by Rose elver
`Don!' squealed the girlish voice from the other side. 'Poor Miss Leigh ! You're bullying and scowling at her and she looks quite stricken. She's not your humble Girl Friday now, you know ! '
Donovan turned an impenetrable glance on her and was about to say something—suave but forceful, Amelia felt sure—when Max heaped coals of fire by laughing derisively.
`I wouldn't take bets on our meek-looking Miss Leigh! Beware of the quiet, tenacious ones. When they take something into their heads, nothing will shake 'eM ! And when they blow their tops it's either hell—or ' he fetched a dramatically soulful sigh, `it could be heaven if it went the right way.'
`Personal experience?' Jean drawled at him, highly amused.
`Mrs Laski, the day I get to first base—as you
Americans call it—I'll send you a report by satellite !'
It was hard to combat his good-humoured impudence, and Amelia had to smother her exasperation. The best way was to try and smile, toy with the feather-light cheese soufflé in front of her, and listen to the talk which Bill Austin had adroitly picked up and steered to the subject of earth satellites, space travel and life on other planets. Polly joined in, but was looking vaguely upset. Amelia said nothing, and in a few moments gave up the pretence of eating, only too conscious of the rigid displeasure of the man beside her.
Had he really been hurt by her refusal to marry him? It seemed too long ago now to matter. Between them, Marguerite and Max had nettled him into speaking of it again. Watching them had reminded him of the circumstances of having to ask Amelia to marry him. Forced by illness, he had had to return to England, for medical treatment and to write his book; then after a year's respite in the country he had to resume his former life, and it had become expedient to have a wife of his own to stand between him and the love of his life, his friend's wife, until he was ready to go back into exile.
Well, I'm ready to go into exile with him, Amelia told herself fiercely. What if it is second best for him—at least I can earn his affection, and affection is the true basis for love, for living together, for mental and physical unity that lasts. Lasts while he lives ... Panic knotted itself inside her even as she pushed the thought away into the recesses of her mind. Involun-
tarily she put her hand on his arm. The muscle tensed. He looked round, down at her hand, then searched her face. He must have misunderstood the appeal in her eyes.
He said, low-toned : 'I'm not offended, Amelia, and I didn't mean to offend you.' He shrugged, `Apologising is becoming a habit with us,' and turned away. Amelia dropped her hand, momentarily defeated.
The table had been cleared; coffee and liqueurs were being served to the women, balloon glasses of brandy for the men. Bill Austin soon invited Jean to dance, Tom Anderson followed them determinedly on to the floor with Marguerite, and tucked her slight form into his arms in a clumsily possessive way that made her pull a pouting little grimace at him. Max leaned across, took Amelia's coffee cup away, then stood up and held out his hand, smiling.
Reluctantly Amelia went with him down the three shallow steps to the dance floor. She had danced many times with him before, gyrating in the current style or close together as they were now. But she was unconsciously stiff, and missed a step or two glancing at the table where Polly and Don had their heads together, Don smoking restlessly while they chatted.
`Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,' Max muttered in her ear, hugging her.
She said coolly : 'Haven't you played Prince Charming enough tonight?'
`Jealous of that pretty little pixie, Margo?'
`Why on earth should I be?'—yes, yes, I am, because of Don.
He tilted his head back and quizzed down artier with narrowed eyes.
`I'm beginning to get the picture. No good giving me that hoity-toity stare, sweetie, Uncle Max has seen a thing or two tonight. It's the big bold explorer, isn't it! Professor Lyne,' he mimicked her voice. `Some desiccated old stick, I thought, more fool me! You may think you're in love with that arrogant devil, but I don't give up that easy. Let's see what he makes of this ! ' He gathered her in a crushing embrace, his hand sliding down to her hip as he nuzzled his face against her throat.
She exerted all the pressure she could against him. `Stop it, Max,' she said in a low, frigid voice, 'or I shall make a scene. Let me go at once ! '
He released her to a more decorous hold. 'I wish you luck,' he said sullenly, digging his fingers into her back. 'You won't find the autocratic Professor as easy to string along as I've been. Little Margo's had a go at him if I read her right. For damn all !— and she knows every move of the game, so what chance have you?' He concluded with a hint of malice : 'Maybe you've realised that already.'
