by Abor, Jane
Meanwhile she was glad that Wilmot hadn't to be reminded of his offer to identify the island's flowers for her. He lent her books of coloured prints, told her where to walk to see particular herbs and trees and the shyer flowers which didn't flaunt themselves everywhere as did the typically tropic rosy hibiscus and frangipani and anthurium, and once or twice took her further afield in his car, driving slowly and naming for her the towering forest trees, the flamboyants, the pink pouis and the cassias, and the massive fan-spread of the tree-ferns.
He knew and could relate how most of the decorative and useful growth had begun—roots and cuttings cultivated by Spanish missionaries, seeds borne in upon the relentless trade winds, orange-trees imported by the
Portuguese, native yuccas and maizes and cassavas turned for use as food by Christopher Columbus. Telling all he knew on the subject he had made his own, Wilmot came alive, and Donna, interested and listening, could only suppose that his lack of enthusiasm for the banana trade was because it offered him too narrow a field. To him it was too regimented, too commercial. His true love was for all growing things, but the more wildly rampant, the better. How tragic to have your life forced into one narrow groove, when it hankered to amble gently along a wider one, she thought. And in thinking it, she decided that this was enough to have killed the man in him, the drive, the warmth—souring and deadening him into the negative figure he was. But that in this conclusion she was only partly right she was not to learn until Madame Hue erupted upon the scene.
Donna was alone and sunbathing on the lawn one afternoon when, in an open vintage car with a strapped bonnet, Madame Hue drove down the lane at a speed conducive to hurtling herself and the oar through the croton hedge and over the bluff; braked just in time, alighted and came across the lawn, both hands out-. stretched in greeting to Donna who had sprung to her feet in alarm, prepared for the imminent crash.
Madame Hue was small, round, dazzlingly white-haired, with a tanned face deeply creased by laughter-lines at mouth and eyes, the latter bright black buttons beneath brows which were still as black as the hair on her head was white. She announced, 'I am Irma Hue. I live on Mousquetaire Hill. I am widowed. And you are—? No, no need to tell me, except your first name. The coconut radio has already told me—you're Wilmot's niece from England. Is that not so?' Her voice grated and her accent was French.
`Yes,' said Donna, smiling. 'I'm Donna—Donna
Torrence. How do you do?'
`And you will have heard of me?'
Donna hadn't, and said so.
Madame Hue clucked with annoyance. 'Bah, it is always the same with these Larayans—out of sight, out of mind, as you say. Me, I go up to Florida to visit friends —a month, two months or so—and I am forgotten until I return. Where is Wilmot? Is he at home?'
Donna said he wasn't, and offered drinks, coffee, lemon tea and a chair, all of which her visitor declined.
'No, sit down again, child, and I shall sit with you while you tell me about yourself,' she ruled, plumping
down upon the lawn, sitting cross-legged and encircling her fat knees with her clasped hands to stop her rotundity from keeling over to one side or the other.
'Now,' she said. 'Now I am wearing my listening hat. And so—when did you come? Are Wilmot and Bran—
Idon entertaining you as they should? How long are you staying? And which of us all have you met yet? Have you fallen in love? Or have you left a beau—perhaps more than one—behind you in England?'
Donna laughed. 'That's quite a list of questions, Madame Hue!'
'No matter. Take your time. Let us start with the most interesting—are you in love?'
'Yes,' said Donna, and paused. 'With Laraye.'
'Bah, you tease me! You know I meant with a man,' Madame Hue accused. 'This is a romantic island, but you cannot marry an island. So tell me the names of some men to whom you have been introduced, and I, who know everyone, will tell you which one of them
might make you a suitable party.'
Donna's memory was able to produce the names of some of the men she had met at Margot le Conte's party, then she added, 'There's another one to whom I
wasn't introduced, but just—met.'
'You—a girl of good family, and you picked him up?' Madame Hue's shocked tone was belied by the twinkle in her eye.
'Not exactly, though you could say he picked me up,' Donna admitted. 'At the airport, when Uncle Wilmot had mistaken the day I was arriving and hadn't met me. So he—Mr Elyot Vance—made himself known, and drove me up here on his own way home.'
'Ah,' said Madame Hue. 'Elyot Vance—what a pity.' 'A pity?'
'That you should list him among the men who have interested you.'
'You have only asked me about some I had met,' Donna pointed out.
'Yet you remember to include Elyot Vance. And so I repeat—a pity. For though he is not married, is a charmer, of about the right superior age for you, and rich, one understands that he is already registered, labelled—what is the word I want?—ah yes, booked to Brandon's employer, Margot le Conte of the Allamanda. So if you have an eye for Elyot, I'm afraid an affaire would be all you could hope for. Marriage to you would not be in his mind.'
'But I haven't ! I don't...... ' protested Donna, taken
aback, though for some reason intrigued, rather than irritated, by these mental gymnastics on the part of her companion, who ignored her outburst to continue,
'Not that Wilmot would countenance either for you, considering how matters stand between him and Elyot. Has he—Wilmot—seen you With Elyot?'
'With him, actually only once.'
'And?'
'Well ' