The House of Seven Fountains (24 page)

Later, when she had had time to think it over, Vivien realized that only the most gnawing jealousy could have made Cara believe that such accusations were true.

Now, taken aback at the venom in Cara’s voice, she said, “How do you propose to prove my duplicity, Miss Maitland?”

Cara crushed out her cigarette.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” she said scornfully. “And I don’t make idle threats.”

“What makes you think he would believe you before me? After all, he may have amused himself with you before I came on the scene, but he doesn’t seem very interested now, does he?” Vivien said nastily, congratulating herself on infusing just the right note of cattiness into her voice.

The thrust was as successful as she had hoped.

Cara set down her cocktail glass with a vicious clink and her mouth narrowed.

“Why, you insolent
...”
s
he began, and then quickly recovering herself, “Don’t flatter yourself that you’ll trap Julian into marriage, Miss Connell. He may not see through your wiles, but he isn’t a complete fool.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Vivien inquired sweetly. “Or are you trying to reassure yourself? I’ve been trying to see the motive behind this rather unusual interview, and on the face of it, I can only conclude that you’re annoyed with me because for the first time in your life you’ve got a rival.”

For a moment she thought Cara was going to hurl the tomato cocktail at her. In spite of the concealing glasses it was plain that the other girl was livid with fury.

“It’s really quite natural that you should be piqued,” she went on. “After all you’re very good-looking, and I suppose you’re not used to competition, particularly in Malaya where unmarried girls are comparatively rare. But I don’t see why you should be so concerned because Julian has slipped out of your net. You seem to have plenty of other admirers. Or could it be that you share mercenary designs?”

“So you admit you’re after him for his money?” Cara snapped.

“Not at all. Do you?”

“I’ve already told you that my only interest in the matter is to stop Julian being gulled.”

“Surely he’s old enough to look after himself. He could scarcely be described as a callow youth.”

Cara drew an exasperated breath.

“I shouldn’t be too confident,” she said icily. “As
it
happens I dropped Julian just before you came here, but if I wanted him back I shouldn’t have any difficulty, I assure you. I daresay he’s getting rather bored with your
naiveté
by now.”

Vivien gathered up her possessions and slipped a fifty-cent note under the saucer.

“Then since you are so worried about him, why don’t you try luring him back to your side of the fence?” she suggested, pushing back her chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go.”

“Wait!” Cara laid a detaining hand on her arm. “Do you mean you’ll go on encouraging him?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Because you don’t approve?” Vivien shook off the white scarlet-tipped hand. “Julian’s his own master. I should think he will be vastly amused when I tell him how concerned you are.”

“Tell him? You can’t!” There was a note of panic in Cara’s voice.

“Why not? I think it’s most diverting.”

A dark flush suffused Cara’s pale face, and Vivien felt a flash of pity for her.

“On the other hand, Julian might not care for being discussed in this way, so perhaps I won’t tell him,” she said quietly. “Goodbye, Miss Maitland.”

When she got home there was a letter from Mr. Adams on the hall table. He had been making inquiries about a suitable job for her and wrote that, if she was still decided on this course of action, he wondered if she would be interested in becoming companion to the seventeen-year-old daughter of the sultan of one of the southern states in the federation. The sultan, Mr. Adams explained, wished his daughter to attend an English university, and in order to prepare her for life in Europe he was looking for an intelligent Englishwoman to be her friend and mentor for a year.

“His Highness is in sympathy with the emancipation of Muslim women, and you would not be restricted in any way. His daughter is a charming girl, and I think you would find the position both interesting and congenial,” he wrote.

Vivien folded the letter and tucked it in her pocket. It certainly seemed an excellent opportunity, and the salary that the solicitor mentioned was extremely generous. She thought it over for the rest of the day, and by nightfall she had come to a decision. She would apply for the post and if she was successful she would sell the House of Seven Fountains to Mr. Wong.

Ten
days
later
Vivien flew south to Rangore. The sultan had sent his private aircraft to fetch her, and she arrived at the palace at midday. After being welcomed by a uniformed aide-de
-
camp, she was taken to a luxurious suite where an elderly
amah
unpacked her overnight case and indicated that she had time to bathe and change before luncheon.

