Full Tide

by Celine Conway

  Head averted she answered, “I’m so glad. Isn’t he travelling with parents?”

  “No, that was the trouble. The doc hadn’t a thing to go on but his own experience in such cases, and they’re rare.”

  “So the injection I had was unnecessary.”

  “Eighty per cent of preventive injections are unnecessary,” he said calmly, “but one learns to take precautions automatically.” He paused. “I hear that you’re going to be Astra Carmichael’s secretary.”

  Something impelled her to answer stonily, “You hear everything, don’t you?”

  “I see a good deal, too,” he said, non-committally, “but don’t let it worry you. There’s only another week to Durban, with three ports in between.”

  He shifted in his chair so that she saw a fraction more of his shoulder and the same proportion less of his face, and awaited the start of the evening’s performance with infuriating equanimity.A table was set on the dais. The remainder of the lights went out and concealed footlighting sprang alive at the base of the balustrade. A huge reading lamp was set on the table, its light just powerful enough to spread a soft glow in the centre of the stage. At any moment now Jeremy and Astra would materialize from the shadows at the back. Inside, Lisa had gone tight and cold with despair. The friendliness in her relationship with Mark had faded out, leaving a bleak void where it had been. This man at her side was unyielding as steel, and just about as human. She couldn’t bear to sit out an hour or two of his nearness. She had an impulse to tears which was so strong that her teeth clamped and her eyes grew hot.

  In swift panic she stood up, and, with a whispered, “Excuse me,” to the governess, she walked to the side of the lounge and down to the first exit.

  On the promenade deck she halted to take a long quivering breath. Away in the darkness near the rail she heard a woman’s tones, then a man’s, and then the two voices shaken with soft laughter.

  Lovers, thought Lisa; this was no place for grief. She pushed at her hair with a desperate little gesture, turned, and almost ran to the cabin.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was raining next morning. A light warm drizzle kept the sun-deck clear, though bathing proceeded as usual. On the covered sports deck Lisa lackadaisically played her singles final and lost. The committee drew up a list of prizewinners and congratulated themselves on hard work well done. Passengers leaving the ship the next day were busy packing and buying last-minute gifts from the bottomless stock of the ship’s emporium, and the hairdresser was kept on his toes by women who wished to look their most attractive at the evening’s festivity.

  During the afternoon it rained heavily. Jeremy and Lisa walked the decks in waterproofs, both carefully avoiding the contentious subject uppermost in their minds. Jeremy was anxious that Lisa should go with him to meet his aunt and uncle in Cape Town tomorrow.

  “They know I’m on the Wentworth so they’ll be expecting me to call at their hotel,” he said. “My aunt is quite a sweet thing—like my mother but older and more talkative. She married a man of means and they’ve retired. We need only have lunch with them, and for the rest of the day I’ll show you the town. The ship doesn’t leave till next morning.”

  Lisa could think of no valid reason for refusing him. One had to do something during the periods in port, and Mrs. Basson had already pleaded to be allowed to have Nancy for the day. She, Mrs. Basson, was leaving the ship and had booked accommodation at an hotel in Muizenberg, where she would stay till the end of the school term. She had promised to let Nancy have a bathe from one of the Cape’s loveliest beaches, and to bring the child back on board at her proper bedtime. Nancy was so keen to go that Lisa hadn’t the heart to refuse her. Just now she hadn’t the heart for anything.

  She was in the same deflated mood when Mrs. Basson came along to the cabin during Nancy’s absence at supper. She was reading, or rather, she sat in a chair opposite the port hole with an open book in her hands and thought, rather aimlessly, about a number of details which ought to be attended to as soon as passengers were allowed ashore tomorrow.

  Mrs. Basson came in apologetically, a sea-green frock over one arm. “I’ve been trying to get into this,” she said, but I seem to have grown a little in the wrong places. I was wondering if you could find a use for, it.”

