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‘Oh,’ she shrugged, ‘I mean you look cool, self-reliant and elegant ... even in wranglers.’

‘Well,’ he said, and stepped back, his legs apart, and looking down at them, ‘I prefer this character you have just invented to the velvet-hatbox type of gentleman, I think. I am starving,’ he went on, ‘and I hope you are too. I can’t stand women who pick at their food.’ His voice was very reasonable and made it impossible for her to go on being churlish and childish.

In the dining-room, with its walls of glass on three sides, they helped themselves to fruit... mangoes, pawpaw, tiny pineapples, which were deliciously and unbelievably sweet and cut down the centre, fat yellow bananas, and this was followed by crisp bacon and an omelette. Over coffee Jade said, ‘Everything is so blue and so green and gold. The beaches are so white and fine, all perfect foils for the pink oleanders and pink and red hibiscus. Actually, the beach reminds me of a setting for a pirate film scene.’

‘Where we are going you won’t be able to see over the sugar-cane, which seems to grow extra high in Mauritius.’

‘Marlow has written about the high cane,’ she said quietly. After a moment she asked, Do you know it— Marlow’s plantation house?’

‘I have been there, yes ... once or twice.'

‘I—but I thought you were not a friend of Marlow’s?’ She was instantly puzzled.

'I’m not. I went to pick up Nicole who was visiting there.'

‘Oh, I see,’ she replied, hut she didn’t see, though she overcame the temptation to ask him what Nicole was doing there.

They walked back to his chalet and his car was parked in front of it, near to the leaning palm which he had previously pointed out as a landmark to her, since the chalets all looked the same.

As he opened the car door for her he said, 'You should be wearing a white lace hat with a cluster of real yellow or pink roses on it.’

When he got in beside her she said, very softly, ‘By the way, thank you for the yellow roses you sent along to my room.'

‘Did you get high on them?' he asked, turning to look at her, 'like you said you do?’

‘They're beautiful,’ she said, after a moment.

She was wearing a cinnamon cotton sun-frock with sandals to match and had donned sunglasses which blotted out her dark blue eyes—and most of her pert face, for that matter ... all very casual and understated, but she knew she looked good. Interesting gold bangles made clinking noises on both wrists when she moved.

'Do you know,' Laurent was saying as he turned the car and made for the driveway which led in the direction of huge white pillars which had black wrought-iron gates fastened back from them, 'there is a flawless and polished but nevertheless casually stated look about you. I should imagine that being a beautician adds to the gift you have of making yourself even more beautiful ...
if
that is possible.’

‘Well,' she tried not to show her pleasure, ‘it is my job, after all, to help women to look more beautiful than they really are, and …' she shrugged, 'I guess that goes for myself, too.'

Looking back at the chalet, the tears she had shed during the night were forgotten and she decided to give herself up to the present. Laurent’s chalet, she thought, seemed to respond to every change of mood and of light. At sunset the day before it had resembled a rare piece of Hushed-pink jade on the green lawn. Now, however, it appeared dusky-pink in the hot sun and very islandish.

Some of the roads Laurent took to Curepipe were rutted and potholed. 'I am taking short cuts,’ Laurent told her. ‘I will link up with the main road presently. These potholes and ruts are from a bygone cyclone and have not been repaired. See that wash-away, over there?'

‘Was the road washed away like that by a—
cyclone
?
'
Jade asked, astonished, widening her eyes.

‘Does that make you nervous?’ He turned to look at her, and laughed softly.

‘Yes, it does. It makes me very nervous.'

Reaching for her hand, he said, ‘Don’t worry. We experience a very bad cyclone only every thirteen to fifteen years.'

’In what month?' Her eyes went to his tanned hand which covered her own.

‘Oh ....' he shrugged and took his hand away, ‘mostly January and February. Sometimes, in March.'

‘It 's February now,' she said.

‘Yes. But don't let that worry you. We receive warning by radio well in advance.'

‘Oh, and then?’ She was conscious of suddenly being at ease with him.

'Well, we batten down, of course.' She had the feeling he was making light of it.

They were travelling inland. Some of the roads had been like passes, twisting up through the thick green growth of spice trees, strelitzia, palm and fern trees, and then often, for long spells at a time, they could not see anything over the tall sugar cane.

‘What’s that strange tall structure?’ she asked, leaning towards him, and he turned to look at her quickly and their eyes met.

