Pete, shaving at a mirror that was fastened to a branch, seemed to be in no hurry at all. When Terry came out he gave her a tolerant half-smile and wiped the last of the lather from his jaw. He bent over a bucket of water and doused his face, used a towel and, still wiping his hands, came to her side.
“How’s the rash?”
“Not at all bad. The stinging has quite gone.”
“Good. Another dose of the jelly tonight may clear it entirely. Hungry?”
She smiled. “A little. Was it very wet in the night?”
“We had covers. My best sleep since we left Vinan.”
“I’m glad.”
To Terry, her own voice sounded cold and brittle. She turned to help Mrs. Lunn prepare the table.
It was a leisurely breakfast. The men had porridge with tinned milk, and all four ate the fried strips of fish with rye biscuit. There were tinned juice and coffee to drink, plenty of cigarettes, and a gradually visible river to watch while they smoked and finished up the coffee.
Within sight, the river widened to about thirty-five feet, with great arching fronds of palms leaning over it on each side. The sky went pale with haze, and then the whole of the mist was swallowed and the usual hot metallic blueness lay above the treetops.
“I always think,” said Mrs. Lunn, “that the rivers are an integral part of the tropical scene. The thick grey-brown belongs here; it’s part of the warmth and mystery.”
“You’d imagine,” stated Mr. Lunn, “that Meg would be so used to the tropics that she’d hardly see a thing. I never notice much myself, except a thirst and the mosquitoes!”
“And even dealing with those becomes automatic,” remarked Pete. “Women haven’t our outlook. They approach everything from a personal angle and question things that just have to be accepted.”
“Still, we wouldn’t be without them, would we?” said Mr. Lunn jovially. “Your plantation will seem like heaven compared with the old bachelor days.”
A faintly jeering look came into Pete’s eyes as he met Terry’s; she had the feeling that had the Lunns not been watching he would have winked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Even the sweetest little woman has the potentialities for home-wrecking as well as home-making. You have to handle them right.”
“I think you’ll do that, Mr. Sternham!” put in Mrs. Lunn. “In my opinion, you’re awfully fortunate to have such a lovely girl for a wife.”
Pete made a play of inspecting Terry; he grinned at the deepening color in her cheeks and said lazily, “It’s all a matter of being a good picker.”
“Well,” from Mrs. Lunn, “I hope you two will be as happy as we have been during the last twenty-four years. We’ve a son and a daughter, both training for careers in England. They were born here and kept very healthy.” She laughed self-consciously. “I’m not normally superstitious, but I often recall a sort of blessing we were given, shortly after our marriage. We were both teaching at a village in Johore and one night a very respected old man came to visit us. He brought a pinkish mess of rice in palm wine, and we had to swallow the stuff to please him. Luckily, I was quite cheerful about it because I didn’t know the meaning of it, but later on my husband discovered what it was. The concoction was meant to ensure happiness, but not till we’d been married a year. The testing year, I suppose.”
Remembering the split bamboo containing pink rice grains in coconut milk tasting of wine, Terry felt a little sick. She smoked her cigarette and stared at the river, while the others went on talking. It was after nine o’clock when Pete said they must leave, and getting towards ten before the Lunns allowed the canoe to be pushed out. The middle-aged couple called their good wishes, waved their hands.
“Hope we’ll meet again some time!”
“So do I,” from Pete. “I’ll return your hospitality.”
“I wish it were possible, but you never know!”
The canoe was out in midstream and the figures of the Lunns had shrunk considerably when Pete remarked to Terry, “We won’t hope to meet them again too soon. Their memories seem a little foggy, so if they do ever return to Penghu they’ll probably confuse me with someone they met elsewhere. They’re tied up for the duration of their leave, anyway. Two months can be quite a long time.”
So can four days, thought Terry; at least, the first three days could seem leaden, though the fourth was likely to take wing. Still, it lay right there, ahead of them. A smooth, palm-hung river with big redwood meranti trees helping to shade part of it. No hazards; and Pete, looking bronzed and rough-haired, his eyes gleaming slightly as he rhythmically moved the paddle, his mouth set in the negligent smile that ... that hurt her just a little.
At about one o’clock they met their first plantation. There were long rows of coconut palms with tall lalang grass between them. A neglected plantation, Pete said; it probably belonged to a Malay who had no organizing ability.
“Lalang grass should always be eliminated where there’s cultivation,” Pete told her. “Hoeing between trees is most important here, where the jungle absorbs everything that’s neglected. Whole cities have disappeared in the Malayan jungle.”
“Good heavens, why were they allowed to vanish?”
“Various reasons. Tin mines would become derelict and the workers move elsewhere. Communications were nonexistent, so that half the country hardly knew the other half existed. Then there’s always the fight with the forest—that’s unceasing. Among the rubber trees we keep the earth bare as far as possible. It’s not difficult, so long as you have enough workers. You’ll have to...”
He stopped speaking, but not pointedly. She wondered if he had been going to say she must come out and see the estate but checked himself. Well, it was the orthodox thing to do—invite anyone who might be interested to look over a rubber plantation. Only Pete didn’t want her there; and if she were honest with herself, she would admit that she didn’t want to see the estate ... or his house ... or meet his friends. Particularly, she didn’t want to meet his girl friends.
