Perchance to Marry (2 page)

He was also most kind, as they had discovered on reaching Barcelona. He had escorted the two women and their luggage to the hotel and had a special word with the manager. And when he had left them he had promised to get in touch with them again from his home on the island of San Palos.

Marcus had left his companions and was approaching them with a light, enquiring smile. “Hallo there, you two. Couldn’t you rest till you’d seen some of the sights?”

Viola waved one of her thin graceful hands. “Do sit down with us, Marcus. We’re in such a muddle, and you’re just the man to put us right.”

“Please, Mother,” said Sally in an undertone, and then she shut up because the man had turned his dark, questioning gaze upon her.

“Sally feels we’ve accepted enough help from you, and I dare say she’s right,” sighed Viola. “But for myself I’m overjoyed that you didn’t go straight back to the ship. Marcus, what do you think has happened?” she asked dramatically.

“You’ve left something valuable on board?”

“Oh, no, nothing so simple as that.” And Viola went ahead and told him the whole business, while Sally resolutely looked away at the passing crowds and the flowers and the traffic.

“So you see,” her mother ended in soft, rueful tones, “we’re more or less stranded. I feel so tired and upset that I can hardly think for myself. Sally says she’ll manage everything, but I don’t think she realizes even yet how much I dread going back to England. You see,” with a brave smile, “I’d be so distressed that the trip home wouldn’t do me any good at all, and I’d spend the whole summer wondering whether it was going to be my last.”

“Mother, please...”

“Darling,” her mother said in her clear light tones, “that’s exactly how I feel about returning to England, and you know it. Marcus is well acquainted with Spain and he can advise us.”

His hand covered Viola’s small fist on the table and gave it a brotherly squeeze; he rested a tolerant smile upon Sally. “You’re not Atlas, my child,” he said. “Let me handle this. I might mention that if I’d known you two were quite friendless in Barcelona I wouldn’t have left you till I’d seen you safely into someone else’s hands. Your mother assured me she’d been here before and I took it for granted she had friends here. But if you’ve no friends and no reasons for staying, why hang on in Barcelona at all? More than half the passengers have left the ship and they won’t take many new ones aboard, so you’d easily get a cabin. Why not travel on to San Palos?”

Sally widened her violet-blue eyes. “San Palos! We’re not plutocrats, Mr. Durant.”

“You’re being rude,” said her mother in shaky, reproving tones. “At least give Marcus time to finish what he was proposing for us.”

He smiled. “Thank you,” he said, with a mockingly polite inclination of his head towards Sally. “I’ve told you about San Palos. It’s just a small island, about ten miles by four, and three-quarters of it is covered by vineyards and perfume farms.”

“All of which are yours,” said Viola, in comforted tones. “That Spanish grandmother of yours must have been a remarkable woman.”

“She still is. Eighty-seven, forced to be physically inactive, but full of fight.. Well, the last quarter of the island is a portion that’s spread round a very fine natural harbor which has been leased to the Royal Navy. I believe they do testing, chiefly, and it’s not a very important station, but there’s quite a number of personnel living in a block of flats and fifty or sixty houses, and I’m sure the wives would be only too happy to patronize an English beauty expert.”

“Oh, but I’m no expert! I suppose almost any woman knows how a beauty salon is run simply by going there regularly for her own requirements, but I couldn’t actually
do
very much.”

“We’d have to look into it for you, but I’ve no doubt something could be fixed up. And your daughter...” He looked at her again, speculatively. “You’re a nurse, aren’t you?”

“Second year.”

He considered this. “There’s no general hospital on San Palos, but we do have a nursing home which has been enlarged recently. They added a small block to deal with the cases from Naval town and they might be able to use you there. It wouldn’t count as training, perhaps, but then neither would any post you might have managed to get here in Barcelona.”

Sally wished she didn’t feel so awkward with this man. Usually she got along very well with men, but Marcus Durant gave her the queer conviction that he was slicing the ground from under her feet.

“I can’t be sure the nursing home will take me on; I can’t speak Spanish, anyway. In the vicinity of Barcelona there’s a large English-speaking colony...”

“In San Palos, too,” he said smoothly. “Not quite so large, but it’s there. As it happens, my cousin is the doctor-in-charge at the nursing home, and I’m sure I could persuade him to use you in the new block, where the patients are chiefly from the English families at Naval town. Until you were settled in a place of your own, I should be most happy to have you both stay at Las Vinas as my guests.”

