Plantation Doctor (9 page)

“I really don’t want to go. Take Lyn. I’ll stay here and read up my periodicals. I’m getting horribly behind with all the developments.”

“Confound your career,” Claud had responded blithely. “I believe you lie awake at night worrying about it. You often look blue in the mornings.”

“That’s hangover from too many parties. You must have the constitution of a horse.”

“The only way to enjoy West Africa,” he told her patiently and affectionately, “is to turn your life into one long and riotous binge. It’s too devilish hot to bother about all the witless plays you might be missing. Maybe when you do go back you’ll slip straight into a leading part in one of those gorgeous productions that run for years. Come on, my angel, tonight you’re going to dance.”

Lyn never entered into these discussions between brother and sister. She had not been long installed at the bungalow before sensing a subtle difference in their attitude towards herself. In Claud the difference was deliberate; he had become brotherly but just sufficiently possessive to warn off other admirers. The change in Hazel, though, would have been imperceptible to anyone
less sensitive than Lyn. In tact, Lyn could not have explained how she had come to the conclusion that Hazel was angling for a closer relationship between her brother and her friend. Hazel did no obvious manoeuvring nor did her speech disclose her thoughts. Also, she was quite willing to go out with Claud alone when he could be induced to agree, leaving Lyn to enjoy a little rare solitude. It was simply an elusive element in her manner which Lyn might have read mistakenly.

Claud was a polo enthusiast. At one time he had played for the Palmas club, but ponies were a costly luxury in a climate so humid that well-bred horses died within months of being imported, so he had degenerated with the years into a spectator of the sport. It happened that about a for
t
night after Lyn had left Denton there was an important mid-week match. As Hazel had an aversion to polo and Lyn had yet to be initiated into its excitements, Claud and Lyn set out alone straight after an early tea for the polo ground.

For Lyn, the hour or so beneath the thick trees watching the thudding horses and daring riders was one continuous thrill. But, being Lyn, she was also conscious of a thread of tragedy. Those beautiful shining beasts did not belong in this heat; it hurt to think that though they were in their prime, they would soon be no more good.

Claud, of course, knew no such qualms. “Like it?” he asked, as they skirted the field in the shade of palms and
casuarinas
. “It was an excellent match, and you brought me luck
—
I laid a bet and won. Let’s go to the pavilion for a drink with the players.”

It was all very loud and horsey, Lyn lit a cigarette and listened to the talk and laughter, unwilling to admit that she was completely bored. There were other women, wives of players and supporters, who had all the jargon pat, but conducted their dissections of the game with an air of lethargic discontent. One gained the impression that nothing on earth was worth the trouble of fighting the malaise which inevitably descended upon all women and most men after a spell in the tropics.

The day faded out. Lights were switched on and an extra fan set in motion to disperse the grey curtains of cigarette smoke and whip up a little coolness. Then couples who had dinner engagements began to move off, leaving a wake of heaped ashtrays and soiled glasses.

In jolly mood Claud drove Lyn from the polo ground; the racy talk and his small betting success had made him pleased with himself. She smiled at his raillery.

“You seem to have an affinity with those kind of people,” she said. “I don’t believe you’ll ever be able to settle again in England.”

“Nor do I. If I ever do prise myself from Palmas, I’ll brush up my French and buy a
café
on the Boulevard at Marseilles. Great place, Marseilles, and the Mediterranean on your doorstep.” He grinned at her. “How would you like to come along and be madame la patronne?”

“As a schoolgirl I was a dud at French.”

“I could do the talking
—
teach you the finer points too.” During a pause he gave her a sidelong, calculating glan
c
e. “Inhibited little creature, aren’t you? Why don’t you let go sometimes? Freedom has a taste that grows on you.”

“Like oysters and champagne
—
but who’d care to live solely on those? I’d prefer to belong somewhere.”

“You have belonging on the brain. If you cling to that you’re in for a dull life
—
a stolid husband, two or three brats, and next-door neighbors.”

“Which doesn’t sound too bad to me,” she said lightly. “I was brought up by a Victorian grandmother to respect the ordinary way of life.”

He twisted the car from the shore road towards the residential area, and when they were taking the hill, he said, “Supposing I qualified the proposal
—
not a
café
in Marseilles, but an antique shop in Nice, to snare the tourist custom? With your knowledge of the business and my undoubted charm we could make a go of it and have a royal time besides.”

