Too Young to Marry

by Rosalind Brett

  This invitation to spend about three weeks on Panai had come unexpectedly. She had hoped, of course, and thrown broad hints, and now it had happened. And what about Bill; had they much more to say to each other? Wouldn’t it be better if they remained apart? She had deliberately recalled certain details of her marriage and its break-up, and she had told herself that Bill didn’t matter now, in any way. She might as well do what she could for Paul, and at the same time show Bill how unimportant he had become.

  So here she was, a good-looking woman who found it easy to love, in charge of a girl who looked simple but was complex and incredibly reserved. During those first two or three days Elise wondered whether Paul realized the depths within Lorna; it took that long to get her into a mood of gaiety and enjoyment of present pleasures.

  Life at the bungalow moved smoothly. Lorna swam while Elise lay on the beach with a book, and then the two of them would bathe together. Sometimes they took a thermos of tea with them and spent the whole afternoon under the palms or among the casuarinas just behind them. They talked desultorily, Elise putting apparently idle questions and Lorna answering if she felt like it.

  Lorna learned about plantation life in Malaya. Club dinners, a wardrobe full of frocks that somehow always looked jaded and smelled of stale scent, committee meetings to decide about bazaars and garden fetes, scandals galore, pale children who were stuffed with sedative to make them sleep in the heat, Chinese shopkeepers who enticed one to live on credit... and a good deal more.

  But from Elise, Lorna gathered very little about Bill Ramsay.

  She found herself awakening to things which had nothing to do with her own problems. Just vaguely, she had expected Bill to call in at the bungalow each evening, but Mr. Astley came instead.

  “Things all right, Mrs. Westbrook?” he would ask awkwardly, keeping his middle-aged bulk out in the porch even though she asked him in.

  “Fine, thank you, Mr. Astley. Won’t you have a drink?”

  “Not just now, thanks. Have to get along to the mem. Send me a note if you need me.” And he would trot back to his car.

  The evenings were long, cool and pleasant. With windows wide they would dine and take coffee, play some records. Lorna discovered that Elise liked Spanish music, that she could conjure a plausible imitation of castanets with a couple of bone-handled kitchen knives. She also found Elise an excellent, undemanding companion who was willing to use her wisdom for the general good.

  In the tourer, with Elise driving, they took the long trip across the island to Panai Town. Lorna had not seen the hot yellow streets since she had left them with Paul on the day of her marriage, and now they seemed to have dwindled and become more tortuous; the hotel looked ready to disintegrate at any moment.

  However, she and Elise lunched there, and afterwards sought out Madame Roza, the dressmaker, who had beige skin, Chinese eyes and a decidedly Melanesian nose. But the woman’s ideas on dress were purely Western. She displayed orders she had recently made up, leafed through tattered copies of Vogue and unrolled innumerable bales of silk and cotton, brocade and nylon. In order not to hurt her feelings, Lorna chose some of the materials, but when, after measurements had been taken, they had escaped from the spice-smelling shop, Elise suggested that they procure more modem stuff from Main Island for the rest of the garments.

  “I know what to send for,” she said, as they negotiated the narrow streets choked with tri-shaws, yoked islanders and a few limousines. “Paul’s credit is so good that the merchants will be delighted to send you half their stocks on appro.” She sighed. “It must be wonderful to be able to buy what you like. I’ve always had extravagant tastes and no cash to gratify them.”

  “Your clothes look awfully good to me,” said Lorna. “They’re good, but monotonous—too few of them. I’ve half a mind to treat myself to an evening frock on Paul’s account. Would you object?”

  Lorna did not quite know how to react to this. She said carefully, “He owes you at least that much for bringing you to Panai, but ... could you accept a dress from a man?”

  “I’m afraid I could, my dear. You know, you’re half Bill’s age, but you’re dreadfully like him. We had our first row because another man bought me a box of chocolates. Would it worry you if I let Paul foot the bill for a frock?”