‘It is a ruined sugar mill,’ he said. ‘You will like my house, I think.’ He gave his attention to driving. ‘What’s it like?’ she asked.

Oh ....’ she liked the way he always shrugged his shoulders in that French manner, ‘poised ... hugging the slopes of a mountain ... snobbish, almost.’

‘Snobbish?’ She laughed. ‘That’s a strange way to describe a house.’

‘It is a Mauritian house,’ he explained. ‘It is the sort of house a knowledgeable native builds to see him through cyclones.’

They were passing a bougainvillea-covered shack and she was prompted to say, -A knowledgeable and wealthy native, don’t you mean?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid that is often the case here. Well then, it is a Mauritian house a knowledgeable and wealthy native builds to see him through cyclones ... and relatives coming from France.’

Jade laughed easily with him. While he had been talking she had been of the opinion that she had annoyed him with her remark.

'You are pleased you came now?’ he asked, after a moment.

‘Yes ... I don’t really know, actually.’

‘What do you mean—you don’t really know?’ His mood seemed to change.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, ‘but I shouldn’t be gadding like this.'

‘Translated, that means you are feeling guilty.’ He turned to look at her, and when she made no reply he said, ‘You have not answered my question.’

‘Or course I fee! guilty! Don’t taunt me. Nicole de Speville makes me feel even worse.’

‘That is understandable, of course,’ he shrugged. ‘She would, but I suggest we put these two out of our minds today ... Nicole and Marlow Lewis. Right now,’ he lifted her hand and brushed her fingers with his lips and she found herself thrilling to his touch, ‘I am only aware of the fact that I have a very beautiful girl with me and I know the sensation of longing to please her.’ Glancing at her, he said, 'Forget them.’

The way in which he referred to Nicole made it clear that, although he was involved with the beautiful Comtesse, he wished to ignore the fact at this particular time.

The sweet scent of sugar was in the Mauritian air. Jade tried to push her feelings of guilt to one side and to overlook the fact that Laurent Sevigny was not the sort to be faithful to any one girl. Neither did the clashing of ages appear to worry him.

‘The mountains here always fascinate me,’ he was saying against her fingers, ‘heaved, as they were, into shape by volcanic eruptions so many, many ages ago.’

‘They fascinate me too.’ She turned to look moodily at him and then held her breath as he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

‘I’m going to take you somewhere first before we drive into Curepipe,’ he said. ‘It is called Trou aux Cerfs.’

When she tried to repeat it, after him, he laughed. ‘Listen—Troooh-Serf. It is quite easy.’

‘What is it?’ she asked, swept up in his mood.

‘Wait, and see. It is a landmark.’

‘Like your leaning palm?’ she asked innocently and slanting her blue eyes at him.

‘No, not like my leaning palm.’ He turned to look at her. ‘My leaning palm is a very private landmark, this is a tourist attraction.’

They were high up now and the town of Curepipe lay below them. When he had parked the car he said, ‘Come. What you see now is an extinct volcanic crater. It means “hole of the deer”.’

As they stood looking across the huge crater he came to stand very close to her and placing an arm about her he said, ‘You spoke about the pyramids of rock in the cane fields. Here lies the explanation. Those fields are covered with basalt rocks and are heaped into minipyramids to enable the cane fields to be ploughed.’

‘You can see half across the island from here,’ said Jade, acutely aware of him. ‘It’s wonderful—and no tourists about at the moment.’

It was very breezy and the wind caught her dark hair and blew it across her face, and with his free hand Laurent smoothed it back. It was all a game with him, she knew, and yet she felt excited by him. ‘Over there,’ he turned her slightly and his hands were warm on her bare shoulders, ‘you can see Trois Mamelles.’

'Troy-ma-mell,' she repeated after him, and laughed.

‘That is right. You are coming on. There is supposed to be a similarity to bosoms.’

‘Bosoms?’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘I don’t think the description at all adequate. They look just what they are—ramparts.’

When he turned her round slowly to face him, her blue eyes searched his which were the colour of a moody sea. ‘It depends on the owner,’ he said and, bending his head, placed his lips on the small hollow which divided her breasts which were taut beneath the sun-frock.

‘No, please, Laurent,' she protested.

