by Anne Weale
“What were you doing in the tree?” he asked, lighting a cigarette.
Vivien picked up another pair of socks.
“I was evading a punishment,” she said, contriving to keep her voice steady in spite of the pulse beating in her throat.
“And what heinous crime had you committed?” he inquired lazily.
“I forget the details. I was always in some kind of trouble,” she said wryly.
“You don’t look the obstreperous type.”
“I’ve learned to conform to my surroundings now. It was different then.”
Somehow she found herself telling him about the difficult adjustments of her childhood, her inability to meet her aunt’s inflexible code of “ladylike” behavior and her deep-rooted sense of inferiority to her overbearing cousins.
“I’m sorry. I don’t usually pour out my life history like this. I’m afraid I’ve bored you,” she said awkwardly, suddenly realizing that she had been talking without a break for several minutes. It was the first time she had ever confided in anyone, and she was seized with an agony of shyness.
To her relief Miss Buxton came thumping down the passage. “Nothing serious,” she told them. “Just another fight between Ah Lo and Gloria Wong. Those two cause more trouble than all the rest put together. ”
After that the conversation remained on general topics until lunchtime.
Miss Buxton’s Indian cook had prepared a Madras curry, and Vivien gasped as the first mouthful scorched her tongue. By the time she had eaten the generous helping that her hostess had heaped on her plate she was flushed and watery eyed, much to the amusement of the other two, whose palates were accustomed to the fiery dish. Although her throat felt as if it were on fire, Vivien had to admit that the curry was one of the most delicious dishes she had ever tasted. Dessert was a soothing iced sago pudding with juicy mandarin oranges from Hong Kong.
“Now we’ll all have forty winks on the veranda. I’ll just see how the children are getting on,” Miss Buxton said.
“Whew! What a meal!” Vivien exclaimed as they went outside. “I feel as red as a lobster.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Tom assured her. “Curry is good for you. Like whiskey, it makes you sweat. By the way, you ought to take a salt tablet every day. I’ve got some in the car. Remind me to give them to you, will you?”
“Why salt tablets?” she asked as they sat down and stretched their legs comfortably.
“Because you’re drinking about five times as much water as you would in England, and you’re likely to have a salt deficiency if you don’t take them. Oddly enough, they taste quite pleasant in this heat.”
Vivien closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, lapped by the drowsy inertia that comes with the tropic noon. She must have fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes Tom and Miss Buxton were drinking tea and talking in lowered voices.
“I’m so sorry. How rude of me,” she said apologetically, sitting up and blinking the sleep out of her eyes.
“Do you good, m’dear,” Miss Buxton said kindly, handing her a cup of tea.
Presently Tom said that they must be going.
“May I come to see you again?” Vivien asked.
“Whenever you like. I’m never too busy to have a chat.” “I was wondering if I could do something useful while I’m here,” Vivien said. “Would the older children like to learn to swim, do you think? It seems a shame for the swimming pool to be used by so few people, and I could fetch them in the car. We’d take great care of them.”
“Well, now, that’s an excellent suggestion, isn’t it, Tom? But are you sure you want to be bothered with them?”
“Of course. I should love to do it. How about early next week? My leg will have healed by then.”
Miss Buxton received the suggestion with enthusiasm, and when it had been arranged that six of the children should be fetched at three o’clock the following Monday, Vivien and Tom said goodbye and drove away.
It was not until she saw his powerful cream roadster standing in the drive that Vivien remembered that Julian had invited himself to lunch.
“Oh, heavens, I clean forgot!” she cried in dismay.
“Forgot what?” Tom asked, bringing the car to a halt.
“I asked Julian Barclay to lunch. It went right out of my head. He must have been waiting since one o’clock and it’s after three. What an awful thing to do.”
She reached over to the back seat for her bag and hat. “Will you come in for a drink, Tom?”
