“Anything David does will be right with me,” Deline commented clearly.
“Which is more than you can say about me?” Clive settled more comfortably among his cushions. “I’ll live through it. I’m not going to pretend that I yearn to be brave and different. I like antiques, and I like the atmosphere of a sale-room when the crowd collects around something that’s worth having.”
“You’re a gambler,” said Deline.
“That’s right—so I am. It was a bit of a gamble coming to Africa, and I’m not too sure it’s going to pay off quite in the way I wanted. Maybe I’m getting a bit too old for it to matter.”
“Didn’t come here for a wife, did you?” asked David calmly.
“No,” came the light reply, “but I’d take one back with me if Susan would have me.”
Susan heard herself saying quickly, flippantly, “Oh, please, Clive! Not in front of the others.”
“That’s the way it has to be,” said Deline with a hint of contempt. “Clive never fools in private; it’s too dangerous.”
David made no comment. He had got out the sleeping-bags and was unrolling them. The waterproof canvas smelled new; they, too, had been bought yesterday. He gave the opened one to Clive.
“Leave it zipped up until you’re ready to slide in. You’ll find it much more comfortable than it looks.”
Clive stared at the thing in distaste. “Do we undress?”
“Lord, no. Supposing we have to get up and shoot something in the middle of the night!” David laughed. “You brush your teeth and fit yourself into the envelope as you are. In the morning you start with fresh clothes throughout.”
“And what do we do about a bath?”
“We take one at any time of the day when we find a hotel or a river. This is the simple life, my friend.”
“So I’m beginning to realize.” Gingerly, Clive fingered a net pocket attached to the sleeping-bag. “What’s this?”
“It protects the face from mosquitoes. I’m more or less immune to the things, but you must either use it or drench your face with the stuff the girls are using. It’s no trouble at all.”
Clive shook his head soberly. David opened out a folding metal pedestal, fitted an aluminum basin into its top and half-filled the basin with water from the cooler.
“There you are, ladies,” he said. “Clive and I will take a walk while you perform and climb in. For you, it’s nearly as good as a hotel bedroom.”
“It’s better,” said Deline, accepting his helping hand. Her voice lowered, almost caressingly, “It won’t be half so lonely.”
It was Clive who pulled Susan to her feet. “No one in England will ever believe this of me,” he said. “In any case, I’m too jealous of my reputation as a cynic to have the nerve to tell them. Does my lack of masculinity disgust you, Sweet Sue?”
“No, because I think it’s three parts put on,” she said, smiling at him. “Give me an early shout and I’ll get the morning tea.”
“Don’t,” he said, pained. “I do like the first hour in the morning all to myself.”
“This is different. You’re on holiday.”
“I shall probably go into the forest and brood till I feel capable of facing women.”
“Come on,” said David. “I’ve half an idea we might find a river or a lake. A coffee farm has to have irrigation. Look slippy, you girls. We’ll give you twenty minutes.”
Deline washed first, while Susan arranged the bunks for the night. The small high window in the cabin was wide but the tiny space was airless and smelled a little of the fruit which was stored in one of the boxes. Susan got into her striped pyjamas and washed, and as she emptied the basin Deline came out in tailored green silk pyjamas over which she wore a matching three-quarter jacket belted about the waist. Her red hair was brushed back, her face was clear of makeup, except that she had carefully drawn in a new mouth.
For the first time since David had stopped the car she spoke directly to Susan. “I wonder how your brother is feeling tonight?”
“I believe there’s a party at the club,” Susan replied casually. “Paul loves parties.”
Deline stared at the twin lights, clustered now with night-flyers. “He thinks I’m in love with him,” she said. She raised cold, sarcastic eyes. “He lives in a feverish heaven where money isn’t necessary. He’s decided that by some freak of fate I’ve tumbled so hard for his boyish good looks that nothing else matters.”
“Well, you threatened it, didn’t you?”
“Don’t think I enjoy it,” said Deline. “If you’d kept your part of the bargain, Paul would have been in no danger from me, I assure you.”
“There was no bargain,” Susan answered coolly. “I had no chance to save Paul, but if you persist in hurting him when we get back, I’ll take some sort of action, even if I have to force a showdown, with all of us there. You’re not the first woman in Paul’s life; he forgot the others, and he’ll forget you!”
“Bravely said, but fools are brave because they know no better.”
“Maybe you’re underestimating your various opponents,” said Susan evenly, “but at the moment nothing is very important, is it? We’re here, and Paul is a good many miles away.” She nodded down the road. “There are the men coming back, so I’m going to bed. Have you a preference for any particular bunk?”
“I’d like the one on the left.”
“Very well.”
Susan climbed quickly into the caravan, placed her wrist watch where she could reach it and slipped between sheets that were sweetly scented. She crossed her hands under her head and lay listening. The men came up, and the light coming through the high window was lessened, as if one of the lamps had been switched off.
She heard Deline say, “I’m not a bit sleepy, David. Is there anything against smoking a cigarette inside the caravan?”
“I don’t suppose Susan will,” he replied. “Can’t you do without it?”
“Everything’s so strange, my dear. I’ll be hours going to sleep. Surely there’ll be air enough, with the back door open?”
