They Met in Zanzibar (16 page)

“You forget that I lived here in my mind long before I came. There’s something here that does get into you, as my father said. I’m not sure I feel it much now, but I have felt it very strongly and may do so again. I know I can’t face starting all over again in England. Not yet.”

“Well, how long?” he entreated her.

“Perhaps in a year or two.”

“A year or two! Peg, you can’t mean that.”

“I’m afraid I do. I’ve decided to rent a house here and employ the servant we had before. He’s been paid all this time. You can’t change my mind, Paul.”

He tried, though, for ten solid days, and during all that time Peg did not see Steve. But she knew that Paul saw him. Steve had called at the hotel a couple of times for a drink and Paul had spoken to him. Discussed her, Peg knew. Steve had got the Maldon plantation and considerately done all he could for her while she was ill. He had even prised Paul Lexfield away from his beloved. Berners End, in order that she should have someone to take care of her for the rest of her life. A great man, Steve.

One day, from her balcony, Peg saw Lynette Foster. She had quite forgotten Michael’s vivacious sister, but she wasn’t surprised to discover that the dark girl was still around. Affairs don’t always die out quickly, and Steve was no doubt capable of keeping a woman interested. Somehow, Peg couldn’t imagine him marrying Lynette. Men don’t marry women who are willing to chase half across the globe for a week’s entertainment; Lynette had probably cooked her own goose when she had met h
im
in Singapore.

Much nearer was her own conversation with Michael’s sister. Lynette had obviously thought then that Steve would marry her; that same afternoon she had told Steve quite starkly that she loved him. The declaration had apparently gone down well, for here was Lynette, six or seven weeks later, still tripping about in Motu, and looking as lovely as ever in wedgwood blue and white. Peg shrugged. She was glad nothing hurt any more.

There came a day when Paul did not turn up. In the morning, she wondered. By afternoon she was vaguely concerned, and at six o’clock she sent a boy who was off duty along to the hotel with a note. The boy returned, big-eyed.

“Tuan is sick. Island fever,” he said.

For the first time since the accident Peg’s heart began to bump. She went down into the early darkness, walked along to the hotel and asked to be shown to Paul’s room. It was up on the first floor, a small but airy apartment with a net-shrouded bed in the centre. Paul was grey and shivering; he was also scared, and she didn’t blame him for that.

“Keep away from me,” he croaked. “You’ve been ill and mustn’t take risks - keep away.”

“Island fever isn’t infectious,” she said soothingly. “Have you had the doctor?”

“Yes. I have to sweat it out - stay in bed. Sorry I couldn’t let you know.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Please.” He drank thirstily, lay back and began to ooze almost at once. “This is terrible. I never felt so weak in my life.”

“Don’t worry about it. My father had it when he first came.”

“If I get through it,” he said breathily, “I’m going straight home - and you’re going with me. I mean that, Peg.”

She smiled faintly. “You’ll get through it. Just relax. I’ll sit with you.”

She stayed with him till ten o’clock, and paid a hotel servant to look in during the night. When she called again early next morning Paul’s temperature was down, but he looked listless and defeated. He didn’t want to talk, and she knew that because he had shown a physical weakness of a kind she hadn’t known herself, he felt humiliated. It was silly, and she would have liked to be able to laugh him into smiling at himself; but somehow, with Paul - and with everyone else, in fact - she had lost the knack of laughter. She could only talk quie
tl
y to
him
and give him a drink when he needed one.

Three days later Paul got another lift in a government plane to Singapore. He told Peg, offhandedly but with pain in his voice, that he could no longer stand Motu and her apathy. Peg forced herself to go to the airstrip to see him off, but she took care to arrive only a few minutes before his departure. Gaunt and pale, he was pacing, waiting for her, and when she came into the little building he was so tense that he gripped her shoulders.

“I thought you weren’t coming - that I’d have to miss the plane!” he exclaimed querulously. “It wasn’t kind of you, Peg.”

She looked down. “I don’t like goodbyes - and especially I dislike saying goodbye to you, Paul. I do so hate your having come here for nothing.”