“No thanks. I have to get back.” His tone was curt. Aware that the friendliness between them was suddenly strained, Vivien got out of the car.
“Thank you very much for taking me to see Miss Buxton. I have enjoyed myself,” she told him.
“I’ll come over tomorrow to check your ankle,” he said briefly and then, with a curt nod, he let in the clutch and swung the car around.
Vivien watched him drive away. He did not look back or wave as he turned the corner, and she knew that he was angry. But why? What had she said or done to put that chilling expression on his face?
With a puzzled frown knitting her brows, she turned and went into the house. Chen met her in the hall.
“Tuan Barclay waits in the courtyard,” he said and she fancied there was a note of reproof in his tone.
“Yes, I know. Has he had anything to eat?”
He nodded. “I thought the mem would wish me to serve lunch.”
“Thank you, Chen. Could I have an iced drink, please? I’m just going to wash my hands.”
When she had renewed her lipstick and combed her hair she went into the courtyard and found Julian relaxing on the swing couch.
He sprang to his feet as soon as he saw her and said, “So the wanderer returns. I wondered what had happened to you. Chen said you were out with Stransom.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Julian. I can’t think how I came to forget about our lunch. Tom took me to see the children’s home on Gata Road, and it wasn’t until I saw your car outside that I remembered. I do apologize.”
“I forgive you,” he said, smiling down at her. “But I’m not sure that I approve of all this gadding about with Stransom. You seem to have made a conquest. It isn’t mutual, I hope?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, relieved to find that he was not annoyed with her. “He was going to the home anyway, and he thought I would like to see it.”
“You’re blushing, my child. Stransom must have hidden depths.”
“Oh, Julian, don’t be so absurd. He was just being friendly,” she protested, but her color deepened.
“There’s no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman,” Julian informed her. “Especially not when the woman is as attractive as you,” he added, drawing her down beside him on the couch.
She freed her hands and moved along the seat, spreading her skirt so that he could not come closer to her.
“Just because you are a professional flirt, you needn’t think everyone else is,” she said firmly.
“A professional flirt? Me? What a shocking thing to say.” He tried to look affronted, but his eyes glinted with laughter. “Tell me truthfully, doesn’t it give you a secret kick to know that I think you’re one of the loveliest girls I’ve ever seen and that when you purse your mouth like that it’s all I can do to stop myself kissing you?” he asked.
“Since I’m perfectly sure that you’ve said that to at least thirty other girls, I can truthfully say that it doesn’t,” she answered coolly.
Before he could reply Chen brought the iced drink Vivien had asked for.
When Chen had gone, he said, “What gives you the impression that I’m the philandering type?”
Vivien sipped the lemonade for a moment or two. The she said, “Well, you can scarcely expect me to believe that you’re bashful. After all, we’ve known each other for less than a fortnight and already you’re talking about kissing me.”
“Why not? That doesn’t make me a wolf. Any man who meets a pretty gir
l with a mouth like rose petals wants to kiss her as soon as possible.”
Vivien burst out laughing. “Oh, Julian, you’re hopeless!” she said breathlessly. “A mouth like rose petals, indeed. That line went out with the Ark. You’ll be telling me next that my skin is like peaches and cream and my eyes are like stars. Surely nobody falls for those old clichés nowadays?”
He was not at all put out by her laughter.
“As a matter of fact your skin reminds me of ivory, it has the same cool smooth texture, and if I had to describe your eyes I would say they were like the pool under the fountains there. Very clear and shining with green shadows in them,” he said softly.
In spite of herself, Vivien could not help responding a little to this poetic description, even though she knew it was sheer flattery. She was not deceived by Julian’s smooth approach, but at the same time she was not completely impervious to his blandishments, especially when they followed Tom Stransom’s terse leave-taking.
