With a laugh, she said, “I had to come to Penghu to realize how important man is. Here one seems to be more conscious of everyone; maybe it’s the climate. I wouldn’t have missed coming here, anyway, and knowing you. You’re a blend of stimulant and soothing syrup!”
“Thank you. I like that compliment!”
Terry couldn’t help thinking, as she settled with the magazine, that a determined cheerfulness was the greatest help in the world. It might be surface stuff assumed to cover a track of pain, but it gave strength and courage. Nothing was quite unbearable if you could put a good face on it.
There was a storm on Saturday morning. Thunder loosed its cannons and rain cascaded over Penghu in a tumultuous roar. Everything was wet to the touch, the body sweated clammily and it was so noisy that one had to shout to make oneself heard. During the afternoon a sulphurous sun made its brief appearance, and by six, when darkness fell, the sky was benignly indigo and filling with stars. Terry wrote her note for Annette, and Roger drove her over to the flat, so that she could make sure that everything was in order for their return. By the time they got back to the Winchesters’ people were gathering for cocktails and the servant and his assistant were filling the buffet table in the corner of the room.
For the others the party was not much different from that of any other Saturday night. For Terry, though, it was an uneasy business. She offered dishes and plates, took away the discarded savory cases and cocktail sticks, emptied ashtrays, poured coffee, again passed round snacks and plates of chicken. And between times she looked at her watch. Nine o’clock, nine-thirty, ten. Music droned or split the air with trumpet sounds, Malays paused in the street to watch the white people dancing on the veranda.
It must have been ten-fifteen when Annette and Vic arrived. Terry saw the car, felt her hand go to her throat and a strange fixity in her limbs as she watched it pull in outside the house. They slid out of it, one from each side. Vic looked almost handsome in a white dinner jacket, and Annette ... was Annette. She wore a simple cream brocade cocktail frock and her thick gold hair was drawn back from a face which looked vital and lovely. She ran up the steps ahead of Vic, spread both arms and said in ringing tones,
“Hallo, everyone. Meet my husband!”
Vic looked sheepishly pleased with himself, but there was nothing retiring about Annette. She slipped her arm into his, smiled into his face and made him take two glasses from the hovering servant. They toasted other silently, toasted the crowd, finished the drinks.
The next moment Annette looked about her. “Terry ... darling! You don’t know how splendid it was to come home to that awful little flat and find your letter.” She hugged Terry, kept an arm about her shoulder. “You’ve done wonders there, sweetie, and I did love the bowl of flowers!”
There was a babble of questions. Had a good time? When did you get back? Seven! Then what have you been doing then—as if one didn’t know! You actually cooked a meal, Annette? What about the drive—much rain? How do you feel, Vic—terribly married?
Annette loved it, and Terry was so relieved that she loved it as well. Now she felt no doubt that the prodding and encouragement, the long hours of listening to Annette’s wailing and her own fight with misgivings had been worth it. Even had she felt that Annette’s volatile personality, her prediction for dramatizing herself and making the most of a crowd were not entirely to be trusted, there was Vic’s look of solid happiness, the assuring pressure of his hand on her own.
He said quietly, “Thanks, Terry. The flat is going to be fine.”
“Everything is going to be fine,” she said. “Annette looks ecstatic.”
“She does look beautiful, doesn’t she? Maybe it was a little late, but while we were away we talked as we’ve never talked before. We just went on and on, and frankly, I was rather appalled at how little we’d known about each other the day we married!”
“There was only one thing you had to know, really.” She laughed mischievously. “I’ll never forget your relief and amazement when Annette turned up so punctually and full of radiance for the wedding.”
“I’ve you to thank for that. If you hadn’t come over from England we wouldn’t be married yet!”
Which meant, thought Terry, that the trip from England, whatever its cost, was the most worthwhile thing she had ever done.
She said, “You won’t need me here any longer. I’ll probably leave in about two weeks.”
“Do you have to? I feel you belong here as much as we do.”
