`No. And he can't, too.'
`Can't swim?' But she had seen little brown bodies in the streams obviously as at home as on their legs in the streets.
`It is not to be,' said one of the boys.
The grandparents of one of us has said so,' added the other.
`But this is terrible. Don't you want to swim?'
`Yes, then I can get my boat when it floats away and not get water in my nose.'
`And not get drowned,' said the other helpfully.
`But we still must not swim,' they both chorused, 'it is the orders of the grandparents of one of us.'
`That is true.' The Senhor was now standirig beside Greer. He waited until the children returned to their launching activities, then said in a quiet voice, 'I know that that to an Australian is incomprehensible, but it still is the wish of those two unhappy people. Water took from them their dearest possessions, now they are nervous it can happen again.'
`It nearly happened just now,' said Greer bluntly; she was still a little unnerved by the incident. 'Can't these grandparents be told that the best way to avoid tragedy is to be prepared to handle it?'
`I agree entirely with you, Senhorita Greer, and that is why . . .' He looked at 'the turquoise pool and made an indicative gesture at it. 'It was not always here,' he stated, `in fact I only had it installed when I agreed to accept the children for a term.'
`You mean you felt the importance, too?' Greer said eagerly. 'Felt it sufficiently to—'
`To do something that was forbidden? Yes. Please not to think, Senhorita Greer, that at any time by the pool these boys have not been guarded. Eyes had been on them and at the first signs of trouble—'
`But still they can't swim.'
`I have been making haste slowly. Is that right, please? Both of these children have had a very bad experience with water. I wanted them to get the friendly feel of it, the liking for it before they went a step farther.'
`You were wise, Senhor Martinez, but don't you think they are ready now? I mean even though eyes, as you say, have watched them, children are slippery little customers,
they can elude care very successfully and, sadly, often tragically.'
`Again I agree entirely with you.' A pause. 'When can you start?'
`I, senhor?'
`Why not? That is, of course, after I speak with the grandparents. What better a time to "observe" than at a time when children are at their most natural, and that is swimming. Though perhaps' . . . a little disbelieving smile .. 'you are not in a position to teach them.'
`I can swim,' nodded Greer. Then, at a little knowing nod from him, 'Why did you suppose so in such a confident manner, senhor?'
The nutbrown maid,' he reminded her. 'You may not be a fair lady, as you have been at pains to tell me, but your skin still shows signs of many hours of sun in spite of its warmer-hued base. There are also five freckles.' As she stood a little embarrassed by his scrutiny, he said seriously, 'Will you instruct these children later, senhorita?'
`I'm no expert.'
`Just sufficient to keep a small body afloat. Greater proficiency might oblige me to confess to the grandparents that they have on their hands a prodigy,' he laughed.
Greer laughed, too, then agreed. Indeed, the idea of joining the boys in the turquoise pool was a very alluring one. She was glad she had brought her swimming things with her from Australia — several sets, since one needed them on board ship.
`Then that is very good,' Senhor Martinez said. 'When they become more confident we will all have a day at the beach ... oh, yes, there are some splendid beaches on the coast. But first the crawl ... am I right, senhorita?'
`The crawl comes long afterwards,' she corrected, 'indeed it is the finished stroke, and if either of the boys masters it then he will indeed end up a small prodigy.'
`You tell a man of the sea what is first and what is last,'
he pretended to frown, 'for indeed the Portuguese are that. Our country was attending to the waves many centuries before you were.'
`That was only because we hadn't been heard of,' she bantered back, and they both laughed.
The boys, sensing an adult frolic, joined merrily in by splashing water, and Greer, reaching in her pocket for a handkerchief to dry herself while the Senhor called for order, felt the note again. It changed everything.
She waited around, barely hiding her impatience, until the Senhor called the boys out of the water and their ayah took over. Then at last she ran up the stairs to her room.
She shut the door behind her and took out the letter and unfolded it. It was, as she had guessed, from Arlene, though Uncle Randall's wife had cautiously not signed her name.
