Stars Over Sarawak (7 page)

 'There are other things a woman has to fear,' he said with an amused edge to his voice and a complete disregard for her feelings. 'Or didn't that enter your head?'

 'You're not very considerate, Mr. Denver.' She spoke with faint indignation but quietly for all that, as she was deeply conscious of the fact of the ease of mind his presence had brought to her. With every passing minute her feeling of safety increased. It was as if her mind could not couple the name Carl Denver with the word failure. Yet he had failed in his marriage, she instantly recollected — but that was different. In this present situation he would be pitting his wits against those of the Natives and, cunning and superstitious as these men were, Roanna felt convinced that by sheer will-power Carl would prevail, forcing them to abandon any punishment they would have liked to mete out to her.

 'I believe I once told you I'm no lady's man.' Carl's amber eyes flickered her face indifferently. 'I view a situation objectively — I believe I told you this too? You were in very grave danger and I'm merely reminding you of it.'

 'I'm most grateful for your kindness in coming to my rescue,' she said in haste. 'Please don't think for one moment that I'm not fully appreciative of what I owe you—' A wave of an impatient hand cut her short. He had not emphasized the danger merely to claim her gratitude, he told her rather roughly. He had merely wanted to bring home to her the stupidity of her precipitate conduct in coming up to the longhouse when he had advised her not to. She said nothing, the tone of his voice making her feel like a spanked child who would remain in disgrace for a long time to come.

 But the feeling faded as they walked; in its place was the lightening of her spirits that seemed the only important thing at the moment. What her plight would have been had Carl Denver not turned up she dared not envisage. She had been saved by nothing less than a miracle, for had Kayun been just a little later then Carl Denver would have left the main river and gone sailing up the Dajang, completely unaware of her terrible plight, and she would have been left, quite alone, to face whatever fate was in store for her. True, Kayun would eventually have brought someone up, but by the time he had reached the coast and the return journey had been made, three days would have elapsed — and in that time many things could have happened to her.

 She shook her head as if to throw off the picture. Her companion shot her a glance and asked her what was wrong.

 'I can't bear to think of what might have happened. I'd have been entirely alone among these hostile people.'

 'With no one to blame but yourself,' he promptly reminded her in crushing tones. 'What makes women act with so little regard to caution is quite beyond me. Anyone would think you were entirely devoid of imagination.'

 She nodded, abashed; and cast her eyes downwards, staring at the ground in front of her.

 'I'd been speaking to some people in the hotel,' she told him in a small voice. 'They'd been visiting a long-house.' She went on to mention the accommodation and heard a small click of her companion's tongue when at length she stopped talking.

 'You've been here long enough to know that every Native village isn't like that, surely?'

 'I didn't really think about it—'

 'Obviously you didn't! I've just pointed out that fact to you.' Impatience edged his firm strong voice. 'You're a fool, Mrs. Barrett!' Roanna had nothing to say to this and he added witheringly, 'Your fiancé must have been out of his mind to allow anyone as impulsive as you out of his sight !'

 Her eyes flashed.

 'Please don't bring Andrew into it. He has no idea what it's like over here—'

 'Then he should have made it his business to find out,' interrupted Carl wrathfully. 'I find it most difficult to believe that any man would allow the woman he loved—' Carl stopped and his hard mouth twisted in a sneer,'—to come to a country like this entirely alone.'

 'I insisted on coming.' She was frowning, not wishing to say anything which would cause dissension between her and the man to whom she would be eternally grateful, yet at the same time resenting his disparaging comments about her fiancé. 'If you knew Andrew you wouldn't say unkind things about him.'

 Carl Denver's expression underwent a change, sardonic amusement momentarily entering the intensely-piercing eyes.

 'He's kind and gentle and tolerant.' A distinct sneer edged the voice. 'And he's your ideal.' He laughed then, and the harshness grated on Roanna's ears. How very cynical he was — the legacy of disillusionment, no doubt. Roanna looked into his harsh features, saw the tightness of his mouth, the hard implacable line of his jaw. He looked away, his attention diverted by the loud piercing cry of a gibbon. Following the direction of his gaze, Roanna saw the animal leap, catching at the branch of a tree with its long arms. After a long silence she ventured to ask if she might stop and wash her hands and face in the river. His attention returning to her, he seemed for the first time to become fully aware of her appearance. She coloured as he examined her face and her hair, telling him that she had not been able to wash for two days and that as she had lost her handbag she had no comb. He shook his head, uttering a little sound, like the impatient intake of his breath. He glanced back; the Native was still following.

