by Hilary Wilde
— they would say it was doctors’ bills or clothes. He would never query it. Besides, it gave them a hold on him — he has had to feel all this time under an obligation. If it’s true — then the Dominguez have done very well out of their deception.”
“Do you think it can be true, James?” Kate asked.
He frowned. “It could, you know. It would explain many things. Kate—” His voice changed, became hard, almost authoritative. “Promise you won’t go back to the Pensio without letting me know. I may be away, and ...” She stared at him. “James — do you think I might be in danger?”
“You could be. I don’t like the set-up, Kate. You see, you’re the stumbling block in their continuation of this good life. If you weren’t there ...” He sighed. “I wonder how we could find out? It’s no good telling Lister what we think. I’d probably get a black eye for my pains. How blind can a man be?”
James and Natala left for Lourengo Marques the next day. Kate kissed the Portuguese girl warmly and wished her all the luck in the world.
Natala’s eyes were glowing. “Even if I do not get the cure,” she said, “I will have the happiness. Antonio will be there, and I think ...” She closed her eyes and her hand went to her heart, in a funny poignant little gesture Kate had seen her make once before. “I pray — my dear Kett — I pray.” After they had gone, Kate found herself thinking about James. Had there ever been anyone like him? He was wonderful — no doubt about it, wonderful. Yet such good fun, too.
A week passed, and Mrs. McCormack had a long letter from James. She took it to Kate, who was lying in a hammock under a palm tree, apologizing as usual for her laziness.
“I’ll never be able to work again,” Kate said.
Mrs. McCormack looked at her. “Perhaps you won’t have to,” she said. Then the plump affectionate face looked startled and dismayed, almost as though she wished she could unsay the words. She went on hurriedly, “James has told me to tell you what’s in the letter. I’ll read it to you — at least, some of it.” James had been with Randel Lister.
“ ‘He came to see me, he was half furious, half amused,’ he wrote. ‘I was surprised at his coming to me, for I’m sure he didn’t want a solution to his problem, just reassurance that he was right. He’s certainly got an uncomfortable conscience. It seems some ancient relative of Mariana’s called on Lister — seedy sort of man, very correctly dressed and wearing a monocle he was not used to — he said he was her uncle. Before Lister knew what was happening this individual was asking Lister what were his “intentions” and were they honorable? He was aggressive and said it was time the marriage was arranged.’”
Mrs. McCormack stopped reading and stared at Kate. “Well, I am surprised!” Kate nodded. “I’d have thought Mariana would be more subtle — it isn’t like her. Besides, she doesn’t need to use a shotgun to get him to marry her.” Mrs. McCormack gave her a quick, shrewd glance. “I’m not so sure, dear. Now I’ll go on. James says: ‘Lister asked the uncle for the reason of the visit—why the sudden interest in Mariana’s affairs. The uncle said that Mariana was being “talked about” — that in a small place, her reputation should be guarded. I gather Lister broke out into almost hilarious laughter at this — and told the uncle that Mariana’s sole aim in life was to be talked about. But not in that way, the uncle said, becoming very pompous. Anyhow, to cut a long if amusing story short, they parted in anger, the uncle threatening a court case. He told Lister that Mariana had refused many good offers of marriage because she had to look after the child. That she had said she owed her first duty to the child and would not consider her own happiness. Lister repeated this to me and it was all I could do not to laugh. I found that it was this bit that worried him. He asked me if I thought it was true. I said, No. If anything, it improved Mariana’s chances of making a good marriage, for it gave a cloak, albeit rather thin, of respectability and let people see that underneath that hard, shining exterior there might be some heart.’ “ Mrs. McCormack lowered the letter and stared at Kate. “James said some dreadful things.”
Kate nodded again. Dear James! “I suppose Randel was angry at that?” she asked.
Mrs. McCormack returned to her letter. “James says, ‘Lister then told me of the terrible scene he had had with Mariana. She descended on him and wept in his arms, apologizing for her wicked old uncle, saying she had not known of his visit, that the uncle was a mercenary and that she understood Randel’s difficult position. She said she was happy to go through life alone, solitary, unloved, but she had cared for his bebe. That made life worth living. I gather this was what was really worrying Lister.
