by A. J. Cronin
‘Go on, have a look,’ Holbrook urged slyly. ‘It won’t bite.’
He opened the case, expecting to find some trivial souvenir. Instead it was a red gold wristlet watch, with a delicately plaited gold strap, a Patek Phillippe too, the best and most expensive hand-made Swiss movement. It must have cost the earth. He was speechless.
‘You are quite the kindest and most generous people,’ he stammered, at last. ‘It’s the very thing I want and need …’.
‘Say no more about it, lad,’ Holbrook broke in. ‘Our Dorrie happened to notice you didn’t wear one. ’ Twas her that chose it for you.’
Looking suddenly towards her, Moray caught her gaze fixed directly upon him, that challenging, intimate look which somehow bound them together in a kind of conspiracy.
‘Don’t make a song about it. Dad. Let it pass. Or I’ll tell how you asked about the belly dancers.’
Holbrook laughed, drained his glass, and stood up.
‘I’m famished. Let’s have the steward move this stuff to the cabin and we’ll all go right down to dinner.’
When the ship was in port dinner became an elastic meal served at almost any hour, and they were the first to arrive at their table. The sense of intimacy begun in the smoke-room was thus maintained and they made a lively party, of which Doris was the liveliest. Her attitude towards her parents, that of a spoiled only daughter, always superior, and varying between sulky and tolerant contempt, was replaced by a sort of bantering raillery, directed mainly towards her father, who responded in the same style. At first Moray assumed, unkindly enough, that Holbrook had bought her something particularly nice ashore. But no, now he was teasing her for having refused all his offers. Some, of her remarks, though perhaps too pointed, were very amusing, especially when she began to take off their absent table companions in malicious little impersonations. This, however, drew from her mother a restraining. ‘ Now, Dorrie dear, remember … not too much.’
At this Doris did give up with a side glance at Moray, which made him party to the entertainment. Meanwhile the engines had started to vibrate and the ship was now clear of the dock. As it began the slow passage through the canal, Mrs Holbrook, obviously pleased by the resurgence of family harmony, suggested that they take their coffee on the upper deck and watch the sunset over the desert. A word from Holbrook to the head steward was enough to overcome every difficulty, and presently, sheltered by an awning on the starboard side, they were sipping hot coffee at a round table set out with a dessert of fresh fruit, chow-chow, and preserved ginger. As the great molten disc slid into that vast waste of sand, palm trees were outlined in the limitless light, a string of camels slowly plodding, Bedouin tents, a nomad tribe. Then in the indigo sky a moon was revealed, brightening as the night advanced. In the main lounge beneath them the ship’s orchestra began softly to play a medley of the popular tunes of the day. Moray, who was sitting next to Doris, heard her take a restless breath. Lying back in the deck chair with her arms behind her head, she moved about as though unable to find a relaxed position.
‘Aren’t you comfortable?’ he said. ‘ Let me get you a cushion.’
‘A cushion! Pardon me if I smile. I’ll be all right – just a bit worked up tonight.’
‘Who wouldn’t be? You can feel we’re in the East. What a sky.’
‘And with music,’ She hummed a few bars of ‘My Heart Stood Still’, stopped, hummed again, then exclaimed: ‘If this goes on I’ll go half-cocked.’
He laughed.
‘Before you do, let me thank you for choosing such a beautiful watch.’
‘I know what I like. I liked the watch and quite frankly I like you. D’you mind?’
‘Not at all. I’m pleased, and grateful.’
Neither spoke for a minute; then she broke out again.
‘Doesn’t it do something to you up here? Like bathing in warm milk. Not that I ever have, though it’s an idea. The milky way. But you’d keep losing the soap. I wish we were going swimming. Not in the sickening little pool. On a deserted beach, where we’d have it to ourselves, no need to bother about bathing suits.’ She laughed again. ‘Don’t look so shocked, you fool. Don’t you ever feel that you’re all wound up and excited, right on top of the world?’ Tapping her shoe on the deck, she sang: ‘“I’m sitting on top of the world, singing a song, rolling along …”. Such a marvellous sensa … shun. When I get it I’m ready for anything. I have it tonight, if you’re interested.’ She stretched at full length, hummed again, then sat up. ‘I can’t get that damned tune out of my head. What a slouch you are! Surely you want to dance. Come on and take a turn.’
