The House of Seven Fountains

by Anne Weale

  “It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. I wish I could live here.”

  “I thought that was the idea,” Julian said, shaking the cocktail mixer with an expert hand.

  “Oh, no, this is just a short visit,” she explained.

  “Too bad. I hoped you were going to be a permanent addition to the community. What are your plans, then?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Here’s to the present. The future can take care of itself.” He handed her a glass. She sipped the cocktail cautiously.

  “Like it?”

  She nodded politely, unwilling to admit that to her inexperienced palate it tasted unpleasantly bitter, like medicine.

  “By the way, news of your arrival has spread like the proverbial wildfire,” Julian told her. “I was hoping to lead you into the club and watch their faces when I introduced you, but it seems that two of the old tabbies saw you driving through town in Cunningham’s car and lost no time in spreading the word.”

  “Yes, I saw them. They looked completely flabbergasted. I’m rather dreading meeting everyone,” she said hesitantly.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll look after you,” he promised. “If you’ve finished your drink, we may as well get started. You should bring a wrap. It gets chilly later on.”

  Vivien bit her lip. The only wrap she possessed was a thick yellow cardigan. But, as she hesitated, Ah Kim appeared in the doorway with a white silk shawl over her arm.

  “Night very cold. Missy take this,” she said, darting a quick shy glance at Julian.

  “Thank you, Ah Kim.” Vivien silently blessed the amah for her thoughtfulness.

  “I’ll put the hood up or your hair will get blown about,” Julian said as they went down the veranda steps to the car.

  “I don’t mind. A breeze will keep me cool,” Vivien said.

  “Sure?”

  He helped her into the car as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain.

  “Positive,” she assured him. “This is a lovely car, Julian.”

  “Yes, she’s a nice-looking job,” he agreed, sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door. “On a good road I’ve had her up to ninety-five. Do you drive?”

  “Yes, but not at that speed,” Vivien said, wondering how Julian would have dealt with her aunt, who was one of those infuriating backseat drivers, forever calling out unnecessary warnings and reminders not to exceed the speed limit.

  By the light of the headlamps the lower part of the drive was even more eerie than in daytime. I hope I never have to walk up here alone, Vivien thought with an involuntary shiver.

  “Does it give you the creeps?” Julian asked, sensing her thought.

  “Yes. I was imagining all the snakes there must be in that undergrowth.”

  “Quite a few wild pigs, too, I should think. They’re nasty beasts. I shouldn’t wander around alone even by day.”

  “I certainly don’t intend to,” she said warmly as they reached the gateway and turned up the road.

  “What sort of chap is your head man?” Julian asked. “I’m not very happy about your being alone up there at night, you know.”

  “Oh, I shall be perfectly safe in the house,” she said confidently. “Chen seems most efficient and Ah Kim—you saw her just now—is a dear little thing.”

  Vivien asked him some questions about the car and by the time he had explained all the coupe’s merits they were at the club.

  A row of equally luxurious cars was parked in front, and hearing the babel of chatter drifting out through the open windows, Vivien was overcome with a perceptible nervousness.

  “Don’t panic. They won’t eat you,” Julian said as he helped her out. “We’ll find a quiet corner and lay bets on who will be the first to approach us.”

  Tense with stage fright but managing to smile with a creditable semblance of composure, she let him lead her up the steps, through the foyer and into the main lounge. They had scarcely crossed the threshold before a deathly hush fell over the entire room. It lasted less than ten seconds, and then the buzz of conversation began again, but in that short space of time Vivien felt twenty pairs of eyes raking her from head to foot. But for Julian’s hand on her arm, she would have turned and fled.

  The short distance between the doorway and the bar seemed like a hundred yards, and when Julian helped her onto a tall stool and settled himself beside her she felt as though she had been through a physical ordeal.

  “What will you have? Martini?”

  “Just a lemonade, please,” she said in a strained voice.

  “Oh, come on, you must have something with a bit of a kick in it,” he protested. “How about another Barclay Special?”