Amelia thought the music would never stop, but she managed to retain her cool pose while they returned to the table. Donovan Lyne rose, his grey eyes granite-hard as he seated her. Max's behaviour had not gone unnoticed by him, and he showed it in a deadly formality. Rather desperately she started another desultory conversation with Tom Anderson the moment he resumed his seat, and was startled to feel long fingers descend on her shoulder as the band
began another number. 'My dance, Amelia?'
Willingly she let herself be led forward, and when Donovan's arms encircled her for the first time she was too overcome to utter a word. He seemed equally constrained. He held her lightly at a polite distance, a small gap but as wide as a chasm. Tension built up between them, and just as Amelia reached the point of finding it unendurable a young couple bumped into them, knocking her against him. She closed her eyes for a second, hearing their murmured civilities. Then, as the couple moved away, Donovan caught her close and she was enveloped in the aura of his masculinity.
Amelia gave herself up to the joy of it completely, her heart thudding under her ribs. Pressed to his lean, compact body, oblivious of her surroundings, willing him to relax and respond, she whispered longingly : `Don ! '
He missed a step and his arms became rigid. After an aching pause he said in a clipped voice, Tor God's sake, Amelia, don't try me too far.'
`I don't understand ...' she faltered.
Nor do I. Is this part of a ploy to punish Max Hall for his transgressions and bring him to heel?' The grip of his fingers began to hurt. 'Don't use me, Amelia.'
`Use you?' she echoed uncomprehendingly.
`All evening. The hints about wanting to confide in me—the appealing looks—the sad little protestations about our non-existent relationship. And now, this. Clinging for dear life, as if you meant it.'
She took a difficult breath. 'I do ... I do mean it.'
They had come to a virtual standstill. His mouth was compressed and his brows were furrowed incredulously. He said with a touch of impatience, `Mean what, precisely?'
`Oh, God ! ' She was in a quandary and it was hard to think. 'How can I tell you here? It's too personal.' In the middle of a crowd, of all places, to have to commit herself without knowing what his reactions would be. 'Don, please let me meet you somewhere. Tomorrow—the next day. Anywhere ...'
Before he could answer Max loomed up behind him and breezily tapped his shoulder. 'Professor, sorry to cut in. There's a phone call for you on the desk in the foyer, one of your colleagues from the Foundation. Must be urgent, or they wouldn't bother you here.'
For a fraction of time Donovan hesitated. `Thanks.' As his arms slacked away the anticlimax made Amelia feel slightly sick. Max insinuated himself between them. 'I'll take over, Professor.' Slanting a grin at her, he said deliberately : 'Come on, Amelia mine, let's kiss and make up ! '
Donovan's face was an icy mask. 'The ploy,' he told her sarcastically, 'seems to have worked.' Turning on his heel, he threaded his way through the dancers and out of the room.
`What was that cryptic comment about?' Max began. 'Hey, Amelia ...' But she left him standing on the dance floor.
Blinking back tears of frustration, she sat quietly at the table and sipped a liqueur to still the trembling of her limbs, and Max soon gave up his attempts to
placate her. Ten minutes later Donovan came back to the table, but not to stay; something had come up, he explained briskly. He was abstracted, casual in his apologies and goodbyes, as if his mind was on other, important things. He barely glanced at Amelia, and when Jean Laski called laughingly to him to make the effort and write to her he waved a sketchy acknowledgement without looking back.
The rest of the evening dragged on with Polly, mystified, doing her best to keep things going; and by the time a penitent Max had taken Amelia home she was more desperately unhappy than she had been for many weeks.
The news was on the radio next morning. Sitting at breakfast with the Clarks she heard the word `Sarava', then a report of earth tremors and fears about the dormant volcano. Was this why Don had been called away in such a hurry last night? Muttering her excuses, she left the table and hastily put on her light topcoat and cloche hat, collected her handbag and set off for the office. Her mind was fretting over the news and when she arrived she looked so pale that Hannah thought she was ill.
