Plantation Doctor (15 page)

Lyn made no denials. What was the use? Adrian didn’t want them, nor would he believe them. What he did believe was that she was in love with Claud, or infatuated with him, but not yet committed in any way. From
humanitarian motives he was against
her
contracting a doomed marriage. She felt the heat of anger in her cheeks but her will was drugged.

“I can do with a drink, after all,” he said, “but I’ll go home for it. My aunt will be expecting you for lunch tomorrow. So long.”

She was thankful to see him depart. Would it always be like that—a spurt of delight in his arrival, a painful pleasure in his presence and deep relief when he went away?

Lyn both looked forward to and dreaded the morrow.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Evelyn denton
was a wise and gracious woman. For Adrian she had a complete and abiding love which was both maternal and friendly, but she also found it easy to be fond of girls like Marceline a
n
d Hazel. They looked so fresh and dewy at the breakfast table, so pretty in the frocks they put on for dinner, or for dancing. She watched Adrian when one or both of them entered the room, saw his appreciative smile and thought that surely he would never again be able to face a womanless house. He was flesh and blood, wasn’t he?

Sometimes she let her mind wander back to Wideacres and all that it implied. Adrian had bought the place during a short holiday three years ago. He had been drawn by its spaciousness and the sloping lawns, had talked of creating a lake and fine gardens. For a short while he had made her feel warm and secure, because a man seldom creates a home only for himself. But Adrian had not got round to furnishing; had no time for it just then, he’d said. He had engaged a couple to look after the house, had called her a wishful thinker and flown back to West Africa. On subsequent trips he had merely made a cursory inspection of the estate and still found no time for filling the rooms.

By turns, she saw first Marceline and then Hazel as mistress of Wideacres. Marceline would carry it off well, no doubt about that; her merry self-assurance would be invaluable in a hostess and there were times when a man
preferred a woman without too much reserve. Hazel, on the other hand, had more depth of character, though, to be sure, women of character were often moody, and Adrian with a temperamental wife did not bear contemplating. But she was the more beautiful and would display an expensive gown and jewels to perfection. Would a man of Adrian’s years and experience admire or abhor that touch of boyishness?

When Lyn came to lunch that Saturday Mrs. Denton speculated but did not get round to visualizing her in that large country mansion. Obviously, Adrian was not on the same terms with Lyn as with the other two, and anyway, Lyn was too young and vulnerable for him. She needed someone loving and ardent, not an arrogant overlord like Adrian. Such women bruised easily unless they were desperately loved.

“I’m so glad to see you fit, my dear,” she said. “We’ve thought about you a lot and called Adrian an autocrat for shutting you away from everyone and allowing you no fun. But that’s Adrian, and I must agree with him now that it was wise.”

“I didn’t mind being alone for a few days. I get along with myself fairly well.”

“That’s what he said. He was teasing Marceline because she won’t miss a single social event in Palmas. He told her she ought to profit by contact with you. What will you drink, my dear?”

It was a bright gathering. Rosita, displaced as hostess of Denton by no less a person than Mrs. Denton herself, showed herself a surprisingly agreeable guest. The men
—
there were five, with Adrian—were patently happy to have so many women around and the food was plentiful and excellent.

“From the yacht pantry,” confided Mrs. Denton to the whole table. “One evening we’ll all have dinner aboard and I promise you no chicken. We’ve prime French beef and English fruit in the cold storage, and I’ve brought one of my own Christmas puddings for just such an occasion.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “We’ll make a big thing of it. Dance and sing and play, and finish off with eggs and bacon.”

“A sort of farewell party,
”
suggested Adrian dryly.

“Not at all,” she retorted. “We’ll have it next week.”

“It could still be a farewell party.”

“I’ve told you I won’t go till the rains show signs of starting. And don’t repeat all the grim warnings about germs and damp rot getting into the bones. I’m already taking in more pills than anyone else here. Marceline’s enjoying Denton, aren’t you, dear?”