After pretending to be entranced with the idea, Lyn finally and regretfully shook her head. “It sounds too much like a fairy tale. There must be a catch in it.”

“The catch,” he took her up, “is you. Some time you’re going to wake up and fall headlong in love, and when that happens you’ll do anything and everything for some fortunate chap.” He brought the car round a corner and to a standstill in front of the brightly lit bungalow. “Seems to me you ought to start rousing from those youthful dreams right now,” he remarked, and leaned over to touch his mouth to her warm smooth cheek.

The next moment he was laughing at her expression and helping her from the car. Lyn’s face was pink. They were half-way along the path through the garden before she became aware that Hazel was on the veranda, conversing with Adrian Sinclair.

CHAPTER NINE

Hazel’s
lips had curved, her eyes were bright. “Hello, you two,” she welcomed them. “You’re so late that I thought you’d decided to go out to dinner. I bet you didn’t expect to see Adrian here!”

Claud’s gaze had narrowed, rather unpleasantly. “No, I didn’t.”

“I begged him to give us a call when I met him at Denton, but didn’t for a moment think he’d take me at my word. Good of him, wasn’t it? Come and sit down, Lyn. I’ll send for some more ice.”

But Lyn, tired from the long hours with Claud and positive that a burning mark showed where he had kissed her, flung the ghost of a greeting at the tall figure of Adrian and stepped into the hall.

“I’ll wash my hands and bring the ice myself,” she murmured.

In the bedroom she shared with Hazel, Lyn stood fighting down a surge of reluctance and panic. It was foolish and unnecessary to be afraid of Adrian, and madness to admit a thrust of envy because he had sat so companionably with Hazel, not caring whether she and Claud arrived or stayed away.

She had purposely severed herself from Denton, forfeited all right to his protection and friendship. Now it seemed that she had acted precipitately and without thought; she had allowed Rosita Baird’s jealousy to rush her into action. Adrian deserved better than that. What must he have thought? Had that well cut mouth thinned with contempt, those wide erect shoulders shrugged from her mind and conscience? If those had been his reactions she couldn’t blame him.

Well, he had to be faced again. From that there could be no escape.

She washed and dabbed on some make-up, collected ice cubes in a jug and took it through to the veranda. Her chair was placed at the table between the men’s. She saw Adrian’s hand upon the back of it, felt him push the chair in slightly as she sank into it. Claud, who considered life too short to remain thoroughly disagreeable for any length of time, poured lime and soda for Lyn and whisky for himself. He used ice and a slice of lemon, and leaned back, raising his glass.

“Seeing that we’re rubber men here, let’s say ‘To Rubber,’ ” he suggested, and with benign mockery he lowered half the whisky.

“Claud’s a horror,” Hazel told the others equably. “He can’t be serious. His trouble is that he has no interest in the days to come.”

“In West Africa, my sweet sister, there is no tomorrow.”

“It’s all a matter of, outlook,” commented Adrian evenly. “You can choose between the mad round because tomorrow you may die, or carry on with what’s expected of you till someone else takes your place. On the whole, I think the second way is easier.”

“What about you, Adrian?” enquired Hazel. “Have you set a limit to your years at Denton?”

“Not a precise limit.”

“Adrian doesn’t have to,” said Claud. “He’s in the independent class. He can take
six
month’s holiday whenever it suits him.”

Hastily, Hazel glossed the remark. “But you never have taken long leave, have you, Adrian?”

“Not for some years.” He looked speculatively at Claud. “If you’re feeling the need of a break, we could lend you a man as temporary manager.”

“No, thanks!” Claud tossed down the rest of his drink. “I couldn’t bear to think of my trees all slicked up like a bunch of soldiers. They’re ramshackle, like me. We’re fond of liana flowers and jungleweed, aren’t we, Lyn? The more the prettier.”

To Hazel, this observation was typically Claud, but negligible. Lyn, however, felt that it called for a defensive reply. Claud couldn’t be allowed to have all his own way and drag her in as an accessory to his slipshod methods. His neglect of the plantation had sickened her. She was about to retort when Adrian spoke again.

“
I’ve been meaning to ask you
—
how did those sleeping sickness cases turn out?”