“I got more than nothing,” he said bitterly. “I got fever.”

“From now on,” she said in low tones, “you’d better stay in England, hadn’t you?”

“If only you’d go home with me, Peg,” he pleaded.

“It isn’t too late. I’ll wait on for you, if you say you’ll come.”

She shook her head. “It’s better this way. Have a good trip, Paul, and
... and take care of yourself.”

He had to go then. He bent swiftly and kissed her cheek, turned and perfunctorily shook someone’s hand ... Steve’s. Then he walked to the plane and disappeared into it. Peg watched the propellers spinning, the plane move away. A handkerchief fluttered at a window and she waved, half-heartedly.

Steve’s hand took her elbow. “I’ll drive you back,” he said.

“There’s no need. I have a car waiting.”

“I’ll pay it off. What about having lunch with me and taking time over it? We’ll go to the club.”

“No, thank you, Steve.”

“I want to talk to you, and I don’t intend to do so at the flat over the clinic. I’m ashamed of you for having stayed there so long.”

“I had to live somewhere,” she said with a shrug. “It’s convenient.”

“Has Passfield told you he wants the suite for a patient?”

“No.” She looked at him coolly. “Is that what you’ve told him to tell me? You must be very sorry you weren’t saying goodbye to me as well, just now. You tried your hardest.”

“I had to,” he said cur
tl
y. “It got you out into the fresh air, anyway.”

He put her into the front seat of his car, paid the islander who had been waiting for Peg, and slipped into his own seat. They left the airstrip and took the road into town.

“So it’s all off,” he said. “I guessed it would be as soon as I saw the man. He definitely isn’t for you.”

Now, with Paul gone and an emptiness yawning ahead, she felt despondent. “I wish it had been different” she said thinly. “I couldn’t have loved him enough in England or I’d want him now; but I don’t want Paul ... or anyone. I can’t think what’s happened to me. I’ve always needed someone to love. There was my mother, then my father ... and Paul came between somewhere.”

“When you’d lost your mother and not quite found Jim,” Steve said, slowing down and speaking quietly. “That was when you felt a big need, and Paul was around. He wasn’t a parent or a brother, so you thought it must be romance. It’s happened to others.”

They cruised along in silence for a few minutes. Then she said, “You should have consulted me before you cabled Paul to come out here.”

“That would have destroyed the whole effect. The surprise must have done
something
to you. The same afternoon you went driving with him - the first time out for weeks.”

“I knew I’d have to refuse to go home with him; going out with him wasn’t much of a concession.” She hesitated. “You saw Paul several times, didn’t you?”

“Naturally, It was through me he came, so I dropped in at the hotel occasionally, to see how he was getting on.”

“What did he tell you about me?”

“He couldn’t tell me a thing, in fact, he knows much less about you than I do.” Laconically he tacked on, “I felt really sorry for the guy.”

“He saved you having to bother with me. You’ve been free of me for a couple of weeks.”

Steve slanted her a speculative glance. “To me, the past fortnight was just something we had to go through - all three of us. I didn’t enjoy it, but it served its purpose. Now you can start to live again.”

“I don’t want to, very much.”

“You do, a little. Fellowes told me you’re looking for a house.”

“I mentioned it to Netta more than a week ago. She asked me to live with them.”

“You don’t fancy it?”

“I’d be in the way, and I’m not a cheerful person to have around just now.”

“You’ll get over it, Peg. You’ve taken the first step, and if you’ll go to lunch with me I’ll tell you an easy way to get past the second.”

She drew a shaky breath. “You’ve been kind, Steve - I know that. I’m not ungrateful. It’s just that... everything seems a thousand times more difficult now, and you’re a bit incomprehensible. I wish I could
feel
again.”

“Tried bawling?” he suggested quietly. When she did not answer he said, “I thought not. It’s not the answer to every problem, but it might help to get rid of some of the tension. What about lunch?”

“Yes, I’d like it. I don’t want to be alone.”

“That’s a gracious acceptance, but I know what you mean.” He accelerated, and added, with a smile, “You look pretty in pink and white. Suits that straw thatch of yours.”

