They Met in Zanzibar (14 page)

She wasn’t worried, because common sense told her that in an amalgamation of the plantations some of the workers would eventually be sacked as superfluous, and that would act as a brake on the demands of her father’s hands. She had heard that to obviate hardship a coconut-oil extraction plant was to be installed, but it would all take time. Almost the first thing you learned in the South Seas was that there was no hurry for anything. A decision postponed might not have to be made.

Straight after lunch she drove out to collect a few supplies. The town, almost deserted at this hour, was a glaring white succession of buildings with a tall palm here and there reaching well above the roofs and forming a vast green fan against the sky. A few canoes seemed to rest without moving on a steel-blue sea and a freighter was steaming out to the horizon. It was one of those startlingly clear days when, if you stared hard, you could see the miniature outlines of palms rising from a spit of sand some miles out to sea. Peg’s glance followed the horizon, and as she looked to the right she thought of the beautiful little bay beyond this one; Nabanui. It wasn’t easy to forget Nabanui.

She drove back to the plantation and had just unloaded the wagon when a car pulled up outside. She reached the door just as Lynette Foster, in a delicious white tennis frock and with a narrow white band about her bronze-dark hair, came into the shade of the porch.

“Good heavens, aren’t you ready? I told Dick Fellowes I’d pick you up to save him the trip out.”

In spite of her strong antipathy for Lynette, Peg was contrite. “We’ve been so busy this week that I forgot the tennis party. I’m no expert, but I did say I’d show up. Can you wait five minutes?”

“Well ...
yes, but do be quick.”

Peg fumed a little as she washed and changed into an ordinary pleated tennis get-up. She would have loved a lazy afternoon and evening and certainly did not relish a trip back to town, with Lynette Foster this time. When she came back into the living room carrying a racket, Lynette was still at the door, her mouth curved in a smile that looked sulky but was natural to her.

“I’ve got Steve’s car. He and my brother are out with the surveyor in the truck, and I suppose if they’re through in time they’ll come in Mike’s little bus.” She laughed. “I suppose I ought to have taken Mike’s really, but Steve’s car sitting in front of our bungalow was too great a temptation. I wish I could hear what he says when he finds it gone!”

“For his sake I hope you’re a good driver.”

“Steve says I’m the best woman driver he knows.”

“You couldn’t have a better recommendation than that. Let’s start.”

When they were moving Lynette slanted a narrow glance towards Peg. “That remark of yours sounded a wee bit ironical. I think I ought to tell you that I’m fond of Steve and don’t want to hear anything against him.”

“I’ve no intention of talking about him, and if I had, I wouldn’t talk against him.”

“I thought it wise to mention it. You see, I’ve heard about you and your father - how you’re determined to be different from everyone else and fight a sort of last-ditch battle. Mike is quite impressed, but he’s young and the newest man here. Steve hasn’t said anything for or against you because he’s hoping you’ll give in, but for what it’s
worth...”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“I’m not discussing, I’m telling you,” said the dark girl sharply, as she swung the car down towards the first bridge. “Motu is a peaceful island, always has been. When the company has taken over the plantations there’ll be more prosperity and the whole set-up here will be marvellous. If you think that you and your father, with your paltry thousand acres
...
”
she broke off with a small sound of laughter. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. I suppose I’m over-anxious, for Steve’s sake. Sorry.”

It was a mechanical apology, and for Peg it came too late. She sat silent, watching the palms and the occasional group of huts. She knew why she disliked Lynette Foster, but Lynette’s reason for returning the dislike was obscure. Peg Maldon had hardly touched the fringe of her existence. But perhaps dislike on one side mostly became mutual.

Lynette drove straight to the tennis courts at the back of the Government Club, and parked the car alongside others, in the thick shade of the mango trees. A mixed doubles was in progress, but as soon as the men saw the two girls, two of them came to meet them and urge them at once on to the second court.

At first Peg played badly; she had seldom used a racket since schooldays. But she improved, and had she been better partnered might have pulled off a narrow win. It didn’t matter, though. She came off the court, accepted a lemon drink and sat in one of the canvas chairs under the trees. For about an hour she watched others play and then she played again, with different people. When she returned once more to her chair Steve was sitting close by, with Lynette. He wore fawn shorts and a white shirt, and gently swung a racket as though testing his wrist, while he talked to Lynette. He winked absently at Peg, and she shifted in her chair so that she was almost backing him, before she sank back and accepted a cup of tea and a sandwich. She was really quite tired, and hoped she wouldn’t be called upon to play again.

Now and then Lynette’s subdued tinkle of laughter followed a comment from Steve. Peg couldn’t hear what they were saying; she didn’t want to hear. But that laughter hurt; to her consternation, Peg realised that she was swallowing hard and blinking away nervous tears. Dick Fellowes’ wife, Netta, came and sat beside her, speaking gently about heaven knew what. Peg smiled a great deal to keep her talking. But she was the hostess and had to pay attention to others; she moved away.

And then Peg heard Lynette again, her voice sleek and satisfied. It was easy to imagine how she looked in the bowl-shaped rattan chair; her legs extended so that both she and he could admire them, her head on one side while she spoke through those full sulky lips and smiled at him with those dark eyes, her whole demeanour indolent and decorative ... and promising.

Peg lifted her gaze above the tennis courts, to the infinite blue heaven above a spread of graceful coconut palms. She felt the equatorial heat of the atmosphere and closed her eyes, and with the shutting out of one sense the others became more acute. First she smelled a scent that was exclusively Lynette’s, then she analysed Lynette’s tones, all silky and soft. Then words came clearly.

“You’re mocking, humorous and maddening, but I’m in love with you, Steve. Entirely and absolutely.”