  “No, really, I’d rather have a soft drink,” she said firmly.

  “As you wish. A lemonade and a double whiskey, Joe,” he said to the bartender.

  “Well, what do you think of them?” Julian asked, indicating the people in the lounge who were reflected in the long mirror behind the bar.

  Vivien took a furtive survey of her fellow Europeans. Most of them seemed to be middle-aged, but there was a group of young army officers in one corner and a peroxide blonde was holding court to several raffish-looking men at a table by the windows.

  “The chaps with the bloodshot eyes are planters on their weekly spree,” Julian said, following her glance. “The blond beauty is the wife of an army officer who spends most of his time in the jungle. As you see, she manages to occupy herself in his absence.”

  “Isn’t that a rather slanderous way of putting it?” Vivien said.

  “Not nearly as slanderous as it could have been.” He grinned. “But nobody pays any attention to these little diversions out here. The blessed state of matrimony soon palls in the East, and we’re all very broadminded.”

  Her distaste must have been reflected in her face, for his cynical grin faded and he said quickly, “What’s the matter? Is your drink sour?”

  She shook her head. This was not the moment for an argument on ethics, and no doubt Julian would think her hopelessly naive if she revealed that she was not as broadminded as her compatriots. Although she had hated the careless way he had referred to the blonde’s “little diversions,” she did not want to lose his support at this juncture.

  Unaware of the true reason for her look of displeasure, Julian went on to describe the background and characteristics of the other club members. He had paused to order another whiskey when a voice cried, “Why, Julian, you naughty boy! Why didn’t you come to my party on Friday?”

  A small, stout woman with bright dark eyes and an elaborate blue-rinsed coiffure had come up behind them and was regarding Julian with mingled reproof and coquetry.

  “Hello, Madge. Sorry about the party. I had to work that night. Didn’t you get my note?” Julian said, kissing her plump fingers with a flourish.

  “Working? I don’t believe it. I suppose you had a more interesting assignation with one of your Chinese beauties, you wicked creature,” she said archly, giving him a playful rap with her fan.

  Julian coughed and looked slightly discomfited.

  “Madge, this is Miss Vivien Connell,” he said a shade too hastily. “Vivien ... Mrs. Carshalton.”

  “Welcome to Mauping, my dear,” Mrs. Carshalton said, her eyes flickering over Vivien’s face and figure in a swift but comprehensive inspection. “So you’re Mr. Cunningham’s goddaughter. We were all so shocked by his death. Such a wonderful man.”

  “Did you know him well?” Vivien asked, rather surprised at this remark in view of what she had been told about her godfather’s standing in Mauping.

  “Well ... not intimately, of course. Like so many brilliant men, he was rather reserved, you know. But I always had the greatest admiration for him, and if there is anything I can do to help you, you must let me know at once.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Nonsense, I shall be delighted. I think it’s most courageous of you to come here all by you
rself. How do you like the house?”

  “I haven’t had time to explore it thoroughly yet,” Vivien said.

  “No, I suppose not. Julian, why don’t you bring Miss Connell over to our table? Everyone is anxious to meet her, and it’s very selfish of you to keep her to yourself, although—” with a roguish laugh “—she is so pretty that I can’t really blame you.”

  For the next hour Vivien found herself being introduced to a succession of strangers, all of whom spoke of the late John Cunningham in such glowing terms that she could hardly credit that her godfather had been a cantankerous recluse at loggerheads with his fellow Europeans. Yet, Julian himself had confirmed what Mr. Adams had told her.

  She was listening to a long and complicated anecdote told by a florid-faced man with a ginger mustache when Mrs. Carshalton suddenly began to wave to a new arrival and, looking around, Vivien saw a girl of about her own age standing by the door.

  “Cara, darling, come and join us,” Mrs. Carshalton called, and after a momentary hesitation the girl strolled toward them.