`No. No, I'm all right. I should like to make one or two personal telephone calls, if that's all right with you.'
`Of course, my dear. Use the phone in the back room—more private.'
Feverishly Amelia looked up Donovan's number at the flat, but there was no reply. Then she took her courage in both hands and dialled the Fenn Institute
of Anthropology. It rang for quite a while, but as she was about to put the phone down, the switchboard answered.
She had to clear her throat. 'Professor Lyne, please.'
`One moment, please.' The silence weighed on her. She tried to think what she would say to him. The disembodied voice came back. 'I'm sorry, caller, Professor Lyne left by air for Sarava this morning.'
He had gone ... gone already, without giving her a chance ...
The sense of premonition that swept over her as she replaced the receiver left her feeling faint. Covering her face with her hands, she sat down heavily, convinced of disaster. He'll never come back, she thought—I'll never see him again—what can I do? Ring Polly—Bill Austin may be able to help.
`Amelia! ' Polly's voice sounded tearful. 'I've been thinking of you and wondering ' She broke off. `Don said he was sure the volcano would erupt. He's alerted the relief teams and gone off to see what he can do. As if he hasn't risked his life too often already,' she wailed.
The fact that Polly had jumped instantly to the conclusion that Amelia had phoned up about Donovan brought a lump to her throat, and her anxious voice made it worse. 'Amelia, are you still there? Amelia?'
`Yes, Polly. I tried to contact him at the Institute and they told me he had left, but I couldn't ask for any details.' Pausing, she said unsteadily : 'I don't
know why I'm troubling you at a time like this, but I—I had to talk to someone.'
`Don't say things like that ! —you know how close we are to Don, and how- much we hoped, both Bill and I, that you and Don would get together. I could never understand what went wrong. You do love him, Amelia?'
`Yes, I love him, I always have.' It was a relief to admit it openly.
`Oh, Amelia, and I was sure he felt the same. What happened?'
She wavered for a few seconds. 'No, he—it's too complicated to explain now. If he ever comes back ...' Her voice thickened with tears and it took her a while to regain control. Sensing her distress, Polly rushed into a little spate of reassurances; how tough he was, how resourceful; how unforeseen his departure had been, which meant that he would have to come back as soon as he could. She was convincing herself too as she gave Amelia time to recover.
`Polly, I don't know anyone at the Institute, I can't pester them for news of Don. But Bill would know I mean, Don will be in touch with him, won't he? Will I be a nuisance if I ring and ask you how he is and where he is?'
`Dear girl, we'll be glad to help, Bill knows you'll be as concerned as we are so you can phone us whenever you like.'
At the end of the conversation Amelia still felt very apprehensive, but not so alone.
The inevitable eruption of the Fire Mountain of Sarava made the headlines, and the force of its de-
structive power was an awesome sight in news films shown on television. Amelia worked,ate, and even slept with it in her dreams. The days dragged on. She and Polly commiserated with each other, but there was no comfort to be had; apart from a cable sent from Bali there was nothing new about Dori because of a breakdown of communications with Sarava. Bill telephoned his contacts every day, without results.
Amelia had finished her researches for Harry B. Barnes, and as Hannah began to discuss finding her another assignment, she came to a momentous decision. She couldn't take any more. She was going to Sarava.
Both Hannah and Polly were horrified, although Polly could understand her desperation. Bill was noncommittal; in his practical way he could not see Amelia being allowed to visit the devastated area. She refused to listen to reason, or be put off, and suddenly remembered Dr Hallow, the one person who might be able to assist her, and was buoyed up with hope when he consented to give her a short interview in his consulting rooms.
He was brusque and forthright in his opinion of what he called her hare-brained scheme, but after listening to her earnest pleading he shot her a penetrating look from under beetling brows and said, 'All right, young woman. You've always seemed sensible to me, so I'll do what I can. Book your air fare to Bali. I'll arrange all the necessary inoculations for you and give you a letter to Dr Daud, an associate of mine out there. I can't promise you'll get any further than that. It will be up to you.'