‘I prefer my women to be slender and stylish,' he told her. ‘You, of course, answer to that description,;

As he straightened and took her into his arms she was thinking a little wildly that his skin was like unflawed copper. She could feel the silky hairs on his chest, where his shirt was unbuttoned, against her own and again on his arms. It’s just for today, she told herself consolingly. Just for today ... as much for him as for myself....

With rising excitement she responded to his kisses. She fought the thickening clouds of doubt which threatened to break up that excitement for her ... and won. Laurent’s fingers were in her hair, on her throat. Dimly she was aware of the murmurings of Curepipe below and then of the sound of the purr of an engine as a car climbed the hill towards them.

‘In any case,’ said Laurent, releasing her, ‘this is no place to make love. Here in Mauritius we have a saying and that is—it is no problem. There is plenty of time for us.'

Humiliated, she said, ‘I think that’s a stupid expression. Everybody has a problem from time to time. My problem right now is that I’ve allowed myself to be ... to be....’

‘Yes?’ His voice was curt.

‘Well, caught up like this.' She gave him a kind of drowned look. Her eyes went to his chiselled mouth. She felt fury rise in her against him. ‘I wish you’d leave me alone! ’

‘Underlying your remark I detect constraint.’ His green eyes held hers. Suddenly he reached out his hands and drew her head towards him, cupping it with his fingers which were in her hair. ‘In other words, you are bothered by pretence. You don’t want me to leave you alone.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips and then released her. A short distance from them the car which they had heard had stopped and doors were being opened.

Curepipe was unlike any other town Jade had ever seen, with its bustling streets and pavements, trodden by people of many races ... people with chocolate-coloured faces, ebony faces, yellow faces, white faces.

Completely fascinated, her eyes took in the vivid saris of the Indian women, Creole girls still wearing the ever-popular mini, Chinese men in slacks and bright cotton shirts, Moslems in tarbooshes. Some people, she noticed, even appeared to be clad in rags.

Laurent parked the car and for a moment they sat watching the people go by, cramming the narrow basalt pavements. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I suggest we enjoy ourselves.’

Jade bit her lip as he turned her face towards him, by placing his fingers beneath her chin. ‘Enjoy Curepipe with me.’ His eyes were serious. ‘You know you want to. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’ She went on looking at him.

Taking his fingers from her face, he said, ‘It is really quite modern, Curepipe, when you get used to it. Different, that is all. Here you will find shops stocked with Oriental and Western merchandise. Curepipe is good and it is bad ... like you.’ He gave her a smile. ‘And like you, Curepipe often weeps.’

‘How do you know I weep?’ she asked.

‘I have you summed up,' he replied.

‘And you think I’m bad?’ There was an edge to her voice.

‘If wanting—desiring—me to make love to you is bad, then yes, you are very bad.’ His eyes went to her lips and then lifted to her own. There was a slight mocking expression in their green depths.

‘You could say that a fault of yours,’ she retorted, ‘is that you’re outrageously conceited. Like you, I’m just amusing myself.’ As she said this, she knew a moment of despair. ‘But tell me,' she tried to sound flippant, ‘why does Curepipe weep? You didn’t tell me.’

‘It drizzles here, quite often,’ he told her. She knew that he was annoyed with her and it gave her satisfaction. ‘However, it clears just as quickly. You see, it is nearly six hundred metres above sea level. During the winter nights it is common for people here to light a fire.’ Suddenly he leaned over her side and undid the door-catch for her and then he was at her side, as she stepped on to the teeming pavement.

He had parked outside a large oriental-looking shop and, taking her arm, he guided her towards the entrance.

‘This is my other interest on the island,’ he told her.

‘Apart from women, you mean?’ a devil prompted her to say.

‘Yes, apart from women,’ his voice was almost brutal, she found herself thinking, ‘and apart from my interest in the hotel and sister hotels, this is my other interest. I have already mentioned to you that collecting fine things is in my blood—in the blood of my family—and for this reason, I decided to open this shop in Curepipe. My family are interested in such goings-on in France. I wanted to surprise you with the beauty confined in this shop, but you are doing your best to destroy this surprise with your childish remarks. I think this is the most sought-after shop in Mauritius—it
is
the most sought-after shop, no two ways about it. The tourist with money comes here. I, of course, have a staff here and the entire project is managed for me by a person I hold in high esteem. In a shop such as this, prices are fixed. In small, obscure shops, however, the prices demanded are often far above the value of the goods ... so beware of this when you shop. But in any case, you are expected to haggle. The shopkeeper expects it.’