It said simply but urgently: 'Can you come?'
When Dulepp inquired as to whether the memsahib would dine downstairs tonight, Greer said no, that she would have a tray and eat with her sister in the sickroom. She did not know whether the nurse would approve of this, but it seemed to her as well as a way of being with Holly a way of knowing whether Senhor Martinez had left the house, the sick-bay being so centrally situated so that every coming and going could be seen and heard. It had been chosen for this. Doctor Holliday had told her he considered that unless a patient was seriously ill and in need of absolute quiet, diversion was a very desirable thing.
The little nurse did not mind, and Holly said her invalid diet tasted twice as nice with Greer to talk to. She was still elated over her new things, and chattered so much that she grew tired and the nurse gave Greer some meaningful looks.
But still Greer sat on. She felt sure that the Portuguese business man would be going out again, then when he went ,She was right. Through a crack supplied by the notquite-closed door she saw him ascend the stairs after dinner, then soon afterwards descend them again.
He was in evening dress, and for a moment his splendour took away her breath. He stood briefly clipping a cheroot, and she watched him through the small opening. Where was he going? she wondered. With whom? She glanced down at Holly, drifting off to sleep now, and hoped uneasily that those gentle looks of the Portuguese were not giving her little sister any foolish ideas. That tycoon was not for a naive girl like Holly.
She was glad of the evening splendour, however, even though it gave her an odd pang, for it meant that he would be away for the night, and what she had to do would not take long.
She waited till she heard the big car move off, then she kissed Holly goodnight, Holly not noticing, then took up the handbag she had left there earlier and went unobtrusively out of the house and down the front steps.
She was not frightened, not even the slightest bit nervous. The hill where the house was situated was a very exclusive area, no harm could come to her here, she had only to wait for a taxi, and in such a privileged area taxis should pass quite frequently.
Perhaps it was the time of evening, or perhaps the hill residents used their own cars, but it was quite a while before she hailed one. She had moved down from the big house so as not to be seen, and though the wisteria and bougainvillea hedges were very attractive by day, by night they were rather too concealing. She was relieved when the cab pulled up and the driver opened the door. She told him the address of the flat.
After some fifteen minutes she began to worry. She felt sure that the journey had not taken this long the last time. She peered out of the window and was reassured by public buildings, lights, people. I'm not being kidnapped, anyhow, she tried to smile.
Another five minutes and another peep out of the window, and still buildings, lights, people. The same buildings, lights, people?
The landmark of the Victoria Railway Station caught her eye; she could not mistake having seen that before. She called out, 'Driver, you're doing the same route again. Please take me to that address at once.'
The driver turned and explained plausibly that it was dangerous taking Memsahib down the side lanes, that in keeping to the main ways he had only been thinking of Memsahib's safety.
`Very well, but don't think about i
t a third time,' warned Greer.
There must have been a certain note in her voice ... or at least an acceptance in the man that no extra money would be forthcoming, for within a few minutes they pulled up at the flat. Greer paid what she was asked, not feeling capable of argument, but told the taxi off.
She went up the stairs. -Arlene must have been watching for her, for she opened the door at once.
`Oh, Greer, I'm so glad you could come. Not that you can do any good . . . I'm not expecting that . . . it's just that I want you to know.'
`What is it, Arlene?'
`More trouble.' Arlene turned her back on Greer. Greer saw the shuddering of her shoulders.
`Please tell me.' Greer crossed to her side. 'At least if I can't help you, I can listen. Then why can't I help, Arlene?'
For answer Arlene whispered an amount of money that explained everything. 'I've given up trying, any more, Greer,' she sobbed, 'it's just too much. After all' ... a pathetic look at Greer... 'what can further shame mean to me now? But I felt I had to tell you . . . prepare you. That is, if one can be prepared for a thing like this.' Another burst of sobs.
`A debt, Arlene?'