  “No, because the circumstances are special. You’re earning it. I’m sure he’d like you to have it.”

  “Thanks. They have a marvellous red and black brocade in Main Island. I’ll order it with your dress lengths.” Lorna watched the other’s expert handling of the tourer; it was like everything else done by Elise, as easy as if it were part of her nature, and Lorna felt a longing for such an effortless existence. The answer seemed to be that one did not take anything or anyone too seriously. One could fall in and out of love, almost in and out of marriage, without its hurting very much, so long as one was like Elise—philosophical and not too deep.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Elise, after a silence.

  “That I’d like to be able to drive as efficiently as you do.”

  “Can’t you drive at all?”

  “No. My father began to teach me, but we were travelling and hadn’t a car of our own.”

  “Haven’t you ever asked Paul?”

  “I mentioned it once but he seemed to think I was a bit nervy.”

  “Well, so you are, but driving on an island like Panai is soothing to the nerves. I’ll teach you, if you like.”

  “Will you, really?” There was actually a sparkle in the hazel eyes. “Does it take long?”

  “No time at all. You can have a go on the way home. Once you’re sure of the moves it’s merely a matter of practice. I guarantee you’ll drive in three lessons and be sure of yourself after six. Mind if I charge you for the tuition?”

  Lorna laughed suddenly. “You really are queer, Elise! I’ve never known anyone like you. I’m sure Paul wouldn’t have left you with me if he’d suspected some of the things you could say!”

  “No, I suppose he wouldn’t. To a man like Paul one inevitably shows the discreet side of one’s nature. Women of my kind always have another side, though. It’s an outlet.”

  “Are you so terribly broke?”

  Just slightly, Elise closed up. “That’s what pride does for you. I’m willing to sponge on you and Paul but I refuse to spend a penny of my allowance from Bill. It’s been piling up in my account for eight months.”

  Lorna digested this, said thoughtfully, “You couldn’t very well use it could you? After all, if you’re not doing your part as Bill’s wife it would be dishonest to spend his money.”

  “Your sense of values, my dear girl,” replied Elise tartly, “is particularly young and screwy. My reasons for leaving the allowance intact are less high-flown. The pride I mentioned wasn’t your sort at all. Want to do any shopping?”

  The subject was shelved. Elise parked the car under a casuarina and they wandered along the market street, where Malays and Chinese stood in shop doorways and a stream of coolies tried to sell produce from baskets they carried. A few islanders bought or bartered, but with their grace and slowness they had no place in the bustling throng. They liked to buy a trinket or a length of silk, but they belonged elsewhere, among the coconut palms which provided them with meat and milk, close to the fishing grounds and a bathing-lagoon in which to indulge their passion for cleanliness. The wants of the true islanders were few and easy to indulge.

  Later, when they had left the town behind, Lorna took the wheel. Having been a cyclist in her schooldays she found steering no trouble at all, and she concentrated on mastering the gears and the brakes. She was absorbed, but there was a moment when she remembered that this was Paul’s car whose destiny she was directing, and her heart turned. But in the next breath she had to give all her attention to the road, and he was forgotten.

  In fact, Lorna discovered during the next couple of days that learning to drive was one of the best means of forgetting most of one’s troubles. She drove incessa
ntly, down to the beach and back on to the main road over the island. It became more and more easy, gave her the sense of power she so badly needed. Elise watched with raised brows and a smile which was both cynical and encouraging.

  The outcome of all this driving was that the petrol supply ran out much sooner than it should have done. The last four-gallon can was emptied into the tank, and Elise asked what one did about renewing supplies.

  “I’ll ask Mr. Astley,” Lorna said. “He doesn’t use much, so I’m sure he’ll be able to lend us a can or two.”

  “But he doesn’t carry it with him. Would you like me to go over and collect it?”

  “It would look odd; I’d better go myself. It will be good for me to drive alone.”

  “All right—only make it lunch-time, when the man will be there. Mrs. Astley’s the gossip you’ve been ordered to avoid.”