Julian was an expert in assessing feminine reaction to his overtures. Now, before she could stop him, he brushed her outspread skirt aside and slid along the seat until he was almost, but not quite, touching her. His arm, which had been lying on the backrest, gently encircled her slim shoulders, and putting his free hand over one of hers, he said huskily, “Don’t you like me just a little bit in spite of my wicked ways?”
Taken off guard by the speed of this maneuver, Vivien was uncertain how to counter it. To jump up and retreat to a safe distance would make her look like a flustered schoolgirl, yet it was difficult to appear undisturbed with Julian’s handsome head so close to hers and his arm tightening around her shoulders.
“Of course, I like you, Julian,” she said with a brave attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been very kind and helpful ever since we met, but...”
“I believe you’re shy,” he broke in. “You’re blushing again. Darling little Vivien...”
He bent his head and kissed her softly on the mouth.
The result was not what he expected. Instead of gazing up at him with a melting expression (the usual reaction), Vivien gave him a vigorous push, sprang to her feet and said firmly, “Please don’t do that again.”
Then she sat down in one of the cane chairs and finished her glass of lemonade.
For the first time in his romantic career Julian felt distinctly discomfited. If she had slapped his face or burst into tears he could have dealt with the situation, but her reaction was outside his experience, and he was not accustomed to being shoved aside and told that his advances were unwelcome in such a decided tone.
“Oh, hang it all, you needn’t be quite so prudish!” he said sulkily.
There was a prolonged pause while she studied her empty glass and Julian glowered at the stone pavement. Then, all at once, he recovered his normal good humor and said contritely, “I’m sorry, Vivien. Let’s forget it, shall we? I promise not to get out of line again.”
For a moment he thought she was deliberately ignoring him, and then she put the glass aside and smiled and said, “Come and see my godfather’s jade collection. It’s in the drawing room.” Julian stayed to tea, and they talked and laughed as if there had never been an interlude of strain between them. True to his assurance, he kept the conversation on an impersonal level, and a stranger might have taken them for brother and sister. Afterwards they took a leisurely stroll around the garden. “Your ankle seems much better,” Julian noted.
“Yes, thank goodness. It’s still a bit puffy, but it doesn’t hurt now. I should think I’ll be able to take the bandage off tomorrow, though I’m going to stick to flat shoes for a day or two until it’s completely back to normal”
“How would you like to look in at the Celestial Cabaret this evening?” he suggested. “It’s the local dance hall and they have quite a good band. Even if you don’t feel up to dancing it’s quite amusing to sit and watch. Some of the taxi dancers are up to professional standards.
“Why, yes, I’d like to go,” she said. “Does one dress?”
“No, it’s quite informal, though I shall have to nip home and change,” he said. “Suppose I pick you up about eight, how would that do?”
When he had gone, Vivien went to her room and lay down on the bed for a short rest, since it seemed likely that she would not get home from the cabaret until fairly late. But although her body was relaxed, her mind was active. She thought about Julian’s kiss. Although she liked him so much and recognized that he was very attractive, the moment his lips had touched hers she had known that she did not want him to kiss her. Perhaps it was prudish and old-fashioned, but she could not help feeling that kisses that were nothing more than a pleasant pastime were tarnished and cheap, like the word “darling,” which some people used so freely that it became meaningless. She was surprised that, after his momentary annoyance, Julian had taken her rebuff so well.
After an early dinner she took a shower and made up her face with extra care. On the spur of the moment she decided to try a new hair style, and after several experiments she looped it into a thick coil and pinned it high on her head in a Grecian chignon. It made her look older and more sophisticated. Then she put on a dress of heavy cream silk and the jade necklace that the Chinese family had given her. The only thing that marred her appearance was the bandage around her ankle, and a little guiltily, she took it off and hoped that neither Chen nor Ah Kim would notice. When Julian came to get her she was waiting on the veranda, the embroidered mandarin jacket covering her bare shoulders and arms.
