Full Tide (23 page)

“We’re better without it,” said Mrs. Basson comfortably. “We can’t read so we’ll just have to talk. This time next week you won’t be here to gossip with. I’m going to miss you, Lisa.
”

“But you’ll still come and see Nancy, won’t you?” begged Lisa. “I wish that child could be persuaded to be civil to Mrs. Hatherly
.
At least,
s
he’s
too
civil; I wish she’d show her some affection.”

“She’s improving. Last Sunday her father told me
...
” She broke, off and added with a small laugh, “Yes, I was here last Sunday, while you were away in Johannesburg with Jeremy. I brought Nancy up to lunch because I didn’t like to think of the doctor being alone. He said he
had
been lonely, so I didn’t do wrong.” She paused and queried hesitantly, “Lisa, have you ever mentioned to Dr. Veness that I have rather more money than I know what to do with?”

“Why, no!”

“Don’t worry, my dear. If you haven’t, no one else has—which means he doesn’t know, thank heaven. Money is the only commodity which is likely to put him off.” A glimmering of what she was getting at got through to Lisa and she had to learn more. “Put him off what?” In the shadowed room Mrs. Basson’s face was unreadable but her tones had a gentle smile in them. “I’m going to marry the doctor. I don’t suppose he’ll propose for some time yet, but he’ll come round to it, and as it’s something I want very badly, I’ll have the patience to wait till he’s ready. I expect that astonishes you?”

“I’m afraid it does.” Yet straightway her brain accepted the rightness of it for all three of them: Mrs. Basson, the doctor and Nancy. “Will
it work out? I’ve always regarded him as off marriage for good.”

“That’s because you’re young and all your ideas about marriage have the idealistic trend. Dr. Veness has had that sort of marriage, and so have I. Now, we each need a companion. He’s an understanding man, Lisa; h
e
sees and hears a heap more than you think, and he’s very lonely. That’s why he sent for Nancy.”

“He could have sent for her before.”

“He hadn’t the housekeeper, and he couldn’t have left the child to the mercy of Zulu servants.”

“He likes you,” said Lisa. “And she does, too.”

Mrs. Basson nodded. “It was Nancy who decided me to go all out to make them both happy, but it wasn’t a
sudden decision. These past weeks I’ve had to sift all sorts of repressions inside myself. Do you know, it was an absolute relief when my jewellery was stolen. I’ve always felt that I didn’t give my husband a square deal and that was probably the reason I chained myself to his memory. Remorse and self-torture. Now that I’m free of all those expensive gifts I can see more clearly. He wasn’t the
gay type, but I did give him all the I could and the two children he’d set his heart on. I didn’t cheat him, even though I was glad he had money. Since he died I’ve been so aimless and worthless, and it’s so grand to have a plan for someone else’s good, as well as my own.” She drew a breath. “If this
comes off, Lisa, I’ll never have to wonder again what, to do with my money. I’ll be able to help the poorer patients, and perhaps Dr. Veness has some pet scheme which is held up for funds; doctors often have.
It’s funny,” she ended musingly, “but I’ve been scared of marrying again in case I discovered later
that cash had been the attraction. With Dr.
Veness it’s just the opposite.
If he knew my financial position, he’d freeze right off.”

The longer Lisa contemplated Mrs. Basson’s hopes, the
more she liked them. Nancy
would bloom as she had never been able to before, and Dr. Veness was the type to make a loyal and devoted husband. He could not give Laura the sort of love he had given his first wife
but she would not want it. Their romantic phase was
past but they could look forward to long years of quiet happiness in this house, and give a real home to three children who
were at a stage when they most needed an anchor. Lisa felt a thrust of sadness. She would like to be somewhere near to see it all happen, though she knew that Mrs. Basson would have preserved silence had Lisa not
been almost on the point of
de
parture.
The subject
was changed suddenly by the element
s.
Thunder cracked and violet lightning shot across the sky.

A wind tore through the trees and smacked large drops rain against the windows, and a few minutes later the deluge hit the roof.

Mrs. Hatherly entered to make an inspection of the window fastenings. She never credited others with having a degree of common sense comparable with her own, and
she scarcely glanced at the two women on the divan before gliding out again, slim, elderly and disapproving.

They chatted desultorily, had some tea and finally put on the lights to do some sewing. The rain had steadied but was still heavy enough to drench anyone walking a hundred yards. Dr. Veness came in, tired and wet after a day spent between his town consulting rooms and the Indian clinic. They all dined together at seven-thirty, and shortly after eight Nancy went to bed.

