Stars Over Sarawak (2 page)

 And she had spent the hours since then in her bedroom, for the storm had come just when, having made an effort to unpack and then take a shower and change into a bright cotton dress, she had decided to go out, into the town, and find some Government office where advice could be obtained. Now, listlessly moving from the window, she stood in the middle of the room, wondering why she should have been dealt such a blow by fate, a blow that had resulted in her being forced to come here seeking the whereabouts of a husband she should never even have married. As Bridget had said, she, Roanna, was at that time a very young eighteen-year-old, innocent and with all her life spread before her. But instead of the carefree period through which all her friends had passed she had been forced into marriage, lived through six months of abject misery, then been left to sort out the wreckage of her life as best she could. At first her aversion to the male sex had kept her to herself and she had scarcely ever gone out in the evenings. With time, however, she did manage to shake off her aversion and had joined the club, taking part in the activities and attending the dances every Saturday night. Many had been her opportunities of going out with young men, but always she would remember her experience and in consequence she would refuse. Then came Andrew upon the scene — quiet and unobtrusive, gentle, and thoughtful for her comfort. His wooing had been slow, a little diffident — certainly unexciting from Roanna's point of view. This, she felt, was what she wanted, and it was to Andrew that she turned when at last she was ready to go steady, with a view to eventual marriage.

 The admission that she was married was not easy to make, but just as she expected Andrew made no fuss, merely expressing initial surprise followed by a mild condemnation both of her father and her mother for their respective contributions to the disaster that overtook her.

 'Never mind,' he had then said soothingly. 'It'll all be sorted out, and then we can get married.'

 How understanding and tolerant he was, thought Roanna as she turned once again to stare out at the torrential rain that lashed against the windows. Down in the gardens the flowering shrubs and tropical flowers were enduring a terrible battering from the weight of water falling on them.

 Into the line of her vision came a car, tyres swishing water high into the air behind it as it was driven with quite incredible speed along the road before its bonnet was turned into the entrance to the hotel grounds. The occupant, one lone man, seemed to lounge at ease behind the wheel as if he were quite oblivious of the downpour that was rendering his windscreen wipers ineffective. The car stopped and the man sprang out, taking the steps two at a time as he made to enter the hotel. Then he was lost to view, leaving Roanna with an impression of a slim and sinewed giant whose features had not been visible as, with head bent against the driving rain, he had hastened from his car to the hotel. A couple of minutes later the phone rang and, frowning in puzzlement, Roanna took up the receiver. She was wanted in the hotel lounge...

 'I think you've made a mistake,' she began, when she was interrupted.

 'Mrs. Barrett?'

 'Yes, that's right.'

 'You are wanted downstairs, madam — by a Mr. Denver.'

 'Thank you very much.' Her pulse had quickened at the mention of Carl Denver's name. Had he had a change of heart? she wondered, grabbing a comb and dragging it through the silken strands of shining hair. She was glad she had changed; she looked spruce and fresh — and inordinately young, she decided with a little grimace as, dropping the comb on to the dressing-table, she turned and hurried from the room.

 He rose as she entered the lounge, conducted there by a Native boy who had been waiting by the reception desk for her to come downstairs.

 'Mrs. Barrett?' He seemed to give a start of surprise as he held out his hand to her. The boy departed and they were alone in one secluded corner of the lounge.

 'Yes.' She stared into a lean and deeply bronzed face, tilting her head right back in order to do so. 'I'm very happy to meet you, Mr. Denver,' she said without any attempt at reserve. 'It's most kind of you to come and sec me.' Her hand was in his, her fingers crushed so that when they were released they stuck together with the clamminess that had collected between them with the heat.

 'You're Mrs. Barrett?' He stared at her. 'I had the impression that you would be older.' He was clearly puzzled and she did wonder if he were considering it most strange that a husband should leave so young a wife. 'I felt it was my duty to see you,' he continued after a moment, and now his tone changed, to become imperious — and even faintly dictatorial. 'You had no right to come to a place like this without making some preliminary arrangements. You booked the room here,' he said with an expressive flick of his hand, 'but that appears to be the sum total of your preparations.'

 She swallowed, stole another glance at the hard angular features and decided there was a distinct quality of ruthlessness about him. Here was a man toughened to a certain climate and way of life, and Roanna suspected he was exceedingly vexed that she should have expected help from him, but at the same time she was aware of an element of anxiety which he was endeavouring to conceal from her.

 'I suppose I was rather precipitate,' she confessed, feeling oddly timid in his presence. 'But as I explained earlier, I must find out what happened to my husband, as I want to marry again.'

 The man's deep amber eyes flickered over her face, noting the clear skin, the peerlessly proportioned features, the peach and rose of cheeks and lips. Her big serious eyes were smoky, the result of the anxious hours she had spent since speaking to Carl Denver on the telephone, and having been as good as told that, her plight being none of his business, he had no intention of concerning himself with it.

 'You were not only precipitate, Mrs. Barrett, you were exceedingly foolish. This is no place for a woman on her own.' He stopped as a Native waiter appeared, then asked Roanna what she would like to drink. The order given, Carl Denver led the way to a small table in an even more secluded spot and pulled out a chair for her. She thanked him, watched as he eased his long angular body into the chair opposite, and waited for him to continue. 'What I can't understand is why your fiancé — or whatever you call him — allowed you to come to Borneo by yourself?' It was clearly a question; Roanna said quietly,

 'Andrew couldn't get time off from work. His holiday begins in August and he'll then come over and join me. He has five weeks, so we're hopeful of being able to return to England together, having solved the mystery of Rolfe's disappearance.'

 Carl Denver was shaking his head, a heavy frown on his face.

 'Had you been my future wife you'd not have left England on your own,' he said forthrightly, uncaring as to whether or not his words might offend. 'I know it's none of my business, but as you've asked for my help I'm going to ask you a question. What reason had your husband for leaving you and going off with another woman? He was here with a woman whom everyone believed to be his wife, and when I wrote to you about the Englishman of whom I'd heard I did mention this wife.'

 Roanna nodded, and a flush rose to enhance the peach tints already in her cheeks.

 'I don't wish to relate all that happened — regarding our marriage, that is. But Rolfe and I were never happy, not even in the beginning, and it was a relief to me when he left me for this other girl.'

 A moment's silence and then,

 'You haven't answered my question, Mrs. Barrett,' he reminded her. 'What reason had your husband for leaving you? Were you already having an affair with this other man?' His face was harsh suddenly and she had the impression that some memory of his own had intruded.

 'Certainly not, Mr. Denver!'

 'All right,' he said tersely. 'There's no need for indignation—'

 'Naturally I'm indignant at such a pertinent question!'

 'There must have been some good reason why he went off,' resumed Carl, ignoring the interruption. 'You're young, and quite exceptionally pretty ...' His voice trailed off and his lips twisted in a sardonic smile. 'I'd no intention of embarrassing you, Mrs. Barrett. I'm not a lady's man, and most certainly I'm not prone to flattery. I was merely stating a fact, seeing the whole situation objectively. How long were you married when your husband deserted you?' There was a distinct quality of cynicism about his manner, and now the idea occurred to Roanna that he himself might have suffered disillusionment at some time or another.

 'Six months.'

 The straight brows lifted a fraction.

 'Six months? Is that all? How old were you when you married?'

 She frowned inwardly, disliking intensely these personal questions. Yet, paradoxically, she could fully understand his desire to learn more about the affair before committing himself to offer assistance. And that he was considering offering assistance was evidenced by the very fact of his presence here.

 'I was eighteen.'

 His brows came together, knit in a frown.

 'Married in haste, eh?' There was an undertone of cynicism in his voice now, matching his expression.

 'There is rather more to it than appears on the surface, Mr. Denver,5 she told him quietly. 'But, as I said, I have no wish to relate the whole story which, in any case, would in all probability bore you.'

 Her companion made no attempt to deny this.

 'Was it your fault that your husband left you?' he inquired unexpectedly at length.

 Roanna shook her head immediately, vitally aware that Carl Denver's scrutiny was both searching and intense — the sort of scrutiny that would undoubtedly force the truth even though a lie might have been intended.

 'I did nothing to be ashamed of, if that's what you're asking me.'

 His face cleared; he glanced up as the waiter appeared with the drinks, which were immediately put down on the table before them. Having paid and waited until the man had gone Carl Denver spoke again, stating in all honesty that at first he had had no intention of becoming involved, but, having replaced the receiver, he had felt that as one of her countrymen he should have advised her to go home, and to make investigations from there.

 'I tried to get you back, but something appeared to be wrong with the line, so I left it till later. A colleague of mine was at my side when next I tried, again without success. I saw he was looking puzzled and I explained about you, and your missing husband. This colleague, Malcolm Romney, then told me of the rumour that had gone around in Kuching that a Rolfe Barrett, having received information that certain tribes living on the banks of the Tinjar River had possessed valuable antiques including much brass and copper, Sung and Ming, treasures that had been passed down from one generation to the next over many hundreds of years, decided to cash in, probably hoping to trade these priceless objects for worthless trinkets. And so, taking with him the girl whom everyone presumed to be his wife, he went off to make his fortune by exploiting these Natives. However—' Carl Denver's thin lips twisted in a sneer of contempt, '—had he possessed an ounce of knowledge about the peoples he'd have known that to the Natives these things arc sacred and therefore they never ever part with them, so if he wanted them he would have to resort to stealing them. And although he might manage — if he were clever — to do this, he would eventually be caught by one or other of the tribes or else by the police.'

 Quite fascinated, Roanna listened, endeavouring to form a picture of the terrain into which her husband had travelled in his greedy search for the precious objects which Carl Denver had mentioned.

 She said, when at last her companion's narrative came to an end and he was lifting his glass from the table,

 'The girl didn't go with him— At least, if she did she soon left him, as she was back in England within a year of leaving with my husband.'

 'She was?' Carl Denver became thoughtful. 'Then they must have split up at the time he decided to go searching for these antiques.' He nodded his head, still appearing to be in a thoughtful mood. 'Yes, this would tally with the dates my colleague gave me — approximate dates,' he amended, 'as no one knows exactly when Rolfe Barrett left Kuching; this is what my colleague tells me. I myself have no real knowledge of the man, much less of his activities. In your letter you stated that he'd worked for me; this was not so. Perhaps he had hopes of obtaining a job, as he must have had to earn his living.'

 'He was comfortably off,' she informed him. 'And it did in fact surprise me when I heard that he was working for the oil company. I expected he must have obtained one of the top posts, like yours—' She stopped, flushing at such a slip. Carl Denver, ignoring both the slip and the rising colour, reverted to the question of her husband's disappearance.

 'After hearing what my colleague had to say I decided to come here and impart to you what small amount of information was available. It isn't much, but at least the Tinjar River region is one small clue which in some way or other can be followed up. Incidentally, there is more than one tribe living there, of course.'

 Roanna nodded, then looked rather helplessly at him.

 'What must I do?' she asked, quite unaware of the tiny note of pleading in her voice. 'When I decided to come here I imagined you would help me, as I've said, feeling sure you would know of some sources of information which might be of use to me in gaining knowledge of Rolfe's movements.’