Dangerous Waters (3 page)

Terry remembered that final week before Annette had taken the plane to Singapore; the long nights, when her sister would get up and make coffee, smoke numerous cigarettes and huddle, shivering, on the side of Terry
’
s bed.

“
Why do you always seem so strong, Terry?
”
she had wailed once.
“
I
’
m your big sister, I earn twice your salary and I could marry a bank manager tomorrow, if I wanted to. Yet here I am, a jellified bit of nothing, wishing to heaven you were going with me, to laugh at everything and go mad over the sights, and tell me how absolutely lucky I am. I wish I
’
d never met Vic!
”

“
You should thank your stars you did,
”
Terry had answered soothingly.
“
There
’
s nothing to worry about. If the life out there doesn
’
t suit you, he
’
ll bring you home.
”

“
He won
’
t, you know,
”
Annette had stated despairingly.
“
I couldn
’
t dissuade him even when we were only just engaged. Once we belong together I won
’
t stand a chance.
”

“
You
’
ll be in a stronger position, and in any case, Vic couldn
’
t bear to see you wilted and languid. For his sake, you have to give it a trial.
”

“
And what about me?
”

“
It
’
s for your sake, too. If you
’
d managed to scotch the whole thing you
’
d always feel you
’
d denied him something he wanted very much. Well, he
’
s having his fling now, and he wants you to share it. You should be thrilled!
”

“
The way I feel,
”
Annette had returned hollowly,
“
my wedding will be the gloomiest on record. Whatever happens, you
’
ll come, won
’
t you? You
’
d never let me down—
promise
!”

Terry had promised, earnestly and with sparkling eyes. Then, her own departure by a cheaper mode of travel had been three weeks away, and she had felt she could hardly wait. Only four days before she had left England Annette
’
s letter had arrived. True to her word, she had given a long description of the air trip to Singapore and up the coast of Malaya, of Vic
’
s meeting her at Khota Mipis and the journey in his car to Penghu. In almost a formal manner she had given details of Penghu and Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, with whom she was staying. She had ended:
“
Nothing seems in the least real—not even Vic. I feel completely void. You don
’
t know how much I wish we had scraped together the air fare for you, Terry. Thank heaven you
’
ll soon be on your way. I couldn
’
t face this outlandish way of getting married if you weren
’
t here.
”

And now, it seemed, she would have to face it alone or postpone the wedding. Terry couldn
’
t bear to think about it.

She left both cases locked, and took toilet articles from the bucket bag. While she was wondering where to put them, a Malay woman came in, carrying a primitive bamboo chair which had a plaited grass seat. The woman had smooth features and doe eyes and she wore a sarong with a baju, a costume which showed a coffee-brown midriff. She went out, and immediately returned, bearing a wooden tray that held a clay pot full of water and a couple of earthenware cups. One of the cups contained a little yellow liquid, to which the woman added water. She brought the drink to Terry, proffering it with both hands.

Terry took it and thanked her, sipped and nodded that it was good. The woman smiled shyly and withdrew. Terry finished the drink, poured water and drank that too; but plain, it tasted of disinfectant and reminded her of Pete Sternham. He seemed careless and indolent, not easily perturbed about the rest of the world, but there had been that moment after he had spoken to the little official at the end of the jetty when he had looked taut as steel and rather an unpleasant man to cross—the type, perhaps, to dip disinfectant into every well in Vinan. Though their regulations—that rigid set of canons set up by a District Officer so many years ago—undoubtedly instructed that every source of water supply in and around the district be heavily loaded with antiseptic.

Terry sat down on the chair and at once stood up again. To pass the time she used some of the water to brush her teeth, but after that there was nothing to do. She stood in the doorway of the rest-house and looked about her. Palms grew in wild disorder to right and left; it was as if a rectangle had been cleared especially for the hut, and left open only on the village side. There was a wide path between lalang grasses and trees, a glimpse of a couple of houses set back on stilts among the branches, and that was all.

Terry walked a few yards up the path, turned back to find a Malay policeman only a pace behind her. Worried and exasperated, she went back into the hut and sat down, dropped her head into her hands. What could she do? Even if she got back to Shalak within a few days, which seemed unlikely, she would still have no means of direct communication with Annette. And the day after tomorrow Annette would become anxious and start making enquiries. She might hear that no trains were coming through from Vinan, but would it occur to her that Terry was safe but compelled to travel by a much longer route from Shalak? And how soon, for heaven
’
s sake, would it be possible to find a post office which would send a telegram?

After an age, the sun went down, crickets chirped and fireflies winged about in the sudden darkness. The Malay woman brought a bowl of rice and stewed meat that tasted strong. Separately, on a shiny green leaf, she gave Terry a small yellow tablet.

“
Tuan,
”
she said, and touched her mouth.

Good old tuan thought Terry wearily. She could imagine him leaving behind him a tube of anti-malaria tablets with instructions that the white woman was to be given one of them every day, and watched till she swallowed it. He
’
d be on his way by now, of course. Well, good luck to him; she hoped he
’
d get stuck in a swamp and hole the canoe.