The small olive-skinned face turned to Adrian, pouting invitingly; the black curls bobbed and she wagged a brown finger at him.

“You’re a bit of a bear, Adrian. The heat is pretty awful and I’m stiff with fright of the jungle and the Africans, but I’ve never had such a gorgeous time.”

“I’m sure of that. How many proposals have you collected?”

“Two, so far, but I’m not sure they were serious. The moon is so big and the dark hours are such a relief after the day that a man will say anything.”

He laughed. “Which points a maxim: get your man at midday. I’m afraid you’re still whole of heart, Marceline.”

“Maybe,” she conceded thoughtfully, as she speared a ring of banana from her plate of salad. “I must confess it’s starting to fray round the edges, though. It’s never done that before.”

Marceline couldn’t help but be popular. She fumed about the climate, got really angry with the pests and was scared of fever; but every emotion, though intense while it lasted, dissolved into a lively smile. There was nothing she liked better than to be the centre of a crowd of men, yet there was no vanity in her method of dealing with them. She was of the sort, rare among women, who go through life without getting buffeted very much. Most things came right for Marceline and those that didn’t could be pouted over and forgotten.

It astonished Lyn that Mrs. Denton had considered this ward of hers might make a suitable wife for Adrian. How little his aunt really knew him!

When they got up from the table Hazel linked an arm in Lyn’s.

“Let’s have coffee in my bedroom. I’ve told a boy to take it there.”

They walked out and along the veranda to a glass door,
w
hich Hazel opened.

“Here we are. Monastic, isn’t it, but it suits me very well. I suppose all these bedrooms were intended for men. Marceline revolted against hers; she went down to the store in Palmas and bought some loud pink braid
—
it was the nearest thing she could get to ribbon
—
and she’s pinned bows of it all over her mosquito net and the curtains. The bedroom boy nearly swooned with ecstasy, so she gave him the yard or two left over for his wife.”

The room was severely furnished in limba wood but the green of the bedcover and curtains was soft and cool. It was not a cozy apartment, but cosiness is less important than breathing space in equatorial houses. And this room had plenty of space.

Hazel indicated the bed for Lyn, poured the coffee and flung herself down into a long wicker chair.

“Smoke?”

“No, thanks.”

“I won’t, either.” She sipped from the small cup. “Did Adrian tell you our news?”

Lyn’s heart turned. For a second she was seized with faintness, then her natural common sense took possession.

“You mean
...
about the Denton company buying your brother’s plantation?”

Hazel nodded. “I’d have let it out that day I came to see you in the ward if Adrian hadn’t been so dead against anyone knowing. Nothing was signed then, and he didn’t quite trust Claud, though I did offer to wager that the thing would go through. I knew Claud would never turn down such a generous sum. He was so completely broke that he couldn’t afford to.” Again she picked up her cup but this time she did not drink; she gazed into the dark brown liquid and said slowly, “Lyn, has my brother ever asked you to marry him?”

Lyn pulled down the green silk pillow from the head of the bed and leaned upon it. “Not really. He’s joked about it a few times—you’ve heard him yourself—but nothing more.”

“What if he asked you now?
”

“I’d thank him very much—but decline.”

Hazel emitted a short, audible breath. “You like him
,
but not that way?”

“I’m sorry, Hazel.”

“Don’t be. I’m thankful that’s all there is to it. He’s not your kind, Lyn. When I first met you and noticed that Claud was interested in you, I hoped vehemently that you and he would marry. Perhaps I’m crazy but I’ve always seen marriage as Claud’s salvation. After you came to live with us in Palmas I began to regard it from your angle. I saw that you were too soft for Claud, that if you loved him there would be no end to the hurt he’d inflict upon you. He wouldn’t be able to help it. You
s
ee, at that time I was being hurt, too, through loving someone who found the demands of the tropics stronger than any spell I could weave.”

A minute ticked by. Then Lyn said quietly, “You’re
n
ot so unhappy now.”