Terry smiled this off, offered him another drink and a dish of savories. Annette circulated, talking animatedly about the places they had visited and the oddments she had picked up almost for nothing. Her light blue eyes and white teeth sparkled as she spoke and Vic looked on indulgently. He was just right for Annette, thought Terry once again. He would always love her deeply, but she would never be able to make him do anything he considered even slightly off-key. He was as straight and steadfast as a good oak beam.
The crowd dispersed, and by midnight only the Winchesters, Vic and Annette, Terry and Roger were left. Annette took Terry’s arm, winked at the others and said she must have a private word with her little sister. They moved into Terry’s bedroom, where Annette sank down into a rattan chair with the ease and grace of long practice.
“Well, darling, you can see the state of my romance at the moment. How’s yours?”
“Mine? Oh, you mean Roger. I’m afraid it hasn’t advanced at all.”
“But he told me himself that you’re going with him to Singapore. I think it’s a very good idea. What does Pete say about it?”
Terry looked quickly at her sister. “Why should I consult Pete? It’s my concern.”
“I didn’t know how things stood. He was a bit on the big-brotherly side when we left. Doesn’t he come here now?”
“Until this week he was here often. His company is taking over the Harmsens’ plantation and I suppose he’s busy with it. I ... I don’t tell Pete my business. In fact, I’d rather he didn’t know it.”
Annette shrugged her slender shoulders. “If that’s how you feel about it, all right. I won’t say a word. You look a bit whitish, so perhaps you do need a change from this place. I’d like you to stay as long as we do—you know that. You always make me feel safe. It even helped while we were away, to know that you’d be here when we got back.”
“I’m glad, but I shall have to leave soon.”
Annette waved a hand. “I refuse to talk about it till you return from Singapore. Who knows, after you’ve seen Roger’s people and the house you’d live in if you married him—oh, yes, I’ve heard some news in the last hour or two!—you may feel quite strongly against going back to a lonely life in England. Parents don’t make up for a husband, ever.”
“Don’t try your very new wisdom out on me!”
Annette grimaced. “Very well, I won’t. When do you leave for Singapore?”
“Tuesday—and we don’t want the world to know. Roger’s people have sent the plane tickets, but we have to drive to the coast. He says that if we leave early in the morning’ we can be in Singapore by six in the evening.” Terry left the topic. “Don’t forget all your thank-you letters. And I think it would be a nice gesture if you sent a telegram to Father. A long one, telling him you’re happy, and so on.”
“You think of all the sweet touches, darling. I’ll do that.” She got up, stretched as prettily as a kitten. “Come to us for lunch tomorrow, Terry. If I can’t rustle up something, you can—and that way Vic will be sure of eating. I’d better go now.”
Goodnights were said and Terry slipped back into her room. She felt tired but happy about Annette. Though she was a little worried too, because she ought really to buy a few new clothes for Singapore and there was nowhere to buy them.
During Sunday and Monday, Terry felt peculiarly withdrawn from the local scene. She did have Sunday lunch with Annette and Vic, but she left them soon after two and, driving Vida’s car, she went out into the hills. On Mo
nday an invitation came for Bill and Vida to play bridge with friends. When Bill came in at five-thirty, Vida mentioned it to him.
“I’d like that,” he said. “But just the two of us?”
Terry, from her chair beside the veranda door, said at once, “I really don’t want to go, Bill. I’m not nearly up to your standard of playing, and I shan’t be alone. Roger will be home later.”
“Yes, I suppose so. What’s he doing?”
“Finishing up at the store. There are lots of last-minute jobs, and he’s only just managed to find a man who’s able to handle things while he’s away. They’re probably together now.”
“Supposing he’s late?”
“It won’t matter. I haven’t even started my packing yet.”
“That decides it,” said Vida. “You’ll have to be right ready to leave early in the morning. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, Terry.”
“I’ll find it, and get something for Roger, too.”
“We may not be home till after midnight. You know how it is with bridge.”