 'We'll go back and get some soap and a towel from my boat,' he said, ignoring the swift glance of gratitude she cast up at him.

 A quarter of an hour later she was feeling much more comfortable as, having washed, she vigorously used a stiff hairbrush lent to her by Carl. His Natives watched curiously from the bank where they were sitting, chewing betel nuts and talking together in their own language.

 'Thank you very much, Mr. Denver,' she said, handing him back the brush. 'You're very kind.' Her voice caught — quite unintentionally; noticing this Carl looked at her with an odd expression, then shook his head.

 'I'm not kind,' he denied after a small pause. 'I might as well tell you that this delay is proving most irksome to me; I shall never be able to make up the lost time. All I feel in this matter is a sense of duty — duty, Mrs. Barrett, not kindness.' A twist of mocking amusement curved his lips. 'If it's kindness you're wanting then I'm afraid you'll have to wait until you get back home to your fiancé.'

CHAPTER FIVE

THE wizened old man sat cross-legged on the ground; behind and around him were the men of the longhouse including the
tua rumah
— chief of this particular long-house — and the
penghulu
— chief over several long-houses situated on the Yangai River. One or two young women stood in the background, their less elaborately tattooed, their long ear-lobes tied with a knot on the top of their heads. The young men wore beads and brass or hornbill earrings; through the top lobes of their ears some of them wore a pair of leopard fangs, sticking out at the sides and going back to be joined under the straight black hair at the backs of their heads. Every dark sunbitten face wore a serious expression. Roanna stood beside Carl, her heart pounding madly despite the fact that his presence was so reassuring. He himself wore an equally grave expression as he listened to what the witch-doctor was saying. Much as she wanted to know what was going on Roanna remained silent, watching the sea of faces around her, trying to read their expressions.

 'The omen of the birds is favourable.' Carl spoke with what could only be described as a great sigh of relief. 'That's one hurdle cleared.'

 'What did the birds do?' she whispered.

 'They flew clockwise — and there happen by some miracle to be four of them.'

 'Must there be four?'

 'Three would have been disastrous.' He stopped and put a finger to his lips. The witch-doctor was mixing some liquids together and then he drank the draught. Watching Carl's face, Roanna saw him swallow hard; it was obviously a tense moment, but Roanna had no idea what was transpiring.

 'It seems to be okay.' Carl was frowning; the witchdoctor spoke to the
penghulu
, who nodded and cast a glance at Roanna. 'No ... I don't think it is.' It was plain that he hadn't meant to let Roanna hear him because he looked down at her and, seeing her white face, told her not to worry as there was much more to do yet before a verdict was reached. But soon there broke out some angry guttural sounds and as he listened to what was being said Carl licked his lips several times and she knew instinctively that the omens were now going against her.

 The mutterings and low guttural sounds increased; there seemed to be a general agreement and Roanna's whole nervous system rioted as she saw the expressions of the men.

 Carl spoke and everyone became silent, listening to what he had to say. Some of the older men shook their heads emphatically, but the witch-doctor was immobile on his mat on the ground, his sunken eyes fixed upon Carl's face.

 'What were you saying?' faltered Roanna when at last he fell silent, his amber eyes moving slowly from the witch-doctor to the
tua rumah
and then to the masklike face of the
penghulu
.

 'I've warned them that they'll be punished by the law if they so much as touch you.

 'They — they found me guilty?'

 'They haven't finished yet.'

 'Are they frightened of the law?'

 'Of course—' He broke off and frowned at her. 'Be quiet,' he ordered curtly. 'I'm trying to listen!'

 With the passing of another ten minutes or so Roanna would have liked to put another question, but one glance at Carl Denver's face was more than enough to warn her to keep quiet.

