“If you hate it so much, why don’t you just let me go? At least you could forget it till we’re legally free.”
“Letting you loose would be like leaving dynamite near a bonfire. You’re right ready to fall into someone’s arms, and your first reaction would be to confess the blot on your past.”
“I swear I’d never say a word about it!”
His mouth thinned in a smile. “Don’t try that. I happen to know the value of a promise from you.”
“How many times,” she demanded unsteadily, “do I have to repeat that I made you no promise? You were tyrannical and I had to give in just then. But even after we’d parted that night I had no intention of giving up the week’s holiday. I’ve explained that...”
“You’re only worsening the matter. Get one thing very clear in your mind. No woman is going to explain away something that happened to me. If I have to, I’ll announce the blighted marriage myself, but I won’t have you confessing it as if it were something to be ashamed of!”
His final statement halted Terry. She put up a hand and drew together the lapels of the wrap, looked at his dark and angry face. Despairingly she wondered if anything she could say would get through the savage barrier he had thrown up between them.
At last she made an effort. “I do need that week’s holiday Pete. Please believe me when I say I won’t do or say a single thing you wouldn’t approve of.”
“I don’t want to hear anything more about it,” he said curtly. “Payn leaves without you tomorrow. You’d better feel ill and stay in bed.”
“But don’t you see...”
“That’s all!” he said sharply. “If you try anything in the least underhand, I’ll not only use force to keep you here, but everyone will know that I have a right to use it I mean that!”
By now Terry was spent and reckless. “You brute,” she said hotly, shakily. “You unfeeling, domineering brute! I suppose the trouble at the Harmsens was your own connection with Astrid. She expected some declaration you weren’t free to make, and ran out on you. And now you’re taking things out on me, because I’m the reason you couldn’t beg her to marry you. In your heart, if you have one, you’re blaming me for Astrid’s actions. I’m the ... the obstacle. The deadweight you can’t throw off for another month or two. So you’ll do your best to keep me here, and torment me for the pain I’ve caused you.”
“Shut up,” he said, “before you say something you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“I won’t shut up.” She was clutching at the collar of the dressing gown with both hands now, and facing him, pale and trembling. Her eyes were dark blue, lit with fire. “For my part you could have told Astrid everything and asked her to wait for you. If I were desperately in love with Roger that’s what I’d do, even though I can’t think of that foolish ceremony as a binding one. I know I’m really free...”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he broke in, in metallic tones. “You won’t be free till the marriage is declared void.”
The muscles of her jaw were set so hard that they ached. On a note of hysteria she cried, “I won’t accept it, Pete! I wouldn’t marry you if...”
It happened so quickly that her words were literally choked back by the force of his mouth on hers. He gripped her with all the welled-up fury of a strong man driven beyond words into long, ruthless minutes of action. And it wasn’t just a raging kiss on the lips. He pushed aside her hair and kissed her neck, moved the collar of her dressing gown and pressed a hard, angry mouth to her shoulder. Useless to struggle against those irons arms, that maniacal will. But her trembling must have got through to him.
He let her go, stood back a little, breathing heavily. Terry had dropped her face into her hands, but if her smallness and look of despair touched him he made no sign.
Tightly, eyes glittering and mouth taut, he said, “Perhaps that will make you realize that you are married to me—and I mean married. So you’d better be careful, hadn’t you? It’s not always good policy to defy the enemy. For your sake, I hope I’ve convinced you that from now on you’ll do as I tell you or take the consequences. Go to bed—and you’d better stay there till after Payn has left tomorrow morning.”
That was all. Terry heard the thud of the door, the roar of a car engine. Somehow she swayed back to her bedroom and sank down across the bed. Nerves were prodding all over her body, her mouth felt bruised, and there was a pain in her heart like the thrusting of a thousand knives. It was much later that it came to Terry, with a dull sense of shock, that she had wanted Pete to kiss her. Not like that, though, she thought shudderingly. Not like that.
