by Anne Weale
The hermit was carried up to the house on an improvised stretcher and although he was very weak and in considerable pain, Vivien decided that the first task was to make him reasonably clean. She had his ragged garments burned in the garden incinerator and replaced them with a pair of her godfather’s silk pajamas, which invoked a tirade of disapproval from Chen. All afternoon she attended to his needs, steeling herself against a treacherous queasiness.
At teatime, after a hasty shower and change of clothes, she went down to the settlement to see if any of the villagers were ill. As she had feared there were already two cases, both young boys. After some argument with their families she arranged for them to be brought up to the house.
“You wish me to call the doctor?” Chen asked grudgingly when the two new patients had been settled in.
Vivien hesitated. All afternoon she had been trying to avoid the knowledge that Tom must be called. Now she wondered if it would be possible to ask one of the other doctors to come, but at heart she knew that it would be a breach of etiquette.
For the past two days, every time she thought of the episode at the bungalow a hot, shamed color swept up to the roots of her hair. Part of her recollection was vague. She remembered rushing out of the bungalow and stumbling blindly toward the car, but the actual drive home was as confused and distorted as a nightmare. The other part, the worst part, was wretchedly clear. Now, scrubbing her hands with a solution of Dettol, she could feel the fierce grip of Tom’s arms, the bruising imprint of his mouth as he forced back her head with a kiss that was almost savage in its violence. Now, as if it were happening again, she could feel her rigid resistance and futile attempts to break free. At last, when she was shaken and breathless with the demanding urgency of his kisses, he had thrust her away from him and laughed, cruel mocking laughter that had echoed in her ears for the rest of that dragging sleepless night.
“Do you still think me lacking in emotion?” he had asked tauntingly.
With a shiver of self-contempt Vivien remembered how she had shrunk from the dangerous glitter in those cold blue eyes and how, again, he had laughed at her.
“You wish to call doctor, mem?” Chen repeated.
With a startled movement she returned to reality and found that her nails were digging into the bar of antiseptic soap.
“No!” she exclaimed violently. “No, we can manage without the doctor.”
“But if these men die the people will say it is your fault,” Chen said concernedly.
Vivien pressed the back of her wrist against her throbbing forehead. “I’m sorry, Chen. I wasn’t thinking. Yes, of course, we must get the doctor to look at them,” she said wearily.
“I will telephone,” Chen said, looking relieved.
But as they went into the hall they heard the sound of an engine and a moment later the familiar black car chugged up the drive.
Before she had time to prepare herself Tom was in the hall.
“Anna says you have a dysentery case here,” he said crisply.
“Yes. There are three now. Will you come through?” Vivien was astonished to find that her voice sounded perfectly normal. They might have been strangers meeting for the first time.
She led him to the bedroom. After he had examined all three he rolled down his sleeves and fastened the cuff links.
“You can’t keep these men here. They need qualified nursing. The old one is in bad shape. He may not survive the night.”
“Where are they to go? The hospital is full. If the two boys go back to the village the illness will almost certainly spread. The old man has nowhere to go and no relatives.”
His dark brows drew together, contemplatively, and he ran a hand over his jaw.
“I suppose it’s the lesser of two evils,” he said at last. “I don’t approve of amateur nursing in cases like this, but there seems to be no alternative.”
For the next five minutes he gave her a long list of instructions for tending the patients and ensuring that none of the servants lapsed from a rigid standard of household and personal hygiene.
Vivien was up all night, looking after the old hermit, whose condition vacillated between convulsive bouts of sickness and periods of exhaustion. Twice he seemed so utterly prostrate that she thought he was dying, but each time the feeble spark of life lingered on as if, having nothing to live for, he still refused to die. Toward morning she fell asleep in her chair and was woken by Chen, who insisted that she should go to bed for an hour while he took her place.
The next night there were five patients in the large bedroom and an Indian girl in another room nearby. The week that followed was a strange and curiously satisfying experience for Vivien. Having telegraphed an explanation of her altered plans to the sultan, she threw herself into the exacting business of running a private hospital. For hours at a stretch she hurried about the house, changing bed linen, carrying buckets, preparing glucose and milk drinks, taking pulses and giving blanket baths. She worked until her eyes smarted with fatigue and her back ached almost unbearably, but through it all something kept her going, and on the day that the hermit was able to sit up against a mound of pillows, she felt a triumphant sense of achievement that was an abundant reward for all the hours of strain and worry. Tom came to the house every day and she was too absorbed in her work to feel anything more than relief at having his professional knowledge to guide her.
After his initial censure, Chen accepted the inevitable and worked almost as hard as his mistress, although he frequently expressed his disapproval of her doing chores that he considered to be demeaning. Vivien only laughed and told him not to be such a snob.
On the eighth day of the epidemic, Tom telephoned to say that he would be coming around later than usual that evening. He arrived at half-past eleven and found Vivien sitting beside a ten-year-old Tamil boy, the only one of the patients who was still seriously ill.