As I said before, he has a conscience that has an uncomfortable habit of rearing its ugly head now and then. He is not sure if he has wickedly made use of Mariana, or if she is trying to force his hand. She told him she knew he did not love her, but she was content to have it that way. Just to care for his child was satisfaction enough.’ ” Mrs.
McCormack stopped reading.
“Poor Randel,” she said warmly. “How embarrassing for him!” When Kate did not answer, James’s mother read on: “ ‘As you see, a very emotional and happy evening was spent by Mariana. It took me hours to calm Randel down, sort out his conscience, show him how the Dominguez had also benefited by the arrangement — very much so. He couldn’t see that. Mariana had given up her life, he said. How, I asked, and reminded him of her journeys overseas, the gay life she led. In the end I suggested, if he was really conscience-stricken, that he give her a settlement — a lump sum. It would do for a dowry, or buy her a new wardrobe and she could go off to pastures new. He didn’t like that very much.’ ” Mrs.
McCormack paused again.
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Kate said softly. Poor Randel — why didn’t he make up his mind? It was obvious he loved Mariana. What made him hesitate?
Mrs. McCormack said slowly, “I’ve left the worst bit until the end, Kate. James is bringing them down for a long weekend.”
“Oh, no!” Kate cried in dismay.
“I’m afraid so. I wonder why. James is usually more thoughtful,” his mother said worriedly. ‘We’re so happy here, just the three of us.” Kate tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. How could she bear it, to be near Mariana — to feel her flesh creep, to have that old senseless feeling of fear? Irrational fear, James had said once. But was it when you knew a person hated you so much?
Was it irrational then? And if Natala’s astounding story was true, and the Dominguez were frauds, then how much more reason had Mariana to hurt her? Then she remembered James. He would be there — so Mariana would not be able to harm her.
She stood up. “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” she said to Mrs. McCormack. “Can I help you plan menus and things so that you can enjoy yourself while they’re here?”
“Enjoy myself?” James’s mother asked. “I won’t have a moment’s happiness until that woman is out of my house. I can’t think why James should ask her.” As it turned out, it was not so bad — at first. Mariana was at her most charming, on her best behavior; kind but distant to the cautious Rosa who kept out of her way as much as she could; pleasantly friendly, if slightly chilly, to Kate; very polite and respectful to Mrs. McCormack and completely enchanting to the two men, playing them off against one another, with a gracious, attractive air, so that neither need be jealous, yet each man was made to feel sure he was the favored one. It was a clever game, rather amusing to watch. Or it might have been had Kate not felt so desperately unhappy. Just to be so near Randel, to have him gaze at Mariana like that
— to laugh at her jokes, to hold her close as they danced — how could Kate be anything but miserable?
The first day passed pleasantly, with sun-bathing, Kate and James swimming in the pool, and all of them dancing in the evening on the terrace. The second day, James took Rosa and Kate for a walk along the sand dunes. There was a slight breeze and Kate had to hold on to her big floppy cotton hat. She was surprised because James had tried to get out of taking
Rosa with them, the first time he had ever done such a thing. Now Rosa ran ahead to pick up a gay feather that had floated down and Kate looked up into James’s smiling face and said impulsively: “Oh, James, it’s so wonderful here. I could live here for ever!” To her surprise, he grabbed her hand and held it tightly and his face seemed to change, grow to look almost desperate. “Why don’t you, Kate? We could live here half of the year. You know I love you.”
He stopped speaking and dropped her hand. She knew her face had told him what she thought he already knew.
“Oh, James,” she said, and thought how inadequate it sounded. “Oh, James,” she repeated in dismay. She wanted to cry. “I like you so much, but—” He turned his head away for a moment. She wondered what one did in such a situation. What good were words?
“I ought to have known,” said James. “I suppose in my heart, I’ve always known, and yet I went on hoping. It’s Lister.”
“It always has been, James,” she said unhappily. “Right from the first time I saw him.”