Not long after this the telephone rang. The doctor spoke at some length in his room,
and when he came out he was wearing
a
fresh raincoat and carrying his bag. He poked his head into the lounge.

“I have a call in town which may take me some time. If you like, I can give you a lift to the Avalon, Mrs. Basson, and get someone to run your coupe dow
n
in the morning. It’s not too safe for you to drive in such heavy rain.”

“That’s very kind of you.
I
was wondering what to
do.”

They went off together and Lisa remained in her chair by the reading-lamp, a book open on her knee but her head against the back of the chair and her gaze ruminating on the ornate old ceiling. Inevitably, she thought of Laura Basson and the doctor, and knew both gladness and envy. Many times she had wished she had chosen any vessel but the
Wentworth
for the journey to South Africa, but this good, at least, had come out of it. If all went well five people would attain stability and joy, whereas she was only one. Perhaps this queer, hard ache would soften in time to something tolerable.

She would provide herself with plenty to do on the return voyage and definitely fight off any young man who remotely resembled Jeremy Carne. But it was unlikely that any man would again get through her defences; she was too chilled inside.

The rain must almost have ceased, for Mrs. Hatherly went out—doubtless to play cribbage with the schoolmaster’s widow down the road. The houseboy had gone along the garden to his room, so that now the house was hushed, and caressed by soft rain.

The hush, however, did not last long. There came an unheralded whiplash of lightning simultaneously with a tumble of thunder, and the light went out. Straight after that it cascaded with rain, torrents of it.

For several minutes Lisa sat utterly still in the beating blackness. The electricity had failed before in a storm but then it had been daylight, and the only inconvenience had been the stopping of the refrigerator motor. She knew a torch reposed in the drawer of the hall table, and presently,
thinking
to take a peep at Nancy, she cautiously stood up and felt her way to the door. She was at the hall ta
b
le when the doorbell rang.

For a moment the whole atmosphere was paralyzing:
Total blackness, roaring rain—and someone at the door needing the doctor. She fumbled for the torch and flicked on the light. That was better, though the darkness outside the shaped beam was eerie. She went over to the door, stilled a small fear and opened it.

The flashlight illumined the centre part
and the
belt of
a
navy rainproof
,
slanted swiftly to light up an angular face.

Then it was taken from her hand and the cone of light fell harmlessly upon the hall carpet.

“What’s going on?” asked Mark evenly
.
“A power cut?”

She couldn’t reply at once. Her back was against the wall, her hands pressed hard to its reassuring surface. The door closed and she heard, rather than saw, the depositing of stormproof and hat upon the floor. A cool, damp hand brushed her forearm and she quivered.

“What a
...
pleasant surprise,” she managed thinly.

“Is it?” A pause. “Are you alone?”

“Practically. Nancy’s in bed and the others are out.” She forced energy into her voice. “There are lamps and candles in the kitchen cupboard for this kind of emergency. If
you’ll sit down. I’ll get them.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Knowing the house, she had to take the torch and go first. She was aware of
him close behind, and had to swallow on the suffocating obstruction
which had come into her throat. Against her will she had desperately longed to see him
again, but now he was here she was
afraid, palpitatingly afraid. Perversely, though, she was disappointed that he was still aloof. Coming in out of the wild night he should have been different.

She found the cupboard and the candles, but the lamps seemed to have been left out in the garden shed. Mark struck a match and set it to two wicks, pressed each candle into a heavy metal candlestick and snapped off the flashlight.

The twin flames were set one each end of the white kitchen table, and Lisa stood near one of them, her face pale in the restricted radiance, her hair cloudy and touched with a silvery whiteness. As she looked a
c
ross at him her eyes were very dark. Without giving herself time to examine his features she said, “It was a beastly night to come visiting.”

“I arrived by air an hour ago, booked in at the hotel and came straight up.”

“You took a plane from England?”

He nodded. “From London, the night before last.” Just then he seemed disinclined to say more, and Lisa, still cold and apprehensive, could summon no banality to break the silence. With the electricity dead she could not even offer him a cup of coffee.

“Odd sort of meeting, isn’t it?” he said at last. “No one would imagine that we were in the least happy to see each other.”

She made a complication of moving one of the candles and pulling a chair from its place at the table. “I’m sorry. If you hadn’t arrived just as the lights failed I would have been more welcoming. Come into the lounge and I’ll get you a drink.”

“I don’t need one, thanks.” He hooked out the other chair and sat down, half facing her with the corner of the table between
them. “Did you expect never to see me again?”

“You did break your promise to write.”

“No, I wrote you more than once, but the letters never got as far as the post box.” His voice deepened and took an edge. “If you hadn’t been in such a damned hurry for Dr. Veness to send me a cheque I’d have written you from Cape Town. Why did you do that Lisa?”