There was an awkward pause, then he said:
‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much good to you.’
‘Why not?’
‘It will probably surprise you. I don’t dance.’
‘What! Tell me another. You’re having me on.’
‘No.’ He had to smile at her expression. ‘ I was too busy shoving myself through college to learn any parlour tricks.’
‘Well, now’s your big chance. It’s dead easy if you have a good teacher. And that’s just what I am.’
‘No, really. I’ll only walk all over your feet and make a complete ass of myself.’
‘Who is there to see you up here? The old man’s gone to the bar and Mother’s dozed off. We’ve got the music, and the moon. It’s a perfect opportunity. And all free, gratis, and for nothing.’ She stood up and held out her hand, ‘Come on, I’ll put you in the mood.’
He rose and, rather gingerly, placed his arm round her waist. They started off.
‘It’s a foxtrot,’ she told him. ‘Just keep time. Short steps. Now turn. Swing round. Hold me closer, I won’t break. Closer, I said. That’s better. Strange as it may seem, we’re supposed to do this together.’
It was surprisingly easy. The tune was so catchy, she was such a good dancer, so responsive, with such an easy laxness of posture, that he found himself instinctively following the beat of the rhythm, improvising steps, letting himself go. When the band below came to the end of the number she gave him a meaning, condescending nod.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘It’s tremendous,’ he admitted. ‘I’d no idea. And good exercise too.’
She gave a short odd laugh. ‘That’s one way to look at it.’
‘Of course, you’re an expert – wonderful, in fact.’
‘It’s one of the things I’m really gone on. In my last year at school I used to sneak out with another girl on Saturday nights and go to the local Palais. We’d pretend we were pros, you know, sixpence-a-timers. We had some larks, I can tell you, kidding and carrying on – until one night there was a regular shindy…’.
‘Was that why you had to leave school?’
Unexpectedly she tossed her head back with an injured air.
‘That’s a very personal question. I don’t like it brought up just like that. It was no blame of mine. Actually, if you want to know, I’ve danced mostly with Bert, my own brother. And he’s respectable enough.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘Or is he? Well, never mind, I forgive you. Now get me a cigarette, and bring the lighter. They’re in my bag beside the chairs.’
She leaned against him while he flicked her gold lighter.
‘You don’t use these?’ He shook his head when she offered a cigarette. ‘What a lot of things you seem to have done without.’
‘I’ll get them all one day.’
‘Don’t put it off too long. I always go straight for what I want.’
They stood with their backs to the taffrail until the band struck up again, then she threw away her half-smoked cigarette and turned to him.
‘We’re off again. Put some feeling into it. Imagine you’ve just picked me up on the prom at Blackpool and we’ve really clicked.’
‘Good Lord,’ he grinned. ‘ That’s not my line at all.’
‘That’s why you’re so nice,’ she murmured, pressing a little closer to him. ‘But try all the same.’
‘Thank you so much, Doris. It’s been simply grand, and now,’ he looked at his new watch, ‘I must say goodnight.’
‘Goodnight nothing, it’s quite early and we’re only beginning to have fun.’
‘No, really, Doris, I have to go below.’
She stared at him, her slate-blue eyes clouding with anger and disappointment.
‘How stupid can you be? Wasting everything, with this moon and when we’re just getting in the mood. We’ll sit out for a bit if you’re tired.’
‘I’m not tired. But I do think it’s time we both turned in.’
Mrs Holbrook, who, awakening from her nap, had been watching them indulgently, seemed to think so too. She rose and came towards them.
‘Time for bed,’ she announced. ‘We’ve all had a busy day.’
‘You’ve certainly made mine a pleasant one,’ Moray said gracefully.
‘You’ll be sorry you let me down like this,’ Doris said in his ear, not moving her lips, as he passed her. ‘You just wait!’