`That's the kinder word. Yes, Greer. Only this person
won't be like your Portuguese.'
`He's not that.'
A quick sharp look that Greer did not notice. 'I really meant a superior person, Greer. One who doesn't . . . who wouldn't . .. Oh, no, this one will want his pound of flesh. There'll be publicity.' A shudder. 'Oh, I'm terribly sorry for you, Greer. Not for myself, I think I'm beyond feeling now. But I've come to know you, and it's made everything different. Before you arrived I thought of you as just Randall's relation. Now . ..' Arlene spread her ringed fingers.
`Thank you for telling me,' Greer said dully. The amount Arlene had whispered had considerably shocked her. `There's nothing, as you said, that I can do, of course.'
`Nothing.' Arlene was watching her closely, wetting her lips as though preparing to say something. But she must have changed her mind, for she waited instead for Greer to make the first move.
`I told you last time, Arlene,' said Greer, 'that I would help you from my salary.'
`Yes, and it was sweet of you, but of course it will be a few weeks yet before you receive any payment, and even then . . .' A despairing shrug.
`But I've been paid in advance,' Greer came in eagerly. `Also it was such a generous rate I was astounded. I had to purchase some things for Holly, but if what I have here can help .. .'
Had she been able to see Arlene's face she would have read that this was not, or rather the amount was not, what Arlene wanted, but Arlene could bide her time, and if a hand-out was available ...
'I couldn't. You've done enough,' Arlene objected.
'Not nearly enough, from what you tell me,' sighed Greer. She had a brainwave. 'Perhaps you could appease this person for a while. Advance just part of the debt.' She said debt resolutely; she could not make it fraud. 'You could tell him ... promise him . . .'
`That there'll be more?' put in Arlene quickly. 'Yes, I
think I see what you mean. Oh, you are a dear girl! But how can I? How can I, Greer?' As she was saying it her eyes were raking the notes that Greer had put down.
Somewhere a clock chimed, and Greer knew she must not wait any longer.
`The taxi that brought me charged a shocking amount,' she told her uncle's wife.
`You have to outsmart them.' There was a contemptuous note in Arlene's voice. She must have heard it herself, for she covered up hurriedly, 'Which a girl like you couldn't bring herself to do. Go to the end of the street when you return, there are more taxis there, and let the driver know what you're about.'
`I'll do that. I'll come again, Arlene. But don't send your woman if you can help. Senhor Martinez ... well . that is . . .' She stammered into silence.
Arlene was watching her, listening to her. A little smile played round her mouth.
`I understand, dear. Now I think you'd better go. Do as I said and try the end of the street. And Greer, thanks.'
Greer was out of the building again, hurrying to the busier road. As Arlene had said, there were numbers of taxis. In a few minutes she had chosen a reputable-looking one and got in. But before they moved off, she briefed the driver.
`I do not want to be taken by a roundabout way. I want to get there by the shortest route. I will pay what is due, and something for you yourself, but I will not be overcharged as I was when I came across. Do you understand?'
`I understand, memsahib.' The driver, older than the driver who had brought her to the flat, looked a little hurt. Well, so long as he gets me there I don't care, Greer thought.
. . . But she was to care. And to wish she hadn't lectured him.
Arriving at the hill house, the driver asked to see the sahib of the house in order to tell the sahib that he had
brought the memsahib back safely.
`There is no need.'
`There is every need, memsahib, I am an honourable man, I wish to see the sahib's face and assure him of my own face.'
`I – I can tell him.
`The gentleman, please, madam.'
`Look, here is an extra note. Thank you for your trouble.'
`No trouble, memsahib, if I can see the sahib.'
`Please go.'
`No,' said the driver with dignity, 'I am a good man, a family man, I wish to tell the sahib—'
`Then tell me.
It was the Senhor's voice, the Portuguese still in his sartorial splendour . . . so his appointment tonight had only been brief.. and Vasco Martinez stood while the driver assured him that he had not cheated the memsahib, that he had brought her back by the very shortest way.