“But you can’t have the door open all night, Deline. Too many mosquitoes about.”
“Oh good heavens, David,” in laughing remonstrance. “We can’t be shut up in that box! We’d suffocate.”
“There’s a roof vent, I believe. I’ll open it up for you.” Susan didn’t move as he came into the caravan, but her heart was in her throat as she watched his big figure moving in the aisle between the beds. She saw his arms go up, heard the squeaking of a rusty bolt and saw the centre section of the roof thrust upwards, like a lid, letting in the night sky.
“That’s fine,” he said. “Night insects always fly low, so you won’t be troubled.” He bent slightly, towards Susan. In the sky’s pale radiance she saw his face, bronzed and smiling. She felt his hand ruffle her hair, heard him say quietly, “Goodnight, little one.”
She answered in a dry whisper, “Goodnight... David.” He was gone and Deline came in. The door was closed. The men talked for a few minutes. Clive groaned a little, presumably as he slid into his sleeping-bag, the second light went out and it was quiet, except for the natural noises of the night.
Susan lay there, looking at the stars scattered across the face of midnight, and even as she went to sleep she could feel those fingers, teasing and companionable, in her hair.
CHAPTER TEN
PARTS of the next four days were idyllic, and the remainder of the time Susan found easily tolerable. Without haste, the caravan and trailer travelled south, wound among coconut and sisal plantations, along ridges above narrow gorges, stopped beside waterfalls and wherever else the view was impressive or merely beautiful.
They saw towns which reminded them that Mozambique was one of the really old African colonies, strolled the avenidas of Lourenco Marques and admired the modern shops, the ancient tiling, and lovely gardens; bathed from the famous Polana beach and spread themselves under cafe awnings to drink while they listened to continental music. They
danced, or watched the professional performers, admired the dark glossy heads and mantillas, and soaked in that heat which is so strange a part of summer nights in Mozambique.
Even if they took dinner at a hotel, they always camped for the night in open country. On one night, when a rim of clouds was visible above the trees, the men put up a tent for themselves, but only Clive slept in it, and even he discovered that he preferred to lie directly under the sky.
The towns were small and few, most of them mere shopping centres for the planters and their workers. They had names that were distinctly Portuguese, occasionally flavored with African, and some of the houses were of Moorish architecture and very beautiful; in a hot country there is nothing cooler to look at than shadowed white cloisters and shining mosaic floors.
It was in Vila Volteiro that they found the cafe under the trees. There was a gaily painted hut where coffee and wines were dispensed, deep basket chairs around basket tables, short grass underfoot and umbrella-shaped jacarandas overhead.
“Isn’t this one of the places where we have to call at the post office?” asked Susan, when she had finished her cup of coffee. “I do feel it’s time we heard from my mother.”
“Is she a good correspondent?” enquired David lazily.
Susan looked across at him. Relaxed, as he had been since they had left Willowfield, he was heartbreakingly dear. “No, she’s a poor one,” she answered, “but I thought she’d write again quickly. I don’t even know where she is.”
“She’ll let you know if she needs you. More coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Deline stretched her slim legs and sank further into her chair. “I don’t care too much for this wine. I think I’ll have some coffee. No, don’t bother, David. If you two are going to find the post office, Clive can order for me.”
“If you fancy a walk, we’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t, really. One town is very like another and walking makes one too hot. I’m sure Clive doesn’t feel an urge to exercise.”
“To be candid,” admitted Clive, gazing with long-suffering disgust at the baggy knees of his trousers, “I badly feel the need of a valet—or at least a valet service. The one good thing about a week in the wilds is the inevitable gratitude for civilization.” He smiled suddenly. “Don’t mind me. I may be a trifle testy, but this trip is doing me all the good in the world. I haven’t had such a clear brain for years.”
David stood up. “Come along, child. We’ll take a look at the church on the way up.”
The two left at the table watched them go; David big and very masculine in drill slacks and a white shirt, Susan smallish and fair, wearing a cotton print and the coolie sandals and swinging a natural straw hat. As they left the shelter of the trees there seemed to be an argument about the hat, but David’s insistence resulted in Susan’s putting it on.
Clive saw the hint of a sneer on Deline’s narrow red lips. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked casually. “I might have done the same.”
“Almost any man,” returned Deline, “might act that way with Susan Darcey. She’s that kind.”
“I thought you and she were getting along a little better.”
“My dear man”—she negligently tapped ash from her cigarette—“one doesn’t quarrel with a person like Susan; it would be altogether too ridiculous. To me she means nothing at all, and that’s the way I treat her. Perhaps if I were a man I’d be misled into seeing myself as her big brother, too. The pose doesn’t become you, though, Clive.”
“It’s possible,” he said, as carelessly as she had spoken, “that I wouldn’t mind if she misconstrued. Life with Susan would certainly be peaceful and happy. Still want that coffee?”
She shook her head. “You said just now that your brain was clearer than for years. Is it true?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then it must have dawned on you that your object in coming to Rhodesia no longer exists.”
Clive was entirely suave. “How can you know that? You don’t know why I came.”