  The Astley’s house was about a mile beyond Bill Ramsay’s, and as Lorna drove past Bill’s abode she wondered about him. Paul had been gone six days and during that time she had not once seen his assistant. It occurred to her now that she knew very little about Elise’s view of their marriage and even less about Bill’s. What could have happened to make these two people, who were so likeable apart and who had undoubtedly been very close for several years, sever their relationship and even become so indifferent to each other that they could live tranquilly separated by only a few miles? It was a complicated question and impossible of answer while she had to concentrate so intently upon driving.

  She reached the Astley’s bungalow and decided, cautiously, to turn the car back towards home before stopping the engine. Mrs. Astley came out, looking a little startled as she approached the car. As usual, she was wearing one of her faded shapeless silk frocks, but her expression was cheerful.

  “I hoped you’d come some time, Lorna—didn’t like to invite you, seeing that you have Mrs. Ramsay with you. My husband’s a bit late but he’ll be here soon.”

  “I’m afraid I’m begging. Paul left us plenty of petrol but we’ve been extravagant. Do you think you, could spare us a couple of cans, till I can order up some more from the office? I’ll see that you get them back.”

  “We always have plenty—never go anywhere to use it.” She turned and called a servant, told him to bring the cans from the shed. Then she looked at Lorna’s flushed cheek; and said on a heavy, teasing note, “You’re looking better. Could it be because your husband’s away?”

  Lorna explained steadily: “These are my first delirious days of driving and I get rather hot.”

  “Had any news from Mr. Westbrook?”

  “Not yet. There’s hardly been time. Are you keeping well, Mrs. Astley?”

  “Fairly. It’s a long time since I felt a hundred per cent. Lorna, would you and Mrs. Ramsay come over this evening? I’ll invite a few others, and we can even dance a little, if you want to.”

  “It’s very kind of you. I’ll let you know, if I may.”

  “Of course. Ah, here’s the petrol.”

  Mrs. Astley helped to put the two cans in the car boot. She pushed the usual greying wisps of hair from her brow and smiled disarmingly.

  “Is Mrs. Ramsay still as sultry-looking as ever?”

  “Is she sultry-looking? Yes, I suppose she is,” said Lorna. “When you get to know Elise you tend to forget her looks.”

  “The men don’t, my dear,” was the smug retort. “The longer they know her the more intrigued they become. Why is it that a woman who has shed a husband is so attractive to men? You’ll probably find out the reason for yourself one day.”

  It was like a shock of cold water over hot skin. Lorna stiffened, but said equably, “You’ve had the same husband for a good many years, Mrs. Astley. I may be as fortunate.”

  “Oh, yes, but I’m rather doubtful. You’re too young to take in all that goes on around you, and yet you do have that woman right there in your house. I learned a good deal the last time I went over to Main Island, and it’s only kind to tell you what was being said. Usually, the one most concerned hears last, but you’re a sweet girl and I wouldn’t like you to be too badly let down.”

  “I’d really rather not hear tattle, Mrs. Astley.”

  But there seemed to be no vindictiveness in the woman—only that grudging air, when she said, “It’s just the facts, Lorna, and I’m sure you’re brave enough to face them. The wife of the Governor’s senior aide told me herself that it was generally accepted that Mr. Westbrook would have married Kyrle Reynor if Elise Ramsay hadn’t turned up when she did. You know that Mrs. Ramsay has been agitating for a divorce?”

  Lorna nodded. “None of this is important now, Mrs. Astley.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong. Mr. Westbrook was being pushed by the Governor and Lady Alys; Mrs. Ramsay was tied...”

  “Please!” exclaimed Lorna. “I can’t discuss it. I came here to borrow the 'petrol because Mr. Astley is the senior superintendent, but in future I shall go lower down the scale!”

  “That’s because you’re frightened,” said Mrs. Astley gently. “But you musn’t let it all scare you, dear. Your husband should never have brought Mrs. Ramsay to your house. Send her packing.”