`For I am an honourable man. Why should I be otherwise? Tomorrow I still have to see my fellow man's face.'
`That is so,' agreed the Senhor sympathetically. 'And for your integrity, my friend—' Whatever he put in the driver's hand silenced the driver. The man bowed, bowed to Greer, and left.
Also silenced, Greer stood waiting. Stood waiting until she could bear it no longer. Then she raised her eyes.
`It is late,' said Vasco Martinez quite expressionlessly, `and I have had a difficult evening. We will leave it till tomorrow, Senhorita Greer.'
`Leave what?' Nervousness prompted her, but once she had asked it, she brazened it out.
`You did not think,' he said, vastly surprised, 'it finished at this?'
`Why not? As I told you before, I'm not a child.' `Twenty and some more,' he nodded. 'The watch-girl
of Holly. But' — astonished at her thinking there was to be nothing said — 'this is my house.'
`You mean as your employee I am part of it?'
`Of course.'
`But that doesn't give you the right to question me, to direct me — I mean not in my leisure.'
`It does in my country.'
`We are not in your country.'
`How little you know, then, Senhorita Greer. It does even more in India.'
`Then it doesn't in Australia.'
`There was a phrase I heard in England,' he said gravely, looking her up and down, 'and it was "More's the pity". Right?'
This time she did not answer that question, instead she said, 'You — you are intolerable!'
`We will discuss that, too, in the morning.'
`Senhor Martinez, I refuse to be--'
`In the morning, senhorita.' He bowed for her to pass him, when she stood erect and unmoving he preceded her up the stairs himself.
CHAPTER SIX
BUT after all there was no 'in the morning'.
Greer, who had tossed throughout the night in distasteful anticipation, wished later, when the 'reckoning' she had been promised did not come, that it was behind instead of before her. At least it would have cleared the air; she hated this cloud over her head.
She had breakfasted in her room, still preferring the iced paw-paw with lime, the thin toast, the pot of Indian tea to an English sideboard offeri
ng downstairs, especially in the Senhor's company, then she had visited Holly, a very radiant Holly this morning, sitting by the window in another of her cholis . . . the golden lily one today . . . and a delicately patterned wrap across her knees. With her fair hair and fair colouring she looked like a flower herself. No wonder the Senhor . the doctor, too, for he was entering the room now, his eyes only on her sister . . . no wonder they . . . But poor Doctor Holliday, she thought at once, how can he hope to compete against a man like that? Like Vasco Martinez?
She rose unwillingly. She knew the doctor wished to check Holly, but once in the hall she herself ran the risk of encountering the master of the house, and though it would be a good thing over, that last night's misdemeanour, she did not relish that discussion he had promised.
`If you're looking for Vasco,' Terry Holliday tossed, his hand on Holly's pulse, 'he left early this morning. He'll probably be away several days.'
`Left? But . .
`He said something about telling you it would wait That make sense?' He smiled at Holly. 'Young lady, you're doing fine.'
It made sense to Greer, and it also made for relief. She
went light heartedly to the children's quarters and helped Ayah finish dressing them. She then told the nurse she would take them for their garden walk, return them when their tutor arrived to summon them to the schoolroom. Ayah bowed and beamed, and the three set off.
Somewhere in one of them, Greer thought, watching their little sandalled brown feet twinkling along the paths beneath the mango trees, should be a vein of poetry. There must be surely with a father who, while still a boy, had cried: The raiment Bwali wears are these ...' There must be.
But— 'Get off my side of the path, you fat porpoise!' Subhas ... or Chandra? ... shrilled, and Chandra ... or Subhas? ... retorted, 'You are nothing but a bullfrog, croak, croak, croak!'
`Boys!' chided Greer in despair, not despair because of their wrangle, children would always be children, but a despair of finding that poetic vein
The Pool of Pink Lilies Page 9