“Good heavens”—with a sarcastic laugh. “From what I know of you I’m pretty sure I was a good enough reason.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Deline. I hadn’t had a long holiday in years, and I thought it might be amusing to watch you handcuff David Forrest. That was all. Things haven’t gone quite as we expected, though, have they?” He was mocking at her. “Young Susan’s got in the way somewhat.”
“Susan?” she straightened a little, blew ash from the powder blue skirt. “Are you suggesting that Susan’s actions can possibly affect me in any way?”
“What do you think, my sweet? I’m not suggesting she could steal David from you...”
“How percipient!”
“... but she does affect your relationship with him,” he went on. His eyes glinted at her, obliquely. “You’ve made the error of treating me as a halfwit, Deline, and with your experience you should have known better. I don’t sit around watching other people’s gymnastics without learning something, you know—and in this case I happen to be a little concerned for Susan. Just what are you trying to do to the girl?”
“Don’t be absurd”—coolly. “Why should I hurt Susan?”
“Then you do agree she’s hurt?”
“Your tone suggested it.”
He pulled the ashtray nearer to him, squashed out his cigarette. “I didn’t intend to talk to you about this before we got back to Willowfield, but since we’re launched, there’s something I want to ask you.” He leaned both hands on the table, and looked directly across at her. “A moment ago I asked what you were trying to do to Susan, but more to the point is what you’re doing to her brother. You don’t want him, Deline; you haven’t the smallest use for a boy of his type, and if you go on encouraging him you’ll make him do something desperate. I don’t believe you’re using him to make David jealous; there’s something deeper to it than that. What is it?”
Her jaw went hard. “Mind your own business, Clive.”
“Oddly enough, I feel it is my business. You’ve been my business for a long time—ever since you ran out on our engagement five years ago.” He saw the pale hand clench on her knee, and added, “Don’t fret. I’m not going to rake over the old rubbish-heap, though it would give me the greatest pleasure to explain in colorful phrases just what I think of a woman who hurriedly marries money while she’s bound to someone else. What a pity he wasn’t so well-off as you thought!”
“If you’re trying to anger me, Clive...”
“I’m not. Nor do I really enjoy harking back. Just now I’m more concerned with making you realize that you have not quite got things all your own way. You’re playing for Paul Darcey for a reason, and if I don’t have your promise to let up on both him and Susan, I’ll put it to David myself.”
'“You wouldn’t dare!” she said softly.
“My dear Deline,” he responded flatly, “I’ve nothing to lose, so why shouldn’t I dare? I suspect you’ve had Susan on a string over this half-baked romance with her brother, and she’s naturally feeling it. Now, why should you make up to Paul in order to undermine Susan? If I knew the answer to that one...”
“Oh, be quiet!” For once, Deline was rattled. “I’m doing no explaining—none at all. But I’ll make you a promise.”
Clive’s laugh was slightly off-key. “As if I didn’t know what your promises are worth!”
“Please, Clive.” She wasn’t pleading, but some of the hardness had gone from her tones. “I’ll promise not even to speak to Paul again, except casually if it should be necessary—if you’ll do something for me in return.”
“I? Why should I come into it?”
“Why did you ever come into it?” she said angrily. “That’s been the trouble!”
“What’s this thing you want me to do?”
She paused, dropped her cigarette into the grass and watched it smouldering. “Life at Willowfield, with you there, is too demanding. Before we go back I want you to tell David th
at you’ll be leaving by the earliest plane you can get.”
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands along the arms. His regard was calculating, a little puzzled, but in a moment it cleared.
“So that’s it,” he said pleasantly. “What a charming creature you are. But maybe I have it all wrong. You can’t think that anything I might tell David would ruin your chances with him.”
“You’re too clever,” she said, roused. “You’re also full of revenge. You wanted me all the years I was married, and you still want me, though it suits you to pretend otherwise. You’re out to stop my friendship with David. In fact, while you’re on hand you’ll see that there’s no approach to marriage!”
“You’re as near right as makes no difference,” he admitted, only a hint of sharpness in his level tones. “There isn’t a man anywhere who likes to be made a fool of, and I’m afraid I’ve let it rankle. You tried it twice with me, remember! The sensible reaction would have been for me to marry someone else five years ago—someone quite different from you. But I’d been deceived once, and wasn’t too sure of myself.”
“You?” she smiled theatrically. “Unsure of yourself?”
“Funny, isn’t it? When Forrest turned up last year I could see that history was going to repeat itself. I knew he wouldn’t ask you to marry him till you’d been without a husband at least a year, so I didn’t take any immediate steps. In a way, you wanted me to come to Rhodesia, didn’t you? You thought that a former lover on the doorstep might hasten David’s proposal, but it didn’t. And now I’m in the way, because you know that if I can prevent your marrying him, I will.”
She was silent for a moment, her face strangely pale. Then: “You’re horribly vindictive, Clive, and all because I couldn’t love you. If David loves me, you can make no difference. You know that.”
“If he loves you,” said Clive, “heaven help him. Personally, I’m acting on the assumption that as yet he’s not too sure. For the present, my blue-eyed angel, I mean to keep him that way.”
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