“If you don’t want a pneumonia case on your hands, you’d better let me dry off,” she said.
Maria stumbled out of the room as if she were balancing the world on her shoulders.
Umberto let out an unsteady breath. “I don’t understand, senhora. Women are spies in the civilized parts of the world, but in Africa, no! You are not a spy.”
“You’re right. I’m not. For my part you may run guns all the way from here to Cairo. I suppose this is somewhere near Mbana?”
“You know this district?”
“I read about the Mbana riots. The natives used guns then.”
“Senhora!” Umberto straightened to his full five-foot-three. “The boss does not sell guns to natives.”
“What does he do then?” she asked shrewdly. “Sell them to a Portuguese middleman?”
This must have been near the mark, for Umberto oozed a sudden and visible sweat.
“You will please say no more.” He turned to the door. “Maria! Stay with the senhora and do not sleep. If she gets away the boss will kill us both!”
He needn’t have worried. Tess had no urge for further adventures tonight. She was tired, and achey, and when she tried to think deeply her brain jibbed.
Maria brought a new shirt and slacks. “These will fit better than those you are wearing. I am sorry we have no nice new frock for a lady.”
Tess rubbed down and put on the dry clothes. She wondered whom they had been bought for, and decided that Maria might have a youthful son somewhere. A brisk towelling converted her lank hair into a mass of rough curls, not much different from the way she used to wear it at Zinto. Lord, she was weary. “Where do I sleep, Maria?”
The woman creaked to her feet. “Come with me. She took up the lamp and went first, her large, felt slippers whispering over the rough boards. From the living-room extended a brief corridor, and in each wall was a door. Maria opened that on the right.
“This is the bedroom of the boss. You may lie on this bed and rest, missus.”
Eyes closed, Tess rolled on to her side. Dave was asleep in Lokola. How she yearned to be there, under the same roof, whatever his mood; to waken in the morning and hear his movements as he breakfasted on the veranda; to be ready with a smile when he looked in and said “So long” before going off for the day. She made a small sound and twisted on to her back.
“Have peace,” murmured Maria from her seat near the door. “It will soon be dawn.”
Day broke stealthily, spreading a sulphurous vapour over the forest. The storm had passed on, leaving Lokola blanketed in a sultry, dripping mist which runnelled the walls and collected in pools on the verandas. The houses were nearly as bad inside.
Just after six Dave heard the boy at the paraffin stove. He put his head round the kitchen door.
“Got any coffee ready, Zula?”
“In one minute, master.”
“Take some to the missus, and tell her we have to eat in that room this morning.”
“Yas, master.”
He stood aside to let the boy pass, and turned back to survey the tiny drab kitchen. This certainly was a hell of a shack. Two rooms, a bath cubicle so restricting that you chipped your elbows, and this little dungeon for cooking and storing food. The houses were a lot bigger and brighter down at the station, and there was always one empty. Only yesterday the district officer had mentioned the fact. But somehow, Dave wasn’t attracted. Going sour, he thought, and no wonder.
The boy was back, holding the tray, the whites of his eyes very prominent.
“No missus in that room, master.”
“Leave the coffee there. She’s probably in the bathroom.”
Dave suddenly recalled that her pillow was in his room. He’d seen it on the chair when he came in last night, and concluded that she’d made do with cushions. He strode through to the living-room. The place looked lifeless and stale. The big metal ashtray in the-centre of the table still held dead matches and butts from last night. The sheets and blanket, folded square and fitted into the seat of the wicker chair, retained a faint imprint of her weight. Upon the lounger lay the usual two cushions ... and the white suede bag.
Then he saw the note lying open on his desk. As he read it a bitterness pulled at his lips. Sweet kid, Tess. She meant her exit to match her arrival in lunacy. Except that Tess wouldn’t view her behaviour as crazy. She had looked after herself for so long that the journey from here to Cape Ricos presented merely an unpleasant obstacle which had to be cleared.
He went out into the mist and sprinted up to unlock the shed. The three cars were there, as well as the mine lorry. In any case, they’d have heard an engine running; even small noises earned and echoed.
Back at the house he called the boy. “Go down to the station,” he instructed him. “The masters may not be up yet, but talk to each of the houseboys. Ask if a car is missing. Make certain, and be quick.”
Now, there was nothing for it but to go to Walt. Dave shoved a cigarette between tight lips and walked up to the last bungalow. Luke came out in shorts and nothing else, wiping a smear of lather from his nostrils. “Hello, Dave. Filthy morning.”
“Walt, I want you to do something for me. I can’t go to the workings today. They know what they’re expected to do, and there’s a couple of native foremen in charge, but if you’d just stroll around once during the morning and again after lunch they’ll keep going.”
“Sure I will.” Luke grinned. “You’ve chosen rum weather for a day out.”
“I’m going to Cape Ricos.”
“So Tess got her own way after all.”
“What do you mean?”
Luke pushed his brow into pleats. “No offence,” he said soothingly. “I’m not inviting you down my throat again.”
“You’d better tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything, except that yesterday she was curious about means of transport from Lokola.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t much care for your tone.” Luke sounded injured. “If you think I’ve been getting fresh with your wife, go and ask her.”
