The Primrose Bride (29 page)

Karen didn
’
t remind him that Rita never walked when she could use a government car, nor did she care to mention the farewell party on the
Ves
ica
.
The Clive wasn
’
t aware that his wife even knew the men on the
ship. And certainly Rita wouldn
’
t want him to know. But what a fool she was, lingering there so late that Clive was driven to running round to neighbors and advertising her absence.

“
Perhaps that
’
s what did happen, Clive; a slight accident while she was walking. She may have had to get someone to help her, and that sort of thing takes time, if you happen to be outside town.
”
Surprised at the plausible tenor of her own voice, Karen added,
“
You ought to stay in the house, Clive, in case she turns up. One thing is certain, isn
’
t it?
She couldn
’
t possibly get lost in Nemaka—not for long. It
’
s too well populated. Go home and have a drink, and as soon as Andrew comes in I
’
ll ask him what should be done.
”

He shoved a grubby hand over his face.
“
Will you, Karen? I
’
d be so grateful. I thought of rousing the police myself, but they
’
ll jump to it much more quickly and thoroughly for Andrew. I hope to heaven she
’
s home when I get back.
”

She wouldn
’
t be, Karen was sure. Once she had overstayed her limit Rita would be reckless. At this moment she was probably laughing and talking foolishly, as she always did when she took more than one drink; she would be in a mood and a condition when time didn
’
t matter. And Clive would find out the hard way how irresponsible she
’
d become. He
’
d wait and grow more and more fearful, perhaps hysterically stir up more of the houses. And some time Rita would show up, a good deal the worse for wear and capable of ruining his life and hers, completely.

Karen told herself that it wasn
’
t her business. She would tell Andrew when he came. But would Andrew have any patience with it, even though he had once prevented her from running away? He
’
d probably say he had enough domestic trouble of his own, thanks very much. Or something to that effect. And one detail Karen could not ignore.
Out
of the whole of Government Town she was the only person who knew where Rita was at this moment.

Did that make her responsible? she wondered. Was she bound in any way to keep silence? She walked across the room and back again, trying to recall
w
hether she had ever promised Rita never to divulge her association with the man she called Captain Kidd. She hadn
’
t given her word, she was sure of that, but did a promise have to be spoken? Rita had obviously taken it for granted that she could trust Karen with her secret, and the fact was binding.

Clive was such a good sort that Rita
’
s treachery became blacker in Karen
’
s estimation as the minutes passed. She would certainly have to do something—but what? There was only one course, really, and it was no use edging away from it. She had to face the fact that Rita might have become really desperate, and that those men might have given her enough to drink to make her helpless; they wouldn
’
t know that one cocktail was Rita
’
s limit. Supposing, later on, that buccaneering type turned up at Clive
’
s house with an insensible Rita? Clive would be doomed in Government Town and Rita would hate herself and him for the rest of her life.

That mustn
’
t happen, Karen told herself. She would have to drive over to the waterfront and send someone out to the
Vesica.
The way things were, she thought with sad wryness, she could manage it without a soul knowing. It would not take her more than ten minutes to get to the quay, and at the outside the whole venture should be accomplished within an hour.

She moved quickly. If Andrew
’
s meal was brought to the
table
and covered, the coffee prepared so that he had only to switch on ... yes, that was it. She would leave the light on in her room and he would assume she had eaten and gone to bed. She wasn
’
t in the habit of sulking, had never shirked coming into a room where he was, however she felt. But today—that scene in his office—even he must regard it as rather exceptional. And he had again called her a coward, hadn
’
t he? Well, why not act it, the whole way? He might not come for at least half an hour and it would
take
another half an hour for him to shower and eat. By that time she would have returned. And if he heard the car and. came out to investigate
...
well, it wouldn
’
t matter, once Rita was back. On the whole, she thought bleakly, she hadn
’
t much more to say to Andrew.

As she was, in a light frock and sandals, Karen went out to the car. She turned it, and drove straight along the coast road; it was a trifle longer this way, but the risk of meeting a government official was almost nil. There were the islanders, though, in increasing numbers as she progressed, so that the car was slowed to a crawling pace. In festival clothes, some of them eerily splendid, they were trooping towards the waterfront. Karen saw headdresses resembling colored fish and recalled, detachedly, that they were celebrating the height of the fishing season. If only they would move aside when they heard the car! But not they. To them she was a good-natured white person come to see the dancing and diving; strange that she should be alone, perhaps, but then white people did do strange things, and no doubt the white mem would meet her friends and enjoy the evening with them.

The nearer she came to the quay the more tightly packed the road. At last, within sight of the colored lanterns which marked the dancing arena, Karen drew in to the side of the quay and stopped the engine. She stepped out and, keeping her head down, she pushed her way through the noisy throng till she was near enough to the edge of the quay to scan the water. There were lights everywhere in the small natural harbor and it occurred to her, suddenly, that it might be far more difficult than she had thought to get someone to paddle out to the
Vesica.
She hadn
’
t reckoned with this milling humanity.