She’s joking, he thought – can’t really mean it. Goodnights were exchanged, Doris’s a violently sulky one; she looked really put out. Then, with the last bars of ‘Desiree’ still ringing in his ears, he went below to his cabin, switched on the light, and there, on his locker, confronting him like a reproach, were the letters from home.
Instantly his mood changed. Shocked at his own forgetfulness, he undressed quickly, climbed into his bunk and, swept by compunction, settled himself to read. There were in all half a dozen sheets to Mary’s letters filled with her large round careful handwriting. She began by acknowledging his letter from Marseilles, expressing her joy at his improved health. Yet she begged him to be careful still, especially of the night air, and she hoped that his duties were not proving too severe. As for herself, she was well, though missing him badly, marking off the days on her calendar until he would be back. But she was keeping herself busy, with lots of sewing and crochet work. She had bought material for curtains for their house, and also some remnants with which she had begun a patchwork quilt. There was the chance of a nice second-hand parlour suite, very good value, at Grant’s just off the Esplanade. She only wished that he might see it, but he would soon, they had promised to reserve it. Unfortunately her father had been somewhat poorly lately, but she had been able to help by doing a bit with Donaldson, the foreman, in the bakery. She signed herself simply: your own Mary.
He finished reading with a worried frown and an odd constriction of his heart. Did he not detect a note of anxiety, an undercurrent of despondency even, in her words? She wrote naively, always from an open heart, yet it might be that she had not told all. Hastily, he turned to Willie’s letter.
Dear Davie,
I hope you are well and having a good voyage. I wish I was with you. I would like to see all these foreign countries, especially Africa. Things have not been doing too well here since you left. The weather has been cold and wet and Father had a bad turn with his heart, it was after a man came to see him one day. I think he is bothered about the business. I heard Aunt Millie say that the Stoddarts have fairly got their knife in us. Mary is doing the scones now in the bakehouse. I am sure she is missing you an awful lot. I am too. So tell the captain to get a move on and hurry back.
Affectionately yours, Willie.
He put down the letter in concern, recognising from the brief and boyish phrases that Mary was having her troubles at home, and missing him too, so badly. His heart melted anew with love and longing, and with contrition, too, when he thought of the comfort, yes, the luxury, of his own pleasant life here. He wished suddenly that he had never taken this voyage. If only he could be beside her now to console and caress her. He must do something something. The need of swift response, of immediate action, grew upon him. He thought for a few moments with knitted brow, then took up the officers’ intercommunication phone. He asked for the wireless room. Saving though he was for their future, he must mortgage a little of his pay to reach Mary at once.
‘Sparks, I want to send this radiogram.’ He gave the address. ‘Letters just received Port Said. Don’t worry. Everything all right when I return. All my love David.’
When Sparks had repeated this, word by word, he thanked him and hung up, smiling faintly. How thrilled and delighted she would be to get his message soaring to her across the ocean, and how comforted too! His mind now more at ease, filled with loving thoughts, he switched off the light and settled himself to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
They were in the narrows of the Gulf of Suez, the peaks of Sinai shimmering above in a humid haze. For three days it had been hot, a harsh, insufferable heat. In the Red Sea the sun blazed down upon the Pindari; the rocks of Aden, grilled to a torrid ochre, cracked and fissured by the heat, were truly barren, and the port itself looked so uninviting that few passengers went ashore. The Holbrooks were amongst those who remained on board. Doris, indeed, since the night of the expedition at Suez, had not appeared on deck, being confined to her cabin with a slight indisposition, Mrs Holbrook explained to Moray. He was on the point of offering his services when a certain reserve in her manner, perhaps a hint that this was a delicate subject, deterred him. He decided it must be some mild monthly upset, a conelusion strengthened when Mrs Holbrook murmured intimately: ‘Dorrie occasionally gets these turns, doctor.’ So he merely sent his regards adding that the inhuman heat was enough to knock out anyone.
