Full Tide

by Celine Conway

  Hotel, service in South Africa is invariably good, and in this hotel it had reached the peak of taste and efficiency.

  Part of Lisa revelled in the big, soft towels, the generous supply of good soap, the string of modern bathrooms and the roomy, noiseless lifts. The rest of her was still numb and bewildered.

  At dinner Jeremy was happy. “After the theatre we’ll go to a night club and dance. No—we’ll make it a roadhouse where dress isn’t essential. They mostly remain open longer, too.”

  “Remember you have to drive back tomorrow. You won’t want to do it with a hangover.”

  “Driving is easy here. The roads don’t twist every few yards as they do in England.” He looked round for the wine waiter. “Champagne, Lee! Astra and champagne go together like lovers and the moon.”

  He still admired the woman. Because it was outside his normal world he would always treasure the period he had worked with her as the biggest thing in his life. Lisa could see Jeremy in a few years’ time: a fairly high position with the same motor company, a large car, a pretty wife, a bungalow above the sea, and a round of golf on Sundays.

  And the story to tell of how he had once turned down an offer to be leading man to Astra Carmichael. He was constructed neither for the heights nor the depths; how lucky he was in that!

  The play, viewed from a comfortable seat in the stalls, showed Astra at her most arresting. Reduced to its framework, the story was trivial, but she made of it something memorable and stirring. Watching the economy of her movements and listening to the clever shading of expression in her tones, one suffered and rejoiced with her. She was, as Jeremy whispered, superb.

  When she had taken her last call Jeremy held Lisa’s arm tightly. “Will you go back-stage with me, Lee!”

  “Again the lure of the footlights?”

  “No. I may not have a chance to come up again before Astra’s season ends. It seems a pity not to try and have a word with her for the last time. Besides, she’ll be awfully glad to see you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “She doesn’t bear malice, Lee. She hated failing with both of us, but it has lost all importance now her plays are well under way. With her, the stage always comes first—you know that. Please come with me.”

  Because she also, for some indefinable reason, felt a sudden urge to see the actress, Lisa allowed him to lead her through a side exit, down a narrow lane and through the stage doorway. A native messenger took the note which Jeremy scribbled on the door-keeper’s pad, and came back to escort them to Astra’s dressing room, a wide, cool and untidy apartment on the left of a stone corridor.

  Astra, in a silk wrap with a towel about the shoulders, was creaming her face, so that all expression was obliterated. Only the green jewels of her eyes showed recognition and a faint curiosity.

  “Hallo, Jeremy ... Lisa. What are you two doing in the big town?”

  “We came to see you,” answered Jeremy at once. Doubtless others had travelled from afar to witness her performance, for Astra showed not a scrap of surprise.

  “How sweet,” she said evenly, and turned back to her mirror to peel off the stage eyelashes. “What did you think of my hero, Jeremy?”

  “He was grand. I took to him when you first chose him.”

  “Aren’t you jealous?” She smiled at him in the mirror—teeth whiter than the cream mask on her face. “No, I don’t think you are. You are quite unspoiled, darling, for which I daresay you have to thank our little girl here. By the way,” the eyes in the mirror sought and looked over Lisa, “I gathered the impression that you were yearning for England and a deadly serious profession. This country is insidious, isn’t it? It’s even got me wanting to stay.”

  Jeremy seized upon this. “Why don’t you? They’d eat you alive in Durban and Cape Town. You said you hadn’t fixed up anything definite for when this contract is finished.”

  “I haven’t, but they keep badgering me. I fancy a break, though, a real one. The only mode of living I haven’t sampled is the domestic one. Friends here tell me the housewife's lot in Africa is perfectly wonderful.”

  Jeremy laughed, but Lisa’s senses sharpened. This was a new facet of Astra.

  “Would you remain on the stage if you married?” queried Jeremy, looking about, him familiarly at the screened-off wardrobe, the blonde wig on its stand, the chair full of shoes.

