"What about private practice?" she asked, twisting the dish of cakes so that his favourite tartlets were nearest him. "You used to like it in England. Is there more satisfaction in curing the African?"
"For me—yes. I could go in for private practice in Machada if I wished—the other doctors have proposed it and I daresay the authorities would allow it—but my place is at the mission, where I'm most needed."
With some relish he bit into a small fruit tart. Fenella stirred her tea. The quietness and her father's company were soothing. His next remark, however, rather stabbed at tranquillity.
How long have you been here, Fenella—about four months, isn't it?"
"Nearly."
"That means you have two more to go. What do you think about it?"
"About staying the two months—or going?"
He used an embroidered napkin. His eyes crinkled at her with some affection. "About Machada. I've so grown into the habit of having you with me that it's going to be a wrench when you leave. But I won't be selfish. You have your life before you and it wouldn't be fair to .keep you away from your English people." He paused. "At the beginning I hoped you and Austin would take to each other, but since I've been seeing him more often I'm thankful you didn't. He's unstable, and by no means good enough for you."
"In any case, there's Aunt Anna," she said.
Her father laughed a little. "If Anna doesn't care for being left to her own devices in England she has a remedy, an excellent one. We can always build on an extra bedroom."
The smile faded. "Seriously, though, I do feel I've failed in my duty to you. I was so lost when your mother died that I had to get out and work hard. Anna was only about twenty-six then, but she was anxious to take you on, and I thought it best all round. I can see now that it wasn't, but regrets are useless. It's up to me to do what I can for you from now on. You know I want you to marry, Fenella. That's why you can't remain here indefinitely."
Again she used her teaspoon, and watched its rotations. With grim flippancy she enquired, "Would you object to a Portuguese son-in-law?"
"Good heavens, no. From what I've seen of them they're a wonderful people, and very devoted husbands. But I'm not blind, my dear, even if I do behave that way sometimes. If one of them drives you home from a party you're as chilly as winter with him . . . an English winter," he qualified humorously. "It seems to me' that your safest plan, would be to go home and marry a doctor. Then you can bring him to Machada and he'll have the choice between private practice and following on where I shall eventually leave off."
Upon which light note he changed the subject.
In fact, the two months in front of her appeared to Fenella an appalling no-man's land of days and nights. She daren't even contemplate them, particularly in her present mood of hopelessness and dread. So presently she, too, brought out a book and dozed over it.
The next day, Sunday, Maria did not come to the mission service, but when Fenella returned to the house at twelve-thirty the de Cardena car was outside and the Portuguese girl was in the lounge, alone. Maria swung round from the window, and in an instant Fenella was aware of her atmosphere of tragedy and fright. Maria was wan and hollow-eyed, her lips quivered and a spot of blood showed where she had bitten them. She took her setbacks so terribly seriously.
"Oh, Fenella," she said in a voice of anguish, and swallowed hard on a throatful of tears. "Thank goodness you have come at last. What am I going to do?"
Fenella touched her wrist but did not succeed in making her sit down. "Tell me about it."
Maria gave a shuddering sigh. "You did give the letter to Austin?"
"Yes, on Monday."
"You gave it yourself ?"
"Of course, Maria. No one else saw it."
"He has not answered. Not one word. And unless he comes today I cannot wait to see him. We have someone important to lunch with us. I . .. cannot . . ."
Tears ran down her cheeks and she dabbed at them as if disposing of them had its part in the conversation. Obviously she had wept a great deal lately, probably in the privacy of her bedroom.
Fenella gave her a small compassionate smile Maria was so extravagant in everything she did. She had probably magnified her troubles enormously.
"Wouldn't it be wiser to tell me what's upsetting you? After all, even if your father does discover that you and Austin have been meeting here, it can't matter so very much. There's no harm in a Sunday lunch, and it might even make him aware of what you really mean to each other."
"You do not understand, Fenella. I am already betrothed . . . to someone else!"