The weather had suddenly made him extremely busy. Apart from a rush of surgery patients suffering from the usual complaints of dhobie itch, prickly heat and over-zealous endeavours to acquire a tan, he had several quite serious cases. He was particularly worried over the two Kindersley children, who had both gone down with acute colitis. Following on the Suez scare of amoebic dysentery, Mrs Kindersley was in a state of near panic, and as the twins were at one point critically ill he had himself begun to fear the worst. But after being in almost constant attendance for forty-eight hours, there was a sharp improvement just before dawn on the third day, and with an inward sigh of relief he was able to relieve the distracted mother. Red-eyed from weariness, collar undone, hair dishevelled, he straightened stiffly, read his clinical thermometer at the light.
‘They’ll be up and around… making a nuisance of themselves …’ he smiled and put his arm round her shoulders, ‘the beginning of next week.’
She broke down. She was a reserved, self-contained woman but, like Moray, she had barely slept for two nights.
‘You’ve been so completely wonderful, doctor. How can I ever thank you?’
‘By turning in and getting some rest. You’ve got to get fit for our tournament finals.’
‘Yes.’ She dried her eyes, trying to answer his smile. ‘I should like that nice tea-service for our bungalow. But isn’t your partner ill?’
‘Oh, nothing much, I imagine.’
She had come with him to the cabin door. Now she hesitated, looking at him intently, then she made up her mind.
‘Bill and I think a lot of you, doctor – especially after this.… We’ve often wondered if you were, well, beginning to get mixed up with Miss Holbrook.’
‘Mixed up?’ he repeated blankly, then with a sudden flush, realising her meaning: ‘Of course not.’
‘I’m glad.’ She pressed his hand. ‘She’s attractive, and she’s obviously completely gone on you. But there’s something odd about that girl, something I could never like – Bill says she’s a split personality, she gives him the creeps. Now you do forgive me for having spoken?’
‘Quite all right.’ He tried to speak easily, although he was both embarrassed and offended. ‘Now take that triple bromide I gave you and off you go to your bunk.’
Uncomfortably, he wen
t back to his cabin, shaved and showered, drank two cups of coffee, and set out on his round of visits. He had begun to realise that Doris was not popular on the ship. She was often rude, kept a great deal to herself, and doubtless, since she wore an expensive new dress every other night, provoked feminine envy with her nice clothes. Moreover, it seemed to him that their continued success in all the competitions was arousing unfavourable comment. Was this the reason of Mrs Kindersley’s dislike? He could scarcely believe it. Her intervention was well-meaning. Even so, he resented it. What right had she to interfere in his affairs, especially since he had been blameless in the matter? And what the devil did Kindersley mean, with his cheap sneer? He was no paragon – a beery, social type that probably hung around the club at Kadur all day; no wonder his wife was so surprised. All morning Moray brooded, and his train of thought, rather than turning him against Doris, swung him in her favour. Admittedly she was not an ordinary, run-of-the-mill type, but was she any the worse for that? There was something to her. Instinctively he rose to her defence. Still, he decided it might be wiser to cut down their efforts in the tournaments.
At the end of the week it suddenly turned cooler, his work and the weather became less hectic. He had time to write a long, loving letter to Mary, with an enclosure specially for Willie. And that same afternoon he was given a further lift when O’Neil took him aside to say:
‘I thought you’d like to know, Doc, the skipper had a good word for you on the bridge this morning. In fact, when he heard about the Kindersley kids, he said you were doing a hell of a nice job. The only sawbones we’ve had yet that didn’t get corns on his behind.’ The big Irishman paused, took a long look at Moray’s new watch, and grinned. ‘Present from a grateful patient? Go to it, my boy. You’ll soon reach pay-dirt or I’m not from County Down.’
‘Haven’t I told you I’m not interested,’ Moray said, irritably. ‘ I’m only rather sorry for her because she’s such a little outsider.’
‘Then why aren’t you a little insider?’ said O’Neil, and roared with laughter. ‘Ah, now, don’t be so backward in coming forward, my boy. We’re all looking for a bit of skirt on this bloody tub – otherwise it would bore the arse off us. Say, did you ever hear this one…’