Dave paused, and with a vicious flick of the wrist disposed of his cigarette. “She’s gone,” he said. “Cleared out as if all she had to do was catch a bus.”
Luke went grave. “Some girl, isn’t she?” he remarked slowly. “When was it?”
“Must have been while we were card-playing. Couldn’t have been during the night. I hardly slept.”
“Oh.” Luke forbore to put an obvious enquiry. “Didn’t she leave any explanation?”
“Nothing helpful. She hadn’t met anyone at the station except Bill Langland, and he hasn’t the guts to risk a row.”
“You believe she just hooked a car and slid away on her own?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Dave savagely. “She’s capable of going off on a donkey.”
“To Fort Leppa?”
“No, to Cape Ricos. She’s been over that road once.”
“It’s some track in a storm. Parts of it will still be under water.”
“Don’t I know it!” he said through his teeth. “As soon as the boy gets back I’m leaving, and if she’s still alive when I catch up with her, I’ll twist her neck.”
“Sounds a bit drastic,” Luke observed reasonably. “You ought to make allowance for her being high-spirited ... and miserable.”
Dave looked at him sharply. His mouth moved, as if to speak, then closed firmly. He dropped down to the path.
“Sure there’s nothing else you’d like me to do?” Luke asked over the veranda rail.
Dave shook his head and disappeared into the mist. Ruminatively, Luke pulled on singlet and shirt. Dave should never have married — or he should have chosen someone placid and hero-worshipping, and gone on raising citrus. If he did meet up with Tess there’d be a first-class slanging match and they’d part again. Dave didn’t realize how much the girl thought of him, and probably wouldn’t care if he did.
He was
brushing his hair when Dave klaxoned. He came to the door.
“Whose car did she take?”
“No one’s,” said Dave curtly through the car window. “They’re all there. She may not have left the district yet, but there’s a chance that she’s on the Cape Ricos road, in a hell of a fix. Walt,” his tone dropped, “don’t spill anything, but if you get any news, follow it up, will you?”
Luke gave the assurance and the car sped away.
One way and another, Luke had no appetite for lunch. The sight of his boy in faded shorts and grubby rag of a shirt emphasized the melancholy in his mind, reminding him of the depths of carelessness to which he was sinking. He had a whisky-and-soda, and was about to lie down when a car came up the track.
Hurriedly, he re-fastened his belt and went out. But it wasn’t Dave. The vehicle was the usual black saloon used by government officials, and it stopped outside Dave’s bungalow. The man who got out of it was Claud Kent, the district officer. Luke hailed him and went down to meet him.
“Good afternoon, Walton. Is Dave Paterson about?” One thing about Kent, Luke told himself with wry admiration — he could always be relied on to be first a gentleman. He was a good D.O., but always first a gentleman.
“He’s had to go out for a few hours. As far as I could make out it was some grievance down at the native camp the other side of the workings,” he lied easily.
“I see. This matter is urgent. Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“Not before dark, I should say.”
“That’s a nuisance. I was hoping to arrange...” He stopped. “Do me a favour, Walton. Send a messenger to contact Dave — give the boy a note saying that I’m anxious for an immediate discussion. He’ll understand.”
“I will.”
Luke answered morosely and went indoors. He dozed in the afternoon quiet. When he got up again the gold-dusted sun, having at last dispersed the intervening moisture, was sliding exhaustedly down behind the cottonwoods. Everything was still wringing wet to the touch, but a vitalizing breeze stirred the plantains, and the sky was assuming the normal evening tinges of purple and flame.
A white-suited boy brought a note from the D.O. Had Walton anything to report? It was imperative that Dave be impressed with the importance of this matter as soon as he turned up. Keep your pants on, thought Luke wearily. But he scribbled a brief, optimistic reply.
It was after eight when he caught the sound of Dave’s car. He could tell it was Dave by the speed. He slipped round the back of Brigham’s house, climbed on to Dave’s veranda and opened the door. The lamp was burning and the table laid for two. Luke had no time to wonder. Dave was just behind him.
Luke swung round and stared. “Dave —”
“You’ve heard nothing?”
“Not a thing. And neither have you...” He tailed off. Then, “I’ll pour you a drink.”
“Only lime and soda. I haven’t eaten.”
He looked it, too. His face was grim and sweat-streaked, his shirt, breeches and riding-boots caked with red mud. His eyes, bloodshot with the strain of long hours at the wheel on treacherous roads, rested, for a moment, on the wilted jungle flowers with which Tess had replaced Luke’s offering from the Reddings’ garden.
“She didn’t go to Cape Ricos,” he said. “The whole road through the swamp is several feet under water. Just in case she’d got through before it had risen too high, I followed the trail right round the swamp — it took three hours each way — but farther on there was a landslide — the road had fallen right away. Natives told me it happened early yesterday and worsened in the storm. We’re completely cut off from the port.”
“That leaves Fort Leppa. Look, Dave. Have a wash and some food. You can’t do anything more tonight.”