CHAPTER NINE
FOR the rest of that week Terry was occupied with polishing, dusting and making up the beds in her sister’s flat. On Friday came the first communication from Annette and Vic; they expected to reach Penghu on Saturday evening. The question was, would they want to be met by a party or a silent flat?
IT was quite unnecessary for Terry to feign an ailment next morning. She was white-faced with dark smudges under the eyes, and she could hardly bear to lift her aching head from the pillow. In such a steamy climate it was necessary to call a doctor at the first sign of illness, and though the good man who came was puzzled by Terry’s lack of a temperature he was also adamant that she should remain in bed till she felt and looked much better.
Roger was inconsolable. He couldn’t put off his visit to Singapore because his parents had already booked their passage to England in a week’s time. Yet leaving Terry after he had counted so much upon her accompanying him was almost more than he could endure, particularly as he was almost certain the Penghu branch of his company would be closing down completely. He had to go, but he left behind Terry’s plane ticket and a plea that she would follow him in a day or two if she felt well enough.
After he had gone the house was quiet. The tablets Terry had swallowed dulled her headache and kept imagination at bay. It was not till the evening that she felt able to sit up and eat a little.
Thankfully aware of the improvement, Vida said, “What rotten luck, Terry. This is the first time I’ve seen you so wan, and it had to happen on the very day you needed to feel really well. You know,” with a smile, “a psychiatrist might diagnose in you a hidden reluctance to go with Roger today.”
In this case, thought Terry woodenly, the psychiatrist would be dead wrong. She could imagine nothing more desirable than to be, at this moment, as far away from Penghu as Singapore.
“Does Annette know I’m still here?”
“She probably heard it from Vic when he got in from work this evening. I didn’t make a point of letting her know because you really needed quiet. Oh, by the way,” casually, “Pete Sternham looked in at lunch-time—for no apparent reason. He said he’d been exceptionally busy, but things had now slowed down. I told him you weren’t well, and he said I must give you his regards. He seemed to be a wee bit stiff.”
Terry made no comment. She was almost beyond having any kind of opinion about Pete. Where he was concerned she could only feel, and she had the hollow conviction that each day she would feel more. The very contemplation of six or eight weeks in Penghu, risking a meeting with Pete almost every day, made her feel weak and despondent. Surely nothing she had ever done merited this kind of punishment?
Later in the evening Annette, astonished and a little anxious, came into the bedroom. The. last thing she had ever expected, she said several times, was to see Terry floored by the climate. That was what it must be, of course—the climate. Terry nodded, said it was good of Annette to come but she would be perfectly well tomorrow, and thankfully watched her sister depart.
Next day she got up, still slightly pale and dark-eyed, but otherwise normal. In answer to Vida’s query, she said, “No, I won’t follow Roger. I must write an apology to his parents and enclose the ticket. They probably run an account with a travel agent and might get a refund. It seems the only way to handle it.”
“Perhaps so. It’s fortunate you weren’t looking forward to i
t terribly. You’ve hardly spoken about it at all during the past week.”
For an excellent reason; Terry had felt silence was wiser. It hadn’t worked, but that had been sheer bad luck. Had Pete’s busyness extended itself by just one day, he couldn’t have stopped her. But he had known when Roger was due to leave, and perhaps deep in his mind he hadn’t quite trusted her. Fatalistically she thought it fairly certain that he couldn’t have helped but prevent her going. That was... Pete.
For a couple of days everything was quiet. Annette had actually decided to embroider a linen bedspread, and Terry went along to the flat to help get it started. For one who hated needlework and had attempted no embroidery; since the tea-towel she had cross-stitched at school, it was a colossal undertaking. There was a vast flower motif in each corner of a rectangle of good Malayan material and a gargantuan spray in the centre; to Terry it looked like a task to last a lifetime.
Lightly she said, “I shall have to stay here if only to get you well on with it; the two of us ought to make some sort of show in a few weeks. You know, I might stay for a couple of months if it weren’t a case of sponging on the Winchesters.”
Annette was eager. “They love having you, darling. I was in their house for ages, and Vida likes you better.”
“Why on earth should you think that? Neither Bill nor Vida ever show preferences.”
“They’ve often said they’re fond of you, and no one could have been more concerned when you were unwell. When I was seedy it was tantrums, but with you it’s darned bad luck! ‘ Annette laughed. “They’re right, of course. I’m glad they like you—particularly if it’ll make you remain in Penghu a while longer.”
“Well, I don’t know. I couldn’t face several weeks of idleness.”
“There are one or two welfare societies, I believe. At the moment they’re working on flood relief. And you’re good with books; they’re talking of starting a library in the town. I’m not much help at anything of that kind, but you’ve always helped Father. By the way, what about coming to dinner with Vic and me tonight? I’ll do all the cooking myself.”
Terry smiled. Shall I bring along a pie, in case of accidents?”
“Well, maybe. The results of my efforts are a wee bit unpredictable. As a matter of fact, Vic has been promised a good cook, and for me he can’t turn up too soon. I’ll I never be a real housewife.”
“Then perhaps it’s as well that you had to start married life here in Penghu, where servants are available. It could be that your having to come to Malaya was more of a blessing than you thought! I’ll come early this evening in case you need me.”
“Vic will pick you up at six-thirty.” Annette added, with mock ingenuousness, “And you might bring that pie with you—for the main course; otherwise, I warn you, it’ll be tough steak. It’s because Vic is getting tired of tough steak that he’s found a cook. Not that the pet would admit it. He’s loyal to the backbone.”
Actually, it was quite a good dinner Annette served that evening. She did use the curried meat pie which Terry had brought, but she had taken a good deal of trouble over the chilled soup and mixed fruit trifle, and tonight she opened an imported cheese her father had sent, and Vic served white wine. The frock Annette wore was totally impracticable, but it was typical—a white nylon weave with a turquoise belt. Patently, to Vic she was everything desirable, and Terry mused yearningly upon the kind of love that accepts faults and even selfishness while remaining tender and staunch. It was the sort of love she would have bestowed herself, if she’d been given the chance. Instead, there was this wild unhappiness, this dreadful longing that seemed to be bound up with something fat more shattering than ... than love.
As they drank coffee Terry looked about the new little room, and across to the balcony which viewed small houses, thick palms and mangoes, brown dusty streets and people clad in bright cottons and coolie hats. Any place shared by two people became a home. There was Annette’s big roll of embroidery on the side table, a couple of her magazines on the floor beside her chair, a tiny bowl of flowers she had cleverly arranged, her date book carelessly open near the reading lamp, a pair of mules tucked out of sight, as she had imagined, under an armchair. And Vic’s pipe rested on an ashtray, his pouch beside it, while he himself sprawled comfortably in one of the utility chairs.
It was about nine-thirty when someone knocked at the door. Vic dragged himself upright and walked into the tiny vestibule, opened the door. Then Terry’s heart lost a beat it would never pick up, while her sinews tightened and a polite mask slipped into position.
“Why, hallo, Pete!” Vic exclaimed. “We’ve been wondering if we’d have to invite you formally before you’d look us up. Come on in.”
Then came Pete’s voice, clear but lazy. “Thought I’d give you budgies time to settle a bit. How are things?” Instinctively, Annette had put a tidying hand to the golden hair and drawn herself gracefully to her feet. She extended a hand, gave that slightly knowledgeable smile she had always given Pete.
“Good evening, Mr. Sternham,” she said demurely. “I believe you’ve met my sister.”
Pete gave her the slight bow she enjoyed, slanted a noncommittal glance at Terry and said, “Good evening, Mrs. Hilton ... Miss Fremont. I hope I’m not in the way?”
“Certainly not,” said Annette. “What do you think of our palace? A little on the small and plain side, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but what do you care?” said Pete. “It’s a home, and you share it. I came to invite you out to my place for dinner on Friday. I’ve just been to the Winchesters.”
“And they told you Terry was here?”
He nodded, again looked at Terry. “Feeling brighter, little one?”