In that moment the breath seemed to have deserted Fenella's lungs. She gazed at the pale, distorted face and gradually the enormity of Maria's offence against Portuguese decorum seeped into her consciousness. Her breath came back in a rush of cold annoyance, which was only curbed by the sight of Maria's wretchedness.
"Now you've started you may as well go on," she said. "How long have you been engaged?"
"For two years. It is so comforting to confess." Again Maria brushed wetness from her thick black lashes. "He .. . meu apalavro the fiance, you call it . . . he is a lawyer in Alimane, a very good lawyer. My mother and father approve of him because he is grave and well-bred. Just now for many weeks he has been conducting a case in Lourenco Marques, but last week on Sunday evening he has come to see my father about wedding arrangements. The case is over and he is again in residence in Alimane. He much wishes for this marriage without more waiting." Her emotional stress was disturbing Maria's fine flow of
English. "Judge, then, how I am frightened, how desperate I am to see Austin. Surely he cannot comprehend my predicament ?"
"A predicament of your own making," Fenella could not help reminding her. "You've acted unfairly with both men. If you'd been open with Austin from the start he would never have allowed things to go so far between you. Really, Maria . . ."
"But Austin has known from the start!" Maria sounded almost virtuous. "Always I am honest with him about the fiancé. My friends . . . everyone knew that I was engaged to Senhor Gainas—all but you, Fenella. Often I have feared that you would learn enough of the Portuguese!"
This was unpleasant hearing, but there could be no sense in allowing fury the upper hand, thought Fenella. One thing at a time.
"Austin has known," she echoed. "No wonder he was reluctant to be seen with you. But you clung to him, raced to the camp and put him in an invidious position with his employer. You made him afraid for what you might do next. So much so that he agreed to see you here every Sunday, to limit the risk. You've the brain of an irresponsible child, Maria. You don't deserve to be helped."
"I am sorry." She did look dashed. "You would be sympathetic if you, too, were in love. But you are English. Austin has told me that English women are cold, that they think too much before they fall in love, whereas in love one should only feel. Please do not be angry, Fenella."
Maria could not guess that it was an awareness of personal youth and inadequacy which made Fenella look tired and strained. To straighten out such a tangle required more knowledge and experience than Fenella possessed. She sighed.
"You must have been engaged before Austin came to Mozambique."
"I was." Eagerly, Maria expanded. "It was managed by my parents, who were pleased when Senhor Gainas showed me attention. I did not object because he was kind to me and it was fun to be engaged when many of my friends were not. For three months it was fun—till I met Austin at a party. He was new to the country and
his Portuguese was comical. My English also was comical in those days and we laughed and made the little pacto-- a bargain: on me he would practise Portuguese—on him I would practise English. When I went home that night already I was in love with him."
"You were infatuated because he was unlike anyone else you had ever known. Love doesn't happen that way."
"With the English, no. With us it is different." Maria's shrug made her seem old and wise. "There is something which only two people h
ear—a chord of music, a bird-song —and they are in love."
Fenella took a long breath. She knew, none better, that the heart moves as it will, without direction from the head. But Maria's lack of thought for others and the driving-force of whatever it was she felt for Austin had placed all three of them in a dangerous spot, from which she could see no way of escape.
Point-blank, she asked, "What did you write to Austin?"
"That my fiancé had suddenly presented himself and desired to appoint an early date for marriage. I begged him to take me away."
Fenella had to harden herself to say, "And what if he won't?"
Maria stepped back and caught at the edge of a table. Her pallor had spread to her lips.
"If he refuses," she' said passionately, "I will fall on my knees and wish to die."
Weary of melodrama yet filled with a profound pity, Fenella turned aside to take off her hat while the other composed herself. But Maria was in no hurry to relinquish the fiery state into which she had whipped her emotions.