  Even if she had not possessed a tall, perfectly proportioned figure and classic features, Cara Maitland would have attracted attention. Her coloring was that rare combination of black hair, blue eyes and milk-white skin, dramatized by the dress of scarlet chiffon that she wore with the superb nonchalance of a professional mannequin. It was cut like a Grecian tunic, leaving one pale shoulder bare, and clasped at the waist by a narrow belt of silver kid. She wore a silver bracelet studded with enormous imitation rubies around one delicately shaped wrist, and her long, tapered nails were lacquered to match her dress.

  “Miss Connell, I want you to meet Cara Maitland,” Mrs. Carshalton said as the men stood up.

  “Welcome to our cozy little circle, Miss Connell,” the girl said in a husky drawl. She did not smile and there was an unmistakable edge to her voice, either of sarcasm or hostility. Beside her vivid beauty, Vivien was painfully aware of how insipid her own fair hair and pastel dress must look. She was relieved when the men sat down and resumed their conversations.

  “You and Cara must be about the same age, my dear. Cara’s father is the commanding officer of the army camp just outside town,” Mrs. Carshalton said when Cara was seated beside them.

  “Have you been in Malaya long?” Vivien asked her.

  “Six months,” the other girl said briefly.

  She fitted a Turkish cigarette into a long jade holder and flicked a gold lighter.

  “Do you like it here?”

  Cara blew a smoke ring and watched it drift upward before replying.

  “It’s like any other small town,” she said with a slight shrug. “I gather you’re not an experienced traveler, Miss Connell.”

  Vivien shook her head.

  “I’ve spent most of my life on the move,” Cara said in a bored tone. “After a while one finds that all places are pretty much alike. The climate and the hotels vary, but the people are out of the same old mold. It gets decidedly monotonous.”

  “Now, Cara, don’t vent your cynicism on Miss Connell,” Mrs. Carshalton chided. “At your age life should be a great adventure—full of opportunities and new experiences.”

  Cara glanced at her with thinly veiled scorn.

  “You’re the eternal idealist, Madge,” she said coldly.

  “You’ll change your views when you fall in love,” said Mrs. Carshalton slyly.

  Cara crossed her slim legs and surveyed one silver-shod foot. “And to whom do you suggest I should yield my girlish heart?” she inquired sardonically. “To one of father’s dashing subalterns? Unfortunately, junior officers get such meager pay. I doubt if I should care for penury, however blissful.”

  Madge Carshalton clicked her tongue.

  “There are some perfectly eligible men in Mauping, my dear. Dr. Stransom, for example. He’s very handsome and I believe he has a considerable private income.”

  Cara laughed. “Tom Stransom is wedded to his work, Madge. If he ever comes down from his high horse it will be to some earnest-minded girl who won’t mind sharing him with a pack of ailing natives.”

  She tipped the stub of her cigarette into the ashtray and promptly lighted another.

  “Although I sometimes wonder if our estimable doctor is really as aloof as he appears,” she said reflectively. “It might be amusing to find out.”

  “Dr. Stransom is a very dour young man who has a practice in the Chinese quarter. For some extraordinary reason he prefers native patients to Europeans,” Mrs. Carshalton explained to Vivien.

  “Yes, I’ve met him. I understand he was a friend of my godfather,” she replied.

  Both women looked at her with sudden attention.

  “Where on earth did you meet him?” Cara asked. “I thought you only arrived today?”

  “He was on the plane from London to Singapore. We sat next to each other.” The other two exchanged glances.

  “And having spent three days in his company, what did you make of him?” Cara queried.

  “We only had one or two casual conversations. He was reading most of the time,” Vivien said.

  “Yes, that’s typical,” Cara remarked with a gleam of amusement in her slanting blue eyes. “If Stransom were to be marooned on a desert island with Venus he’d keep his nose buried in some learned tome. The story goes that some girl ditched him when he was young and callow. Now he treats us all with a kind of chivalrous disdain. Poor you, it must have been a dreary journey.”