“The Fort Leppa road will be in equally bad condition — though she had time to be well on the way before the storm broke. God knows how she travelled.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I came back for petrol. I’m going on to Fort Leppa.”
“It’s no good in the dark. Wait till the morning.”
Dave called the boy. “Zula!”
“I’ll go with you,” Luke said, “but for Pete s sake go down and see Kent first. He’s been up here for you, and sent a boy, too.”
“What’s it about?”
“He used all the adjectives meaning urgent and said you’d understand.”
Dave paused. “Oh ... I’d forgotten that. I haven’t time to do anything about it now.” To the waiting boy he said, “Get me some cold chop and a flask of coffee.”
“You’ll have to see him, Dave. If you do get to Fort Leppa tonight, you won’t be able to trace Tess till daylight.”
Dave took a deep, angry breath. “I suppose you’re right. She’ll be snug in a club bedroom.”
He had a quick wash, swallowed some hard biscuit with meat and a drink. Luke went out to get the car filled.
Ten minutes later Dave presented himself at the white house of the district officer. With an anxious smile Claud Kent invited him in and closed the lounge door. His nod indicated the stained breeches and shirt.
“Good of you to come right away, Dave, but I’m afraid it’s got too late to do anything tonight. Have a drink?”
“No, thanks. Did something happen to our rig-up last night?”
“Plenty. The note advising the despatch of the twenty boxes reached our objective — whoever he may be. The goods train was held up and the boxes removed. Your plan was a good one, Dave, but the storm spoiled it for us. Every trace of the hold-up has been washed away.”
“That’s bad,” said Dave mechanically.
“It’s worse than bad. As soon as those boxes are opened and found to contain rock chippings the gang will know we’re on to their methods.”
“We were aware of that yesterday. If the police had co-operated and hidden in one of the trucks, as I suggested, it might have got results.”
Kent shrugged. “There are not enough of the police, and they happen to be following their own line of investigation. All I could do was instal a watcher. McLaren did it — very ably, considering he had to stay under coyer, but all he could tell us about the position was that the train stopped this side of Mbana. He thought the boxes were loaded into a car.”
“He thought!” said Dave contemptuously. “The whole set-up was ruined because McLaren hadn’t the nerve to get out and pile up a few stones to mark the spot.”
“That’s hardly fair. The man was told to carry on to Fort Leppa and report immediately.”
Dave stood up. “We went through all the elaborate business with natives and Portuguese, had the wagon carved open and the stencilled boxes planted. It took us three days, and McLaren ruined the whole show in five minutes.”
“McLaren did as he was told,” Kent reiterated. “At Fort Leppa he had the wagon opened properly at the side, and examined it.”
“What did he find ... peanut shells?”
“As a matter of fact he did find something.” The district officer unlocked a deep drawer of his desk and lifted out a small, limp white sack, which he placed on the table in front of Dave. “Take a look in there.”
Dave did. After a second his hand went in to bring out a tin of orange juice, and then another, a packet of rye biscuits ... and a roll of green linen from which dangled a dejected cascade of white ruffles.
His voice, when he spoke, was oddly harsh. “Is your assistant busy just now, Claud?”
“Not feverishly. Why?”
“Will you give him instructions to keep an eye on the workings for the next day or two?”
“Of course, but where will you be?”
“Somewhere between here and Mbana,” Dave answered quietly.
CHAPTER FOUR
UMBERTO was singing in a voice which had once been clear and pulsing. Years and the humid heat of the tropics had roughened his throat and made him nasal, but the lyric poured with amazing sweetness from his unprepossessing mouth.
As the
song ended he slapped the table. “You have it, senhora. Not a wrong note that time. You play very good.”
“Thanks.” Tess twanged a chord and laid the guitar on a chair. “You must teach me another one with a little less love and more fire.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Tess pressed back her shoulders. Another day of it? Living in this house in the forest was like being walled up in a tomb. This was her second day and she had seen no one but Umberto and Maria, eaten nothing but a little of the macaroni and rice which seemed to be their main diet. They were kind, but too frightened to let her stray from the clearing. She was not even permitted to take a dip in the tin tub without Maria as spectator, though Umberto was very careful to accord her all the privileges due to a lady.
Maria came in and spread a square of Kaffir weave over the table. In her bright headcloth, her long, full skirt drawn in at the waist and the washed-out cotton blouse pulled up with a tape at the neck so that her big ageing breasts swung within its voluminous folds, she had the appearance of a swarthy peasant. But Tess had found that at heart she was more African than Portuguese. The bowl of rice appeared, supplemented tonight by a mound of shredded raw onion which reeked through the room in a pungent blast. Maria brought a crazed willow-pattern plate, and a knife and fork. “You eat now, missus.”
“Take away the onion, Maria.”
The woman frowned anxiously. “Onion is good. White missus cannot eat so much rice.”
“I know. Take that, too. Just coffee, Maria.”
“If you do not eat you will be sick.”
Not so sick as if I do eat, Tess thought. Umberto looked sad. He gathered up the dish of onions and bore it away to the back room where he and Maria ate and slept. Maria gazed sorrowfully at the rice. “Perhaps with more salt?” she suggested.
Love This Stranger Page 14