  “I’d give it up for a while.” Fastidiously, Astra dabbed at her cheeks with a square of white silk, and swung about to face them, still expertly gathering up the surface of cream. “I’d have to pretend to give it up,” she said with a smile, “because men in the flush of devotion have a peculiar antipathy for the working wife. When the flush fades they’re less adamant, particularly if the wife is, capable of lining the joint coffer.”

  The husky tones softened the cynicism of this remark. Her face emerged, clear and maturely beautiful, and when she fluffed the hair which had been strained behind her ears she had an unmistakable if somewhat remote charm.

  She stood up and seemed about to voice a regretful dismissal. Then she rested her glance once more upon Lisa, and in the manner of one recollecting a slim bond between them, asked point-blank, “Have you heard from Mark?”

  Unready for the question, Lisa took a moment before replying, “Of course not. Why should I hear from him?”

  Astra lifted a hand in a gesture which could have meant anything. “I thought you might, that’s all. I had an airmail from him a couple of days ago. He asked me to get a solicitor to clinch the deal for the house in Cape Town.”

  “The house in Cape Town?” Lisa echoed, above a quickening heartbeat. “Mark’s house?”

  “Didn’t you know about it? He and I made a quick inspection of it when we docked there, and Mark arranged an option. Now he’s apparently going to buy the place.”

  “Is he ... going to settle there?”

  “I expect so. That’s the base he’ll work from in this new business venture. It’s all being organized in London so it will be some while before the thing gets going over here. I expect there’s a number of legal details to be attended to first.”

  The rest of what Astra said did not register with Lisa very clearly. There was a little more cool banter between Astra and Jeremy, an agreeable au revoir, and she was outside in the small car, and Jeremy was starting up the engine and already talking of a dancing club recommended by the receptionist at the hotel.

  Much later, when she lay awake in the strange bedroom, Lisa knew that nothing worse than this could ever happen to her. Mark was buying a house in Cape Town, and Astra was preparing herself for a brief snatch of domestic bliss. Obviously, they had an understanding. The actress would finish her season and then go south. By that time the preliminaries of this business of Mark’s would be concluded, and both would be free to marry.

  Astra’s viewpoint, that a man had to be humored till the gilt wore from his love, probably dovetailed with Mark’s. No, that was not true. He had left the sea for Astra; he loved her enough for that, so it was unlikely that what he felt for her would ever diminish. It was too strong.

  Once Astra had tasted the only way of living she had not yet experienced ... what then? Would she go back to her “first and only love”? Would she embitter him, make him hate all women? He deserved better than that, yet somehow he seemed to be asking for it.

  Why, Lisa wondered wildly, didn’t he use that cold reasoning of his, and take a look into the future? But perhaps he had, yet was driven to do all the things a man does when he’s in love with a woman.

  Lisa’s last conscious thought, as dawn began to pale the sky, was one of heart-wrenching thankfulness that in less than a fortnight she would have sailed for home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After Lisa’s return to Durban a spell of unpredictable weather set in. The mornings were clear and exhilarating, but early in the afternoon clouds would roll in from the north-east, the birds would cease their trilling and the trees acquire an expectant stillness. Then would come the
storm, nothing which would make news by African standards but a long, tropical downpour nevertheless.

  It was not safe to go picnicking. There were tales of wash-aways on the roads and cars overturned, of rising rivers which swept away native children sheltering under bushes on their banks.

  At the first warning cloud Lisa and Nancy kept close to the house, and if Mrs. Basson happened to be with them she was invited for dinner. It mostly cleared before ten.

  Because of her own melancholy it took Lisa several days to realize that Laura Basson was looking positively uplifted. On the surface no reason was apparent, for nothing seemed otherwise to have changed. But there it was; youth in her step, a spontaneous smile which was compound of pure gladness and a sort of relief, and an altogether new note in her voice.

  On the Thursday of that week Lisa learned what was at the root of her happiness. The two women were in the doctor’s lounge, while Nancy sat near the bookcase in her bedroom once more devouring the printed word having done particularly well at this morning’s arithmetic session, she was permitted to spend the rest of the day as she pleased.