“Well, how very generous of you, Marcus,” exclaimed Viola, gratefully. “Sally, isn’t that splendid?”

But Sally was still feeling desperate. “One can’t make a
sudden decision on a matter of this kind...”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Marcus broke in calmly. “The ship is due to sail in about two hours. That gives us time to visit the shipping office and book a cabin for two more nights. Did you unpack?”

“No.” Viola was smiling almost happily. “We slipped a couple of frocks from one case, that’s all. Marcus, you don’t know how I feel about this.”

“We mustn’t waste time,” he said. “We’ll get a taxi and drop Sally off at the hotel. She can pack the few things you’ve left about and have the porter bring the luggage into the foyer. You and I will do the booking—you do have your passports with you?”

“Sally looks after them; I’m really not to be trusted with important documents. And I think it would be better the other way round, Marcus. I’ll go to the hotel and wait for you, and Sally will go with you to the shipping office. She knows more about these things than I do.”

“Good.” He was standing. “Have you finished your tea?”

He called the waiter and paid, hailed a taxi and put them both inside, but himself took the seat next to the driver. Within five minutes he was taking Viola into the hotel, and a minute later he was seated beside Sally and the taxi was moving down towards the Plaza de San Jaime.

He looked at Sally’s tender, charming little face, solemn now with anxiety. “If I hadn’t met you and your mother you’d have reason to look depressed,” he said with a touch of impatience. “It makes me shiver to think of you two adrift in a foreign city. Innocents abroad, if I ever saw a couple!”

“We’d have managed something,” she said stiffly. “You mustn’t think I don’t appreciate all you’re doing for us, but I can’t help feeling uncertain.”

“I’m doing nothing that any other man wouldn’t do. As a matter of fact I’m saving myself a journey back to Barcelona. Your mother promised to write to me at San Palos and tell me how you were getting along. If I’d heard about this disappointment of yours I’d certainly have come here for you.”

She looked fleetingly at his lean profile. “But why? The few days aboard the ‘Bellesta’ don’t make you responsible for our mistakes. We don’t really know you at all well.”

“
You
don’t know me, because you were having fun with the younger set. I had a good many conversations with your mother, though, and learned all about her problems.” He smiled. “She let me down at the bridge table, and when I sponsored her in the tape-cutting Derby she came last. But I didn’t hold it against her. She’s a very sweet person.”

“I still think it’s peculiar that you should want to do so much for us. Don’t think I’m ungrateful. I just don’t understand.”

He shrugged. “You’re very young, and I hope you’ll forgive me for mentioning that you’re still quivering from the affair with the pianist chap who left the ship at Malaga.” Reasoningly he added, “He wasn’t so very good, you know. When he gave the concert I thought his Chopin a trifle ragged in parts, and he really hasn’t the gusto for Beethoven. I almost went to sleep.”

“You’re probably not in the least musical,” she said distantly. “An impresario thought Peter good enough for a tour through Spain.”

He nodded understandingly. “Good enough for some of the minor cities, perhaps. He’ll have to put in a lot of work before he’ll make Madrid, though. However, he’s only about twenty-five, so there’s plenty of time for his playing to mature, emotionally. You knew him for only a week; it wasn’t long enough to start anything that might go deep.”

“I don’t think you know much about feelings, Mr. Durant.”

“I shan’t call you Miss Sheppard, so you’d better make it Marcus. Feelings? They’re overrated and overworked. One should never marry because of feelings; they’re as fickle as a beautiful woman.” And without pause: “Here’s the shipping office. As you’re an alien you’ll have to go in with me.”

“Aren’t you an alien?”

“Not exactly. My grandmother’s family is very old and well known, and its name happens to be my middle name—del Moscado. These people handle a good deal of shipping for us.”

It was obvious the moment they entered the office of the shipping company that to the officials there Mr. Durant was a personage. He got exactly what he asked for and was told it was no trouble at all; the account would come through in the usual way. Being Spaniards, the clerks took great interest in Marcus’s young companion, and when eventually Sally found herself back in the taxi she realized that her cheeks were hot and she didn’t want to look at the man. Marcus seemed to have noticed nothing.

