A strangled sob broke from him. Peering over he could see the phosphorescent water churning. Perhaps Douglas had got her. But it was too dark to make certain. It might be only Douglas frantically splashing round in his endeavours to locate the drowning girl. Anyway, if either or both survived they would make for the bathing place. But whether they would have the strength left to reach it was another question.
Throwing caution to the winds Truss turned and scuttled helter-skelter back down the track. In a tenth of the time it had taken him to come up he was back in the little bay. Throwing off his robe, he waded out into the water as far as the edge of the ledge.
Five minutes passed; ten. In an agony of mind he waited, peering into the shadow cast by the cliff where it cut off the moonlight. Then, just outside the point he saw the wavelets breaking in a place where no submerged rock caused them ordinarily to do so. He let out a yell and started to shout encouragement. Slowly but surely the blob of heaving phosphorescence came towards him. Then he could see a dark head rising and falling. It was Douglas, swimming on his back and towing Fleur above him.
Hearing Truss’s shouts, when Douglas got to within a few yards of the shelf he turned over and thrust Fleur’s limp body shorewards. Truss stepped off the shelf, swam a few strokes and grabbed her. The sudden realisation that he was out of his depth almost petrified him, but with one arm under Fleur he kicked out violently. After only two frantic minutes, he found his feet again. With a gasp of relief he seized Fleur round the shoulders and half dragged, half carried her back into shallow water.
As he laid her down, still half submerged but with her head well above the lapping wavelets, he turned, expecting to see Douglas wading after him. But there was no sign of Fleur’s rescuer. Leaving her, Truss swiftly waded out again, calling to Douglas as he did so. A faint cry, coming from fifty yards further up the little bay, reached him. He realised then that, almost exhausted, the Sinhalese had not had the strength left to come ashore and that the current had carried him some way to the northward.
Up to his chest in water Truss thrust his way with all the strength of his powerful limbs in that direction. He covered the fifty yards, and in the moonlight caught sight of Douglas’s head. By then he had been carried a further thirty feet or more. Truss ploughed on after him.
Without warning his feet ceased to tread on anything. The shelf ended there and he had stepped off the edge. His weight carried him down and the water closed over his head. He came up spluttering. Panic again seized him. But he knew he could not turn back. He must swim out and, somehow, help Douglas to get to the rocks.
In a dozen strokes he reached him and actually grasped his arm. But it was slimy from the salt water and slid from his grip. Next moment Douglas went under. Truss knew that if he trod water the drowning man would, almost certainly, come up again. For inside of a minute he did so. Then the awful knowledge that he was out of his depth made his heart quail. He had, too, left Fleur half in, half out of the water. By this time the lapping waves might have drawn her back into it. That thought, added to his own fears, decided him. Turning, he struck out wildly for the shore.
To his relief he found Fleur as he had left her. But to all appearances she was a corpse. Dragging her clear of the surf he hastily turned her on her face and began to apply artificial respiration, pressing his strong hands rhythmically on her back to force the water from her lungs. After ten minutes he was dripping with sweat, but Fleur still showed no sign of life. In an agony of apprehension he turned her on her back and stared down into her face, now streaked with thick strands of clotted hair and made ugly by a slack and gaping mouth.
Grasping her fallen jaw with one hand and holding her nose with the other he pushed her head back then took a deep breath, put his mouth to hers and slowly forced the air down into her lungs. After repeating the process for several minutes he felt a slight quiver in her chest. Trembling now with renewed hope, he carried on until a shudder ran through her and she gave a low moan.
Thanking God that he had succeeded in bringing life back to her, he began to slap her limbs hard to restore her circulation. She started to whimper faintly and writhe under his slaps. Satisfied now that she would not relapse he wrapped his bathing robe round her, picked her up and carried her to the car.
As he laid her on the back seat his mind reverted to Douglas. For the past half hour he had not given Fleur’s rescuer a thought. But now, for the first time he was brought face to face with the awful fact that, although he had had a fair chance of saving a human life, he had failed to do so.
