The House of Seven Fountains

by Anne Weale

  Dinner was a gay meal. The boys seemed to be in high spirits (she did not guess that this was because Chen had recounted her affray with Mrs. Carshalton, who was known to all the servant fraternity as a mean and captious employer) and Chen produced a bottle of wine to accompany the delicious chicken fricassee.

  Vivien was dawdling over her black coffee when, for the third time that day, a car approached the house. The engine sounded as if it had only just managed to climb the awkward twisting gradient of the driveway, and she guessed that it belonged to Dr. Stransom, who looked the type of man to cherish some antiquated and temperamental vehicle even if he could afford one of the gleaming fishtail Cadillacs favored by the rich Chinese.

  Chen hurried to the door. When he reappeared he was followed not only by the doctor but by several strange Chinese.

  “Good evening. How are you feeling?” Dr. Stransom asked, coming toward her.

  “Much better, thanks,” Vivien said, looking askance at his unexpected entourage.

  “They were plodding up the driveway, so I gave them a lift. They are the parents and grandparents of the boy you rescued this morning,” he said, in answer to her unspoken question.

  “Oh? What do they want?”

  “To thank you. They have five daughters and only one son.” Vivien smiled at the four Chinese and said to Chen, “Will you ask them to sit down.”

  He nodded. “There is rice wine in the store if the mem wishes to offer hospitality,” he suggested.

  “Yes, of course, and whiskey for the doctor.”

  Chen spoke to the family in Cantonese and with the exception of the boy’s father they sat down. No one spoke until Chen returned with the drinks. Then, bowing over his glass of wine, the father made a short speech that Chen translated as an expression of lifelong gratitude, which the English mem had inspired by saving the life of their most valued child.

  Then, to Vivien’s embarrassment, the boy’s father stepped forward, took a small paper parcel from the breast pocket of his cotton jacket, unfolded the wrapping and handed her a jade amulet on a fine gold chain. It was obvious from his smiles and gestures that he meant her to accept it as a token of their gratitude.

  “But I couldn’t possibly accept anything so valuable,” she said helplessly, looking at the doctor for a way out of the situation.

  “You must or they will be offended. The man is a goldsmith. He made the chain himself and the jade probably belonged to his wife,” he said quickly.

  When, through Chen, Vivien had thanked them for their present and praised the beauty and fine workmanship of the ornament, both parties toasted each other’s health and the little deputation prepared to leave.

  “Chen, it’s such a long way to Mauping on foot and the grandparents look very old and frail—would you drive them to their house? I must see them out. Could I lean on you?” she added to the doctor.

  With his strong arm supporting her, she watched her visitors depart, waving their pocket handkerchiefs in excited farewell.

  When the car had rolled around the bend and out of sight, the doctor said, “The lanterns in the courtyard don’t give enough light for me to see your leg. We’d better use the study. There’s a strong bulb in the desk lamp.”

  In the study, he said, “You didn’t tell me you had saved a child’s life this morning.”

  Vivien colored. “The driver should be prosecuted for tearing around town at such a speed,” she said in a gruff little voice.

  “He probably passed his test by the simple expedient of tucking a ten-dollar bill into the examiner’s receptive palm,” he said with a cynical grin. “I thought I advised you to stay in bed today.”

  “I know. But I hate lying down unless I’m really ill,” she explained.

  For a moment she thought he was annoyed with her for disregarding his instructions, but he said, “I’ll go and wash my hands. Tuck up your skirt, will you?”

  At the doorway he stood aside for Ah Kim to bring in his bag. Vivien folded her skirt back and unpinned the bandage, rolling away the outer layers.

  When the doctor returned he was grinning.

  “What’s the joke?” she asked.

  “Chen has just regaled me with an account of Madge Carshalton’s visit.

  “He shouldn’t gossip,” Vivien said repressively. “It wasn’t funny.”

  He pulled up a stool and adjusted the table lamp so that it shone onto her leg.

  “Your ears should be burning. I imagine you are the chief topic of conversation at the club tonight,” he said, unwinding the rest of the bandage and carefully removing the outer pad of lint. “Hmm, no sign of it going septic yet. You must have a nice clean little bloodstream. Did Mrs. Carshalton warn you that your reactionary views would undermine British prestige?”

  “Yes. She threatened to have me thrown out of decent society.”

  He laughed, his teeth very white against the tanned skin.

  “As the Malays say—tid’apa. Loosely translated it means not to worry.”

  “I’m not. I didn’t come out here to ingratiate myself with people like that.”

  “Why did you come?” He finished his work and signified that she could replace her skirt.

  “Because it was evidently what my godfather wanted.”

  He stood up and absently helped himself to a cigarette from the box on the desk.

  “I won’t touch your ankle at the moment. By tomorrow we shall be able to tighten the strapping. Is it fairly comfortable?”

  “It throbs a bit. Nothing much.”

  “I’ll give you a mild sedative in case you can’t get to sleep. Okay, Ah Kim, you can go now.”

  When they were alone Vivien said, “Dr. Stransom, I know you don’t approve of my coming here, but since I have, and since you were my godfather’s friend, I would like some advice.”