“Why did I tell Dr. Veness about Nancy at Las Palmas?
I had to; he had a right to know.”

“But he wouldn’t have rushed the cheque to the ship by special messenger unless you asked him to. Men don’t act that way. He would have been satisfied to reach
me in Cape Town, or even in London. You begged him to settle the debt before I left Durban because you wanted everything tidily closed. Isn’t that so?”

Her tones were low. “You know how it was. You di
s
liked me because I wouldn’t please Astra
...
”

“Leave it,” he said abruptly.

So he still could not bear to hear words against Astral Carmichael. Then why was he here, and not in Johannesburg with the woman! Why did
h
e have to bring his tormenting presence to Durban, to the house
of Dr. Veness?

“I came,” he said deliberately, as if in answer to her thoughts, “because the doctor’s sister telephoned me that, you had fixed up your passage home.”

“Anthea? You’ve met her?” she queried, amazed.

“I had to
m
eet her; she was my only link with you. I made her acquaintance the day af
t
er the
Wentworth
d
ocked
at Southampton and asked her to let me know anything she heard from you or about you.”

“But what on earth did she think?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care.” He leaned one elbow on the table, studying her face in the candlelight. “Have you been seeing Carne?”

“Occasionally.” This was like a one-sided, fencing match; she herself had no weapon.

“Is he settling down into the stolid young beau?”

“Not mine,” she said, her throat tight
.
“I’m going home.”

He tried to lean back but the chair was too small. It creaked. “This is the first time we’ve been toget
h
er as two normal human beings. On the ship we had the whole crew and staff, the hundreds of passengers and all the rules and regulations between us. We never talked ordinarily, as man and woman, because being master of the ship tied me to a certain code of behavior—which didn’t include making love to one of the passengers!”

“Did you
...
want to?” She hoped she did not sound as frightened as she felt.

“Is it hard to believe? It shouldn’t be.” He was cynical now. “You’re sweet and appealing, young and tender, possessed of a bright independence, and you have an exceptionally pretty neck. In the dining saloon I saw rather a lot of that neck with the hair curling about the nape. And I used also to see the line of your jaw and the
corner
of your mouth. Then one day from the bridge deck, I saw young Carne kiss that same cheek, and how glad I was I had never given way to that particular urge.”

“So that’s
w
hy you changed,” she said quickly. “You despised me. He only kissed me that once, and I hardly noticed it. I didn’t lie to you about it.”

“A kiss, a special
smile and linked arms.” He shrugged; his manner sharpened. “You’re still only half alive, Lisa. ’You’ve never experienced a stab of frustration or jealousy, you’ve never wanted something you daren’t touch or had feelings strong enough to keep you awake night after night
!
”

He got to his feet so suddenly that the chair toppled
with a little thud. Hands dug into his pockets, he came nearer and looked down at her, and she thought there were lines of strain at the corners of his eyes and a grimness at his mouth.

“You’re not happy, Mark,” she whispered.

“No, I’m not, and somehow I can’t even laugh it off with sarcasm. Mockery used to be an infallible outlet, but it isn’t any longer. The strange part of it
is
that it did seem as if everything had decided to work towards one end. Before we left on that trip I knew about the business proposition in this country, that I might be leaving the sea.”

“Tell me about it,” she pleaded, still almost below her breath.

He stepped back a bit into the shadows, and half turned away. “It’s not complicated. The shipping company decided to start a new coastal line—both for passengers and freight—round the coast of, the sub-continent, from Lagos to Mombasa. It was under discussion for about a year before they acted. I had to consult with officials of the
company in Cape Town and Durban to take back a report, and in London there’s been endless detail to work out—board meetings and debates on the legal aspects without end. We’re starting with a small fleet in two months’ time, and I have charge of the organizing and running of the service.
”

“Is it what you’ve been after?” she asked softly, hesitantly.

“More or less, but like most of the things one chases for a long time, it’s lost savor.”

“You’ll want it again,” she said. “You’re tired now.” He made no reply for some while. A draught bent the candle flames and sent wisps of smoke into the air. Rain still hammered upon the roof but the thunder was rolling far away, over the sea. The smell of rain and mud was everywhere. Above the noise Lisa heard the thin chime of the
dining
room clock. It was only nine, yet she seemed to have been imprisoned here with Mark by the darkness for ever.

He shifted. “You’re a coward, Lisa. You’ve fought away from every implication in what I’ve been saying.”

“No, I haven’t.” Her head bent low. “I don’t think I’ve quite believed them,
t
hat’s all.
”