"You are trying to hurt me, Fenella," she burst out. "You are making of Austin a monster who will take kisses and give nothing but the empty promise. But inside me I am sure he loves me with his heart and will protect me from marrying that sujo Senhor Gainas!"
"A minute ago you admitted your fiancé was kind."
"If he is, I do not care about him." As precipitately as she flared, Maria crumpled, like a gay ribbon consumed by heat. "Forgive me, Fenella. It is that I cannot think of anything but Austin. He is in my thoughts all the hours I am awake. The Senhor Gainas comes to lunch with
us today to talk of the marriage settlement. My father says we are to be married in six weeks, but the settlement will be made lawful—legal—in a fortnight. I . . . I am fond of my father . . ." The depleted voice broke off, then added brokenly, "Austin will not come before one o'clock—he never does, and now I must leave or there will be harsh words. You will talk to him, Fenella? Only you can do this for me."
Fenella gave her word, and went out with Maria to the car. There were formal good-byes for the driver's benefit, and as the car rolled away Fenella leaned back against the veranda post and held it with both hands.
She was scared, more scared than she had allowed the other girl to realise. Maria, with an established fiancé of whom her respectable parents heartily approved, was a vastly different proposition from the normally impetuous creature she had hitherto appeared. Duplicity had never been part of Fenella's nature, but until today she had seen no real harm in permitting the two to meet at the doctor's house one day a week. Foolishly, she had always visualised a conventional union away in the future.
Solid ground had suddenly been cut from under her feet. They, Maria particularly, had not only misused Dr. Harcourt's hospitality; they had deliberately misled Fenella, taken advantage of her ignorance of Portuguese and of the fact that her acquaintance with the young people of the town was of the most casual. That anyone could treat her so meanly rather undermined her faith in human nature.
What would be the consequence if the whole business became public knowledge? Senhor Gainas would withdraw to Alimane, and no other Portuguese would look at Maria; even if she married Austin the two would be ostracised from local society. And somehow, Fenella could not see Maria living elsewhere; her character had not the backbone necessary for happiness away from her kind.
As for the town's opinion of her own contribution to the affair—that was an aspect upon which Fenella dare not dwell. Yet unbidden, rose the image of Carlos, those thin, aristocratic nostrils dilated with a contempt too shattering to contemplate. She would almost prefer that he went on believing what he believed now.
She heard her father in the lounge behind her, and turned.
"No one to lunch today?" he queried.
"Maria's people have a guest, but there's still time for Austin to show up."
"I thought she'd soon grow tired of it," he said disinterestedly. "Hello, Here is Austin."
Fenella did not linger outside to watch the approach of the red sports car, and when Austin came into the dining-room she did not explain Maria's absence. His complacent acceptance of it confirmed her doubts and set her smouldering. As the meal progressed she surmised from his conversation that he had no plans for getting in touch with Maria this weekend. Late this afternoon he was going down to play tennis with friends, and he had promised to dine with some of them. Yesterday had been full; in the morning he had had to report at the Quinta—they had asked after Fenella, by the way—and the rest of the day he had spent in Alimane, bathing and golfing. The weekends were much too short; thank heaven he would soon be due for a long vacation.
"If I can rake up the plane fare I'll go to England," he said, grinning "I haven't been back for five years, and I ought to make it up with one of my elderly relatives. She owns quite a lot of property and she's getting on. I used to be her favourite nephew."
"Another of those misguided aunts," commented Dr. Harcourt, sternly for him.
Fenella said nothing. Austin had plainly been speaking for her information and guidance. No doubt he suspected that Maria had been here today, and this was his answer to her enquiries. But she did not intend to let him get away with it so lightly.
When Dr. Harcourt went off for his rest, Fenella remained in the lounge. She took one of Austin's cigarettes and held it to the flame of his match. When they were both smoking she looked at him with more dispassionate discernment than ever before. He was handsome, all right; shaggy-browed and rugged-jawed, the sun-gold hair waving crisply back from his tanned forehead. There was charm too, in the faintly twinkling sea-blue eyes. Only his mouth
gave him away. It was weak and obstinately set at the corners.
"I can't make up my mind," she said, "whether you're a bit of a cad or merely unfortunate."
"Come now, Fenella." His smile was soft and compliant. "I'm not going to let you quarrel with me. I like you too much for that. What's eating you, my sweet? Has Maria been spilling distress all over you?"
"Describe it like that, if you like. You've treated her abominably, Austin."
"Have I? Is that the line she's taking?"
"She's not taking any line. She's still crazy about you, and hoping that you'll step in like a fairy prince to rescue her from the dragon."
"There you have it in the proverbial nutshell. Maria has never grown up; she still believes in fairy-tale heroics. Don't protest, Fenella—you know it's true." His shoulders lifted, and his tone was reasonable. "As a woman she's attractive and sweet, very easy to make love to, but her intellect is neglible. You can see that as plainly as I can. If I had to choose between you and Maria I'd a thousand times rather be marooned on a desert island with you."
"Aren't you circling the subject?"
"No, I'm not. I consider that you're entitled to an explanation, and an apology." He flicked ash from his cigarette and rested against the tall back of an easy-chair, with one hand in his pocket. "Until Maria and I had been acquainted for several weeks I hadn't heard of the existence of the fiancé. When I did hear, the whole idea of it was repellent: the archaic custom of the father choosing the girl's husband and the fact she didn't even use the fellow's Christian name . . . and other things. It sickened me that she might be pushed into the intimacy of marriage with a stranger. Since then it's come home to me that outlook and upbringing play a great part in such contracts, but at the time I was unwisely outspoken, in front of others. Maria's father went very high-hat and forbade me the house. He spoke to Carlos, after which I was transferred to the camp."
Rumour had it, via Mrs. Westwood, that it was not so much Austin's unruly tongue as his wandering eye which
had prompted Carlos to build the house for him at the camp. However, Fenella let it pass.
"But you went on seeing Maria."
"I couldn't avoid it. Machada is small and the circle I moved in was only a tiny part of it. I never arranged to meet her but invariably I did, at the Saturday sundowner parties. Her par
ents got wise again and she was only allowed to attend an occasional weekday function. Maria obviated that by bribing the chauffeur to bring her to the camp while her mother was resting. If I hadn't got wind up before, I had it then. It was a filthy trick to abuse your kindness, but lunching here satisfied Maria and saved me the nightmarish sweat of wondering whether she and Carlos might clash, and lose me my job. I don't blame you for being annoyed, Fenella, but I'm glad you haven't brought your father into it."
"You speak as if Maria made all the advances," she remarked. "She's not as unprincipled as you make out."
His reply was less placating. "I thought you'd take my side of it for granted. If I hadn't been in love with her the deception would never have begun."
Fenella felt a treacherous yet inexplicable knife-thrust. "Are you still in love with her?"
"Yes, but not in a way you'd understand, my angel." He moved round to squash out his cigarette in the ashtray on the arm of the chair. "She wants me to play the romantic hero, to run away with her and live with her happily ever after. I can imagine nothing more calculated to destroy one's better self than to be tied for life to a woman torn by remorse—and that would be Maria after a year or two. The deuce of it is, you can't make her see it that way."
"You could try."
He met her glance. "Are you suggesting that I should make a rendezvous with her? I'm afraid I'm not built to stand that sort of scene."
"But you owe it to her. Besides," she hated having to play this card, but Austin deserved it, "if Maria sticks to her conviction that you're too devoted to let her down, she's quite capable of blurting out everything to her family and flying to the camp with her belongings."
Austin paled. "She wouldn't do that!"
In a stride he crossed to the teak wine cabinet and, without asking, poured two fingers of whisky and tossed it down. His manner, as he lit a second cigarette, had lost the usual veneer of nonchalance.
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