The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “I’ll try. More mysteries?”

  “Not very—I mean not to you. The Office is sending someone out tomorrow.”

  “What office?”

  “No names, no pack-drill!” Julia countered smartly. “Colin’s outfit, of course.”

  “Lawks!”

  “Yes, and rather a big shot. So can you lay on those hammock-men again? He’ll want to go up and see the sheep and all.”

  “I’m not sure that I can get them for tomorrow” Terence said. “Anyhow there won’t be enough daylight after the plane gets in—it comes as late tomorrow as today.”

  “Ah, he won’t be coming by that plane,” Julia said.

  “Cripes!—he must be a big shot! Does he want to stay at Aunt Sally’s too?”

  Julia laughed. “No, they’re both going to stay at the clinic.”

  “Nonsense!—or are you serious?”

  “Perfectly serious. The doctor has two rooms free, and has invited them both.”

  “Is he in on all this, then?”

  “He more or less had to be—he’s a good guesser!” Julia said gaily. “Hold on a second, Terence—I’d better ask if day after tomorrow will do for the hammocks?” She put her head out of the box and spoke briefly with her cousin. “Yes—at about ten thirty for three, please. You are a boon, Terence, being so kind; thanks a million. Now I’ll put Colin on, if you can get Aglaia. Goodnight, and bless you.”

  “No, wait a moment. Will your top-brass worthy want to see Pereira?”

  “Who? Oh, the vet. I don’t know. But if he does, can’t we get hold of him through the doctor?”

  “Yes, I suppose you can. He seems to be more or less on the strength!”

  “Or Colin and friend on his!” Julia said, gurgling. “All right —over to Colin.” She put the receiver down on the shelf and left the box; Colin went in, and she went out to the verandah again. She sat smoking and sipping her whisky, in a rather unwonted state of anxiety. She had often worried about Colin, over one aspect or another of his work; but this first encounter with Aglaia—when he was finding himself forced, quite definitely, to put that work first and her and her claims second, while she was actually on the spot—was, she felt, a sharper test than any he had yet encountered. And she herself now recognised, better than ever before, the core of quite ferocious toughness and ruthless determination which underlay Aglaia’s innocently childish exterior.

  When at last Colin came out onto the verandah again he was wiping his forehead with a handkerchief; he sat down, took a pull at his whisky, and lit a cigarette.

  “What hell it all is!” he burst out, after a few moments. “Of course I’m longing to see her!—she must know that by this time. But this job has got to be done now; it can’t be put off. And it can’t be done with amateurs tagging along, either; the fewer people who are in on it the better.” He paused, inhaled deeply, and blew out smoke; he looked at his cousin with distressful eyes.

  “I’m so sorry” Julia said.

  “But wouldn’t you think anyone could see that? And that it’s no good her having my telephone number? I’ve got to concentrate!—not be rung up all the time.”

  Julia listened, full of pity for them both, while he ran on for some time in this strain. It gradually became clear to her that Colin had stood firm; that was some comfort, however much he had hurt himself and Aglaia in the process.

  “How much have you seen of her out here?” he asked at last.

  “Quite a bit. They all came up and stayed at the Serra, and then we all went down and spent a long weekend at the quinta; that was when we found the sheep,” Julia said neutrally. “We’ve talked quite a lot” she added.

  “Well, perhaps I was unduly tough with her just now” he said then. “But sometimes”—he paused. “There was nothing else for it” he ended rather helplessly.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m thankful if you were a little tough with her” Julia said flatly.

  “Oh really? Why?”

  “Well, we may as well have this out now” Julia said. “Both Terence and I have been worried because she is so frightfully indiscreet.”

  “Oh, have you? Indiscreet how?” he looked at once startled, and almost relieved.

  “Talking about you and your job; complaining at your being sent to Spain; and quite openly suggesting that the Office was treating you unfairly over—well, over the Asia thing” Julia said, frowning a little in her effort to think how much to say, and how to say it, on this cruelly painful subject.

  “You don’t mean to say that she brought that up with you?” Colin asked; he looked horrified.