It was while she was combing her hair that Vivien suddenly had the eerie sensation of being watched. She looked around the room, wondering if there was a secret peephole in one of the walls. The
amah
had gone and it was very quiet. Then a faint tinkling sound that seemed to come from the window caught her ear. Tiptoeing forward, she leaned cautiously across the ledge and looked up and down the flagstone gallery that ran the length of the wing.

There was a stifled gasp of laughter and with a jerk of surprise Vivien discovered that a young Malay girl was crouching down below the jutting ledge.

“Hello. Are you hiding from me?” she asked.

The girl scrambled to her feet. She was dressed in a filmy turquoise bodice with a turquoise and yellow sarong wrapped around her slender hips. Her thick black hair was braided into a heavy plait that hung down to her waist, and she had one of the loveliest faces Vivien had ever seen.

“Yes, I was,” she admitted with an impish grin. “You are Miss Connell, are you not?” I hope you aren’t angry with me, but I was impatient to see how you looked.”

“Do you mean that you are the sultan’s daughter?” Vivien exclaimed in astonishment.

“Yes, my name is Sabariya. May I come inside?”

“Why, of course, Your Highness.” She wondered if she should curtsy.

Sabariya looped up her sarang and swung her bare brown legs over the ledge. She had a circlet of tiny silver bells on her left ankle and it was this that had betrayed her presence.

“
What is your first name, Miss Connell?
”
she inquired, with
an engagingly frank stare that took in every detail of the English girl’s appearance.

“Vivien.”

“Vivien. That is pretty. May I call you by it?”

“Please do.”

“And how old are you?”

Vivien told her.

“Indeed? You do not look as old as that—though of course the English do not show their age. Oh—” she darted to the dressing table “—you have a lipstick. May I use it?”

Vivien nodded, suppressing a smile.

She had expected the princess to be a serious-minded bluestocking, but Sabariya, busily applying the lipstick to her laughing mouth, was obviously a thorough minx.

“There! Now I look like a movie star,” she said, regarding herself with approval. “Do you like the films, Vivien?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. My father thinks I should not go to the movies too often, but you can tell him that it is what everyone does in England.”

“How did you learn to speak English so well?” Vivien asked.

“Oh, I have had English governesses since I was very small. They were all very dull. I was afraid that you would be dull, too, but now I can see that we shall have lots of fun together.”

“But your father has not engaged me yet. He may not think I am suitable,” Vivien pointed out.

“He will if I like you. Now I will wipe off this lipstick, and we will go to him.”

Scrubbing her lips with a crumpled handkerchief, she seized Vivien’s arm and hustled her out of the room and along the corridor.

“Are you afraid? You need not be. My father is a very kind man,” she whispered reassuringly.

After hurrying through a labyrinth of passages they came to a tall lacquered door and Sabariya tapped on the panel.

The sultan was sitting at a writing desk. He was a man of about sixty with thinning gray hair and a lined, scholarly face. As his daughter introduced their guest he came around the desk and held out his hand.

“Welcome to Rangore, Miss Connell. We are delighted to
meet you. I trust that you have found everything to your comfort?”

“Yes, thank you, Your Highness. It is a great honor to be asked here,” Vivien answered, making a careful curtsy.

“I suppose my daughter could not control her eagerness to see you,” he said dryly. “She is in danger of becoming a hoyden. I hope that a year or two in England will correct her impulsive ways. What do you think?”

Vivien’s mouth twitched as she glanced at Sabariya’s demure expression.

“I think it might have the reverse effect, Your Highness. Perhaps your daughter would succeed in making the English less, er, stuffy.”

The sultan laughed. “I fear you may be right. However, we can discuss Sabariya’s shortcomings later. I expect you are hungry after your journey.”

After luncheon he sent his daughter away and took Vivien back to the study.

“
Now, Miss Connell, I understand that you wish to remain in Malaya but that you cannot afford to maintain the house left you by your godfather ... a man for whom I had the greatest respect, I may add. Do you think you would be happy living here with my daughter?”

“I am sure I would,” Vivien said warmly.