As though his speech had never halted he was saying, “Our company owns five rubber districts, and each is divided into eight sections. We have section supervisors, a manager and an assistant manager.”
“Are all of you white?”
“No. My assistant is a Dutchman from Indonesia, but the section supervisors are a mixed bag, most of them with Malay blood. There are rubber smallholdings in the district, too, but their yield is very low. Our average yield over the past five years has been just under two thousand five hundred pounds per acre.”
“But you’ve been there seven years?”
He nodded. “Doesn’t seem that long, though. I’m getting long in the tooth without even realizing it.”
The smile with which he spoke showed very clearly that he didn’t believe it for a moment. Why should he, when his mirror reflected a lean, strong face, thick dark hair and powerful shoulders? Today he wasn’t paddling very strongly, but he looked big and vital as he moved his arms and glanced across the heaped luggage at Terry.
Presently they climbed out among the coconut palms and ate biscuits and a tube of cheese which Mrs. Lunn had given them. They walked among the trees, and Terry picked up a coconut and hugged it. Pete laughed and took the great smooth nut, tested its weight.
“It’s outsize. Want to keep it?”
“Will it be in the way?”
“Of course not. Shall we knock off the husk?”
“I’d like to keep it just as it is, for now. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a coconut, honey. Millions more up there.” “For me, it’s the first complete in its cover that I’ve handled.” She looked back towards the river, said in a whisper, “Do you realize something? This is the first time we’ve been out of sight of water since Vinan!”
He smiled. “I was thinking the same thing, a minute ago. And I remembered that everything was left ready for an airstrip to be constructed out at the rubber estate. Next time I go on leave I’ll get a lift
to and from the coast on the company’s plane.”
“So ... whatever happens, you’ll never do this trip along the river again?”
“I might, for the fun of it.”
Her nerves deliciously tense, she queried, “All alone?”
“Maybe. But I’ll see you around. You’re part of the river now.”
She kicked gently at the long grass. “You can be awfully disarming when you like, Pete.”
“At the moment I like,” he said, and put a companionable arm across her shoulder.
They strolled for more than half an hour, wandered back to the canoe and got moving again. Thunder rolled along the river, there was a quick torrent of rain which made Terry dive under the sheet of plastic, but it could only have been the edge of a storm. The sun shone again, brassily drooping west. There were trees sprouting pastel-tinted fungoids, a few thin dark people in sarongs and coolie hats working among the growth. They cut the wild tobacco weed, Pete said; they smoked incessantly because it cost them nothing.
Now there were often groups of workers on the banks, and every two or three miles there would be a stretch of bamboo houses on piles, or houseboats floating precariously on bamboo rafts. There were boats much larger than the canoe, masted prahus drawn up on to narrow beaches or pushing lazily through the water with a load of banana leaves for thatching. Terry saw a woman weaving a new wall to her house, a whole flock of parakeets transferring from one tree to another, shrieking because a tree viper had attacked them. Then the light was gone and occasional fires were the chief sign of life.
It was just after eight when they reached a much larger settlement than any they had seen during the day. There were the usual houses above the water, but behind them stretched a fair-sized kampong. And sloping down and well beyond the water’s edge was a jetty where children sat and swung their legs, eagerly watching the arrival of the white tuan and the white mem.
“We’re there,” said Pete. “This is Tembin.”
There was a little quiver in Terry’s voice. “We can actually go straight to Penghu by road?”
“Yes, but I’ve been thinking about it. It may take time to arrange for transport and at best it’s an hour’s run. Also it might be better for you to turn up in Penghu in daylight—say mid-morning. I’m sure we could stay here tonight.”
Terry found herself snatching at the suggestion. “Perhaps you’re right. It would be awfully late and perhaps unsettling. I ... I don’t mind staying.”
“I’ll fix it,” he said, and then shouted teasingly to the children who were leaning perilously over the water, competing for the privilege of catching the rope he would throw.
In the hot smoky darkness, Terry closed her eyes and thanked heaven for the temporary reprieve.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT Tembin there was a rest-house similar to the one at Vinan, except that it contained only an iron table and two chairs. The hospitable Malays were willing, however, to turn the hut into a bedroom, and without prompting they brought half a dozen straw mattresses and made two beds of three mattresses each. If Pete hadn’t stopped them they might have built the beds six feet high. They provided blankets, stringy towels, bowls of steaming rice and meat, and brought tumblers formed from sections of bamboo with one end sealed from which to drink the kava wine that was part of the service.
With the doorway unscreened, Pete and Terry sat and ate, smoked cigarettes and watched the narrow beach become deserted. The sounds of human beings had died away when Pete squashed out his cigarette and said,
“I’ve been putting this off because I don’t want to spoil the day, but I’m afraid we’ll have to have a talk. It’s probably our last chance of being quiet and alone.”
Terry nodded and unconsciously pushed her feet rather hard against the floor, to brace herself. Watching the smoke as it curled from her cigarette, she said, “There’s not really very much to discuss, is there? You have just to destroy that certificate. You said you’d do it as we left Vinan territory.”