  It was dark outside with the gathering storm. Lisa had switched on a reading lamp and snapped it off again, because electric light in daytime is anything but an antidote for despondency.

  “We’re better without it,” said Mrs. Basson comfortably. “We can’t read so we’ll just have to talk. This time next week you won’t be here to gossip with. I’m going to miss you, Lisa.”

  “But you’ll still come and see Nancy, won’t you?” begged Lisa. “I wish that child could be persuaded to be civil to Mrs. Hatherly. At least, she’s too civil; I wish she’d show her some affection.”

  “She’s improving. Last Sunday her father told me ...” She broke, off and added with a small laugh, “Yes, I was here last Sunday, while you were away in Johannesburg with Jeremy. I brought Nancy up to lunch because I didn’t like to think of the doctor being alone. He said he had been lonely, so I didn’t do wrong.” She paused and queried hesitantly, “Lisa, have you ever mentioned to Dr. Veness that I have rather more money than I know what to do with?”

  “Why, no!”

  “Don’t worry, my dear. If you haven’t, no one else has—which means he doesn’t know, thank heaven. Money is the only commodity which is likely to put him off.” A glimmering of what she was getting at got through to Lisa and she had to learn more. “Put him off what?” In the shadowed room Mrs. Basson’s face was unreadable but her tones had a gentle smile in them. “I’m going to marry the doctor. I don’t suppose he’ll propose for some time yet, but he’ll come round to it, and as it’s something I want very badly, I’ll have the patience to wait till he’s ready. I expect that astonishes you?”

  “I’m afraid it does.” Yet straightway her brain accepted the rightness of it for all three of them: Mrs. Basson, the doctor and Nancy. “Will it work out? I’ve always regarded him as off marriage for good.”

  “That’s because you’re young and all your ideas about marriage have the idealistic trend. Dr. Veness has had that sort of marriage, and so have I. Now, we each need a companion. He’s an understanding man, Lisa; he sees and hears a heap more than you think, and he’s very lonely. That’s why he sent for Nancy.”

  “He could have sent for her before.”

  “He hadn’t the housekeeper, and he couldn’t have left the child to the mercy of Zulu servants.”

  “He likes you,” said Lisa. “And she does, too.”

  Mrs. Basson nodded. “It was Nancy who decided me to go all out to make them both happy, but it wasn’t a sudden decision. These past weeks I’ve had to sift all sorts of repressions inside myself. Do you know, it was an absolute relief when my jewellery was stolen. I’ve always felt that I didn’t give my husband a square deal and that was probably the reason I chained myself to his memory. Remorse and self-torture. Now that I’m free of all those expensive gifts I can see more clearly. He wasn’t the gay type, but I did give him all the I could and the two children he’d set his heart on. I didn’t cheat him, even though I was glad he had money. Since he died I’ve been so aimless and worthless, and it’s so grand to have a plan for someone else’s good, as well as my own.” She drew a breath. “If this comes off, Lisa, I’ll never have to wonder again what, to do with my money. I’ll be able to help the poorer patients, and perhaps Dr. Veness has some pet scheme which is held up for funds; doctors often have. It’s funny,” she ended musingly, “but I’ve been scared of marrying again in case I discovered later that cash had been the attraction. With Dr. Veness it’s just the opposite. If he knew my financial position, he’d freeze right off.”

  The longer Lisa contemplated Mrs. Basson’s hopes, the more she liked them. Nancy would bloom as she had never been able to before, and Dr. Veness was the type to make a loyal and devoted husband. He could not give Laura the sort of love he had given his first wife but she would not want it. Their romantic phase was past but they could look forward to long years of quiet happiness in this house, and give a real home to three children who were at a stage when they most needed an anchor. Lisa felt a thrust of sadness. She would like to be somewhere near to see it all happen, though she knew that Mrs. Basson would have preserved silence had Lisa not been almost on the point of departure. The subject was changed suddenly by the elements. Thunder cracked and violet lightning shot across the sky.