  “Well, yes, in a way. She was upset” Julia said, reaching out a long white hand and laying it gently on his, “and she is very young, don’t forget. Don’t fret over that, dearest. What mattered much more was her moaning about how they were treating you to Terence, and even to Mrs. H.”

  “But that’s simply frightful” the young man said. “It must be stopped.”

  “That’s what I told Terence. He did have a go, but he’s so gentle, he didn’t do much good. But I think it has been stopped” Julia said, with a slow smile. “In the end I gave her a most frightful roughing-up myself, and she gave me her solemn promise never to talk about you and your work to anyone, except you and me. I really think she has got that much into her head.”

  He looked relieved. “Bless you” he said, squeezing her hand.

  “Of course that’s why she was so dead set on your coming here, as a sort of rehabilitation-course!” Julia went on. “And once she told me of the doctor’s hint to Fonseca about the respirators, I saw that you ought to. How did you manage to get away so quickly?” she asked then.

  “Oh, I had some leave in hand, and there was nothing much doing at Pamplona, so I rang Graham in Madrid from Gralheira and asked him to let me advance it a bit, so that I could flip over here and see my wife—I said there was illness here” he added, grinning.

  Julia laughed. “How true!” She got up. “Well, there’s lots more to talk about, but I think I’d better get back now.”

  “Shall you come down in the morning?”

  “Have to, to bring the car for Sir What’s-It! I’ll be here at ten thirty sharp, to whisk you away before the old party surfaces.” She began to laugh again. “What a card the doctor is! Oh, what did Hartley say about him, by the way?”

  He told her.

  “Well, let’s hope it is all right. It sounds a bit vague, to me.”

  “Vague or not, it was inevitable” Colin said, calmly.

  She stared at him—then smiled happily again.

  “Yes. Bless you!” She gave him a quick kiss, went out to the car, and drove off. But all the way up to the Serra, driving fast through the dark along the now almost empty road, she was “singing and making melody in her heart to the Lord,” as St. Paul so admirably puts it, for this new development in Colin. Something—perhaps the disastrous experience in Asia, which had cost her her Philip—had made him begin to grow up at last. She shrank from the thought of her husband, but the relief and thankfulness persisted. And when she had let herself in, crept upstairs, apologised to the watchful Pauline and refused a hot drink, and tumbled hastily into bed, she was aware of a peace and a sense of release that she had not known for a long time. This came in a sweet and curious contrast to her constant ache for Philip, and the buzzing immediate preoccupation with the business in hand—the arrival of Sir Percy, and what was to follow, all as yet unsettled. As she started to drift into sleep she was aware of the beginning of a sense of a load being lifted off her —her half-unconscious feeling of responsibility for Colin which, in its mixture of fondness and exasperation, had had a maternal element in it, unrecognised at the time. Now, from now on, she thought dreamily, the Philipino could be her only child.

  That thought brought her broad awake again, oddly enough. She was suddenly consumed by such an urgent desire to see the little boy that she got out of bed and—barefoot and only in her nightdress, in the warm night—took h
er torch and crept along the passage, through the swing door, on and into the night-nursery. There, past Nannie Mack’s stout, gently snoring form, she stood at the foot of the cot, shielding the light with her hand from the small sleeping face, and took a long look. Then she crept back to her room again and fell into a peaceful and profound sleep.

  9

  By 9:30 the following morning Colin Monro had finished his packing as well as his breakfast, and was sitting on the verandah, with both doors through to the hall open, waiting for Major Hartley’s call—the tulip-tree in early sunshine, and the vivid flower-beds, brilliant with dahlias, fuchsias, and geraniums round the small lawn, made him reluctant to sit indoors. Presently the bell rang: he hurried in, but old Porfirio of course beat him to it; he stood on the threshold of the telephone-box holding out the receiver, with a beaming smile, as Colin came up—“For the Senhor, from Londres.”

  “Good morning” Colin said cheerfully.

  “Morning” Hartley’s voice replied. “Well, the plane should touch down about twelve noon. Everything’s laid on; you just hang about and meet him. He’ll be wearing one of those Tyrolean felt hats with a chamois-tail sticking up at the back.”

  “Good. Dark or fair?”

  “Dark—a small feller; very small.”

  “And what about the party who was in France?”

  “Oh yes, that’s your man all right. Old Jean knew all about him; he was in the French thing up to the ears. Now has that splendid girl fixed up accommodation for Mossy?”

  “Well, it’s been fixed. He’s going to stay with that worthy who was in France—so am I.”

  “What, in his house?”

  “No, as his patients.”

  Colin could hear the Major’s “Ho-ho-ho!” loud and clear.

  “That’s first class! Couldn’t be better. What’s the number?”

  “I got that for you last night—hold on a second.” He pulled out his diary and read the number aloud.

  “And when do you go there?”

  “As soon as Mrs. Philip comes to collect me—any moment now.”

  “O.K. Well, the best of luck—you seem to be having plenty so far!” the Major said breezily, and rang off. As he stepped out of the box Colin saw the small car glide noiselessly up to the door; he went out to it.

  “Perfect timing” he said to Julia, leaning in to give her a kiss. “I’m all ready—just tip the old fellow, and off we go.” In fact Porfirio was close behind him with the luggage, which he placed in the back of the car; Colin gave him some notes, Julia again praised the dinner, and asked for her thanks to be passed on to the cook, and they drove off.

  “What had Hartley got to say about the doctor? Did he get onto his pal in Paris?”

  “Yes—and he is the Portuguese who was working on gas for the French. Sir Percy may know him too, for all I know. Anyhow Hartley is perfectly satisfied.”

  “Good. What luck we’re having all round, between him and Terence.”

  “That’s what Hartley said” Colin responded cheerfully.

  He and Julia both felt that their luck was holding when de Carvalho showed them the quarters he had assigned to his new patients—two rooms at the end of a short corridor, both with balconies overlooking the garden, a bathroom between them; the rooms were not unduly small, and pleasantly furnished, with a couple of armchairs and a table in each; there were chaise-longues on the two balconies. While Julia was praising and admiring, a man in a white coat came in and plugged telephones into wall-plugs by each bed. “Oh yes, I often have businessmen as patients, and these cannot recover without a telephone in their room!” the doctor said, with a sardonic grin. “You will of course eat up here; you can ring and say on which balcony you would prefer your meals to be served. Will your scientist be here in time for luncheon?”

  “I should think so—his plane is due in about noon.”

  “Your friends work fast!” De Carvalho exlaimed. “Then there should be time for drinks in the garden beforehand. Excellent! Now, if you will excuse me I must attend to my patients.” He hurried away.

  “Talking of drinks, hadn’t you better have a small supply up here in your rooms?” Julia suggested. “I don’t suppose Sir Percy will want to discuss everything with the doctor, all the time.”

  “No, I’m sure he won’t. Good idea, darling. How do we get our supply?”

  “Bother poor Terence, as usual” Julia said, going over to the telephone, which stood on the bed-table. “Oh good—that man’s left a book.” She looked out the number and dialled Terence’s office. When he came to the telephone—“Me again” she announced.

  “More mysteries?” Terence enquired.

  “No—nothing could be more commonplace than this requirement! Where can I get a supply of drink for the big shot?”

  “What does the big shot drink? Madeira?”

  “We don’t know” Julia said, beginning to laugh. “Only they’ll be having all their meals in their rooms, so they’ll want vinho de mesa at meals, as well as drinks before and after. I should play safe with gin and whisky, for a start, and some vin ordinaire. We’ve just got time to get it, if you tell me what shop.”

  “No, better let me have it sent in; then you’ll get decent whisky, and won’t be robbed. I’ll have a couple of garafãos of wine sent in too, red and white; I’m sure the servants there can decant it. If you find he is a Madeira man, I can get you some really good stuff later on.”

  “Thank you very much indeed. Bill to Colin, please. Oh Terence, what a treasure you are!”

