Island in the Dawn (13 page)

“You’re not!” she said, and her voice cracked a little.

“No?” He lifted his eyebrows and looked at her. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s the one thing I can be certain about!” Misery making her reckless, and once again she said
thing
s to him that she would never have said otherwise. “You can’t even offer me an explanation of the reason why you kept another woman’s photograph beside your bed, even although you had asked me to marry you!
...
You had to tell me, when you asked me to marry you, that you had no love for me!”

“And yet you married me!”

His voice was so quiet that the hysteria died in her own.

“Yes, I—married you!”

“And now, apparently, you are regretting it!”

“I’m not regretting it
...”
in a mere whisper.

A shadow of a smile flitted across his lips
—
lips that had so recently sought to claim so much from her.

“But you would prefer it if I made protestations that might not
—
be altogether true!”

Oh, no! She didn’t actually utter the words, but her anguished spirit uttered them, and all at once the tears were swi
mmi
ng in her eyes, and she moved almost blindly towards the lighted window behind them. “Do you
mind if I
—
if I go to my room?”

“No,” he answered, almost d
i
spassionately
—
or so it seem
e
d to her
—
“I don’t mind!”

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

AFTER that night Felicity felt certain that any hope
o
f their marriage developing into a normal marriage had died.

They met at meals, and they sat for long hours on the veranda together
—
sometimes in the golden light of day, when the garden they overlooked appeared very restful and green, and sometimes after the sun had set, when that same garden was wrapped in velvety darkness, and stars burned overhead. Michael waited on them and appeared not to notice that their conversation was conducted with something of an effort. In the kitchen Moses thought out tempting meals for the Irishman to carry to the table in the dining room that was always flower-decked. Every night the tall candles burned in the silver candelabra, and the table was always laid with the lace table mats and the glass that Felicity had discovered was Waterford. The big bowl of island fruits stood at one end of the long polished surface, so that there was always a feeling of intimacy about their meals
—
even if it was only a suggestion.

Breakfast was not quite such an ordeal, because nowadays Felicity always had hers served to her in her room. She seldom came face to face with her husband before about twelve o’clock. Not that this meant that she remained in her room until twelve o’clock. Sometimes she went down on the beach as soon as she was dressed. On other days she sought the more shady
corner
s of the garden and stayed hidden away there until Paul either came upon her by accident, or Bruno found her out and led him to her retreat, or Michael came to
inform
her that coffee had been served
on the
veranda, and the tray was waiting for her to preside over.

Sometimes Bruno deserted his master and accompanied her down on to the beach, but Paul never sought her out there. He wandered in the plantation, she knew. The habit of din
ging
closely to the house seemed to be leaving him now that his eyes were serving him normally again. Occasionally, however, her heart gave that strange, poignant leap when she saw him make a slight, groping movement round a piece of furniture, as if he was feeling his way, and an instant’s terror showed in her eyes lest after all the restoration of his sight was not to be permanent.

On those occasions, with her heart in her throat, she wanted to leap to his side, as she had leapt once before
...
But she always managed to restrain herself. He would sink down into a chair facing her and smile very slightly as he looked towards her, as if just for an instant he had been aware of her panic. She could never make up her mind about the quality of that odd little smile. Sometimes she thought it held just a tinge of mockery, as if her concern intrigued
him
slightly and amused him a little
...
Once or twice she could have sworn that the dark blue eyes softened.
Whenever blue eyes and brown eyes met—really met and held for longer than a mere fleeting moment of time—so many emotions caught at her that she felt like a boat on a rushing current. A fierce yearning for him that she was always trying to suppress seemed to get out of hand, and the color rose in her cheeks so that they glowed like the smooth sides of a peach. She could almost feel again the hard pressure of his mouth on hers, and hear his passion-choked murmurs when he held her close ... Then in almost the same instant a swift revulsion of feeling sent the color ebbing from her cheeks, as she remembered how he had let her go to her room that night because he had so little to offer her—and knew it! She remembered how miserably shamed she had felt as she crept away to her room, because he couldn’t even pretend to love her as he had loved Nina Carlotti!

Not that she expected to be loved as he had loved the Italian girl
...
But there were degrees of love. He must have something to offer her ... Otherwise why had he married her?

Why had she married him when at least he had been honest with her from the very beginning...?

He had never made any pretence at all!

Her hands shook sometimes when they returned to the work she always kept in her lap—a piece of sewing, or some mending—for moments when they were alone together, and her hands had to be occupied. She often wondered whether he noticed that they were not quit steady as she p
li
ed her needle.

She wondered sometimes whether he noticed how increasingly difficult it was becoming for them to carry on a conversation, even about nothing of very much importance to either of them. It was just as if there was nothing in their lives that was of importance, for they never touched on it. There were no more drives together or discussion of plans, no visitors from the other side of the island. No boat put in until nearly three weeks after their wedding, and then it brought mail for Paul, but nothing for Felicity. She seemed to have no longer any contact with the outer world. She even wondered whether there ever had been any life apart from this strange, tense, unreal island life that she was living now, with a husband who didn’t appear to be ravaged by any of the emotions that secretly ravaged her.

However, if he was regretting his impulsive marriage, at least he treated her with consideration and the utmost politeness. If he fe
lt defrauded, he never showed it—
If
he was playing a game of patience—a waiting game—he never betrayed that he was, by so much as a flicker of the eyelid. And she didn’t nowadays lock her door at night, because she felt certain there was no necessity to do so.