“Yes,” she answered baldly.
“You were in bed when I called the other day. Vida said you weren’t at all well.”
She said distinctly, “Something must have disagreed with me, I think.”
“It was filthy luck,” said Annette, settling back into her chair. “Terry was booked for a week in Singapore and she had to give it up. Roger was heartbroken.”
Pete clucked sympathetically. “Never mind. Singapore will still be there when you feel a hundred per cent again. You haven’t a bad color at the moment.”
Terry clasped her hands rather tightly in her lap and made no reply. Vic poured short drinks and glasses were lifted.
Annette asked interestedly, “Are you celebrating something on Friday, Pete, or just feeling sociable?”
“I thought a dinner for six would be a change from eating alone. I like the Winchesters and it goes without saying that I like you Winchesters as well.”
“Just the six of us? What’s happened to your Swedish friends?”
“They’ve left. Jan has returned to Sweden, and Astrid is visiting some people in Penang. They’re not likely to come back to Penghu.”
“No?” Annette’s oblique glance was inquisitive. “I always thought you might marry that girl. She had a nice cool look for a hot climate. Did you ever meet her, Terry?”
“Yes, once.”
“Wouldn’t you have said she was Pete’s cup of tea?”
Terry tried to answer but couldn’t. She hesitated too long.
He asked, with the merest trace of taunt in his soft tones, “Well, Teresa? Would you say Astrid was my cup of tea?”
“It’s one of the things upon which I have no opinion at all,” she replied evenly.
“Oh, come now. Don’t be shy.”
She wouldn’t be baited, not this time. “I’ve no idea what sort of woman would suit you,” she said offhandedly. “I’m not interested.”
“That’s a bit hard,” said Vic. “Every bachelor thinks that every unmarried woman is devoured with interest in everything he does. You’re not very good for a man’s ego.”
It was out before she knew it. “Pete’s ego is the self-inflating kind. Didn’t you know?”
Annette was surprised into a short laugh; she looked quickly at Pete’s hard smile. “
You know,” she said, “you two are the biggest mystery in Penghu. I can’t imagine how you tolerated each other during those four days on the river.”
Terry said, “We were both one-track. Pete thought only of his rubber trees and I’d have endured anything to get to you.”
There was an unpleasant smile in Pete’s tones as he commented, “You stood it bravely, Teresa. I didn’t know you at all, yet I felt I could trust you.”
The very faintest emphasis on the last two words, and it took Terry an effort of will to keep her face averted from him. He knew how to hurt without seeming to; there was hardly a shade of speech or behaviour he couldn’t use, if he was put to it.
“Your instinct was absolutely right,” Annette stated. “I’ve shamelessly depended on Terry since she was about fifteen.”
“Thank you all for the compliments,” said Terry casually, and she looked at her watch. “Do you think we could go now, Vic? Pete will keep Annette company, and it won’t take you long to run me home, anyway.”
“I’ll take you,” said Pete as coolly. “No need to trouble Vic.”
“It’s no trouble—is it, Vic?” she said hurriedly.
“Well, no. Why don’t you both stay a while longer, though? Pete can drive you home on his way.”
Pete was standing. “I only came to hand out the invitation for Friday. If the child is tired she must go home, and no one,” with a slightly cynical accent, “has more right than I to take her there.”
“That’s debatable,” said Vic with a grin. “I’m her brother-in-law.”
“So you are,” suavely. “For the moment I’d forgotten that. Well, good nighty both of you. Glad to see you’re settled in. See you on Friday.”
Robbed of volition, Terry picked up her scarf and went out with the others. Vic and Annette sauntered along to the top of the staircase, waved good night, slipped an arm about each other and strolled back to the flat. Terry moved stiffly down the stairs, kept at least a foot of space between herself and Pete. At a bend they met a well-to-do Malayan couple going up to their apartments; the woman was sallowly beautiful and garbed in tinsel-edged magenta silk, and as Terry avoided them Pete’s hand automatically reached for her elbow. It didn’t touch her, though; Terry took care of that.
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