“No. I’ve decided to take what’s going and give up
a
ching for the unattainable. I haven’t really any alternative.”

This could mean one of two things. Either Hazel was prepared to accept unconditionally just what Adrian yielded, or she was going back to her career in England. Lyn was afraid to probe, afraid to hear the truth. For Hazel had given up mentioning the theatre; it seemed that her ambition in the field of straight acting was fizzling out, giving way to the stronger, instinctive urge for a home and a family.

“I was keen to get all this put right between us before you see Claud this afternoon,” Hazel was saying, unaware that she was almost repeating words used by Adrian last night. “He’s still fond of you
—
demands the latest bulletin about you every time I see him and always sends his love—but
...
well, he’s footloose and making the most of it. And there’s Marceline.”

Hazel grinned, drained the cup she had been holding and set it down. “Try to keep her out! She’s nice, but a trifle volatile. The men here at Denton can’t be too intimate with her for fear of offending Adrian and the elegant Aunt Evelyn
—
they’re the bosses of the outfit,
r
emember! So Marceline has annexed Claud. She and I have been down town nearly every day and danced a good bit at the club with him and his friends.”

“I expect the men miss having the bungalow to call at—Jimmy and Rex and the rest.”

“Rex Harper has left Palmas,” said Hazel. “His job is finished and he’s taken an agency on the Gold Coast. We’re never likely to see him again.”

“There seems to be a general slip-up. What’s Claud going to do?”

“As soon as the transfer of the plantation to the Denton company is complete he’ll go home for a while. After that, who knows?”

They slipped into a comfortable silence. At least, it was comfortable for Hazel. Lyn lay with her arms crossed under her head, gazing up at the gathering of tucks in the mosquito net. She was resolutely thinking of the second letter received a couple of days ago from Mr. Latimer. A sad little note because he had had her intimation of Mrs. Latimer’s death just before writing it. Naively, for the dear old man was wholly ignorant of tropical conditions, he had wondered if Lyn would be so kind as to call at Akasi and make the fullest enquiries about his sister-in
-
law; he would be so grateful and she was on the spot, wasn’t she? There would surely be some information to be gleaned.

Lyn hated to disappoint him; but for the dose of fever she would have set about finding someone in Palmas willing to escort her inland. She was more acclimatized and less innocent than the eager young girl who had arrived at Cape Bandu so full of zest and defiance not so very long ago. She had learned that in such places nothing can be done in a hurry; even on the shortest trek one must carry all the adjuncts of civilization.

But she knew she was, as yet, unfit for travel through steaming forest; even if she could stand up to it physically, her nerves would crack under the strain of nights twelve hours long and teeming with primitive dangers. The only man with whom she could have faced it was Adrian.

At the thought of putting her problem to him her lips twisted. Yet there was no one else to whom she could go, no one she could trust to view it sanely and objectively and offer a solution. She must think
i
t over in private for a few more days.

Hazel creaked up from the lounger. “I’d better change into tennis kit. Don’t move, Lyn. You won’t be playing, so you can laze for as long as you like.”

“Are you in the first match?”

“Yes, with Adrian. We’re against those two experts, Mr. Baird and his junior. Don’t come and watch. Adrian’s marvellous to play with, but he’s so cool and dashing that I always start off nervous.”

So Lyn did not stir when Hazel, her long slim legs emerging from white shorts and her racquet swinging negligently, went out through the french door.

She heard a man groan, “How you remind me of stolen afternoons at Wimbledon!” and laughter receding down the path.

Hazel really was exquisite. If Adrian were left cold and unroused by Hazel he just couldn’t be human. After this depressing reflection had been followed by more which were equally lowering to her self-esteem, Lyn got up and half-heartedly repaired her complexion.

By the middle of the following week Lyn was nearly back to normal, but she did not go into Palmas till the night of Mrs. Denton’s party. Most days she either lunched or dined at the doctor’s house. Owing to the fact that he was breaking in a new African medical assistant, Adrian was out a great deal and his evenings were busy with testing and making records in his surgery. At times he must have been inexpressibly weary, but he never entered the house without a special smile for his aunt and a pleasant greeting for whoever else happened to be with her.