“Now we’ll pick up your mother and drive to the harbor,” he said. “Easy wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you relieved?”

“Naturally.”

“But you feel you’re exchanging one queer situation for another? Let me assure you that San Palos is a friendly island; you’ll probably be far happier there than you could ever have been in Barcelona.” On a note of finality, he ended, “This arrangement we’ve made is best for both you and your mother, believe me.”

But Sally couldn’t leave it there. “I still feel you’re doing too much for us, and that at least you should let us stay at an hotel on San Palos.”

He lifted his shoulders in a faintly foreign way. “It could be arranged, but as you feel I am today doing you a favor, you may not object if I ask in return the favor of your spending at least a few days at Las Vinas. We can talk it over later. Just now it’s more important to get back on board and settle into your new cabin.”

* * *

As the “Bellesta” steamed on through the Mediterranean that night Viola, in a silk wrap and toeless mules, stood creaming her face and looking through the porthole at the wine-dark sky spattered with stars.

“Isn’t it heavenly?” she said, with a dreamy expression in her light blue eyes. “To think that tonight we might have been tossing about in hotel beds and wondering how on earth we’d handle the situation! But here we are, back on this lovely ship for two more days, with San Palos to look forward to at the end. We’re very fortunate, Sally. Marcus may be a wee bit cynical in his outlook, but he’s most dependable. So lucky that he happens to like us!”

“It’s you he likes.”

“You too, darling. I remember his saying during the trip that you’re pretty and gentle and yet spirited.” She laughed a little. “Remember the night of the ball, when he danced with you? He told me that the moment the dance ended you bucked off like a frightened deer.”

“I suppose he thought that very funny—and it’s not even true.” Sally climbed on to her bed and sat there, cross-legged. “I can’t help it if he makes me feel he’s taking the mickey all the time. He’s too darned superior.”

“Well, he’s not a medical student or a budding pianist,” Viola pointed out. “Marcus is thirty-two, and he’s been in sole command of Las Vinas since he was twenty. He spends a lot of time in England, but mostly he lives on the island, in the mansion built by his great-grandfather, or perhaps it’s even great-great; I’m not sure. You can’t expect him to be just an ordinary Englishman.”

“I’d sooner deal with an ordinary Englishman any time,” stated Sally firmly. “At least you can take a good guess at what they’re thinking. Marcus Durant has a personal reason for everything he does—I’m sure of it.”

“That’s very unfair, dear,” said Viola, clamping a lid on to her cream jar. “The truth of it is that we looked rather appealingly small and scared and he instantly felt protective. And frankly, that’s how I like a man to be. He’ll do everything he can to get us established on San Palos, and for a whole year we needn’t even think of the future.” Her voice quivered slightly. “You can’t imagine what a
tremendous relief that is to me.”

Instantly Sally was all contrition. “But I can, of course I can! There’s nothing I want more than to have you thoroughly happy in a warm climate. That’s why we gave up everything in England.” Impulsively, she slipped down to the rug once more and hugged her mother. “I don’t really mind Marcus Durant. He’s rich and arrogant and he tells fibs. I wasn’t afraid of him when we danced, only uneasy!—but I’m as grateful as you are that he’s helping us. I think you may be happier on San Palos than you would have been in Barcelona; life won’t be so demanding.”

But after Viola had slipped into bed and put out her light, Sally lay thinking. First of all, very deliberately, about Peter Mailing. She saw Peter’s lock of lank hair over his deep brow, his soft hazel eyes and the pale, almost fluid fingers. Dancing with him had been like drifting to music through clouds; and they’d had such lovely talks. And in the mornings, while stewards were still putting the big main lounge to rights, they had stolen through to the Bechstein, and he’d played, just for Sally.

Suddenly, jarringly, she recalled one morning, just before they had reached Malaga. She had been half lying in a chair, listening to a nocturne with her eyes closed. The music had ended and she’d stirred, and opened her eyes to observe through a window the experienced, half derisive smile of Marcus Durant. He’d no doubt been striding round the deck before breakfast, heard the music and halted to listen. His shoulders had looked big in the white shirt, and the blue scarf about his throat had somehow emphasized that hawk like look of his. He’d given her half a wink and moved on, and Sally remembered reflecting that the man definitely had a past, and possibly a present, if one knew all!

