won’t light on it when having an extra special spring clean.” His voice was just a little dry. Then he turned to her. “But you and I, Felicity, we have a life to lead that has nothing to do with photographs—nothing to do with young men like Mervyn Manners, who can’t organize their lives competently.” Her heart beats slowed, and she felt just a little sick as his eyes met hers pleadingly across the dimly-lit space. “We’re a man and a woman, and we’re also man and wife!
...
It’s true I promised you I wouldn’t force anything out of you, but for how long do you expect me to be patient, Felicity?”

Her mouth went absolutely dry, and she couldn’t speak. She wanted to get to her feet, but her fingers were clutching at the arms of her chair, and she couldn’t let them go.

“Felicity!” He moved until he was within a foot of her, and then he saw how pale she was—like a ghost in her white nylon dress—he bent and drew her gently out of her chair. He put his arms round her and drew her to rest against him, her slender rigidity apparently striking no chord of concern in him. “Don’t you know what a lovely young woman you are, you slightly unreal wife of mine? And don’t you know that all this afternoon your flower-like mouth has affected me with a kind of obsession to feel it under mine!
...”

He bent, and her mouth was under his, and the stars that were hanging like jewels in the sapphire night sky performed an eccentric dance as the pressure of his hard, masculine lips grew fiercer and fiercer, and the wild, responsive leap of her blood made it impossible for her to drag her lips away. In fact, almost instinctively her hand went out and clutched at him, and his arms held her so closely that, for the all-too-brief fragment of time while the world stood still and the stars remained as if transfixed, peering eagerly in the heavens there was no such thing as a separate existence for either of them. They were wholly and indivisibly one.

And then Paul shattered the moment by lifting his lips and breathing her name, huskily: “Felicity!
...
Oh, Felicity,
darling!”

Felicity looked up at
him
dazedly.

“Paul!.
.
.
”

His arms hurt her as he strained her to him, and rained kisses on her eyes and hair and cheeks, and her mouth began to feel as if his kisses were actually bruising it. But none of it was any longer part of an experience for which she had been bo
rn
, and the blood was no longer pounding along her veins. Neither was the world any longer dissolved in ecstasy, for the most frightening revulsion was stirring in her, and moment by moment it was growing stronger. She knew that it would grow so strong that it would envelop her, as horror might finally envelop her. Although she could offer no explanation just then of the reason why she was so repulsed by a man who was after all her husband, making love to her in a way no man had ever made love to her before
—
in a way her whole soul craved to have him go on making love to her,
if only it was accompanied by something else!
—
she did know that she had to be free. Somehow or other she had to wrench herself out of his arms. It was only when she started striving frantically to free herself that he, too, realized that this was by no means complete capitulation on her part.

He looked down at her in a hurt, unbelieving way, and then pressed his lips to the little hollow in her throat where the uncontrollable pulses so often leapt and behaved traitorously. But not even the wild pressure of his mouth, and his passion-choked voice as he made use of the endearments she had sometimes dreamed he might make use of one day
—
link
ing them with her name, that he uttered over and over again
—
could prevent her from struggling as if she was suddenly possessed by an altogether unreasonable terror of him.

“Please!
...
Let me go!” she gasped, and he let her go at last, and then was alarmed by the whiteness of her face, and the way she shrank from him against one of the posts of the veranda.

“Felicity!
...”
His voice was gentle. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter!” She was horrified because in the welter of revulsion her voice seemed to have dried up, and she was actually shaking with the fear that he would touch her again. “But, I
...
You promised, once!
—
You promised!” Was all she could say.

His dark, sleek brows met in a frown above his blue eyes that were clouded a little with the feeling that had just coursed through him.

“I promised,” he returned, very slowly, at last, “that I would ask nothing of you, Felicity, until we were sure of the reason why we had married one another! Well, I’m sure!
...
”