Since the age of ten he had never ventured out of his depth from a beach, but he always went in neck deep and while at school had regularly gone with the other boys to swim in the baths, where his fine muscles had made him a strong swimmer. There were many occasions when he had swum, floated and trod water for a quarter of an hour or more without touching bottom, whereas just now he had not been beyond the rock shelf for more than a few minutes. In the baths, too, he had often swum under water.
He could, therefore, have dived after Douglas, or waited until he surfaced again, without the least danger of drowning and, as Douglas was quite a small man, got him ashore without any great effort. It was only the hideous fear of cramp that had caused him to leave the Sinhalese to die. He had to admit that now. To return in order to make certain that Fleur was safe had been only an excuse to palliate his own cowardice. Only her legs had been left in the lapping water and he had been away from her less than ten minutes. Even had the tide been rising she could not have been swept away in such a short time.
As he stood beside the car his conscience was stricken by these awful thoughts, and finally by the acid test. Had he left Douglas lying on the shore and it had been Fleur fighting for her life out there in the moonlit waters, would he have abandoned her? He knew that he would not.
Back to his mind then came the shocking memory that he had actually contemplated pushing Douglas off the cliff. How great a part, he wondered miserably, had that evil urge to rid himself of his rival played in influencing his impulse to leave him to drown? In those few wild moments as he struck out for the shore he had not been conscious of any satisfaction in the thought that his earlier wish had now been granted. Yet by not remaining to rescue Douglas he had brought about his death as surely as if he had thrust him over the precipice. Motive and opportunity were always said to be the forerunners of murder. He had had both; and, although the latter had been thrust upon him, subconsciously at least he had taken it.
Utterly appalled by this honest assessment of his act, he gave a low groan. Then, pulling himself together with an effort, he threw a rug over Fleur, got into the car and drove off up the hill.
On reaching the villa he found that although breathing stertorously she still appeared to be unconscious. Carrying her through into the big lounge hall, he laid her on a sofa then ran into the dining room and fetched the brandy decanter. Opening her mouth he poured some of the spirit down her throat. She shuddered violently and choked. When her coughing ceased he tilted the decanter again. She spluttered, opened her eyes and, lifting a hand, thrust the decanter away.
As consciousness returned to her she stared up at him for a long moment, then whispered, ‘Truss. So … it was you who saved me.’
For a few seconds he did not reply. Evidently she must have already been unconscious when Douglas had found and grabbed her and knew nothing of what had since taken place. Douglas was dead; a flaccid body drifting in some current along the bottom of the bay. Truss alone knew the truth. He felt a terrible temptation to tell her that they had both dived in, then take the sole credit for her rescue to himself. But he resisted it.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It was Douglas who went in after you. I only pulled you out.’
Struggling into a sitting position, she asked, ‘Where is he?’
Truss hesitated. ‘He… well, he got you round to our bathing bay and I was out there on the edge of the shelf. I took over then and he … well, he was pretty well all
in by then …’
Her violet eyes opened to their fullest extent and she gasped, ‘You … you don’t mean …’
He nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. I’m terribly sorry, darling; but there was nothing I could do.’
‘Do!’ she cried, suddenly becoming enraged. ‘But damn it, you can swim! Why didn’t you go in after him and help him ashore?’
‘I had to get you ashore first. By the time I’d got you in he had drifted a good way off. I did go in then to try to rescue him. In fact I actually reached him and got my hand on his arm. But I lost my grip and he went under.’
‘And then?’
‘I turned back. I had to. I’d left you still half in the water. I … I was afraid you’d … you might be washed away.’
Fleur’s eyes blazed. ‘That isn’t true! What little tide there is was going out. Everyone knows that anyone who is drowning comes up three times. Why the hell didn’t you stay there and get hold of him when he surfaced?’
‘I tell you I was anxious about you,’ Truss protested miserably. ‘And … well, I was a long way out of my depth.’
‘So that’s it!’ she flared. ‘You bloody coward! No; worse! You hated his guts so you left him to drown. You’re little better than a murderer. Oh God! Oh God!’ Flinging herself down on the sofa, she burst into a passion of tears.
‘You’re overwrought,’ Truss muttered angrily. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. Stay put there while I get your mother.’
Leaving her, he strode off to the room occupied by Richard and Marie Lou. Hammering on the door, he cried, ‘Wake up! Wake up! There’s been an accident. We’re in the hall. Come as quickly as you can.’ Then he returned to Fleur, who was still weeping hysterically. Kneeling down beside her he patted her shoulder and made an awkward attempt to comfort her.
Two minutes later Richard and Marie Lou arrived in dressing gowns, still blinking the sleep from their eyes. Marie Lou lifted Fleur’s head, sat down on the sofa and took her sobbing daughter in her arms, while Truss gave them the bare facts, making as much as he decently could of his abortive attempt to save Rajapakse.
Struggling free of her mother’s embrace, Fleur sat up and cried, ‘He’s lying! He could have saved Douglas if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t. He left him. He left him to drown.’
‘He wouldn’t do that,’ said Richard firmly. ‘I’m certain of it. And you mustn’t say such things, Fleur.’
‘Daddy’s right, darling,’ added Marie Lou. ‘It isn’t fair to Truss. This is an awful thing to have happened, I know. And naturally you are suffering from shock. But you’ll feel better in the morning, and realise that Truss did his best to avert this tragedy.’
‘I won’t,’ wailed Fleur. ‘I won’t, Mummy. You don’t understand! You don’t understand!’
Their voices had drowned the sound of approaching footfalls out on the terrace and, at that moment, Douglas appeared in the doorway.
He was wearing only his bathing trunks; his straight dark hair was matted, falling over his ears, and a wisp of it sticking to his forehead obscured one of his eyes; his lips had a purple tinge and his dark skin glistened slightly from the water that was still drying on him.
For a moment they all stared at him with distended eyes, for no-one in a play could have better achieved the appearance of the ghost of a man who had been drowned. Lurching forward he grasped the back of a chair for support, gave a weak smile and muttered thickly:
‘I thought I’d had it… But the current carried me along to the point and … and when I hit the rocks I managed to haul myself clear of the water. I must have fainted then. Anyhow it… it was quite a long time before I’d recovered sufficiently to walk up the hill. I’m sorry if you’ve been worrying about me.’
Jumping to her feet, Fleur ran to him. With a cry of ‘Thank God! Thank God!’ she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him fiercely on the mouth.
‘Really, Fleur!’ exclaimed Marie Lou. ‘Of course, we’re all delighted. But… but…’
Fleur swung round, her young voice shrill with emotion. ‘Mummy, I told you you didn’t understand. Douglas and I love one another. I’m going out to Ceylon with him, and we’re going to be married.’
6
What’s To Be Done Now?
It was a very subdued party that assembled for lunch on the sunny terrace the following day; and less by one, for Truss had left that morning.
Before his departure, Marie Lou showed her sympathy for him by kissing him three times. Richard showed his by pressing ten pounds into Truss’s hand with the smiling remark that he hoped he was not yet too old to accept a tip. He thought that Truss was now probably far richer than himself, and he could not really afford to throw tenners about; but he had always held the belief that the enjoyment that could be bought with money steadily decreased with age; so he was habitually generous to young people, and that was one of the ways in which he had spoiled Fleur.
De Richleau had been told what had happened by Marie Lou first thing that morning. With his aptitude for assessing situations he had foreseen that Truss would not feel like remaining on at the villa; so he had at once set about writing half a dozen notes of introduction to friends of his up and down Italy. These he later handed to Truss, and smilingly expressed the hope that, should he at any time find his strenuous tour somewhat exhausting, he would not forget that while he was in Europe he had a home in Corfu.