Lyn saw, though, that his expression when the smile was absent held more than a hint of grimness, and she thought what a pity it was that now, when his work was so exacting, he could never have the place quietly to himself. He came into rooms noisy with laughter and music, capped a joke or took part in an argument, even danced if that should be the type of amusement in progress. Everyone expected superhuman vigor from
Ad
rian and he did not disappoint them.

Hi
s
yacht party had been fixed for Friday because for most of the guests Saturday was part of the weekend. Even the Supervisors only worked for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings. Hazel again borrowed the green dress and Lyn decided to wear the pastel blue which had a pretty gilt girdle. Marceline donned a spectacular orange-and-white striped taffeta which made her look more roguishly sophisticated than ever. Mrs. Denton’s mulberry chiffon completed a riot of gay and dainty colors.

Lyn drove to town with the Bairds and Roger Bailey. An age had passed since she had last sped through the long tunnel of trees and seen the lights of the port spattered over the hill and down to the waterfront. There was no need for Roger’s pointing finger; the yacht stood out in a blaze of illumination and cast a shimmering reflection over the waters. The constellations seemed gathered close as if to examine this galaxy of earthly stars, and away at the back of the sea hung a curved strip of moon, shy in its newness and rather remote. And everywhere one looked the shapes of pal
m
s were etched against the sky.

The waves whispered, lapped at the sides of the launch as it put out from the jetty. The breeze sighed and teased at the bunting with which the yacht had been dressed. It was one of those balmy evenings which occasionally transformed the unhealthy Coast into a wine-warm and heady paradise.

The yacht’s captain met them, and stewards, in speckless white, served drinks. While others were arriving Lyn was escorted over the ship by Claud, who nowadays had so much spare time that he was thankful for the diversion of learning the intricacies of yachting.

“Quite a bus, isn
’
t she?” he said, when they reached the blue-and-silver lounge. “I’d be content with a boat half the size and I wouldn’t dawdle in these damned waters, either. Think of the Mediterranean islands you could visit, the coasts of Italy and France, Greece and Egypt. Marceline told me they came straight here fro
m
England. Can you beat that!”

“It’s not so strange. Maybe they’ll take in a cruise on the way back.”

He smiled. “Apparently Mrs. Denton is an excellent sailor but Marceline isn’t so good. She’s a funny girl
—
so effervescent on top that you doubt whether there’s anything underneath.”

“And is there?”

Her tone, half-rallying, half-curious, made him pause and look at her. He laughed a little
.

“Hazel’s right
—
you’re a dark horse, Lyn. What have you been hearing?”

“From Marceline? Only that you’re a heavenly dancer and great fun.”

“To Marceline one is either fun or a bore and I wouldn’t have any woman call me a bore.” He stopped for a moment, then went on, “Did you know that she was brought here for Adrian’s benefit?”

Lynn nodded. “Mrs. Denton conceived the idea of bringing a charming girl into a womanless hell-spot. It was intended to make him conscious of what he hasn’t got.”

His grin faded. “Everything is served up on a dish for Adrian! Marceline is awed by him, Hazel won’t have him criticized, and even you, Lyn”
—
her fingernails curled tight into her hands
—
“go rigid when he’s around. I saw you stiffen when he came into the lounge just now, and with your back to him you’re as well aware as I that he’s there, making himself agreeable in that darned superior manner of his. Why the blazes should he have everyone on their knees? I’m sick of Adrian!”

In a tight voice she said, “Let’s both remember that we’re his and his aunt’s guests, shall we? You promised to show me the cabins.”

Claud swallowed and murmured an apology. With a hand on her arm he led her among the guests to the corridor. They passed Adrian, received and returned a polite salute, and Lyn saw him turn back to his conver
s
ation with the Bairds and Hazel.