She was wearing one of Chen’s white jackets with a white handkerchief tied over her hair, and in the pale circle of lamplight she looked very weary. She had lost weight and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
“How’s it going?” Tom asked quietly, standing on the other side of the bed.
“Much better. The others are all doing well. Krishna’s had a bad day, but he’s been sleeping for nearly an hour.”
She bent over the pillow and gently smoothed the tousled black hair from the child’s damp forehead.
Tom studied the homemade temperature chart hanging on the bedpost.
“Come outside for a moment. We shall hear if he wakes up. ” She followed him onto the veranda and leaned against the rail.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Me? I’m fine.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“A little perhaps. That’s better than putting it on,” she smiled, swallowing a yawn.
“I think you should rest for a day or two. Chen and Ah Kim can cope now.”
“Oh, nonsense, I’m perfectly all right. Just a bit sleepy. I’ll make up for it when Krishna’s well again.”
She pulled off the handkerchief and ran a hand through her hair. “You know, Chen still pretends he doesn’t approve of all this, but he’s worked tremendously hard. I shall miss him when I go.”
“You’re still leaving Mauping, then?”
She looked away. “Yes, of course.”
Suddenly they were back on the old footing, no longer doctor and nurse, but man and woman.
“I’ve changed my mind about one thing, though,” she said. “I’m not going to sell the house.”
“Oh?” He took out his cigarette case and offered it to her. There was a pause while they lighted up.
“I’m going to ask Miss Buxton if she would like it for the children. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I was never really happy about selling to Mr. Wong.”
“Have you told Anna yet?”
“No, there hasn’t been time. I sent a wire to Mr. Adams asking him to cancel the sale and find a buyer for the
jade collection. The money will make a small endowment and I think my godfather would approve of its being sold for that. You don’t think Anna might not like the idea, do you?” she added, suddenly anxious.
“She’ll probably be overwhelmed with delight,” he said. “But what about you? The sale would have brought you in a great deal of money.”
“Yes, it would have, but I didn’t really need it. I’m young and I have a job. I’ll manage.”
Before he could comment on this there was a muffled whimper from inside and they both hurried into the bedroom. Krishna was awake, his face glistening with sweat.
For the next hour the boy was racked with recurring paroxysms of violent pain. He was so weak and emaciated that it seemed impossible that he should endure the terrible convulsive spasms, but Tom worked over him with such intent concentration that it was as if he was keeping the boy alive by sheer force of will.
At last the pain and sickness slackened, and Krishna lay lax and spent on the sweat-soaked sheet.
For the rest of the night they sat by him, and the sky was paling into dawn when Tom stood up and stretched himself.
“I think he’ll be all right now,” he said softly.
Vivien dragged herself out of her chair. Her whole body hungered for sleep, and her head felt as if it was full of cotton wool.
She swayed slightly, and he put out a hand to steady her.
“You must have something to eat and then go to bed,” he said. “You’re out on your feet.”
“You don’t look very lively yourself,” she said with a ghost of a laugh. His chin was dark with stubble, and his shirt was limp and creased.
“We’ll both feel better after some hot coffee,” he said. “I’ll give Chen a call.”
They breakfasted in weary silence. Vivien drank several cups of coffee but could only manage to swallow half a roll. Afterward Tom insisted that she should go to bed until he returned at midday.
“That’s an order,” he added before she could argue.
But although she was dizzy with fatigue she could not sleep. Her joints ached and splinters of pain pierced her temples as she turned restlessly on the pillow. Finally, she fell into an uneasy doze.
At midday Ah Kim tiptoed into the bedroom with a lunch tray. Vivien waved it away and struggled out of bed, hoping that a bath would make her feel better. It took her a long time to dress, for the floor kept tilting at a crazy angle.
She made her way into the hall, clutching at the furniture for support. Everything was blurred and hazy and there was an unpleasant singing sound in her ears.
A long way away she could see Chen staring at her. She spoke to him, but he didn’t seem to hear, and she reached out to switch on the light because it was getting so dark. She felt herself falling and then, suddenly, there was nothing but silence and blackness.
A WEEK LATER Tom took her temperature, checked her pulse and said, “You must be getting pretty bored with this room. I think we’ll let you out for half an hour.”
“You’re coddling me. I’m perfectly well again,” she said, smiling.
“Think so? Let’s see you get up, then.”
Pushing the bedclothes aside she swung her legs over the side and felt for her slippers. But when she stood up her knees seemed to have turned to jelly, and she grabbed at him for support.
He caught her neatly around the waist.
“Perfectly well, eh?”
“It’s only my legs that are groggy,” she said vexedly.
“You’ve had a nasty bout of heat exhaustion. You must take things easily,” he said seriously.
Her dressing gown was on the end of the bed, and he helped her into it and carried her out to the courtyard. Tea was laid ready on the wicker table by the swing couch, and he poured out two cups and put the sandwiches where she could reach them.
“So it’s all fixed that Anna and the children are to move in here when you go?” he said presently.