Claud shrugged. “How the dickens should I know? As soon as I was sure what was laying the boys out I sent them away for treatment.”

“Haven’t they reported back?”

“They may have
—
I don’t follow up every darned native.” Claud’s drawl had the suggestion of a sneer. “I still can’t afford a doctor, Adrian, and I still refuse to send my boys to your hospital for a free overhaul.”

Adrian smiled coolly. “You’re the boss of your own plantation, Claud; the offer remains open. Shall we talk about food? Why shouldn’t all four of us go to the club for a meal and some dancing?”

Instantly, and with some relief, Hazel agreed. “As it’s the middle of the week we needn’t dress. I’m longing to dance with you again, Adrian. I’ll slip indoors and tell them not to bother about dinner.”

Silent and alarmed, Lyn had no alternative but to acquiesce. She sat still, watching Adrian pull out Hazel’s chair and meet her eyes reassuringly as she passed in front of him; he didn’t want her to be distressed over his exchange with Claud. Tonight, there was little of the doctor in his demeanour. He wore a light tropical suit and a tan silk shirt with a matching tie which somehow altered the color of his eyes to a dark and clear topaz. He was suave and determinedly good-tempered.

Obviously, he and Hazel had conversed alone for some time; possibly she had asked, in that forthright, boyish way she occasionally used with much success, for his opinion as to whether the Denton company would again approach Claud with an offer. Quite patently Adrian was on Hazel’s side; he liked her, thought it a pity that Claud did not possess a similar personality.

Claud, probably to please his sister, went off to change into a fresh linen jacket and Lyn was left standing undecidedly at the side of fee table, wife Adrian somewhere in the rear.

The singing beetles were noisy in the damp mass of growth in the garden, but they did not entirely drown the distant booming waves, the ever-present rustling of palms. The breeze from the invisible sea was moisture
-
laden and carried up stale smells from the waterfront Involuntarily, Lyn compared the evening wind with the clean night zephyrs which agitated the nut-trees and tamarinds at Denton.

“I got your note. I don’t believe you expected an acknowledgement,” Adrian said. “Mrs. Latimer’s death must have been a blow.”

“Yes, it was. It sent me wondering what to do.” A pause. Then: “You weren’t annoyed at my moving out of Denton right away?”

“Of course not. You’re of an age to please yourself. You disliked the settlement from the start, so it was natural for you get out as quickly as you could.”

She half turned, cast him a hasty, upward glance. “In your opinion I behaved badly.”

“My dear Lynden,” he returned, in too careless a tone to convey mockery, “you behaved like any blind young woman who is suddenly presented with an opportunity of living conventionally in the same house with a charming loafer. I don’t hold it against you in the least. I only hope it’s proving worth while.”

She drew a sharp breath. “Aren’t you being rather
beastly?”

“I’m being good to you,” he said calmly. “It’s much less difficult to hate a beastly man than to hate a kind one.” Their scarcely begun conversation had to end there, for Hazel came out, her straight fawn hair smooth and shining from the brush, grey eyes sparkling.

“Shall we go? Claud will catch us up. He always takes ages to get ready.” She looked at Lyn. “What’s wrong? You were deliciously flushed when you came home and now you’re noticeably pale.”

Adrian smiled sardonically. “Put it down to the emotional ups and downs of youth. You might be the same, Hazel, if you hadn’t created for yourself the faculty of seeing all the world as a stage.”

They walked, not too fast, along the avenue and eat to the main road which had shops at the shore end and government buildings and the club at the other. Adrian enquired about some of the provincial productions in which Hazel had appeared and she told him of the audition which had lit the hope in her of a real part at last.

“For three days I couldn’t eat or sleep,” she said, shaking her head over her own callow enthusiasm. “Then I had a letter from the producer saying that my performance was polished and intelligent but lacked the necessary flamboyance.”

“Poor Hazel,” he said quietly. “It’s the de
u
ce when your career has to wait for a chance spot of luck. You must have been terribly hipped.”

“I was, naturally, but I’d already decided that if I flopped I’d come to Palmas, so I did have something to take my thoughts from failure. Heaven only knows how I’d have got through the bleak phase otherwise.”

“You’re welcome here, anyway. Will you go back and try again?”

“I want to, but there are one or two other things I want much more right now.”