  “Colin can give me a cheque—I won’t let him and his Office off, don’t you worry! That all? Oh, the hammocks will be all right tomorrow, by the way. And have you by any chance heard how Marcusinho is?”

  “Not this morning, but he was as good as cured last night.”

  “Not really? But that’s marvellous! How did it happen, d’you know?”

  “The doctor had a bright idea, and tried a new drug” Julia answered readily. “Anyhow it stopped the pain.”

  “Thank goodness. I’ll ring Penel, so that she can tell his parents.”

  “Yes, do do that. Bless you. Goodbye.”

  On their way out to the car Julia spoke to the elderly male secretary whom they had seen the evening before, and mentioned that a parcel would be coming for the Senhor Monro, and that it was to be put in his room. Then they drove out to the airport. As they topped the high ground and began to drop down towards Porto Novo they saw a small plane circling fairly low over the sea, preparatory to coming in to land.

  “I bet you that’s him” Colin said, accelerating.

  “He’s early, if so” Julia said, with a glance at her watch. “What makes you think it’s him?”

  “The plane—it’s a Dominie. They have the range and the speed for this run, although they’re rather small. Bother! — I hope he doesn’t beat us to it.”

  “Well, don’t drive too fast” Julia remarked. “It won’t help at all if we don’t live to tell him our tale.” Colin laughed, but slackened speed slightly.

  In fact it was a pretty close-run thing. They saw the plane touch down some moments before they reached the airport; as they drove into the small car-park a group of officials came out of the building and stood looking about—among them was a small dark-haired man wearing a Tyrolese hat with a chamois-tail in the back. Colin sprang out and went over.

  “Good morning, sir. My name is Monro. Have you some luggage?”

  “Morning” said the small man. “Yes, someone has my luggage.” A porter at that moment brought out three largish suitcases. “Yes—and the camera?” Another man appeared with a bulky canvas case and what were evidently the legs of a tripod strapped together. “Ah, that’s the lot—it is rather a lot, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, we’ll fit it in all right.” Julia at this point drove the car up beside them. “My cousin, Mrs. Jamieson” Colin said; Julia said “How do you do?” “Shall I drive, Colin?” she asked her cousin then.

  “Yes, you’d bette
r. Do get in, sir.” With some trouble the luggage was all bestowed, the legs of the tripod sticking out over the back of the car, and Colin somehow squashed himself in as well. The small dark man took polite farewells in French of the airport officials, and shook hands with his plane’s captain— “Thanks for a lovely ride.” Then he got into the car and they drove away.

  “Now, Monro,” Sir Percy said, leaning over towards the back of the car, “will you begin at the beginning, and tell me exactly what has happened here?”

  “Mrs. Jamieson will have to do that, sir; I only arrived last night.”

  “Oh.” He turned to the woman beside him, and now appeared to notice her for the first time. Julia was again wearing the slate-grey linen dress; a broad white band held her remarkably coloured hair in place; she was smiling faintly. “That will be much more convenient” he said, smiling too. “Carry on, please, Mrs. Jamieson.”

  “Shall I begin at the very beginning?” Julia asked.

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, as the boat on which I came from Lisbon was getting in to Funchal we saw a Russian trawler, with all those radar gadgets in the rigging” Julia began.

  “How did you know she was Russian?” Sir Percy asked crisply.

  “The Captain told me—I was on the bridge with him. He was rather cross; he said she was often hanging about. When we got into territorial water she sheered off. Then ten days later, down at Mr. Armitage’s quinta, I saw her again.”

  “How did you know it was the same one?” he interjected.

  “By her number—Mr. Armitage had his field-glasses, and I had seen it through the Captain’s.”

  “And remembered it?”

  “No, I jotted it down.”

  “Have you still got it?”

  “Yes—as a matter of fact it was 0263, but it’s in my diary.”

  “Vairy good.” Sir Percy pronounced this phrase rather oddly. “Please go on.”

  “Next day we went up onto the Paúl da Serra, and found the sheep all sick. That’s where you will be going tomorrow, to see them.”