The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  His companions looked with curiosity at the thermograph, a word unfamiliar to all three of them. In fact it looked almost exactly like the familiar barograph, a copper box containing a cylinder covered with ruled paper, on which, Sir Percy explained, an inked point would record the temperature hour by hour— “This one runs for a week.” He wound it up by a key, like a clock-key, at the top, tested the point to see that the ink was properly adjusted, and closed the lid. From a small leather toolcase he took out a gimlet, a screwdriver, and some screws, and screwed the whole gadget firmly on to the battens by lugs projecting from the base. Another check with the spirit-level proved satisfactory; then he placed Julia’s enemy, the double basket-cover, over the whole.

  “That should do” he said, contemplating the arrangement.

  “Sir Percy, mightn’t it be an idea to drive in two more stakes and fasten the cover to them? If the wind got up suddenly it could be blown away” Terence suggested.

  “Yes, you are quite right.” The two extra stakes were driven in, and the basket-cover lashed to them with string. Sir Percy regarded it with satisfaction.

  “Marvellously clever these people are at wicker-work” he observed. “Lovely trays and baskets they had in that place where we went to get this—such fine delicate patterns. You never see anything like that at home.”

  “All the same, it was the English who introduced basket-making here” Terence said mildly.

  “No—was it really?”

  “Yes. Two old boys called James Taylor and William Hinton started it, a hundred years or more ago; they found the withies growing freely in some of the ribeiras here, and sent to Italy for patterns, and set the whole thing going. Now of course it brings in thousands of dollars a year. But they are good workers” Terence added; “neat-fingered, and very patient.”

  “That’s most interesting. And what about the wine?—did the English start that too?”

  “Well, only half” Terence said, with a slow chuckle.

  “Pray explain” Sir Percy said, a little austerely.

  “Prince Henry the Navigator started the wine, and the sugar-making too; he sent for Malvoisie vines from Crete, and sugar-canes from Sicily, as soon as he got reports of his new island having fertile volcanic soil and a warm climate. A proper coloniser, he was” Terence said cheerfully.

  “Then what had the English to do with it? Surely he was the son of the Portuguese King?”

  “Yes, but he was half-English; his mother, Queen Philippa, was John of Gaunt’s daughter.”

  “John of Gaunt’s grandson! That explains a lot” Sir Percy said approvingly. The party then set out homewards, pausing by the pool to collect the haversacks. At the foot of the rock face the hammock-men were paid off by Terence. “When shall you want them again?” he asked Sir Percy. “Tomorrow? The day after would be better, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “For you? Could we not come without troubling you again, if it is inconvenient? You are being most good,” Sir Percy said warmly.

  “No, for them. Tomorrow is Sunday, and they’ll want to get to Mass.”

  “Oh, then arrange for them to come on Monday, by all means,” Sir Percy said. “Let us all keep the Sabbath!”

  11

  When They Returned to the cars Sir Percy again raised the question of seeing Echium candicans. Julia looked furtively at her watch—the time was half past four. Terence Armitage noticed this, and intervened.

  “Sir Percy, may I make a suggestion?”

  “By all means.”

  “Let me come and pick you up tomorrow, immediately after lunch, and take you myself to see the Echium. I know exactly where to look for it, which I think is more than either Mrs. Jamieson or her cousin can say for themselves.”

  “Too right—I’d never even heard of it!” Julia said cheerfully, throwing Terence a grateful glance.

  “That would be an excellent plan, if it is not putting you to too much trouble” Sir Percy said.

  “Not at all—I always enjoy seeing it.” He turned to Julia. “Come in my car as far as the turn” he said—“that will save you a little driving.”

  “Oh, I’d love to.”

  “All right—get in. Colin, you can see to stowing all the gear, can’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  As they drove off—“Remorseless old bastard, isn’t he?” Terence said. “Let’s assume, for the sake of charity, that he doesn’t know you have an extra hour on the road before and after chauffeuring him. But even so—”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose he gives it a thought” Julia said. “He’s fearfully tough himself, for a man of his age, isn’t he?”

  “I can’t remember what his age is, but he’s certainly no juvenile lead” Terence said. “Yes, he must be very strong.”

  “Terence, there’s something I wanted to ask you—I’m glad to have this chance.”

  “Ask away” he said.

  “That hotel where we had lunch yesterday—is it a respectable, clean place?”

  “The Montefiore? Yes, perfectly respectable; and all Portuguese hotels are clean now. Why?”

  “I was thinking I might stay there myself; I could shift down tomorrow, as there’s nothing much doing. It would be more convenient in lots of ways.”

  “I think that’s an admirable idea; it would be less tiring for you, if you really have to take the old boy everywhere. I was wondering, as a matter of fact, if Colin couldn’t take him about by himself.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he could. It’s just my natural curiosity that brings me along now.” She began to laugh a little. “An old flame, years ago, used to call me Fatima.”

  He turned and glanced at her.

  “No, I can’t see that” he said. “I disagree with the old flame. I think they’re probably the better of you, if you don’t overdo it. I tell you what—when I get home I’ll ring Da Silva, the landlord, and book you a room, and let you know at the Shergolds tonight. What time shall you get in?”

  “About eight, I should think. That is kind of you. But supposing they haven’t got a room?”

  “They’ll have one all right, if I tell them to; the office sends them more than half their guests. Shall you go before lunch, or after?”

  “Oh, before, please. Then I can have a glorious sleep all the afternoon. How splendid! It will be more convenient for Pauline, too, not to have me coming and going at all hours,” she added.

  Terence duly rang up that evening to say that a room was booked for her at the Montefiore. Julia took the call in the hall; when she went back into the drawing-room—“What did Terence want?” Pauline Shergold asked; she had answered the telephone.

  “Oh, he was being angelic, as usual” Julia replied. She decided to get her announcement over at once. “While I have to be down in Funchal so much of the time, and keep such irregular hours, I thought it would save trouble all round, and especially for you, Pauline, if I stayed down there; so he has got me a room in an hotel. I do realise what a nuisance I must have been, although you’ve both been so kind about it—so this seemed the best plan.”

  “I don’t think you’ve been any particular trouble, or nuisance” Gerald said bluntly, “but I think it’s a much better idea for you—save all that extra driving at both ends of the day. Where are you going to stay?”

  “At the Montefiore.”

  “Oh yes—that’s a very decent little place. The food’s nothing out of the way, but on the other hand their terms are very reasonable. And there are no evening dances to keep you awake. When do you go?”

  “Tomorrow morning, I thought.”

  “What I don’t understand is why you have to be down there so much” Pauline said.

  “I expect she’s helping Colin in some racket of his” Gerald said, cheerfully. “If so it’s no good your living up to your name, Mrs. Parker, because she won’t tell you!”

  “Dear Pauline, you’re so good” Julia said. “I’d much sooner be here. May I come back as soon as I can?”

  “Yes, of course.
I wish you didn’t have to go” her hostess said, half-mollified. But only half, as her expression showed—they had all combined to frustrate her, Pauline Shergold felt.

  Mrs. Hathaway always went to bed rather early, and Julia, pleading her six A.M. start, went upstairs with her. In the bedroom—“I do hope Pauline isn’t really hurt at my going away” Julia said.

  “She has no reason to be” the old lady said, rather tartly. “It is obviously the best plan. If only Pauline would learn to accept things, it would be so much more comfortable for her, and for everyone else.” She unpinned a brooch from the front of her dress, and put it down on the dressing-table. “Have you any idea how long you shall be away?” she asked then, in a different tone.

  “No, I don’t know yet. I hope only for two or three days, at the outside” Julia said. “I’ll ring you up now and then, when I get a minute—shall I?”

  “Yes, do, my dearest child. And now you ought to get to bed. Try not to do too much tomorrow.”

  “Oh, tomorrow I shan’t do anything at all!” Julia said gaily. “We shall keep the Sabbath, and I shall sleep the whole afternoon. Goodnight, precious Mrs. H. I’m so glad you’ve got Madame Bonnecourt.”

  “So am I. Really, she is a most charming person; so kind, and such good company,” Mrs. Hathaway said. “Bless you, my dear child.”

  Julia reached the Montefiore next day a little before noon. She found that lock-up garages were provided for such guests as desired them, and took one for Terence’s car, out of an ingrained habit of caution. Then she went up to her room. Terence had done her well—it was large and pleasant, and overlooked the garden; also it had a nice balcony with chairs and tables, and a telephone by the bed. She had told Colin the evening before, on their way back to Funchal, of her proposed move—“And if we need to talk, you ring me up, so that I’m not in any way linked with the clinic” she had said; now, when the telephone rang just as she was finishing her moderate unpacking, she assumed it would be Colin. But it was Terence’s voice that spoke.

  “Room all right?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, perfect. Thank you so much; it couldn’t be nicer.”

  “Good. Come down and have a drink.”

  “Oh goodness, I’ve put the car away!” Julia exclaimed, rather daunted by this suggestion.

  “Well, you won’t need the car to get out into the garden, will you?” he said, laughing at her.

  “Terence, where are you?”

  “Here, at your pub. I thought I’d see if you were all right.”

  “Oh, good—yes, I’ll come at once.” She snapped her suitcase to, and went downstairs. Terence met her in the hall; he ordered drinks at the bar, and they went out and sat at the table under the trees where they had lunched two days earlier.

  “Well, I’ve found out your old fellow’s age, anyhow, and I think he must dye his hair” Terence said.

  “How old is he?” Julia asked with interest.

  “Seventy last week.”

  “Gracious, you didn’t ask him?”

  “Lord, no—I popped into the Club just now and looked him up in Who’s Who. There’s nearly a page of him—he’s an Honorary M.D. of universities all over Europe, and an LL.D. all over the world, from Canada to the Antipodes. He’s terrifically distinguished academically; been President of the Royal Society and head of the Medical Research Council, and I don’t know what. So much for your boffin” Terence said, looking at her amusedly through his horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Then I wonder why Colin’s office got him to come out here” Julia speculated. “You’d have thought they’d have got someone who knows directly about nerve gases.”

  “Oh, he knows all right—no one better. He’s on the Consultative Committee for Chemical and Biological Warfare, or whatever they call it, and advises about experiments at that Porton place.”

  “Goodness, do they put that in Who’s Who?”

  “No” Terence said, laughing a little—“he told me that himself. But he is primarily an academic.” He got up. “I’d better be off—I’m going to have lunch with Aunt Sally.”

  “Give my love to Porfirio” Julia said. “And I hope you find Sir Percy’s plant for him. We’d better settle now about meeting on Monday, if you’re coming.”

  “Oh yes, I might as well. Same time, same place. It shouldn’t be such a long day, though; he only wants to read his machine, I imagine. Have a good nap this afternoon.”

  When Terence had gone Julia went up to her room again and fetched a book; she ordered lunch in the garden, and sat there reading. Presently, to her surprise, Colin came out through the restaurant, and walked over to her. “Morning, darling” he said, giving her a kiss.

  “Oh, are you coming to lunch? How nice.”

  “Yes please. I thought I could leave the old boy for a bit; he was going to look at the ceiling of some church this morning, and the doctor has got Pereira coming to lunch.”

  “Oh, are they going to tell Pereira? I wonder if that’s wise” Julia said.

  “I don’t think they will tell him much—Sir Percy just wanted to hear his ideas about the complaint, in case he picked something up. But I’m getting slightly asphyxiated by so much science!” Colin said, grinning.

  “Have you ordered your lunch?”

  “No. I thought I’d ask first!”

  “Silly!” Julia said. “Go and order it—my room number’s eleven—and get yourself a drink at the same time.”

  When he came back with his drink Julia said—“If you’ve got the afternoon off, why don’t you go down and see Aglaia? I shan’t want the car; I’m going to snooze.”

  To her surprise Colin frowned and hesitated.

  “No, I don’t think I’d better” he said, after a pause. “I’d sooner finish this business first, before I get involved in all that again. I never was any good at doing two things at once.”

  “Yes, I see” Julia said slowly. In fact she didn’t quite see, and wondered if he might not be making a mistake. But she left it alone—if Colin was growing up now, this might be part of it. To change the subject she told him what Terence had gleaned about Sir Percy’s age from Who’s Who, and his conjecture about his hair.

  “Oh yes, I’m pretty sure he does dye it” Colin said. “I’ve been wondering why—because he’s not in the least a vain man.”

  “No, I imagine anyone as learned and honoured as that has no need for vanity” Julia said. “It must be some funny quirk.”

  When they had nearly finished their lunch the two young Spaniards came out, and again sat down at the neighbouring table; they half-bowed to Julia as they did so.

  “Who are your friends?” Colin asked.

  “Oh, they were here when Terence brought me to lunch the day before yesterday” Julia said. “I suppose they’re staying here too. They’re Spanish.”

  “Not Portuguese?” Colin asked. “That’s a Nazaré shirt he’s wearing.” One of the youths was indeed wearing a vivid red and green tartan shirt, such as the fishermen wear at Nazaré, near Lisbon.

  “No, they talk Spanish.”

  She and Colin went on chatting idly; as soon as she had finished her coffee Julia said she was going to lie down—“Catch up with my sleep” she said. As she got up the two young Spaniards again rose and half-bowed.

  “They seem rather anxious to scrape an acquaintance” Colin remarked.

  “Oh, I expect it’s just a Spanish habit” she replied carelessly. “In fact they might be quite useful acquaintances, because they’ve got just what Sir Percy wanted for the sheep, a cinécamera.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “They were playing with it the other day, taking pictures of the waitress.”

  “Oh well, scrape their acquaintance, by all means” Colin said laughing. “Goodbye, darling. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yes—at seven fifteen sharp.”

  “Right. Have a good sleep.” He kissed her and left.

  Julia went up to her room, but she did not at once lie down; first she fin
ished her unpacking. As she was folding back the bedspread and arranging the pillows for her rest she noticed that she had not got her book; she must have left it behind in the garden —bother! She decided to go and fetch it at once; she would want it to read with her tea. (Julia was one of the people who must have something to read during a solitary meal.) She started downstairs. In the otherwise empty hall, at the foot of the staircase, the two young Spaniards were standing beside the barometer, apparently engaged in an argument; the one in the Nazaré shirt tapped it irritably. “You see?—it falls!” he said. “If the weather turns bad we shall not be able to get pictures of the ovejas.”

  The Spanish word for sheep brought Julia to a halt. She stood perfectly still, and listened.

  “But Polunsky said to make the second record precisely at three weeks,” his companion objected.

  “Well, that is twenty-one days, and today it is seventeen. Is it not better to have a record a day or two early, than perhaps to get no record at all?” he of the loud shirt said, tapping the barometer again.

  “Polunsky said we were to be most exact concerning the dates,” his companion repeated.

  “Well, if the weather stays fine we can go up again at twenty-one days precisely.” Still arguing, they passed out towards the street.

  Julia ran quickly downstairs, through the restaurant and out into the garden—yes, the book was on the seat of a chair, pushed in under the table, so that she had not noticed it when she left with Colin. But when she returned to her room, though she took off her dress and lay down on the bed, she made no attempt, at first, either to read or to sleep. Instead she lit a cigarette, got out her diary, and looked at various dates. It was a week yesterday— eight days—since they had first seen the sick sheep, and Marcusinho had been ill for at least a week before that, possibly longer; allowing for the peasantry vagueness of the hammock-men, give or take a day, it could well be just seventeen days since the ten “tourists” had gone up to the Paul da Serra. It was exactly eighteen days since she had first seen the trawler, too, off Funchal —and Polunsky was surely a Russian-sounding name? Were these two Spaniards the “local accomplices”, whose existence Terence had postulated as essential for laying on the mules from Seixial, and the hammocks? It all looked rather as though it tied in.