  “What makes you think I don’t approve?” He was leaning against the desk, his arms crossed against his chest, the cigarette held between the lower joints of his first and second fingers. She noticed that he had an unusual habit of shielding his mouth with his hand when he took a draw.

  She shrugged. “You’ve made it fairly clear.”

  “Because I didn’t welcome you with open arms?”

  “I didn’t expect you to do so.”

  “No?” He arched a quizzical eyebrow and the line of his mouth was mocking. “Hadn’t you heard that unmarried girls are scarce in these parts, with consequent effects on their popularity?”

  “I never thought about it,” she returned frostily. “It doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that there might ... that I might ...”

  “Be already attached? Are you? You don’t wear a ring.”

  “I’m not engaged.”

  “Or ... attached?”

  This time her heightened color was caused more by annoyance than confusion. He had an infuriating flair for turning any conversation to his own advantage.

  “No,” she said flatly. “Anyway, that is quite beside the point.”

  “I thought you weren’t.” He eyed her reflectively.

  “What do you mean?” The question was involuntary, the instinctive feminine reaction to such a statement. She realized her error too late.

  The doctor looked amused.

  “Merely that you don’t look as if you had experience of that febrile condition known as love. Now, what’s the advice you want?”

  For some seconds she was too angry to answer him.

  Then she said crisply, “Have you any idea why my godfather left me all this?”

  He crushed out his cigarette and thrust his hands into his pockets.

  After a pause he said, “As far as I know John had no relations. Presumably you were the only possible connection.”

  “Yes, but how did he know that I wouldn’t arrange for it to be sold?”

  “You didn’t sell.”

  “I was almost forced to,” she said, half aloud.

  “What swung the balance?”

  “This feeling—a strang
e kind of inner conviction—that he meant me to come here. Do you think I was wrong?”

  “No. If he had intended otherwise he would have ordered the sale himself and left you the profits.”

  That makes two people, both outsiders, who support my decision, she thought.

  “But why? What did he intend after that?” she asked.

  He moved to the window and stood with his back to her, looking out at the dark garden.

  “John lived here for nine years. He had always been a wanderer, but something about this place held him. Maybe he just couldn’t face arranging the sale.”

  “It would have been more reasonable if he had left it to you,” she said, watching his head and shoulders for the faintest sign of reaction.

  He swung around, but his dark face was unreadable.

  “I already have a house,” he said briefly.

  She was about to point out that the House of Seven Fountains could scarcely be regarded in terms of living accommodation when some instinct stopped her. She played with the strap of her watch for a while, her thoughts revolving around possible reasons for her strange inheritance.

  “I wish I knew what to do,” she said at last with an involuntary sigh.

  “That would seem straightforward enough. The place is yours. Why not live here?”

  “It isn’t as simple as that. You see my godfather left me a certain amount of capital, but not enough to maintain a house of this size for more than a few months. That is why my relations were so much opposed to my coming here. They said it was a wild goose chase, and the obvious course was to sell. It’s all very puzzling. If only Uncle John had made his will more explicit.”

  He returned to his lounging position against the desk. “Poor kid, it is quite a sizable problem for you to cope with.” Vivien nodded. “I was hoping you might know the solution, Dr. Stransom.”

  He studied her speculatively for some seconds.

  “You had better call me Tom,” he said abruptly. “You mentioned relations. Are your parents dead?”

  She explained briefly why she had lived with the Sinclairs, unaware that the flatness of her tone told him more than her actual words.

  “There is a picture by my father in the drawing room,” she ended. “The one in the alcove.”

  “Yes, I know it, but I hadn’t connected the name,” he said. “You know, I think it would be a good thing not to worry about all this for a while. When you’ve been here longer the situation may clarify itself. It is never much use looking to the future.”

  “I suppose not,” she agreed uncertainly. Then, changing the subject, “You haven’t been to the pool since my first day here. I hoped you would go on using it.”

  “I intend to, but I’ve had a series of early morning calls all this week, which is why I’ve had to miss my usual dip.”

  “Oh, I see. Is your practice a very large one?”

  “It isn’t a practice in the usual sense. There is only one other G.P. in town, apart from the Asian doctors at the hospital. Dr. Gillies deals with nearly all the Europeans and I try to tackle all the cases that the hospital can’t take.”

  “That sounds like a very large assignment,” she said.

  He shrugged. “More than half the cases I see are unnecessary in the sense that they would never have occurred in countries where there is a higher standard of sanitation and general hygiene. In England, for instance, most people have an elementary idea of first aid. If somebody cuts a finger and there isn’t a bandage in the house, they know enough to swab it with antiseptic and bind it up with something reasonably clean. Out here a filthy rag is generally the extent of their efforts. The result, nine times out of ten, is blood poisoning. A lot of cases are caused by deficient diet, and, of course, prenatal care is in the very early stages.”

  She listened to him with interest. “Yet I suppose the difficulties must make the work more satisfying in some ways,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean you are redly needed here. So many doctors in England have to waste their time over neurotic women and gouty old men who’ve been overeating all their lives. I believe that an astonishing number of people regard the National Health Service as no more than a form of free entertainment. They dash around to the doctor with the most trivial complaints.