To her mother, of course, he was just an experienced, interesting man who would help them. The fact that his family owned most of San Palos rather brightened his aura, but that was all. Naively, she simply thought they had been wonderfully lucky, that in Marcus Durant’s hands their immediate future was secure.

And no doubt it was, Sally sighed to herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t accept benefits when they were offered in the right spirit; the man was just a bit overwhelming in his generosity, that was all. This cabin, for instance. Their earlier one had been on the inside, without a porthole; it had had two bunks, one above the other, instead of beds, and there had been hardly room to move between the dressing chest and the wardrobe cupboard. This cabin was one of the spacious outside ones, of which there were only half a dozen in the ship; its cost was nearly double that of the inside accommodation. Marcus had a whole cabin to himself, next door but one. When her mother had exclaimed delightedly, and then demurred, the beastly man had said, “The cost was exactly the same as for an inside cabin. I’ll show you the voucher, if you like.” Which meant they were travelling as protégées of Marcus del Moscado Durant!

The swish of the ocean beyond the porthole was soothing, and soon Sally forgot her uncertainties and slipped into a doze; to be awakened by the sudden flowering of the light over her mother’s bed. Viola was sitting up, searching frantically in her handbag.

“I’m too wound up to sleep,” she wailed. “I decided to swallow a capsule in the dark and then I remembered they’re in the case where we locked our money. I was hoping I’d find a loose capsule here in my bag, but there isn’t one.”

“Of course there isn’t,” said Sally drowsily. “Give me the key and I’ll get them for you. Where is the key, by the way?”

“Don’t you remember? We had dinner in here and then went above for some air. You had the keys in your hand when we met Marcus. You dropped them and he picked them up and put them into his pocket. I distinctly recollect his saying you mustn’t forget to ask for them. Oh, dear, and I’m starting a headache. I must have a capsule or I’ll be fit for nothing tomorrow.”

“Don’t panic. Are you sure an aspirin wouldn’t do the trick?”

“Darling, you know me,” said her mother dolefully. “Once I decide I’m not going to sleep, I just stay awake feeling more and more wretched as the night passes. And aspirin always make me shiver—you know that. If you’d let me keep the capsules in my bag...” She let it tail off.

“Perhaps if you swallow an aspirin and I massage your neck?” Sally suggested. “It’s helped before.”

“But we weren’t on a ship. Darling, please go and get the keys from Marcus!”

“I can’t do that—it’s so late.”

“Only eleven-thirty. If you don’t want to go to Marcus, try the doctor.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. Lie down again. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Sally pulled on her flowered cotton wrap and tied the girdle, ran fingers through her short pale hair, blinked herself more wide awake and opened the cabin door. The wide corridor shone dully in the small night illumination; light blue rubberized flooring with a black border. She stepped out, wondered whether she should first find the night stewardess, and took a few paces along the corridor. Then she halted. How did ships’ doctors react to being wakened up in order to supply a sleeping pill for someone else? Sally had a healthy respect for doctors of all kinds, and from her own experience she was pretty sure that the “Bellesta’s” doctor was as averse to being roused for trifles as others she’d known. On a ship, there were probably a good many sleepless people, but they didn’t all plague the doctor for relief—not late at night, anyway. Her mother’s case was a little different, though. The nervous collapse last year, after her husband’s death, her illness and the long months of lassitude and weakness ... surely the doctor wouldn’t mind the small inconvenience, just this once?

Sally moved on, and stopped again, precipitately. Marcus had come into sight at the end of the corridor. He was still in a dinner jacket, and had probably been playing cards with some of the other men. Her fingers pulled the lapels of her wrap together, and as he reached her she smiled at him, a little weakly.

“What’s the matter?” he asked at once. “Your mother unwell?”

“No. She can’t sleep, that’s all. You took care of our keys—do you mind letting me have them back?”

“They’re in my cabin. I brought them down about an hour ago, but your light was out, so I slipped them into a drawer. I’ll get them for you.”

They were only a pace or two from his door. He opened it and left it wide. Sally moved into the doorway and leaned there, looking young and sleepy. He had the keys and was tossing them in his hand.

“What have the keys to do with your mother’s insomnia?” he asked.

“We keep certain things locked up in one of our cases. I always take charge of the keys and the sleeping pills.”

He sounded a trifle acid as he said, “You need to be taken care of yourself. I still shudder when I think of you two alone in Barcelona.”