Douglas Rajapakse appeared no worse for his narrow escape from death and neither by word nor manner indicated that it was no thanks to Truss that he was still alive. With smiling urbanity he had wished Truss ‘Happy Landings’ and added that, although it was unlikely that they would ever meet in the States, he hoped that one day Truss would come to Ceylon.
Fleur remained in bed all the morning, and Truss was in half a mind to leave without saying good-bye to her; but decided that he ought to. Having had a word with Marie Lou he had gone to Fleur’s room. She had not done her hair and her face was not made up, but Truss did not even notice that. He saw only the girl that he loved so desperately and now had to leave in such unhappy circumstances. When he told her that he had come to say good-bye, she said:
‘I’m sorry, Truss. I don’t mean about your going. As things are that would be best. But about everything else. This last week must have been lousy for you. I behaved like an absolute bitch. I’m sorry, too, about last night. I said some horrid things to you; but I was all wrought up. I’m sure you would have saved Douglas if you possibly could.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s generous of you, Fleur. But, to be honest, I ought to have stayed around until he came up, and pulled him out. I realised that afterwards and felt like hell about it. If it had been you I would have; and I’ll be thankful that all my life I won’t have his death on my conscience.’
‘Poor Truss,’ she smiled. ‘Don’t think too badly of yourself. In emergencies like that it’s generally more by impulse than judgment that people behave like heroes. Anyway, I’m not going to give it another thought, and you mustn’t either. Wish me luck and come to see me in Ceylon.’
‘Surely,’ he nodded a trifle uncertainly. ‘Bless you, honey, and … er … thanks for everything.’
When Richard and Marie Lou had got back to their room the previous night they had looked at one another in consternation, then he had muttered with a frown, ‘What the hell are we going to do about this?’
‘There is nothing we can do,’ replied Marie Lou miserably. ‘Fleur is no longer a schoolgirl. We can’t take her home and lock her up, or even for a voyage round the world. She’d refuse to go. And after all our hopes for her! Not only about Truss I mean. But her wanting to marry this coloured man. It’s awful; just too awful!’ Marie Lou then burst into tears.
She sat down on the end of her bed. Richard was across the room in two strides and had his arms round her. ‘There, there, beloved. Please don’t cry. Naturally it’s a ghastly shock for you; but you’ll get used to the idea. We’ve just got to forget the colour of his skin
. He’s really a very decent chap; good manners, well educated and must have quite a bit of money. If only his pigmentation were a few shades lighter we’d be congratulating ourselves on Fleur having found herself a very nice husband. For her sake and our own we’ve just got to look at it that way and be pleasant to him.’
Marie Lou stiffened, choked back a sob and exclaimed angrily, ‘D’you mean you’ll let her go through with this?’
‘If she is really set on it, what else can we do? You’ve said yourself that we can’t stop her and, anyhow, it will be quite a relief to have her married to a decent respectable man.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
He hesitated. ‘Well, I didn’t want to worry you, but after we’d let her go to London University I heard some rather shattering things about the girls she roomed with.’ He refrained from adding that it was Fleur herself, in a moment of expansion when sitting up with him late one night, who had with youthful bravado made it pretty clear about the sort of fun they all indulged in. Having always enjoyed her confidence and not wishing to lose it for good, he had done no more than stress the dangers of promiscuity and add that men were worse gossips than women, so a girl who went in for wild parties soon got a label on her that she was liable to regret when she later fell in love with some decent chap and found him averse to marrying her.
‘D’you … do you mean you think that while she was there she … she began to sleep with men?’ Marie Lou faltered.
‘I think she would be abnormal if she hadn’t. You must know how contagious that sort of thing can be when a lot of young women in their early twenties are rooming together. And Fleur’s outlook on life is so ultra-modern. For a long time I’ve dreaded that she’d fall for one of those clever professors who already had a wife, and make a mess of things for herself by going off and openly living with the bloody man. I’d rather she married Rajapakse every time.’
Dangerous Inheritance Page 7