“Yes, we settled it when she came over this morning, and Chen is staying on to help her. I was worried about the others, but Ah Kim has suddenly produced a fiancé—he’s an assistant at the Cold Storage Emporium—and the boys have got jobs with army families. So everything has worked out very well,” she ended, thinking, well for everyone but me.
In spite of her illness, the past week had been a strangely happy time for her. Tom had come to the house twice a day, and his gentleness was something she would always remember. She knew, of course, that there was nothing personal in his kindness. He treated all his patients with the same care and concern. But when you were in love even the crumbs were better than nothing, she thought sadly.
“I haven’t thanked you for looking after me,” she said aloud. “You’ve been very kind.”
“Wait till you get my bill.” His glance was teasing.
“How long will it be before I can leave?” she asked.
“Are you so anxious to get away?”
“Having taken this job, I can’t delay indefinitely.”
“I suppose not. I should say you’ll be fit to travel in two weeks providing you take things easily in the meantime.” He paused. “I thought perhaps you might be considering staying on to help Anna. She’ll need an assistant now.”
“Yes, she did suggest that I should. But I think it’s best to go,” she answered quietly.
“You’ll certainly have more opportunities in Rangore.”
“Opportunities?”
“To meet people of your own age.”
“Do I seem so very young to you?”
He eyed the bright cotton dressing gown and, beneath it, the rose-sprigged legs of her pajamas. Her hair was tied back with a yellow ribbon, and without lipstick her mouth was soft and innocent.
“At the moment you look about sixteen,” he said, smiling.
“A mere child!” The retort was tinged with bitterness.
“I didn’t say that. There was nothing childish about turning the house into a hospital and wearing yourself out with nursing.”
“Even children can be useful in emergencies. Why does everyone of your age regard my age as being one degree removed from adolescence?”
He laughed. “Sour grapes, probably. Check your own reactions in five years’ time.”
Five years’ time. Where will I be then, she wondered bleakly. “I wish I were thirty!” she said abruptly.
By then it would be all over. By then she might have begun to forget that there had ever been a man called Tom Stransom. “Why thirty?” he inquired with amusement.
“Because if I were thirty you wouldn’t treat me like a silly little schoolgirl.”
“And you wouldn’t be so transparent.” His voice held an odd note.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know why you’re angry, or shall I tell you?”
Her hands locked together.
“You want me to acknowledge that you’re a woman. That’s why I said you should be among people of your own age.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she said in a strained voice.
He leaned forward and unclasped her tightly clenched hands. “Look,” he said gently. “The night we went to the ball and all those youngsters wanted to dance with you, remember? Didn’t you feel that because you were a girl, and a very lovely one, you had a special kind of power over them?”
He was watching her intently, and she felt the color creeping up her throat.
“It’s quite natural that you should,” he went on. “But if you try to exert that power over men who are older than you it becomes dangerous. A man of my age doesn’t react like a boy. I’d hoped you would understand that after what happened at my bungalow the other night.” Her cheeks flamed.
“No!” she said abruptly. “I don’t understand! I never tried to ... to entice you to kiss me.”
“Not consciously perhaps. But you wondered if I would. And when I did you were scared stiff.”
She stared at him in genuine astonishment.
�
��Don’t misinterpret me. The thing was entirely my fault, I forgot how young you were. But that is precisely why you should be with your own age-group until you’ve learned to tackle these situations,” he finished sternly.
“I see,” she said tonelessly. “I’ll try to remember that. I suppose that was why you were angry when you thought I’d been letting Julian kiss me. Because he’s older than I am.”
His face stiffened for an instant, and then he shrugged and said briefly, “Something like that.”
There seemed nothing else to say, and presently he glanced at his watch and stood up.
“You can stay out here for a bit longer if you like, but I want you to be in bed by six. I’ll look in tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she said dully.
He put out a hand and ruffled her hair.
“Sleep tight, kuching.”
ONE MORNING she was sitting in the courtyard watching a house lizard creeping cautiously up the wall toward an unwary butterfly when Ah Kim came to tell her that Miss Maitland wanted to see her.
Not another scene surely, Vivien thought.
“Mem say very important,” Ah Kim told her.
“All right, show her in,” Vivien said with a slight shrug.
As usual Cara was immaculately groomed in a white shirt and a black denim skirt embroidered with red and white raffia flowers.
“Good morning. I hope you are feeling better,” she said.
“Yes, I am, thank you. Won’t you sit down?”
Cara did so and removed her sunglasses. It was then that Vivien noticed something unusual about her. For a second or two she could not place it until, with a shock, she realized that Cara had been crying. In spite of the girl’s clever makeup, there were unmistakable signs of tears on her lovely face.
“What is it? Are you in trouble?” Vivien said quickly. Instinctively she knew that Cara would never cry unless something was seriously wrong, and forgetting the circumstances of their last meeting, she felt a quick concern.
For an instant Cara looked as if she were going to deny that she was, or had been recently, upset. Then her shoulders sagged, and she made a helpless gesture.
“I don’t really know why I’ve come here, Miss Connell,” she said in a low, hopeless voice.