  Deprecatingly, she held up the gown, showing the superb cut of the bodice with its one shaped strap covered with small and beautiful cultured pearls over the left shoulder, and the full skirt from the narrow waist. Lisa regarded it silently.

  “It’s too tight for me about the midriff,” Mrs. Basson added, without a hint of persuasion in her manner, “but it would fit you easily. Try it on.”

  Lisa shook her head. “You’re very kind, Mrs. Basson, but I couldn’t wear it.”

  The other woman’s attitude changed. “Don’t be small-minded,” she said sharply. “This thing was a narrow fit when I had it made, but since it was cleaned I can’t squeeze into it. I’d like to give it to you, but if you won’t accept it, do me the favor of wearing it tonight.”

  “Why are you offering it to me?” Lisa asked. “Has Nancy been talking?”

  “My dear girl,” said Mrs. Basson. “I’m a woman and I was once young and yearning. I did hear from Nancy the tale of the lost length of georgette, but I didn’t bring this to you before because I knew you had a fierce pride. It took quite a bit of courage to come here now, I can tell you!”

  Lisa smiled faintly. “I’m all right, really, Mrs. Basson. I shall wear my white frock.”

  “And feel frightfully uncomfortable. I’m not saying you don’t look pretty in it, but tonight is special. You’ll have to accept your prizes from the Captain in front of everyone else; he may ask you to dance with, him.”

  Treacherous color sprang into Lisa’s cheek. “He won’t do that!”

  “My dear, anything can happen on the last night before Cape Town, and it’s quite usual for the Captain to dance with passengers—if he’s young enough!” She laid the green gown in all its sheer loneliness upon Lisa’s bunk. “Please wear it, Lisa,” she said quietly, entreatingly. “At least try it on—and if you like it, wear it.”

  After a long pause Lisa said, “I believe it fits you perfectly.”

  “Then you believe wrong,” came the immediate retort. “Not only does it skimp where it shouldn’t, but in it I look like a middle-aged ewe prinked up as a frolicking lamb. It’ll suit you marvellously. I’m sure of it.”

  Normally, Lisa would have laughed away the notion of wearing a borrowed frock, particularly an evening one. But just now she was in the frame of mind to care little what she did. When Mrs. Basson had left she held up the frock in front of her and half-heartedly examined its effect in the mirror.

  It was of an extraordinarily beautiful color and so expertly fashioned that, taking into consideration the pearls, it must have cost a medium-sized fortune. The sort of frock, thought Lisa, which might star in a French mannequin parade. Certainly it was of a type to catch the breath of one accustomed to making her own clothes for cheapness.

  Lisa had a bath and got into the dress. The fit at the waist was glove-smooth, and the only adjustment necessary was to the single shoulder strap, for Mrs. Basson had more height. Nancy, in the top bunk with a book, emerged to give a sigh of satisfaction.

  “That’s a beauty, Lee. You’re like a goddess straight out of the sea.”

  “You’re being fanciful,” said Lisa, giving a last pat to her light, soft hair.

  It was a pity that, knowing she looked more attractive than ever before in her life, she should gain from the knowledge so little comfort. Men gave her startled and admiring glances, and women followed her with their eyes, sometimes enigmatic, sometimes genuinely pleased with her youth and freshness and sometimes envious. But Lisa was curiously untouched. Even when Jeremy breathed extravagantly, “Great stars, Lee, you knock a man cold. I wouldn’t have believed there was anything so stunning this side of paradise!” she only smiled a little and took her place at the di
ning table.

  Tonight the saloon was gay with galloons and streamers. The band played lively music: Dance of the Hours, The Enchanted Lake and the Juba Dance followed by a popular medley. Most of the women must have done this trip before, because almost without exception they wore lovely creations saved especially for the occasion. Mrs. Basson had known that, of course, and from the kindness of her heart she had wanted Lisa to shine as brightly as the rest.

  The souvenir menu was a gorgeous affair in blue, silver and white, and its back page was bare to receive autographs. The food was delicious and good wines flowed copiously. The whole feel of the ship had altered.