  “Miss Connell also met Julian on the way up from Singapore. It was he who brought her here this evening,” Mrs. Carshalton put in.

  “Really? From one extreme to the other. Julian is as susceptible as Stransom is immune,” Cara said carelessly. “Don’t be bowled overby Julian’s charm, Miss Connell, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Do you speak from experience, dear?” Mrs. Carshalton asked with a hint of malice.

  “What a cat you are, Madge,” Cara said lightly, but Vivien noticed that her nostrils flared slightly, and there was a gleam of anger in her eyes.

  The subject of their remarks chose that moment to extricate himself from an argument on the other side of the table and came and perched on the arm of Mrs. Carshalton’s chair.

  “Hello, Cara. How’s your father?” he asked.

  “Better, thanks. Enjoy your jaunt to Singapore?”

  “Yes, it was a pleasant break. One needs to get away from this hole every so often.”

  They both sounded so normal that Vivien wondered if she was imagining a veiled antagonism between them.

  “I think it’s time I took you home,” Julian said to her. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired.”

  “I am a bit sleepy,” she admitted, smiling.

  “You must take it easy for the first week or so,” he advised. “People who try to keep up an English pace out here generally find themselves laid out with heat exhaustion.”

  “Yes, the climate is frightfully taxing until you get used to it,” Mrs. Carshalton agreed. “We must keep an eye on her, Julian.”

  “It will be a pleasure,” he said, taking Vivien’s hands and drawing her to her feet. “Good night, Madge. Night, Cara.”

  “I hadn’t realized how stuffy it was in there,” Vivien said as they walked through the foyer and out into the night air.

  “Were you bored?”

  “No, of course not. Why should I be? What a lovely girl Miss Maitland is. I wonder how she keeps that marvelous complexion in this climate.”

  He laughed. “You’re the first woman to have a good word for Cara behind her back. Most of them are as jealous as the devil and delight in picking her to pieces.”

  “That must be difficult. I’ve never seen anyone so attractive,” Vivien said sincerely.

  “Mm, she’s quite an eyeful. Wait till you see her in a rage. Under that world-weary air she’s got a temper like a wildcat,” Julian said, and his tone suggested that he had had personal experience of Miss Maitland’s rage.

  As the
y reached the car, he said, “This time we’re going to have the hood up. I don’t want you to catch a chill on your first evening.”

  Earlier, Vivien had had some misgivings about the homeward drive, for she was not familiar with the drinking habits in the tropics, and it had seemed to her that Julian had had a formidable number of double whiskies. But he appeared to be quite sober, and if anything he drove home more slowly than before.

  “I’ve been watching you,” he said suddenly. “There’s something about you that intrigues me, but I can’t quite place it. What kind of life did you lead in England? Were you a career girl?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. When I left school I thought of taking up commercial art but, in the end, I just stayed at home and helped my aunt,” she told him, remembering the stormy scenes there had been when she had tried to persuade her aunt to let her train for a career.

  “Very proper. I don’t approve of all this independence. Most girls are so busy carving out careers that they’ve no time to be feminine.”

  “But then you’re not very serious about your own job, are you?” she said gently.

  He grinned. “The way I look at it, life is for fun. Working too hard is a waste of energy. Look at these fellows who slave to make a fortune and then die of heart strain before they’ve had time to enjoy it. You know, I think that is the difference about you. You’ve got a brain. Beauty and intelligence. It’s a rare combination.”

  He reached over and took her hand.

  “It was certainly a stroke of luck that I happened to be in Singapore last night,” he said softly.

  Gently, but firmly, Vivien disengaged her hand from his clasp.

  “It was only last night,” she said with slight emphasis.

  They drove in silence for some minutes, and she wondered uncomfortably if he was angry at the mild rebuff. Well, if he was, it was just too bad, she told herself with a touch of asperity.

  “Has anybody been warning you against me?” he asked.

  “Of course not. Why?”

  “Oh, it was just a thought.”