She smiled dimly. “I could shudder myself, but not for my own sake. My mother has always been so dependent, and I’m a very poor substitute for my father. I’m afraid she regards you as a newly acquired brother.”

“That makes me your uncle, doesn’t it?” he said negligently.

“You’re not quite old enough—or comfortable enough.”

“Thanks for the compliment, even though you didn’t mean it that way.” He paused, a small smile on his lips. “You’re glad I got you out of Barcelona, but you still dislike me, don’t you?”

“I just don’t understand you,” she said quickly. “You’re kind but ... but cold, and I’m not used to dealing with someone who seems to ... to sneer at any woman who’s younger than himself.”

He didn’t deny it, but the sarcastic smile became set. He held out the keys and she took them. And then, from close by in the corridor, came the sound of unmusical humming, and a fattish man of about forty lurched into view. He was wearing a voluminous red dressing gown and a monocle through which he peered shortsightedly into the cabin.

“Marcus, ol’ boy!” he growled jovially. “I knew you were aboard, but...” He became aware of Sally and bowed exaggeratedly. “The little woman, eh? Honeymoon and all that? How de do, my dear. I’m Jim McCartney. Isn’t that right, Marcus? Jim McCartney?”

Involuntarily, Marcus had put his arm about Sally’s shoulders and drawn her a short way into the cabin and away from the swaying man in the doorway.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “How are you, Jim?”

“Fine ... fine. Spent the evening in my cabin with an old pal. Had two days in Barcelona, but got to get back.” He went owlishly serious. “You’ve heard about your dear old Dona Inez? It was a bad attack, ol’ boy; by all accounts the next one will be her last.”

The fingers on Sally’s shoulders tightened excruciatingly. He doesn’t even know what he’s gripping, she thought faintly, and bore the agony without a murmur.

“My grandmother has had a heart attack?” Marcus said swiftly. “When was it?”

“About a week ago. A sort of stroke, I think.” The man gave a falsely hearty laugh. “She’s a great woman, though. She intended to stay alive and see you married. And she’s done it, eh? You haven’t introduced me to the wife, Marcus.”

Marcus’ hands dropped suddenly to his sides. “I’m not married,” he said abruptly. “This is Miss Sheppard.”

The other’s bleary eyes focused with difficulty upon Sally’s tousled fair hair and her slim shoulders in the wrap. “Only engaged? Well, perhaps that’s better still. Ol’ lady always wanted you to marry on San Palos, didn’t she? Pretty girl you’ve picked, Marcus. But then trust you.”

“I suggest you go back to your cabin, Jim. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The man wagged a roguish finger. “Did I interrupt something? You were saying goodnight and ol’ Jim crashed in. Sorry ... sorry...”

He still murmured the word at intervals as he weaved a path through his own private haze towards the other end of the corridor. Marcus drew a sharp breath.

“The man runs an hotel in Naval Town,” he said. “He’s good-hearted, but a soak and a gossip.”

Her throat a little dry, Sally asked, “Did he know what he was saying?”

“Partly, but don’t worry. By the time he sobers up in San Palos he’ll have forgotten he came to this cabin tonight.”

“He hadn’t forgotten about your grandmother. I’m terribly sorry to hear she’s so ill. Isn’t it odd, that they didn’t cable you?”

“They probably cabled me in London. I’m returning earlier than they expected and I generally travel by air.” With a preoccupied frown he added, “Dona Inez is very old and she’s become fiercely set in her ideas—at least, she had. I’m all she has.” He gestured briefly, and went with her to the door of the cabin she shared with her mother. “This isn’t your affair. I’m sorry you were dragged into it. Goodnight.”

His offhandedness hurt like the dully shattering impact of a club. Sally answered him and slipped into the cabin.

Her mother said plaintively, “You were such a long time, darling. Did you have to fight with that doctor?”

She didn’t seem to require an answer, or to be surprised that Sally had the keys. She swallowed her capsule, lay down tidily and closed her eyes. But Sally, after the light was out, lay staring into the darkness. She didn’t know why, but she felt quite sick and despondent.

The ship put into Marseilles, and Sally spent the day touring the port with a group of young people; she also sat with them through the film show in the ship’s lounge that evening, while her mother chatted gaily on deck with the captain and others.