He would not make demands on her that she was not prepared to meet. She was quite safe, alone in her attractive bedroom that Florence kept so spick and span, with flowers on the dressing table, and beside the bed. Pretty feminine articles of wearing apparel, such as a dressing gown and feather-trimmed mules, negligently disposed where they caught the eye instantly on entering the room, lent it an inviting, feminine atmosphere.

Sometimes Felicity found herself wondering whether Florence ever suspected that it was an atmosphere that had never been savored by the master of the house
...

But if she did, Florence
—
like her master
—
was clever at not betraying things, no doubt in the kitchen she said a few things, sometimes, to Moses, who, after all, was her husband
...
And Michael had no doubt formed his own opinion of this marriage into which the man he had served for so many years had so amazingly hurried.

But perhaps Michael understood Paul Halloran better than Felicity did. She knew he was devoted to Paul Halloran, and that, at least, was a bond between them.

The morning before the steamer brought the mail, Paul suggested
—
and Felicity was conscious of a distinct sensation of surprise because he should do so
—
that she should take the car and visit the other side of the island and Miss Menzies.

“And you?” she asked, looking up at him as she stood beside him. “Will you come, too?”

“No.” He was quite definite about it. “You two became very good friends, and it’s you, I feel sure, she would like to have a good talk with.” He sent her a suave, sideways look. “After all, we’ve been married for nearly three weeks now, and she won’t expect us to be still at the stage where we simply can’t bear to be out of one another’s sight.” Was it quiet irony in his voice, she wondered, or slightly brittle humor? “You can convey my regards to the rest of them if you see them.”

“They may be planning to leave quite soon.”

“I don’t
think
so. I understand that Menzies ha
s
already started building, and his niece will be curious to see what sort of a house he is going to throw up. After all, it may be hers one day!” The dryness still in his voice.

“That’s true.” Felicity decided that where Cassandra elected to remain Mervyn Manners would also decide to bide his time. Although she felt sorry for Mervyn
—
much sorrier than she ever had done since her own disastrous marriage
—
she shrank from the thought of meeting Cassandra’s shrewd, bright eyes, and but for a curious note of insistence in Paul’s voice she might have declined to pay a visit to Miss Menzies just then. A little later, when Cassandra might have gone
...
But not yet. Not when she had so little of the sparkle of a happy young wife about her.

“Please, I’d rather not
...
” she was beginning, when Paul said decisively:

“But I’d like you to go! I think it will be good for you to see someone else for a change.” And this time she was certain the words had no double meaning.

For an instant her eyes appealed to him.

“I don’t want to see anyone else
...”

His face seemed to harden a little.

“Go, and stay to lunch if Miss Menzies asks yon. You don’t have to make any excuse about me. I never have gone in for casual calls, and in any case I’m seein
g Whitelaw this morning. But if
Manners offers you any further advice you can tell him you don’t really need any.”

All the way across the island in the big cream car Felicity pondered over
that last
remark, and she decided that there had been a
slight
trace of bitterness in it. Paul was disappointed in
her
—
disappointed because she gave little without receiving a great deal in return. Because she was a cheat.

But she couldn’t
help
it. In an anguish of spirit she told herself that she
couldn’t
help it. She
loved
him
...
And if only he had loved
her!
...

She was looking
healthily
tanned and extraordinarily composed when she
arrived
at the small, and rather ramshackle, building
that at
present housed Miss Menzies and her brother, as
well
as Cassandra and the persistent Mervyn. But her composure was really only on the surface, and it was an infinite relief to her to be received by Miss Menzies
with
the information that the others were all spending the day on the building site, and as that was three-quarters-of-a-mile away they were not even intending to return for lunch.

“Cassandra is taking such an
enormous
interest in the new house,” Miss Menzies explained, When she had embraced Felicity with enthusiasm and assured her that she was looking remarkably fit
—
which said a lot for a good coating of tan and Felicity’s determined haunting of the beach on her side of Menzies Island. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” Aunt Millicent confined, “if in the end James doesn’t give it to her for a wedding present, if she marries that nice young man Mr. Manners. I’ve got a kind of feeling that she will marry
him
one day
—
but perhaps it won’t be just yet, not for a while
.
”

Yes; Felicity agreed with Miss Menzies that Cassandra would almost certainly marry Mervyn one day
—
his persistence, and perhaps the thought of the title that would one day be his, would win in the end. But Cassandra would take her time about accepting him
—
she might also need a little time get over Paul Halloran.

Felicity found herself wondering about that.

She stayed to lunch, although all the time she had the fear that Cassandra would return unexpectedly from the building site and see through her camouflage of attractive golden skin and deliberately careful dressing. After lunch she and Miss Menzies took their coffee in the rather cramped little drawing room that overlooked a very delightful bay. The elderly maiden lady tried to find out for certain whether Felicity was happy, although her probing was so gen
tl
e and so completely inoffensive that Felicity could not even begin to resent it.

“I’ll admit, at first, I thought Mr. Halloran rather an
—
rather an aloof sort of man,” Aunt Millicent confessed. “And I’ll admit I didn’t think you were particularly suited, because he’s so many years older than you are, and that provides him with a past, doesn’t it? Not,” with a laugh, “that I think you need have even the smallest fear that there was ever anything discreditable about his past
—
quite the contrary! Cassandra has told me what a tremendous success he had at one time, and how much he was sought after for his musical talents! It seems such a pity that they should be rather wasting away here on this island
...
So remote for anyone as young as you are! That’s what I mean when I say he’s had a past!
...
You’re
really young, and you’re only just beginning
—
your marriage is the beginning of everything. But for him
...”