The Celestial Cabaret was in the center of town and boasted an enormous neon sign and a burly Sikh commissionaire who was also a formidable bouncer if any of the patrons became too boisterous, Julian explained, as they passed through the foyer and into the large, softly lighted ballroom. Groups of wicker tables and chairs were arranged around the edge of the floor, and at one end of the room, near the bandstand, there was a roped-off enclosure known as the “taxi rank.” Here the professional dance partners, or taxi dancers, waited for their customers who paid fifty cents for a dance.
By Mauping standards, it was still very early in the evening, and the ballroom was practically empty. They settled themselves beneath the cool whirlpool of an electric fan, and Julian ordered drinks.
“The place won’t start warming up for another hour or so, and then there will hardly be room to move,” he explained. “Hello, where’s your bandage?”
“I took it off. I really don’t need it now,” she said.
“How about a leisurely waltz before the crush starts?” he suggested.
The music was soft and sweet, and Julian was an expert partner, so that Vivien soon lost her initial stiffness. She had been to very few dances, but she was naturally light on her feet, and her sense of rhythm made up for her lack of practice. When they had circled the floor, he drew her closer and said teasingly. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting fresh again. It’s easier to guide you like this.”
She smiled and yielded to his clasp. Presently, the band swung into a quickstep, and he drew her off the floor and said, “I think this is a bit too energetic for you at the moment. There’s no point in putting too much strain on your foot so soon.”
They sat down and watched two taxi dancers dancing together, whirling across the room in a series of intricate turns. One of the girls was wearing a cheongsam, a straight-cut, close-fitting dress of green and silver brocade with a high stiffened collar. The narrow skirt was slit at either side to well above knee level and her tiny feet were encased in silver sandals with incredibly high heels. Her hair was dressed in a glossy coil at the nape of her neck and adorned with a white flower.
The other girl wore a European dress and her hair was permanently waved and arranged in a mass of frizzy waves and curls. Although both had pretty faces and slim figures, the girl in traditional Chinese dress looked much more attractive than her partner.
“I wonder why they copy our fashions,” Vivien said. “They look so much nicer in their national dress.”
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Julian agreed with her.
“The one in green is your amah’s sister,” he said. “Her family doesn’t approve of her working here, so I shouldn’t mention it to Ah Kim.”
“Why don’t they approve? Is there something shady about this place?”
“Not exactly shady,” he said with an amused expression. “But some of the girls are not too particular how they supplement their wages, and not unnaturally, they all get tarred with the same brush. Many of them are perfectly respectable.”
“Oh, I see. It can’t be a very pleasant job having to dance with anyone who buys a ticket.”
Julian shrugged. “They aren’t forced to work here if they don’t like it,” he said carelessly.
The band began a slow fox-trot and they danced again. As they passed the entrance Julian said, “Hello, here comes Cara with young Ferguson. Shall we ask them to join us?”
Before she could reply he had stopped and hailed the new arrivals.
Tonight Cara Maitland was looking even more glamorous than when Vivien had met her at the club. She was wearing a dress of vivid tangerine cotton with a yellow stole and yellow shoes, and silver earrings dangled from her ears. Her escort was a tall, rather shy-looking young man who was plainly dazzled by her exotic beauty.
Vivien suspected that he would have preferred to have had her to himself for the evening, but since Cara seemed delighted by Julian’s suggestion that they should make a foursome, he was obliged to agree with her.
They returned to the table, and Julian ordered a round of drinks.
“I heard you had had an accident and were convalescing, Miss Connell,” Cara said, discarding her stole with a graceful movement of her pearly shoulders.
“It was nothing serious. I’m quite recovered,” Vivien said, smiling.
The band began to play a tango and Cara turned swiftly to Lieutenant Ferguson and said eagerly, “I adore this tune. Shall we dance, Michael?”
“Yes, rather! Will you excuse us?”
He sprang up and stood aside for her to precede him onto the floor.
“He’s got it badly, poor devil,” Julian said cynically, watching them swing away.