He turned and was himself again — kind, friendly, even protective.
“Don’t fash yourself, Kate,” he said gently. She wanted to cry more than ever.
“It’s just one of those things. I’ll get over it.” She could not help herself, she caught hold of his arm and leaned against him, trying to show her sorrow, her sympathy.
“I wish — oh, how I wish ...” She paused. “James, you’ve been so good to me.
I’m so happy with you. I love your mother—”
He patted her hand gently. “I know, dear.” Rosa was tugging at Kate’s hand.
Both had forgotten the child. Now she looked up at them, her face anxious.
“Has Kate hurt herself?” she asked.
Kate shook her head. Her eyes were enormous with unshed tears. “I’ve hurt Uncle James and I can never forgive myself,” she told the child.
“Don’t say that, Kate,” James began.
Rosa looked at him. “Where does it hurt?” she asked. “I could kiss it if you like.” James knelt by her side and lifted his face, touching his mouth.
“It hurts here,” he said. Rosa kissed him gently, and James smiled. “It’s much better now. Nearly well,” he told her.
“I’m glad,” Rosa said, and tucked her hand in his.
They walked back in silence, Kate still struggling with tears. It was awful to have had to hurt him — James, of all people.
It was even worse when they got back and she saw the quick hopeful way Mrs.
McCormack looked at them. Had she guessed James was going to propose? Kate’s heart sank when she saw the disappointment on the older woman’s face and the quick way she tried to hide it.
Kate escaped to her bedroom, with Rosa close behind, and stood by the window, her hands over her eyes.
“Why did you hurt Uncle James?” Rosa asked.
“Yes, why?” a cold voice asked.
Kate swung round, startled. It was Mariana. She had followed them through the open door and stood there. Her white pleated dress clung to every curve of her body, and as she moved forward Kate saw the angry hate in her dark eyes.
“Tell me,” Mariana insisted. “Why did you hurt Uncle James?” Cruelly she mimicked Rosa’s voice.
Rosa turned. “He wants to marry Kate,” she said defiantly. “But Kate will only marry my father.”
Kate caught her breath with dismay. Mariana’s face lost its coldness, became distorted with hideous anger.
“So that is it!” She came into the room, closing the door softly, crossing swiftly to Kate’s side.
“You little—” She called Kate some name in Portuguese. It sounded ugly. Then her hand flew out, hitting Kate’s cheek viciously, leaving a deep red mark on the pale skin. “You leave him alone. Do you hear me? Or you’ll get more than a slap on the face ...” Mariana’s voice was shaking. “He’s mine! Mine! Mine!” She screamed at Kate. Then she seemed to remember something.
“James too? I wondered why he ... Oh, you are the one, again!” Mariana’s hand flew out again, giving another vicious crack as she hit Kate. Kate rocked back on her heels. She seemed unable to think, to do anything. She put her hand to her face — and felt Rosa clutching her, shouting angrily, “Get out! Get out!” And then Mariana had gone. The room was very quiet. The door was closed.
And Rosa was comforting her, holding Kate close, kissing the stinging red cheek, saying over and over again that she loved Kate and hated Mariana.
Kate wondered what to do. It would be difficult to face the others as if nothing had happened. She looked ruefully at her cheek. Even thick make-up could not hide the marks. In the end, she and Rosa had a “secret.” Kate pretended to have a headache and Rosa asked Mrs. McCormack if they could both have dinner in bed.
Rosa touched the sore cheek tenderly. “Does it still hurt?” she asked.
Kate shook her head, and begged Rosa not to tell anyone. It was bad enough to have made Uncle James unhappy — Kate did not want to make Rosa’s father sad too.
“He would be cross,” Rosa said solemnly. “He says it is bad to lose your temper and hit people.”
Kate agreed — but wondered a little bitterly with whom Randel would be cross.
With herself, she was sure. He would be vexed and embarrassed to know that Rosa was telling people that her nursery-governess was in love with him.