  A wind tore through the trees and smacked large drops rain against the windows, and a few minutes later the deluge hit the roof.

  Mrs. Hatherly entered to make an inspection of the window fastenings. She never credited others with having a degree of common sense comparable with her own, and she scarcely glanced at the two women on the divan before gliding out again, slim, elderly and disapproving.

  They chatted desultorily, had some tea and finally put on the lights to do some sewing. The rain had steadied but was still heavy enough to drench anyone walking a hundred yards. Dr. Veness came in, tired and wet after a day spent between his town consulting rooms and the Indian clinic. They all dined together at seven-thirty, and shortly after eight Nancy went to bed.

  Not long after this the telephone rang. The doctor spoke at some length in his room, and when he came out he was wearing a fresh raincoat and carrying his bag. He poked his head into the lounge.

  “I have a call in town which may take me some time. If you like, I can give you a lift to the Avalon, Mrs. Basson, and get someone to run your coupe down in the morning. It’s not too safe for you to drive in such heavy rain.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I was wondering what to do.”

  They went off together and Lisa remained in her chair by the reading-lamp, a book open on her knee but her head against the back of the chair and her gaze ruminating on the ornate old ceiling. Inevitably, she thought of Laura Basson and the doctor, and knew both gladness and envy. Many times she had wished she had chosen any vessel but the Wentworth for the journey to South Africa, but this good, at least, had come out of it. If all went well five people would attain stability and joy, whereas she was only one. Perhaps this queer, hard ache would soften in time to something tolerable.

  She would provide herself with plenty to do on the return voyage and definitely fight off any young man who remotely resembled Jeremy Carne. But it was unlikely that any man would again get through her defences; she was too chilled inside.

  The rain must almost have ceased, for Mrs. Hatherly went out—doubtless to play cribbage with the schoolmaster’s widow down the road. The houseboy had gone along the garden to his room, so that now the house was hushed, and caressed by soft rain.

  The hush, however, did not last long. There came an unheralded whiplash of lightning simultaneously with a tumble of thunder, and the light went out. Straight after that it cascaded with rain, torrents of it.

  For several minutes Lisa sat utterly still in the beating blackness. The electricity had failed before in a storm but then it had been daylight, and the only inconvenience had been the stopping of
the refrigerator motor. She knew a torch reposed in the drawer of the hall table, and presently, thinking to take a peep at Nancy, she cautiously stood up and felt her way to the door. She was at the hall table when the doorbell rang.

  For a moment the whole atmosphere was paralyzing: Total blackness, roaring rain—and someone at the door needing the doctor. She fumbled for the torch and flicked on the light. That was better, though the darkness outside the shaped beam was eerie. She went over to the door, stilled a small fear and opened it.

  The flashlight illumined the centre part and the belt of a navy rainproof, slanted swiftly to light up an angular face.

  Then it was taken from her hand and the cone of light fell harmlessly upon the hall carpet.

  “What’s going on?” asked Mark evenly. “A power cut?”

  She couldn’t reply at once. Her back was against the wall, her hands pressed hard to its reassuring surface. The door closed and she heard, rather than saw, the depositing of stormproof and hat upon the floor. A cool, damp hand brushed her forearm and she quivered.

  “What a ... pleasant surprise,” she managed thinly.

  “Is it?” A pause. “Are you alone?”

  “Practically. Nancy’s in bed and the others are out.” She forced energy into her voice. “There are lamps and candles in the kitchen cupboard for this kind of emergency. If you’ll sit down. I’ll get them.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Knowing the house, she had to take the torch and go first. She was aware of him close behind, and had to swallow on the suffocating obstruction which had come into her throat. Against her will she had desperately longed to see him again, but now he was here she was afraid, palpitatingly afraid. Perversely, though, she was disappointed that he was still aloof. Coming in out of the wild night he should have been different.