 The witch-doctor was making all sorts of signs, then looking up at the clouds. Carl spoke again, and this time his voice was louder, more forceful and emphatic. The men and women of the longhouse looked at one another, and some of them murmured together and nodded their heads. Beside her, Carl Denver seemed all at once to relax — his whole lean and angular body appeared to shrink a little as the tautness went out of him. But almost immediately he had straightened up again, and he looked a forbidding spectacle as, even yet again, he began to speak. She sensed that he had managed to make them take heed of him and that now he was pushing home what he had already said, strengthening his position ready for some final blow he had in mind. The witch-doctor consulted the
penghulu
and they both looked from Roanna to Carl and pursed their lips. It would seem that some indecision was occupying them both. Looking round, Roanna noticed that some of the other men talked quietly between themselves and one pair, she guessed, were talking about the necklace she wore. They were looking at it, and then at one of the girls who also stared at the necklace. Next to her a massively-muscled youth with the typical long jet black hair was wearing several rather similar necklaces, though the blue glass beads were larger than those worn by Roanna, and Roanna was later to learn that these larger ones were considered more masculine than the smaller ones, although both kinds could be extremely valuable. On this youth's wrists were bracelets and from his car lobes valuable brass weights hung almost to his shoulders. This youth wore a loincloth as did the other men; the women wore colourful sarongs.

 Carl was still speaking, but after a while he stopped. A murmur broke out and appealingly she looked at him. His austere countenance forbade questions and she was still left wondering what her fate was to be.

 'The necklace?' Carl held out his hand for it and she willingly slipped it over her head and handed it to him. Striding over to where the two chief men were talking, he presented the necklace. The
penghulu
took it and examined it. More talking took place between him and the witch-doctor, who also examined the necklace. The men nodded; Carl bent to say something quietly to them and again they nodded. Turning, Carl strode back and took his place beside Roanna. Looking up into his face, she saw the smile of triumph that curved the thin harsh mouth.

 'I knew from the first that you would save me,' she was saying a short while later. It was a simple statement, spoken with sincerity and gratitude, and with an unaffected confidence that instantly brought a frown to her companion's brow.

 'You'll never know just how lucky you were.' Grim the tone and Roanna shivered in spite of herself. 'Why you should have had this confidence in me I do not know. But I'll tell you this: had it been your husband standing there I couldn't have done a thing for him.'

 'Do you think he — I mean, do you think he might have been caught by some of the Natives?' She stopped abruptly, remembering the trophies she had seen hanging in the first longhouse. 'Other Natives, I meant?'

 'That's impossible to say,' was his impatient reply, and she realized it was a stupid question to ask. 'Most of the Natives here are simple, gentle people, but their head-hunting history doesn't go very far back. In any case, your husband was asking for trouble when he set out to rob these people, and for myself I haven't any sympathy for him.'

 Looking up into his stern and angular face, Roanna shivered involuntarily. Toughened by the environment in which he had chosen to live, Carl Denver seemed totally devoid of compassion, or even the smallest degree of softness in his make-up, and she was overwhelmed by thankfulness that at least he possessed a sense of duty. It was this sense of duty that had resulted in his making an attempt to rescue her; this he had frankly admitted, and she hoped that she would never find herself in a situation where her salvation depended on the man's softness of heart.

 Not that such a circumstance was likely to arise, she thought wryly. Once he had her safely back at the coast it would be most unlikely that he would ever want their paths to meet again. He was talking, telling her in his rather cold dispassionate way that the Natives here had no idea what had happened to Rolfe Barrett.

 'On leaving them he went up the Dajang. One or two of the young men went after him when it was discovered that precious objects were missing, but they never found him. He might have told them he intended going up the Dajang River merely to throw them off the scent.'

 'The Dajang?' Roanna spoke thoughtfully, glancing up at him. 'That's where you're going, isn't it?'

 He seemed to glower at her as he said,

 'When I've got you fixed up. What's troubling me now is how I'm to get you back to the coast.'

 'You're not taking me yourself?' The question was out before she realized she should have phrased it a little differently.

 'I've wasted enough time already, Mrs. Barrett! If I take you back, then start all over again, I shall have lost a week.'

 She hung her head.

 'I'm so sorry,' she began, but a click of his tongue deterred her from saying anything more.