  He gave her a rather odd look. “Yes, so I’ve heard,” he said slowly. “We certainly don’t have that sort of nonsense to put up with here. It’s the devil’s own job to get some of the people to call the doctor before it’s too late. Hello, I hadn’t realized what time it was. You should be in bed. I’ll be over in the morning to see to your ankle. Sure it’s comfortable?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Right. I’ll be off then. No need to call Chen. I know my way. Good night, Vivien.”

  “Good night ... Tom.”

  With a smile and a sketched salute, he was gone. Some time later Vivien rang the bell for Ah Kim. Somehow her talk with Tom Stransom had made the future seem a little less complex.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vivien slept soundly and woke up to find that her ankle had stopped aching and, judging by the slackness of the strapping, the swelling had almost subsided. The upper part of her leg was still sore, but it was a minor discomfort and otherwise she felt in excellent spirits. She was stretching luxuriously on the buoyant foam rubber mattress when Ah Kim brought her early morning tea.

  After her shower she dressed in a lemon yellow sun dress with a bolero of crisp, white, waffle pique. She had adopted the Chinese habit of wearing rubber-soled mules around the house. At first she had had difficulty in keeping them on, but she had soon learned to clench her toes slightly as she walked and now found them far more comfortable than English sandals.

  Going into the courtyard—she was still limping slightly—she was surprised to find Tom Stransom standing by the fountains, smoking a cigarette.

  “Good morning. I came over for a swim, and as I have to see to your ankle I’ve invited myself to breakfast. How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thanks. I didn’t need the pill you gave me.”

  “Good.”

  He pulled out a chair for her and seated himself on the opposite side of the breakfast table. He was wearing a faded, blue cotton shirt, which accentuated the blueness of his eyes.

  “Is this your day off?” she asked, noticing his denim trousers. Usually he wore drill shorts and white stockings.

  “No, once a week I go over to the children’s home on Gata Road. I thought you might like to come with me. It’s quite a pleasant drive, and I think you’d like the woman who runs the place,” he said, unfolding his napkin.

  “I should like to, but are you sure I won’t be in the way?”

  “Not at all. You and Anna can have a chat while I’m checking over the kids. She doesn’t get many visitors, and she’s a sociable creature. We’ll start out as soon as I’ve dressed your leg. How does it feel?”

  “It prickles a bit when I bend my knee, but nothing to speak of. Tell me about the children’s home.”

  “There are about twenty children in it. Some are orphans, some illegitimate. Anna came out here about thirty-five years ago as a missionary. Then she decided that it was a waste of time converting people to Christianity when they already had a similar religion and decided to devote herself to the care of waifs and strays.”

  “She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Vivien said sincerely.

  “She’s one in a million,” he agreed. “The kids adore her, and if she had the funds she’d take in every cast-off in the country.”

  After breakfast he inspected her ankle and said that another forty-eight hours would see it completely recovered. The graze on her thigh would take a week or so to heal.

  “If that’s a new dress, you should change it. The children are messy little blighters, and you’ll probably be roped in to play with them,” he advised, putting his gear back in his bag.

  “It is a new dress, but it will wash, and I’ve given all my old ones to Ah Kim,” Vivien said cheerfully.r />
  He appraised her supple young figure for a moment.

  “Did you know that the townspeople have nicknamed you the little mem with the white hair? Most of them have never seen a natural blonde before. I’m glad to see you don’t follow the fashion of having it all cut off. Why women are so keen to look like men nowadays is beyond me.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was thinking of having it cut. It would be much cooler and easier to dry after swimming,” Vivien said.

  “I hope you won’t. Pretty hair is one of the most feminine things about a woman. Those shaggy crops are hideous.”

  Her mouth curved. “I should have thought you would have preferred utility to femininity,” she said, amused and faintly surprised that he should notice such things.

  “I prefer a blend of the two, but it’s extremely rare. Capable women are usually plain and glamour girls seldom have any intellectual equipment.”

  “How very cynical!” She wondered in which category he placed her.

  “Merely realistic,” he said dryly.

  By the time they set off it was just after nine o’clock. The sun was hot but had not yet reached the broiling intensity of midday, and Vivien had no need of the shady straw hat that she had bought a few days ago and now lay on the backseat of the car with her handbag.

  Along the road they passed a group of Malay women drawing water from a communal tap. The vivid patterns of their sarongs were like bright petals against the greenery of the wayside undergrowth.

  “What a good-looking race they are,” Vivien said, waving to them. “I wonder why the white races consider themselves superior. I think brown skins are much more attractive than ours.”

  “You’re getting quite a good tan yourself,” he said, glancing sideways at her.

  She had taken off the white bolero, and her bare arms and shoulders had the satiny texture of youth and health. The light breeze whipped her pale hair into a glossy pennant, and she laughed aloud because the day was fine and she was enjoying herself.

  “I shall never be as sunburned as you,” she said, looking at his forearms, which were the color of teak.