“That was before I’d given it any thought. I’m still certain it’s worthless, but just to set your mind completely at rest, I’m going to consult a solicitor friend of mine in Penghu. I’ll get him over to my house for dinner, and I’ll destroy the thing in front of him; you can depend on his silence. You needn’t worry about it at all.”
“I won’t. I’m sure you’ll get rid of it as soon as you can.”
He leaned back in the protesting grass chair. “Now, the next thing. What did you plan to tell your sister about the trip here from Vinan?”
She drew in a dry lip. “Well, I ... I’d rather not lie. She and I have always been truthful with each other.”
“I imagined that.” He paused. “Seems to me you may as well be quite open about it. You were stranded at Vinan, I was coming up the river and offered to bring you. At night-time we stopped at villages and with the Lunns. You only have to imply that it was monotonous and I was a bore, to complete the picture.”
She flickered a glance at him. “I won’t say much at all, and luckily my sister will be full of her wedding. You don’t know the construction company staff, do you?”
“I’ve met a couple of fellows casually, that’s all. They haven’t been here very long, and being a bunch of newcomers they stick together. Why?”
“I was wondering what you would say if Vic spoke to you.”
“Your prospective brother-in-law?” He smiled a little tightly. “I’ll say you were a good child, no trouble at all. And leave it there.”
He would do it convincingly, too; she was sure of that. She wished her throat had not suddenly become so painful. “Is there anything else?”
He studied her for a moment. “You’ve said you’ll stay while your sister needs you. Any idea how long that’s likely to be?”
“Not till I’ve seen her.” She felt a little drawn and sad, as she added, “I’ll leave as soon as I can, of course.”
He was cool and level-toned. “We may not meet often, but if there’s anything I can do for you at any time while you’re here you can contact me quite easily. If there’s no car available, just get a trishaw boy to bring you out to the plantation, or to carry a letter. If it’s nothing urgent, you can ask the little man at the post office to drop a letter into my mail box there.”
“Thank you. It’s not very likely that you’ll want to get in touch with me.”
“If I did, I’d probably come to Mrs. Winchester’s house.”
She shook her head quickly. “No, don’t do that. I really feel that when we part tomorrow morning it should be pretty well for good. I don’t know why.”
“I could give a guess at it,” he said drily. “You’ve been at a disadvantage with me a few times, and you want to forget it.”
“Perhaps that’s it.” It was as good a reason as any she might herself fabricate. There was a silence before she said quietly, “We don’t seem to have much to talk over, after all. Everything is perfectly clear, isn’t it?”
“Seems so.”
“It’s been a ... a lovely day, Pete.”
“Not bad at all.”
“I want to thank you for ... everything.”
“Do you?” he said non-committally.
In low tones she said, “You’re making it rather hard for me to tell you how grateful I am for all you’re done.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know.” He lit another cigarette, left the packet close to her on the rough wood table so that she could do the same when she had finished the one she was smoking, and leaned back. “You’ll soon forget these few days.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be busy—plenty to do during the next month or so.” A pause, before he added with a hint of malice, “You’ll be seeing Roger Payn tomorrow. Does the thought make your heart beat faster?”
“I shall be glad to meet him again,” she said evenly, “just as you’ll be glad to meet your Astrid. One has to go on living.”
He nodded negligently. “And making love. It’s all
part of the pattern. You’d better get some sleep now.”
She felt stifled. “Can’t we take a walk?”
“A short one, if you like, but it’s going to rain.”
The thunder had been rolling along the river for some time, but it was only then that Terry became aware of it. As they came out into the inky darkness she winced from a flash of lightning. So far, the few showers she had experienced in this country had been torrential but not spectacular. Tonight, though, the noise and lightning had come first, and bouncing and zigzagging among the trees they threatened, every second, to start an earthquake or a conflagration. The rain, when it came, dropped in single large lumps for just long enough to allow them to dash back to the hut. Then came the emptying of the heavens, with tumultuous thunder and tongues of lightning of matching intensity.
Terry lay back on one of the beds and closed her eyes, while sweat ran over her temples and made her body as wet as if she had just stepped from a bath. Her fists clenched against the noise, her teeth tight, she willed the storm to cease. When at last she opened her eyes, she saw Pete outlined in the doorway, watching what must be for him a familiar tropical scene. The candle had gone out, but he loomed there, a blade outline against thrashing trees and a sky which was rent by red and violet flames. The very sight of him, exposed to such shattering elements, unnerved her. She flung herself over and face downwards, lay there suffocating till, eventually, the thunder rolled away and the rain became a mere downpour.
There was no sound above that battering of rain upon the banana-leaf roof, and without the fireworks the storm became bearable. Terry turned to her side and looked across the small hut towards the other bed, where Pete lay on his back with his arms characteristically under his head. His eyes were wide open; she could see that. What was he thinking about? Tomorrow, when he would again take up his familiar way of life at the rubber estate? Of his work ... and friends? Was he thinking of the fair woman who had begged him to bring her a Siamese cat? He had three gifts for her...
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