Then, sickeningly, it occurred to her that she had given him no note for Annette; she had not even told him where to find her. True, it might be easy to locate a newcomer among the white women of Penghu, and to give him his due, she thought she could trust him to do his best, but he was the kind to put things boldly, without preamble. And there was Annette, already keyed up for a marriage she was not too sure she wanted...

Terry had to leave the meat and rice. She walked round the small room, decided she must have air, and went outside again. There were faint points of light among the trees and she could hear talking and the inevitable rustling. The smell of woodsmoke mingled with that of cooking food, and from somewhere nearby came the dank, earthy perfume of jungle flowers. Her guard was squatting between two young palm trees with a rice bowl on his knee. He watched her with interest, but made no move to follow her as she squeezed past the palms to walk round the back of the hut. There, she was surprised to discover another small room—a cubicle which contained a galvanized bath full of tepid water. Flies floated, a bar of mottled soap sat in an old-fashioned metal soap-basket that hung lopsidedly over the edge of the bath, and a carefully folded strip of brown towelling lay on the floor.

Past thinking very clearly, Terry stripped, immersed herself, dried and immediately began to perspire; she got back into her blouse and skirt. She went inside the hut and lay down, slipped into the sort of coma in which the slight movements of others go unnoticed. She did realize that the Malay woman had come in and unobtrusively stretched on the floor near the wall, but that was all, till she awoke several hours later in complete darkness. From then until dawn, she was aware of every movement of the guard outside, every breath of the woman who slept so peacefully on the hard floor. And she was so sunk in despondency that she could have wept and wept. She had promised Annette, and had let her down. The whole journey had been useless, and it would have been much better if Annette had known from the beginning that she could not count on Terry. Annette was perhaps at this moment lying awake in her room at Penghu, and longing to be able to talk out all the things which had happened since her arrival; telling herself, no doubt, that it wouldn
’
t be long before she and Terry got together.

It was no use reminding herself that Annette was twenty-four and much more sophisticated than she herself would ever be. Sophistication is a dependable quality in ordinary circumstances; but Annette was out of her element, uncertain. During the last week before she married there would be no one but Terry whom Annette would want, no other woman, anyway. Over and over again Terry
’
s brain repeated the final paragraph of the letter from her sister.
“
Nothing seems in the least real—not even Vic
...
”

The Malay woman slipped out of the hut and the next moment, seemingly, dawn broke, and the village came to life. Terry swung down her legs and held her aching head. Was it any use demanding to see that massive headman who had looked as if he knew too much yesterday? Was there anything he could do, if she did? She was alone here now; as far as the outside world was concerned, this place wouldn
’
t exist till the next boat came up the river with a gang of Malay
’
s who would begin some time to repair the little railway. Would she get away on the boat? And if she did, would it be good or bad to be drifting back down the river to Shalak, the seedy little kuala she had left two—
no,
three days ago?

Annette, I
’
m so sorry, so terribly sorry. I can
’
t bear having to do this to you!

She forced herself to her feet and went round to the rustic bathroom. The bath had been emptied and fresh water stood in a large gourd on a stool, with a clean towel beside it. She washed, went back into the hut and combed her hair. She hadn
’
t the heart to get out a clean blouse; there was something so final about opening up one
’
s suitcase and finding somewhere for a few dresses to hang and get rid of their creases.

She heard a rustling outside, told herself that if the Malay woman brought rice she would scream the place down. But it wasn
’
t the Malay woman who came into the room. Terry lifted her head and stared, lips parted, felt her chin tremble and her jaw muscles tighten up, to steady it.

“
Good morning,
”
said Pete Sternham.
“
How do you feel?
”

Terry had not known she was strung up. She only knew now that the relief was so great that her limbs had gone useless.

“
Hallo,
”
she almost croaked.
“
Wouldn
’
t they let you go, after all?
”

“
Yes, I could have gone. Had breakfast?
”

“
I don
’
t want any.
”
Her voice gathered strength and she made the understatement of the year.
“
I
’
m glad to see you. Why didn
’
t you let me know you were staying?
”

“
I did come along at about midnight, but you were asleep. A troubled sleep, by the sound of things, so I turned you over on your side.
”

“
You ... you
what
?”

He smiled negligently.
“
That
’
s what you do to children, isn
’
t it, when they dream? Anyway, it worked. Come out of this black hole. I want to
ta
lk to you.
”

“
Do you bring hope, or have you come to say goodbye?
”

“
That
’
s up to you. Let
’
s turn along this path away from the village. We
’
ll be followed, but it doesn
’
t matter. There won
’
t be any trouble.
”

As they moved along under a fine tracery of ferns and a ceiling of thicker leaves, Terry felt her nerves quietening. That was what knowing a white man was near did to you, even if the white man did happen to be this cool character.
“
Are you definitely leaving this morning?
”
she asked.