Peg gripped her hands together, not believing the words she had heard. The next second she was on her feet, feeling she had to get away from these people and walk, or the turmoil inside her would rip her apart. And yet within seconds of moving away, she was beginning to recover from the shock. Which was as well, for Michael caught her up and asked her to play a singles with him.

“I’ve had enough,” she managed.

“So have I, really. Where were you going?”

“Down the path, for a short walk in the grounds. I haven’t seen them.”

“Then I’ll show you them.”

They didn’t walk for long because the day was ending. The sun, going down behind the palms, sent streamers of burning coral towards the east, and slashed the purpling sky behind the trees with knives of flame. Within seconds a
star shone, and the party broke up.

There were, murmurs of, “Let’s all meet here tonight for dinner. We’ll arrange lifts between us.”

Then Peg was in a car with Michael and telling him no, she wouldn’t be free to come back this evening; the coming Saturday would be enough for her to look forward to. Yes, she told him automatically, her father would be there. Thanks for the lift, Michael. Goodbye.

She went into the bathroom, peeled off her clothes and stood under the lukewarm shower. She put on a clean dress and while combing her hair noticed that her eyes were hollowed and unnaturally bright, like those of a convalescent patient who has had a shock. Before going to the living room she lit a cigarette. It helped.

She forced herself to swallow some food, clamped down on thought, and when bedtime came she took a nightcap with her father. It sent her heavily to sleep, and next morning there was a blank wall between herself and yesterday.

When Steve called that afternoon she was out at the shore, and she stayed there till it was almost dark. Tomorrow would be soon enough to see him again, but this Saturday there would be no repetition of last week’s little chat. She couldn’t avoid seeing him, but she wanted never to speak familiarly with him again.

She did not bother so much with her dress for the big affair as she had meant to. There was a blue figured silk which would do, and she was glad she felt physically tired from swimming when she put it on. She hadn’t meant to swim, but her father had been keen to spend the afternoon skiing and swimming, and she had naturally gone with him. And now they were both a
little
weary and relaxed, which wasn’t a bad way to feel because it left them uncaring.

When they were ready, Jim poured a couple of weak drinks. “Feel I need it, don’t you?” he said. “Imagine a whole evening with the high-hats!”

“You’ll get through. Tell some of your stories.”

Jim gave her a tired grin. “You’re my best audience, kitten. I never had a better.”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather stay away? I could go alone and come home early.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen the government lot since we had all the palaver about selling up. I’ll go this once and show ’em I’m still Jim Maldon of Coconut Island.”

“And we’ll clear out as soon as we’ve had enough. Ready?”

They went out to the estate wagon and Jim got behind the wheel while Peg took her place at his side. After a strange moment of fumbling, he started up and they rolled out on to the road. An occasional thin needle of rain hit the windscreen, but Jim said it was unlikely to develop into a real storm. The season was over.

Slowly, jerkily, he said, “Have to think
about ...
painting up the house.
Do it ...
every year ... about this ... time.”

She leant towards him in swift, dreadful anxiety. “Are you all right? Put the brake on!”

He didn’t, and as they were on a slight incline the car gathered speed. He pushed a shaking hand over a grey face that shone with sweat, opened his mouth, and swayed. Peg’s heart began a frantic pounding against her ribs. She leaned over and grabbed the wheel, tried to reach further, for the handbrake. But her father’s bulk was solid and unyielding. He fell forward over the steering wheel, trapping her hand so that she was powerless. She screamed his name, saw hazily that the estate car was quite out of control and shooting down towards the log bridge over the river.

With maniacal strength she clawed at the wheel with her trapped hand. The car swerved on to the verge and was slowed slightly by the bumpy grass. But it careered on, took a couple of mad curves while she wrenched at the whe
e
l. Panting horribly, she knelt beside Jim and tried to lift him so that she could get at the brake. In the last second before the car met a tree with shattering impact, she knew her father was dead.

CHAPTER SIX

The E
truscan vase which her mother had loved stood on the table beside Peg’s divan. Today it held half a dozen pink magnolia buds and a spray of forest fern, but yesterday it had spilled coral vine, and the day before stiff waxen frangipani flowers had sprayed from its neck. Netta Fellowes, the education officer’s wife, had made the flower arrangement her daily duty. She was a mousey
little
woman, very quiet and sympathetic, and hardly noticeable in a crowd, but whenever anyone was ill they sent for Netta. In this case, Steve Cortland had demanded her services.

It was Steve, uneasy because neither Maldon had arrived at the party, who had driven up towards their plantation that evening, and found the battered estate wagon with a dead man behind the wheel and a badly concussed girl in an unconscious heap on the floor. He had taken Peg to the clinic and called Dr. Passfield; he had also made all the other necessary arrangements and seen to it that Peg was given the government official’s suite above the clinic.

Peg knew all about it. Three weeks had passed, and the spells between headaches were getting longer, so she was aware of all that was happening at the moment and of a good deal that had gone before, during the days of semi
-
consciousness. Kindness, quietude, no more than two visitors a day; it was good of them, but Peg wished they’d leave her entirely alone. She didn’t even want flowers, particularly in that vase. Not because it had been her mother’s but because Steve had known she had brought it from England and he had felt she would like it here beside her. The fact was she wanted nothing that touched the emotions, nothing at all.

He came in now, as he did each day at about eleven. He was immaculate in off-white linen slacks and a tropical shirt, had probably been doing business in town. He had the set smile which was part of him these days, and he sat down in the chair Mrs. Fellowes always left close to the divan.

“Hi there,” he said quietly, just as he always said it. “How goes it?”

She spoke in a flat tired whisper. “I’m fine. I wish you’d believe that. You don’t have to come here every day, Steve.”