  Lisa had not looked at the Captain’s table, but she could not remain unaware of the spirit that prevailed there. The popping of champagne corks, the discreet laughter and happy talk seemed to come first to Lisa before mingling with the general noise and the music. She signed menus and begged others to sign-hers. She tried to be gay, to flip streamers as others did and to join in a general attempt to dislodge with balloons, the fruity headgear of a young man, attired as a Spanish coquette.

  She had coffee with a crowd in the lounge, smoked too many cigarettes and laughed often, flinging herself with the vitality of despair into this last evening. After tomorrow, everything would be different; there would be fewer passengers and the majority of them would be strangers from Cape Town doing the trip round the coast to Durban.

  The huge lounge was full, and tonight the table upon the dais was set with prizes. There came a moment, Mark entered the lounge, suave and half-smiling, and made his way towards the table, when Lisa’s courage wilted and she would have given anything to be able to creep away. But she was hemmed in and the moment passed.

  The prize-giving was a sophisticated procedure; Mark saw to that. No shaking of hands or trite congratulations. Lisa took from him her casket of perfume and the antelope handbag, wordlessly received his dry comment that she had seemingly found time to do nearly everything it was possible to do on a ship, and returned to the little crowd she had left, thinking that if Mark had noticed her expensive attire he had made no sign. He had been too busy being sarcastic.

  It was too cool and damp for dancing on deck. After a brief, hilarious concert, stewards cleared the centre of the lounge and carried away the carpets, drinks were served and the band struck up. Lisa danced with Jeremy and with other men. She saw Mark dancing with one or two older women and with Astra Carmichael, and she wondered what it was like to feel him holding and guiding, to have him speak quietly down into one’s ear with that small smile upon his lips. She didn’t only wonder; she ached to experience those sensations.

  At ten-thirty came a break in the dancing while trolleyloads of snacks and beverages were pushed around. A good many people put on coats and went outside, so that when the music started up again only a few couples took the floor. Lisa had refused Jeremy and he had gone off to waltz with someone else.

  Then Mark stood in front of her. “Would you care to dance?” he asked with just a hint of sharp mockery.

  In her mind, an hour ago, she had framed a polite shake of the head, a murmured, “Thanks, but not just now.” But this was not an hour ago. This was the present and she was suddenly absurdly and painfully alive.

  He danced well, as she had been sure he would. Whether he was aware of her slenderness, sweetness and fragrance no one could have told, for his arm about her was impersonal except when it drew her in to avoid another dancing couple; and he kept his chin well out of the way of her hair and spared her the quiet, smiling remarks.

  They were near the door, when the music tailed off, and it was easy for Lisa, to whisper, “Thank you,” and slip out into the night.

  She walked quickly, turned a corner and let herself into a rest-room which reeked intolerably of mixed perfume. She bathed her hot face and automatically made up again, though she could not bear to go back to the lounge. Neither was her bed inviting. She felt almost sick with the need to weep, yet was determined to forgo the luxury.

  Out again in the cool darkness she took a few deep breaths and moved along towards the bows. The moon was up, smaller and paler even than last night and vanishing for minutes behind slow-moving cloud. The ship forged on into the blackness, the sea glinted fitfully at thesides and threw up the usual white wake. Lisa heard the muted music and felt the faint sideways roll of the ship in the Cape breakers.

  A step sounded, behind her and Mark said, “The weather is going to clear. It will be a fine day in Cape Town tomorrow.”

  Lisa stayed very still. “What time do we get in?”

  “At about four in the morning. When you wake up we’ll already be at anchor in the Bay.”

  “Won’t you go to bed tonight?”

  “That’s where I’m going now, for a couple of hours. I wouldn’t bother, but I have a big day tomorrow—a board meeting, as well as all the ship’s business.”