Fortunately by the morning the marks had almost vanished, so Rosa and Kate could go in to breakfast. James looked up from serving the kidneys and bacon, and smiled. “Headache better, Kate?” he asked, and his kind eyes told her that he thought she had kept away out of consideration for him.
Mariana, coming in to breakfast for once, spoke politely, but her eyes might have been made of glass. Kate wondered if it was imagination, but she seemed to feel vibrations of hate flowing out of Mariana’s body — it made it hard to eat, to talk normally. Rosa walked deliberately round the table to avoid passing Mariana. Kate saw that Randel perceived this and was half frowning, half amused. He looked at Kate with a question on his face, but she merely met his gaze blandly and looked away. She felt too exhausted to cope with anyone.
Mrs. McCormack hurried into the sunny breakfast room, looking worried. “I don’t know what you plan to do, James, but I’ve got the piano tuner coming today of all days, and he’ll drive you all mad.”
James smiled. “Why we waste money having it tuned, I don’t know,” he said lazily. “No one has touched it for years.”
“It was your father’s piano, James. Besides, one day you may have children who may want to—” Mrs. McCormack stopped. Her face turned an unhappy red.
“Shall we go swimming?” Kate suggested quickly. “That would get us out of your way.”
“We could go to Komi Bay,” Mariana suggested. She looked at Randel. “These people who swim can bathe there and we can talk.” She smiled. “I have heard it ess very nice. There is a good restaurant, where they make delicious pen-peri chicken.”
“That’s a good idea.” Mrs. McCormack sounded relieved. “But leave me Rosa or I’ll be lonely. Will you stay with me, darling?” she asked the little girl.
Rosa was drinking milk, her father, Kate noticed, watching her with a curiously thoughtful look. Rosa had a thin white moustache on her upper lip. She looked worriedly at Kate. “If I stay, Kate, will you be all right?” she asked.
Kate felt the animosity in the quick glance Mariana gave her, and saw the annoyance on Randel’s face. Kate could guess what he was thinking — that she had made Rosa dependent on her. She also saw James’s amusement. Dear James — did he think Rosa felt she must protect Kate from him, lest he want revenge? Rosa knew him better than that. It was Mariana of whom she was afraid.
“I’ll be quite all right, darling,” Kate said. “And I’d hate Mrs. McCormack to feel lonely.”
“So would I,” Rosa said, and put her hand in the older woman’s. “I’d hate Mrs.
McCormack to be unhappy as well as—”
Kate jumped up. Oh dear, whatever would Rosa say next? “When shall we go?” she asked eagerly.
James planned it all, arranged everything. But at the last minute Mrs.
McCormack said worriedly, “They had sharks there, the other day.”
“We’ll be careful,” James said, patting her shoulder and smiling. “Your baby son will take care of his ‘ickle self.”
His mother made a wry grimace at him and had to laugh. “You’re impossible, James. I wasn’t thinking of you. It was Kate. I read about the sharks in the paper, and—”
“Well, I didn’t,” James said cheerfully, “so what I don’t know about won’t hurt me.” He met Kate’s glance for a moment and she saw, with a shock of dismay, that he was having to make an effort to be cheerful.
“I didn’t read it either,” Kate dashed into the conversation.
Mariana had turned away, as if disinterested. “I read it. One girl was killed.”
“There!” Mrs. McCormack cried in dismay.
Randel was frowning. “Look, please don’t worry, Mrs. McCormack. There is no danger at all if one is sensible. Why on earth?” he muttered, and Kate thought he heard him mention Mariana’s name. She had glided away, was now waiting with very obvious patience for the boring conversation to end. “I promise we’ll only bathe in the prescribed areas, Mrs. McCormack.”
“It’s just that today I have a feeling,” she said apologetically. “It is the thirteenth.”
Randel could smile at that. “But that’s my lucky day, which only goes to prove—”
Kate tucked her hand through the older woman’s arm. “We won’t go, darling, if you’re really worried.”
Mrs. McCormack smiled mistily. “Dear girl— I don’t want to spoil your fun. All the same, I’ll be very glad when you’re home again,” she finished defiantly.