He did not press her to elucidate. No doubt, thought Lyn. Hazel had already confided to him her desires and he had pledged himself to help her attain them. It was odd that this woman so much to Adrian’s taste should be a struggling young actress and sister of a despised rubber planter.

Claud overtook them in the club grounds and soon they were all seated in the dining-room at a table which Adrian had previously booked earlier in the day. The usual crowd were dining, chiefly bachelors on government service and men who ran the shipping and other offices on the waterfront. Claud came in for badinage from other tables, and Lyn and Hazel were greeted like two popular princesses. Adrian knew everyone, of course, but his position set him apart from the rest. They respected his altruism and envied him his wealth, but for the life of them they couldn’t see why a man so plentifully endowed should sweat away his years curing the fevers of white people and being general practitioner to the blacks.

Most of them cou
l
d
b
e graphic about what they would do had they the means.

Beyond the pillars at the end of the dining-room a few, couples were dancing to amplified gramophone music. The waiters, a variety of colored boys in white slacks and shorts with green velvet cummerbunds, circulated the good wine and indifferently cooked food. The atmosphere was torrid, but no one required that the mosquito screens be fastened back. Even in the dry season the malarial mosquito was frantically active from dusk onwards and few people entirely trusted the daily preventive tablet.

When coffee had been served Adrian led Hazel among the dancers. Lyn’s gaze followed them down the aisle between the tables, took in the almost intimate inclination of his head and the brown hand lightly holding the slim, creamy arm. They danced away out of sight.

“Make a handsome couple, don’t they?” jeered Claud softly. “He’s fond of Hazel in spite of her villainous brother. It takes me back a couple of years to when she was here before.”

“Were they friendly then?”

“Very. If Hazel hadn’t been full of optimism over a bogus repertory company which had signed her up she would have hung on here; I could tell that she would have liked to. She’s more in the mood to stay now.” He squashed out his cigarette. “We’re wasting time, my pet, and that’s never wise. Let’s dance.”

It was much later, after ten-thirty, when Lyn again saw Adrian. She was with one gossiping group and he with another. For no reason she turned her head and met his eyes. With a polite word of excuse to his nearest neighbor, he moved away and came across to Lyn’s side.

“We haven’t seen much of each other tonight. Would you rather dance or breathe fresher air?”

She had an urge, mercifully controlled, to tell him to go away, that she could conclude the evening without his cynical attentions.

“I’ll dance,” she replied.

He did not take her arm as he had taken Hazel’s. Nor did he bother to speak. They reached the dancers, he
held her in
the acc
epted fashion and they glided away t
o
the rhythm of a well-known waltz. He danced well, managing her on the crowded floor as if she were a flower. Watching Hazel in his arms, Lyn had longed to experience dancing with Adrian; she had known that it would bear no relation to dancing with anyone else. Now she knew how it felt and wouldn’t have cared if the music had gone on for ever. The man in charge of the gramophone must have had a weakness for that particular tune, for the second it ended he raised the needle and set it back to play the record again.

“You’re silent. W
h
at are you thinking?” enquired Adrian above her head.

“That you’re a paradox,” she returned briefly.

“Because I join the crowd once in a while? Every man is permitted his relaxations, and mine are quite simple. Besides, you and Hazel are the only two unmarried women in the place; why shouldn’t I have my share of you?” He let a long moment drift by. “Do you do this every night?”

“Most nights, either here or at the house.”

“You’re fully aware, I suppose, that continually overtiring yourself in the tropics is the height of folly,” he said coolly and reasonably. “I don’t want to scare you, but if you should
get stri
c
ken with fever it’ll lay you
out.”

“You haven’t scared me. Thanks for the warning.”

“But you don’t intend to heed it.” His voice was suddenly strong and icy. “You’re learning from Claud pretty fast, aren’t you? He knows all the answers
—
all the wrong ones
—
and he delights in teaching them to you. Don’t deceive yourself that tenderness and sympathy will change him. They won’t. But if you let him, he’ll change you.”

There seemed to Lyn to be no reason for the bone
-
cracking ferocity of his grip on her fingers, the hostility he exuded. For the last few bars of music it was like dancing with someone made of steel. There was tempered hardness, too, his impersonal handing her over to Rex Harper and Hazel, his distant, “Good night, everyone,” before he strode out to his car.