“I should explain that in spite of her youthful high spirits Sabariya has an excellent brain, and it is my hope that she will obtain an economics degree to help her to understand the problems that will be hers after my death. Both my sons were killed in the war and with the consent of my councillors I have appointed her as my successor. You will realize, Miss Connell, that this is a most revolutionary step in a country where the feminist cause is still in its infancy. It is essential that Sabariya should be equipped to meet her future responsibilities, and since in your country women are accustomed to independence and authority, I feel that the companionship of an intelligent Englishwoman will be of great benefit to her.”

“Yes, I see,” Vivien said slowly.
“
But I must tell you that I really have no qualifications for such a position.”

“
There are no tangible qualifications,
”
the sultan told her.
“
I have already gathered from your conversation that you are well read, and the fact that you wish to stay in Malaya proves that you like this country and its people.”

He went on to ask her a number of searching questions, and when she had answered them he nodded judiciously and said, “I think you are the person I am looking for, Miss Connell. If you want it, the job is yours.”

So it was arranged that she should come to live at Rangore Palace as soon as her affairs in Mauping were settled.

She spent the evening talking to Sabariya, whom she found more and more likeable. In spite of her girlish chatter, punctuated by bursts of infectious laughter, there were moments when the Malay girl’s vivid little face grew solemn, and it was then, in the proud tilt of her head and the steadiness of her glance, that the underlying stability of her character becomes evident. In many ways Sabariya was still a child, but the proud blood of the Malay rulers ran in her veins, and when she chose, she had all the stately dignity of her lineage.

The following morning Vivien returned to Mauping. Sabariya saw her off and as the plane rose above the palace grounds Vivien waved to the slim little figure standing by the grass runway. During the flight she felt a renewal of confidence at having made a decision, but as soon as she reached home she was assailed by fresh uncertainty. The house looked so beautiful that to have to part with it was like destroying some treasured possession. Yet it must be done.

After lunch she called the staff together and told them what was going to happen. Ah Kim and the junior boys were obviously very upset and even the old Tamil
kebun
looked distressed. Only Chen received the news with an impassive face, and she was puzzled and disturbed by his apparent lack of feeling.

When they had returned to work she put through a long distance call to Mr. Adams and asked him to negotiate the sale of the house to Mr. Wong. She spent the rest of the day roaming from room to room; trying to convince herself that this was the only sensible course, that it was absurd to torture herself with doubts that had no real foundation.

By supper time she felt that if she could not talk to someone she would scream. She phoned the children’s home to ask Miss Buxton if she could come over, but it was the
amah
who answered the telephone with the information that the
mem
was out and would not be back until late. Vivien phoned Julian’s number, but there was no answer. She had never felt so utterly alone.

Then, about eight o’clock, the thought that had been lying at
the back of her mind suddenly crystallized. Hurriedly changing her shorts and shirt for a linen dress, she ran around to the garage and hauled back the sliding doors.

When she reached Tom’s bungalow and saw the light shining through the sitting-room blinds she felt a thrust of apprehension and nearly turned back. Then the desperate need to talk to somebody overcame her cowardice, and she parked the car and walked purposefully up to the porch.

The houseboy answered her knock.

“
Ada-kah tuan di-rumah
?” she asked.

“
Yah, ada, mem
.”
He ushered her into the sitting room.
“
Nanti sedikit, mem
.”

Vivien nodded. When he had gone away she sat down, clasping her hands tightly in her lap to still their trembling. It was silly to be so keyed up. Tom could not eat her.

Almost at once there were footsteps in the hall, and she drew a deep, preparatory breath.

If Tom was
surprised
to see her, he did not show it. Closing the door behind him he leaned against it, regarding her with the impersonal expression that she knew so well now.

She swallowed. “Good evening,” she said huskily.

“Good evening.” He remained against the door, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

For a long moment neither of them moved or spoke. Then Vivian stood up.

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Still he said nothing.

“I don’t expect we shall meet again, so I wanted to thank you for
...
for your help.”

There was another long silence. Then he moved to the center of the room and flicked open a cigarette box.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a job in Rangore. The house is being sold.”

“I see. No doubt you’ll find Rangore more entertaining than Mauping.” His tone was final, as if there was nothing more to be said.

She bit her lip. “Please ... I know you’re angry but
—”

“Angry? What makes you think that?”

She spreads her hands. “It’s obvious. Ever since
...
can’t I explain?”