 'I'd leave you here if I knew for sure I could trust these fellows. They go down to the coast with their durians and could take you—' He stopped on noting her sudden pallor and a twist of sardonic humour edged his voice as he added, 'Don't worry, I shan't leave you with them.'

 'Oh ...' She put a hand to her breast. 'You frightened me, Mr. Denver. I thought for a moment that you really were considering leaving me.'

 The amber eyes flickered down at her, faint contempt in their depths. Of a surety this man had no time for the faint-hearted, whether they be women or not.

 He and Roanna were once again strolling along the river, but this time no sinister-looking Native with his parang followed behind. The air was hot; quivering mist obscured part of the river upstream giving a lost world aspect to the scene of jungle and swamp and small, tree-filled islands formed by river-braiding.

 'It's a problem ...' Carl Denver spoke very softly, under his breath. Roanna was filled with guilt at the knowledge that she had caused him so much trouble.

 'Kayun will inform the police, won't he?'

 'Not now. He'll take it for granted that the matter's out of his hands now that I've taken over, as it were.' An impatient sigh issued from his lips; she knew instinctively that he was accepting the fact that he himself must after all take her back to civilization.

 She waited, rather breathlessly, for his decision to be conveyed verbally to her, but he was frowning heavily and, quite out of the blue, an idea occurred to her and even before she had time to tell herself it was absolutely ridiculous and impossible she had blurted it out.

 'Take me with you, Mr. Denver — please! As my husband did travel these parts this is a wonderful opportunity for me to find something out. I expect you'll be visiting some longhouses on the Dajang?' He nodded, his deep-set eyes opening very wide as, turning from his contemplation of a honey-bear that was moving about among the trees, he scrutinized her face intently. 'I'll be no trouble to you, Mr. Denver, and you can give me some work to do if you wish.' He said no, and shook his head, but this was an automatic gesture and she saw to her utter amazement that her request had not yet been definitely rejected. And so she naturally pushed her point, reminding him that, if he agreed to take her, very little time would have been lost — just hours instead of a week. 'I know it might appear a little unorthodox to you,' she added, and was interrupted with,

 'A little? That's mild!'

 'Yes, it is.' She was deflated all at once. 'It wouldn't be quite the thing, would it?'

 'That's also mild. It would be very much not the thing!'

 She gave a small sigh and offered no words in response.

 'What about your fiancé?'

 'My fiancé?' she echoed, diverted.

 'His reaction, I mean?' He appeared to be inordinately interested in what she would say, his eyes never leaving her face as, stopping in a small clearing he looked down at her.

 'Andrew wouldn't mind. He trusts me.'

 On hearing this calm statement Carl seemed to give a slight start.

 'He wouldn't mind?' disbelievingly. 'He wouldn't mind your spending a month in the jungle with another man? In the name of Hades, what sort of a fellow is he?'

 'He trusts me,' she repeated sharply. And she added, 'I do wish you would refrain from making disparaging remarks about my fiancé, Mr. Denver. He's kind and good and understanding ...' For some reason she tailed off, a tender hint of colour creeping up to enhance the lovely alabaster of her cheeks.

 'More wishy-washy adjectives?' The trace of an amused sneer accompanied the words. 'He trusts you and, it would appear, you in turn trust me?'

 'You're not a lady's man; you've told me that.' He smiled faintly at this, then became thoughtful. Instinctively she felt that he was now seriously considering her request, influenced by the fact of his inability to get her back to the coast without taking her there himself. His next words made it plain that she was right in her conclusions.

 'I take it that you would be quite truthful with your fiancé — were I to decide to take you with me?'

 'But of course,' she returned, not daring to allow her elation to reach the surface, since she had a shrewd suspicion that he would then instantly tell her that he was definitely not taking her with him.

 Carl Denver shook his head disbelievingly.

 'I give up,' was his unexpected comment. 'I've never met a man like your fiancé — and I don't believe I ever want to,' he added in his customary forthright manner.

 'Mr. Denver,' she said, a distinct plea in her voice, 'I want you to know just how deep my gratitude is towards you, but I also want you to know that it hurts me when you sneer at Andrew. Perhaps he isn't the forceful type, but you see, I happen to have a very good reason for giving that type a wide berth.'

 He glanced down into wide and honest eyes and his own flickered with an odd expression.