“You’re not to worry about me. When I’ve finished packing I’ll have a bath and go to bed.”
“Look in and say goodbye to me in the morning!”
“Of course I will.”
Vida went off to dress and at seven she and Bill left the house. There was still no sign of Roger, and Terry decided that she had better eat a little herself and be prepared to cook something easy for him when he turned up. At her suggestion the servants had been given the evening off, and Terry found it pleasant to walk about the kitchen with cheese and a biscuit in one hand while she made coffee and got out a cup with the other. She had just finished the light meal when a note came by messenger from Roger. He had found there was a great deal to look into with his substitute and had accepted an invitation to the man’s flat. They might be working into the small hours, “but you can bet I’ll be there and ready to leave Penghu by daybreak. When I think about it I can’t wait! Forgive me for deserting you this evening.”
Terry didn’t feel deserted so much as unsettled. She packed her larger suitcase with half a dozen frocks and everything that went with them, tidied the drawers and wardrobe and turned on the bath water.
Soaking in scented foam she felt better, but there was still that background uneasiness which would no doubt last till she and Roger had left Penghu behind them. She dried slowly, brushed back her hair and took a long time over varnishing her nails a pretty pale pink, the shade of the thin pyjamas she wore. Tonight her hair seemed to have lost the mid-brown and become streaked with gold. It was the soft bedroom light, of course, but the gold reminded her of her brief goodbye call on Annette this afternoon. She went over and stood by the window, thinking what a blessing it was that temperament such as her sister’s should go hand-in-hand with a modicum of good sense. Annette might still be a model at heart, she might still hanker for the spotlight and murmurs of admiration from that most exacting of creatures—woman. But basically she was fairly sound, and with Vic’s unobtrusive assistance she wouldn’t be able to help herself becoming a good wife. Thank goodness everything had...
Her thoughts halted abruptly. Was that a knock on the outer door? Perhaps not. The rattan veranda wall often clicked and cracked, but one didn’t notice it unless the house was empty. But ... had she locked the front door? Oddly enough, she had never before been in a position like this, without even a servant on the premises.
Her door was ajar and she went close to it. There was someone in the living room. Maybe Roger had returned early. Yes, that must be it. He’d have had his dinner, but perhaps she ought to bid him a brief goodnight and tell him she would be up on time in the morning.
She got into a thin wrap, but did not bother to tread into slippers before walking along to the living room.
She opened the door, felt shock like an icy electric current through her veins, but stood her ground, in the doorway.
“Hi,” said Pete laconically. “Did they put you to bed and go out?”
Unconsciously, she tightened the girdle at her waist, took a pace into the room. “I ... we didn’t expect you. I thought it must be Roger.”
Just faintly, his mouth hardened. “Is he used to seeing you like that?”
“No, of course not, but ... you do get a different idea about things when you live under the same roof.”
“I’m sure of that. How are you?”
“Fine. Have you been away?”
“No. There was a bit of trouble over on the Harmsen place and it’s taken a few days to straighten it out. I intended to get down here early this evening, but my servant had an accident and had to be taken to a doctor.”
“I’m sorry. You are ... rather late.”
“Better late than never, though. Don’t you agree?”
He was baiting her, cynically. Well, she could take it, and he wouldn’t stay long. He obviously wasn’t in a sociable mood. He was wearing an immaculate light-colored linen jacket with dark trousers, but his shirt was open, showing a strong brown neck. His shoulders looked straight and broad and his casual stance suggested the sort of relaxation you might expect of a leopard.
“Would you like something—whisky and soda?” she asked politely.
“I might like something, but it wouldn’t be whisky and soda,” he returned, as evenly. “Are we quite alone?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Don’t be afraid, Teresa. We’ve been alone before, in far more lonely spots.” Almost imperceptibly he drew closer to her. “You smell very sweet, and you look like a clean, scrubbed little girl. I shall be free tomorrow—I’ll take you out for a picnic.”