She thanked him profusely, then paused and said hesitantly : 'Dr Hallow, is—is Professor Lyne's fever terminal? Please—please tell me the truth.'
`Who told you that?' She pressed a hand to her lips and he said, 'By rights I shouldn't discuss it with you, but in the circumstances—hmm ! Frankly, it would have been, a few years ago. But there's a new drug to control the virus which will clear it up entirely.'
She stammered : 'You're not just s-saying that
`Don't be foolish,' he snorted. 'Do you think I would have left you to cope with him alone if it was serious? He's getting it out of his system.'
At least one gnawing anxiety had been wiped away. Nevertheless, there was no dissuading her from her purpose. She might not be losing him through jungle fever, but the Fire Mountain was her enemy now, and she could not give Don up without a fight, without seeing him, being with him again ...
The Halls were solicitous. Max, surprisingly cooperative, volunteered to handle any further items Harry B. Barnes required; he appeared to have accepted the genuine depth of her feelings for Donovan Lyne. With Dr Hallow's help she soon obtained a visa, and was able to conclude all her preparations in a short time. She hurriedly bought some jeans and T-shirts, and a couple of long-sleeved blouses against the marauding insects of the tropics, and crammed her minimum needs into a small zipper suitcase. The Austins drove her to Heathrow. She was on her way.
It was a very long flight across the world. When
she left the transcontinental jet at Singapore the heat and humidity closed in on Amelia. Suffering jet-lag, she went doggedly on to the next stage of the journey with the blank single mindedness of an automaton, boarding an Indonesian airline for Bali. At Denpasar airport a kindly official helped her find the telephone number of Dr Daud for whom Dr Hallow had given her a letter.
A woman's voice answered her inquiry, then, to Amelia's dismay, said : `Dr Daud is gone to Sarava.'
`Oh, no! ' Amelia was tired and confused. 'But I must see him!'
`You speak with Mr Kasir, the husband of his daughter.'
`Where?' Amelia wiped a trickle of perspiration off her throbbing temple with the back of her hand. `Wait! Please say the number again ... slowly ... please ...' She fumbled in her bag for a pencil and scribbled it down on the back of the envelope for Dr Daud, paused a moment and dialled anew.
The final blow—Mr Kasir was out and would not be av
ailable until next morning. Amelia picked up her case, swaying uncertainly. She had to find a place to stay, to relax and sleep and restore her equilibrium. Approaching the kindly official, she asked him to direct her to a hotel.
`Much expensive, many rupias,' he said, eyeing her informal jeans and T-shirt and small suitcase. `There is an inn, clean and fair price, not far.'
If she had any doubts about the suggestion, she had reached a point of not caring very much. He found her a taxi and gave directions in rapid dialect,
and as they moved off she sat back limply barely thinking.
Presently the taxi pulled up at a compound and she roused herself to get out and part with a thousand-rupia note for the fare. The night was humid and warm, the air smelt of incense and cooking spices and the sickly sweetness of a tropical creeper, but the rambling, unpretentious inn was much better than Amelia had dared to hope, of a type catering for tourists without much money to spare. The proprietor welcomed her with a beaming smile, and a few minutes later she was in a small, simply furnished room quite adequate for a short period.
A Balinese girl with a smooth, round, strangely beautiful face and wearing a brilliantly patterned batik sarong came to offer a rijstafel of various foods on a bed of rice, but the thought of food was nauseating, so Amelia settled for tea, and drank thirstily before preparing for bed. Checking through her money, she felt absurdly wealthy with so many thousand- and five-thousand-rupia notes until she recalled that it took hundreds to make a pound sterling. She hid the little hoard of notes and travellers' cheques and lay down.
What was ahead of her? she wondered wearily. Against her tightly shut eyelids she saw Donovan Lyne's face and was filled with foreboding. If she ever reached Sarava ... if she was permitted to go there ... would she find him? Alive? Her mind shied away from the alternative. Without him she might as well be dead too ... She began to drift into dreams