She looked about her, saw a smiling man in a faded sarong who stood deriving silent fun from the scene. They were all boatmen, these islanders, and he did look approachable. She thanked her stars the common language was English and fought her way to his side, saw his startled look as he realized this was a white woman almost at the quay
’
s edge, where white women never came.

“
I wonder if you can help me,
”
she said, her voice sounding thin and girlish in her own ears.
“
I want to get in touch with a friend on a boat out there. I
’
ll pay someone to go out in a canoe with a message.
”

He shook his head wonderingly.
“
There are no white people in the boats, memtuan. Only our own men who prepare for the diving. The people push—the mem is i
n
danger so
close
to the water.
”

“
Please,
”
she said desperately.
“
I don
’
t mean the small boats. You know the
Vesica
—
the white man
’
s boat? The big one which has been anchored out there for some weeks
?
”

“
Ah yes.
”
He showed strong yellow teeth in a smile
.
“
For many days I worked to build a bridge over the rocks and I dived to find the wreck.
”
An amused shrug.
“
We of Nemaka know all the wrecks near the coast. If there were treasures they would already have been found, many years ago! I have told these people
...
”

“
Yes. I know—they
’
re giving up. But there happens to be someone on board the
Vesica
...
a friend I must get in touch with. Could you find a boatman who will go out to the ship for me?
”

“
The mem did n
o
t know?
”
he said, with exasperating serenity.
“
The
Vesica
sailed on the tide, half an hour ago.

“
I ... I don
’
t see how it could have,
”
she whispered almost to herself. Then, more loudly,
“
It wasn
’
t due to sail till tomorrow or Sunday. Are you sure?
”

With great deliberation the man turned and surveyed the light-spattered ocean. Then he pointed.
“
The mem can see the tiny lights, there to the right, far away? That is the
Vesica.
Soon even her lights will be gone.
”

Somehow Karen thanked him and straggled away from the edge of the quay. Rita had gone, whether
w
illingly or not might never be known. She had been gone half an hour—rather less than the time which had elapsed since Clive had burst into the living room, looking wild and lost. If she herself had acted at once, driven down here before the crowd was so thick. If ... if
...

Her head seemed to have been thrust into a tight steel band; the fantastic noise and prancing, the weaving lights, the
smell
of jasmine and frangipani, of smoking joss sticks, roasting pigs and coconut oil, combined to convert her own emptiness into a kind of vertigo. She couldn
’
t fi
g
ht her way back to the car, couldn
’
t face
the
task of reversing and creeping inch by inch through the melee. It would be quicker to walk home; she didn
’
t feel capable of driving, anyway.

But walking against that tide of humanity was exhausting, particularly as she did not want to be recognized. Gradually she pushed into the low jungle of ferns and palm bush that edged the road. The masses of fronds were wet with dew and clung to her skirt, her feet squelched among decaying leaves, but it was far easier than walking on the road. She could see the people, brown-skinned, almond
-
eyed, full of gentle laughter or noisy anticipation. They meant to have a roaring time.

But soon the islanders thinned to a tr
ickle
and petered out. She could have the road to herself and put on speed. The breeze reminded her that she was sweating, a soreness in the ball of her foot recalled the extracted thorn; how long ago that seemed.

She saw a few lights; Government Road. A couple of minutes later she hesitated at the path to Andrew
’
s house, and then drew a breath and walked on, past the Mears
’
and the McLennans
’
, Austin
’
s and Tony
’
s, the Coppards
’
... to the Vaughans, where a light shone in the living room. Here her heart almost failed her. If Clive collapsed she
’
d walk out. She
’
d have to. She was deeply sorry for the man, but he
’
d have to battle through the emotional part of it on his own.

She reached the veranda, raised a hand to rap at the door, then let it drop. Voices? Clive
’
s and
...

Swiftly she moved towards the open french window, stood well back and glanced into the room. Rita was there, lying back in a rattan chair with her foot raised to a stool, while the devoted Clive knelt beside her, jerkily bandaging an ankle that Karen knew instinctively was as sound as her own. Rita looked scared and shaken, though. Perhaps, out on that ship, she had had to make a decision, and Clive had won; the twisted ankle gambit wouldn
’
t have worked with any other man, but Clive would believe anything, so long as his Rita stayed with him. He was accustomed to torment.

But maybe he wouldn
’
t get so much more of it. It could be that Rita had at last learned her lesson, for as Karen
watched, Clive looked up at his wife, and Rita, the cynical sensation-seeker, smiled faintly at him and slipped a hand over his hair. The gesture was a knife in Karen
’
s heart.

She turned and stumbled blindly along the path.