There was no more talk before they reached the club. Steve led her into the restaurant, where a few men were already being served with curries and salads, and he made sure that their table for two was secluded. Without consulting her, he ordered shrimps in avocado, small steaks with salad and a light wine.

Peg could not eat much; she had got out of the way of it. Steve ate his share, touched his wine glass to hers before they drank and kept up a light conversation which was practically a monologue. He asked that they be served coffee at the table, and when it was placed in front of them he gave her a cigarette, and lighted up for both of them. He sat back and looked at her.

“You’re not very curious about anything are you?”

“Curious? Oh, you mean the second step that you’ve going to make easy.” She watched grains of ash fall away from her cigarette tip as she tapped it on the ashtray. “Don’t be so darned persistent, Steve. All I need is to be left alone.”

“If I did leave you alone, what would happen?” he queried in level tones. “There aren’t any houses available that I know of, and if you won’t move in with the Fellowes’ you’ll be driven to rooming at the hotel.”

“I’ve thought of that. It might be bearable, for a while; I think I’d be happier that way than if I went to stay with a married couple, however pleasant they might be.”

“Happier? Or do you mean less miserable? There’s a world of difference.”

She lifted shoulders which had gone thin. “I’m not happy, but I’m not miserable either. I’m ... nothing.”

“Stop that,” he said roughly, then caught himself up. “The last thing I want is to shout at you, but I do feel you have to make an effort not to think the way you do. Jim would hate to see you the way you are now.”

“Yes, I know ... and don’t say it again.” She raised blue eyes and a brittle smile. “Well, what’s your suggestion?”

He took his time before saying, with deliberation, “You’re not sad about Paul Lexfield?”

“I’m sad
for
him. He came so far, for nothing at all, and his coming didn’t really touch me. I wish it had.”

“You were never in love with anyone but Paul, were you?”

The smile widened slightly, but it didn’t warm up. “As a matter of fact, I had a bit of a case on you before ... well, some weeks ago. It might have been only hate, because of what you were doing to my father, but I don’t think so. For a week or two it was quite bad.”

“And now?”

“I wouldn’t be telling you about it if it still existed, would I?”

“No, I suppose not. How do you feel about me now?” Her smile faded, her glance lowered. “I’ll be very honest. I don’t know how I feel about anyone or anything, but I’m glad you’re about.”

“Well, that’s something.” He paused, flicked ash and said, “You and I are getting married, Peg. The sooner the better.” Her cigarette slipped from her fingers on to the table and he transferred it to the ashtray. Then he placed his hand over hers on the table, and smiled at her. “It’s not another attempt at sho
c
k treatment. It was in my mind even before I sent for Paul Lexfield, but for your sake I had to get him here. He’s come and gone, right out of your life. The very fact that you sent him away and intended to set up house here means that you feel you belong to Motu.”

Peg shook her head in bewilderment. “Supposing I’d decided to go home with Paul?”

“I was sure you wouldn’t; it wasn’t much of a gamble. You see,” very evenly,
“
I
was just as much aware of an attraction between us as you were, in those pre-accident days. I also knew that you’d found something here that Paul and his estate could never give you, which meant you’d have to marry here. It was too soon to come to any conclusions. You were young and you had Jim and you were happy.”

“And there was the trouble over my father’s plantation.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t vital.” He looked at her keenly. “You haven’t said a word about my proposal.”

“It sounded like a statement. I just don’t understand you. You don’t want to marry.”

“I want to marry you. You can believe that. How do you feel about it?”

She looked suddenly lean and dark-eyed. “I’ve nothing to give, Steve. I do need a home, and it would be good to have just the sheer physical presence of a man in the house ... but that’s not enough. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Let me worry about that end of it. I’m very fond of you and I want to look after you and get you right back to normal. We can talk about other
things
when you’re quite fit.”

“You sound so
... so unemotional.”

His eyes narrowed, but he smiled. “If I turned on the passion you’d get up and walk out, and that would be the end of it. I’m offering you what you’ve just said you need. A home, a masculine shoulder to lean on ... nothing more till your needs change.”

“And what would you get out of an arrangement like that?”