  Her head, silvery in the gloom, turned a little towards him. She had been about to say something, but his nearness swept it from her brain. There was a silence measured by the echoing beat of the bass cello.

  “Your hair is shining and it smells of sea mist,” he said. “You look willowy in that green confection, but itdoesn’t suit your personality.”

  “No?” A pulse beat fast in the hollow at the base of herthroat. “How can you tell? You don’t know my personality.”

  “I know it well enough,” he said steadily. “It’s not a difficult one to assess.” He went straight on: “I’m giving a small dinner party for business friends tomorrow evening at the Monarch Hotel. Will you come?”

  “Of course I will. Thank you.” Carefully she excluded all expression from her voice. “Dress?”

  “No. That blue thing you wore to church last Sunday will do admirably.”

  Another silence settled, whole yet brittle as glass. It was queer to feel both elated and depressed at one time, but emotions roused by Mark could never be categorized. She wanted to ask him what had happened between the cosy half-hour in the surgery and the next time she had seenhim; why the ice had come back into his eyes and to his tones. Even though he had just extended an invitation a steel wire seemed taut between them, and she knew it would take more than mere words to snap it. Yet words were all that she and Mark could deal in.

  Desperately, to ease the sense of strain, she queried, “What are the best places to see in Cape Town?”

  He was half at her back and not touching her, but she was conscious of his shrug. “The immigration officers come aboard at about eight-thirty, and maybe you’ll get ashore a couple of hours later. Take a walk round and go and see the Castle before lunch. The Botanic Gardens are close to the town and worth a visit, and you shouldn’t miss the flower market outside the Post Office; you’ll be amazed and delighted at the range of South African flowers. You won’t have time to go up the aerial cableway to the summit of Table Mountain.”

  “So you advise the usual tourist sights?”

  “Why not?” he said abruptly. “You haven’t seen them yet. Later on you may be able to go down to Cape Town for a few days.” His hand went to his pocket. “Cigarette?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She heard the sharp crack of a match and caught a whiff of smoke.

  “I have a warm corner for Cape Town,” he said. “I like its age and mixture of peoples, I like the mountain and the noisy Atlantic where it collides with the Indian Ocean, and I like the African oaks and pines and all the sub-tropical trees. If I were settling somewhere for the next ten years of my life I’d choose Cape Town.”

  The place, as he had described it, would suit him, she thought wryly. Huge docks to harbor his beloved ships; a touch of history in the Castle, and here and there in the street, a polyglot humanity, as well as the white population housed in the outlying residential areas. And behind it all, the famous, rugged mountain.

  For something to say she stated, “I’ve heard that Durban is a better place to live.”

  “It is for some people,
” he said offhandedly.

  A queer pause followed. Then on a note of vexation he demanded, “Where did you get hold of this frock? It’s stagey and artificial—at least it is when compared with your usual simple clothing—and it must have cost plenty. I don’t believe it’s yours at all!”

  She swung round and faced him in swift anger. “How clever of you! It isn’t mine. I borrowed it—but not from Astra—if that’s what you’re implying. I borrowed it so that I shouldn’t disgrace this gala night of yours.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  She fought down a choking thickness in her throat. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have contact with ordinary working women. You’re accustomed to a type who can wear a different get-up every night. You wouldn’t have it that they look stagey, because it’s natural for them to wear rich frocks. That was a hateful thing to say!”

  “You’re a fool,” he said roughly, staring down at her from under straight dark brows. “Every woman has her own atmosphere and yours happens to be one of freshness and simplicity. The sort of clothes that fit Astra like a second skin are out of place on you. That was all I meant.”

  His open reference to the actress did something to Lisa. Her temper, normally hard to rouse and not virulent at its worst, flared out in a challenge.

  “I see. Astra Carmichael can carry wealth, but I can’t! The fact doesn’t worry me much—but who are you to judge? What do you know of any other kind of woman?”

  “If you raise your voice much higher,” he interrupted in tones gone tough and cold as iron, “you’ll stop the music.”