  Lorna did not answer. She slipped into her seat and switched on the engine, somehow got the car moving. Almost blindly she swung out on to the road. After a bit she got control and stopped the car from teetering from one side of the road to the other, but she couldn’t give her attention to driving. That beastly woman—no, it wasn’t fair to call her that because she was well intentioned. Jealous of younger women and beautiful ones, but well intentioned. If only there were something one could do about her! As if life were not difficult enough, without having someone who was crazily unpleasant crop up every now and then!

  Lorna drove on between the sombre acres of rubber, but she was too distressed to notice the white post which denoted the end of one section and the beginning of another. She thought of Kyrle Reynor, who had brought flowers to the bungalow and arranged them; and unwillingly she thought about Elise, who was like a full-blown perfumed flower herself. Lastly she contemplated her own person with despair. What could a man like Paul see in a girl who knew so little and could offer only a young and virginal affection? Nothing at all. He hadn’t wanted Kyrle; he had wanted Elise but couldn’t have her just when he needed to present an accomplished fact to the Governor. How fortunate that Lorna Dennis, needing protection and full of gratitude, had been there to bridge the difficulty for him! Oh, but it couldn’t have been like that. Paul wasn’t the type to fall for another man’s wife. But memory whispered that he had known Elise before she had married Bill, before he was ready to contemplate marriage himself.

  Her head ached and the road blurred in front of her. She passed Bill’s bungalow, turned a bend in the road and missed an oncoming jeep by about six inches. Braking sent her forward over the wheel, but she struggled back into position and stared hazily into the scared eyes of Bill Ramsay.

  “Lord,” he breathed, “you took that wide! I saw your dust above the bush and hooted. Didn’t you hear it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Bill. I was thinking of something and I’m not a good enough driver to do that yet. Go on home for your lunch. I’m wide awake now.”

  “No, you must rest a bit. I didn’t know you could drive.”

  “I couldn’t. Elise taught me.” She wiped back the hair from her damp temples, looked at his rugged features, the concern in his expression. “Bill, can you spare a few minutes?”

  “Of course. In trouble?”

  “I don’t think so.” She swallowed. “You haven’t been over to see us. I do understand why, but I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m right here. Surely Paul told you to come to me if you needed anything?”

  “There’s Elise, you see,” she said lamely. “I’ve just been to the Astleys’ to borrow petrol. That ... that horrid woman.”

  “What?” he asked quickly. “No one takes any notice of Mrs. Astley. She’s more than h
alf-way round the bend.” He opened the door of the tourer. “Leave the car here for a bit and come up to the house with me in the jeep.”

  “Elise is expecting me back for lunch.”

  “Let her wait,” he said non-committally. “This is more important. Come on, Lorna. It’s no use trying to drive while you’re shaking.”

  She got into the jeep with him, said nothing at all till they had reached his bungalow and were inside the living room, where the table was neatly set for one. Bill poured a finger of whisky and added water, gave her the glass.

  Sit down and tell me,” he said, “but take your time.” He looked big and kindly as he sat down opposite her and leaned forward. Lorna sipped the whisky, shuddered from head to foot and set down the glass. She said haltingly,

  “I can’t worry you with this, Bill. I ought to be ashamed of myself for taking any notice of Mrs. Astley. Paul told me to stay away from her, but we did need the petrol...”

  “You should have come to me.” He patted her hand as it lay on her knee. “I know what stopped you—so that makes this business my fault. Tell me what Mrs. Astley said.”

  She gestured helplessly. “You’ll be disgusted, as I was. She hinted that ... that Paul is in love with Elise.”

  He didn’t laugh with relief and brush it off as she had hoped he would. His shoulders went a little higher, and he said, “But you’re his wife, Lorna; you know how improbable that is. In any case, I very much doubt whether Elise is in love with him. I didn’t know Paul till I came to Panai several months ago, but Elise knew him very well some time before we married.”