The hands she had sunk into the pockets of her gown clenched themselves damply. “I don’t think that would be very wise, do you? And I honestly don’t think we’d enjoy it. Staying apart as we have for the last week has been much better for both of us.” Then hurriedly, hoping the topic could be shelved if she introduced another: “Have you seen Mr. Bretherton lately?”
“Only on the company’s business, but he did mention that he’d like to keep in touch with you. Some time soon he’ll be inviting you to have lunch with him.” Again cold mockery in his tones. “He’ll probably want to decide for himself that you’re being a good girl. You are, of course, aren’t you? Although you may have hoped for a tender farewell scene tonight with Roger. I hear he’s off to Singapore tomorrow.”
Terry felt as if her throat were closed. So that was why he had come—to make sure, and to taunt her. He stood there, looking cold and arrogant and sure of himself, but watchful too.
“That’s right,” she managed.
“Wish you were going with him?”
She drew in a horribly dry lip, said with husky defiance, “That’s not a bit funny, Pete. If you’ve guessed that I’m definitely going with Roger, and...”
But in that second she saw, fatally, that he hadn’t guessed it at all. His mockery, the watchfulness, the faint indolence in his posture, all vanished. He was suddenly blazingly angry.
“Say that again,” he said, his tone dangerously soft. Terry’s knees were fluid, her heart beat a frightening tattoo. “There’s no need to make a mountain out of it,” she said quickly. “I told you I was determined to go to Singapore.”
“And I told you you weren’t going! How dare you go ahead and make arrangements as if I don’t exist? You gave me your word!”
“I didn’t.” Terry was angry as well, but frightened with it. “If I’d given my word I’d have kept it.”
“You let me believe you’d accepted my attitude; to me it was as good as a promise. But you’ve actually been going ahead with the plan behind my back—taking advantage of the fact that I had extra plantation work to keep me busy. It’s rank treachery!”
“That’s most unfair,” she flung ‘at him. “I told you that I feel free to do as I please. I had a simple invitation from an oldish couple in Singapore and I can’t see a single reason why I shouldn’t accept it. We already have the plane
tickets...”
“To blazes with them!” he snapped. “I told you that if you persisted I’d make a public announcement about us ... and I will. You can’t possibly have thought I was joking!”
“Not joking ... but I did think it was just a threat. You wouldn’t really want Astrid Harmsen to know about us.”
“I could have managed Astrid, if it became necessary. As it happens, though, she’s left Penghu with her brother.”
“For ... for good?”
“Possibly.” His eyes cold and furious, he dismissed Astrid with a wave of his hand. “Don’t let’s confuse this. It happens to be something that’s between you and me. While you’re bound to me you’ll stay here.”
“But I’m going home to England in a couple of weeks!”
“You’re not. You’re staying right here in Penghu till that annulment is through,” he clipped out. “I wouldn’t trust you anywhere else.”
Terry’s cheeks were scarlet, her mouth trembled. “I’ve told everyone I’m leaving. I can’t suddenly change my mind. Besides, there couldn’t possibly be any hitch to the annulment if we’re apart. Mr. Bretherton would have mentioned something about it.”
“I don’t care about Bretherton’s opinion or anyone else’s. I told you flatly that I wouldn’t have you go to Singapore as an unattached girl to be looked over by Payn’s parents. It’s almost unbelievable that you yourself are so keen to go there under such conditions!”
“I’m not going to Singapore as Roger’s fiancée.”
“I’ll say you’re not! You’re not going there at all. And this time I’m not asking for your worthless promise. I’m just telling you that if you so much as attempt to leave Penghu with Payn tomorrow, I’ll yank you out of his car right there on the square, in front of everyone—and tell them why I’m doing it!”
She drew a sharp, painful breath. “You’re insufferable,” she whispered. “It’s incredible that you can be the man who brought me from Vinan.”
“I’m the same guy,” he said grimly, “but there was no question in our minds then about that marriage. It didn’t exist.”
Dangerous Waters Page 19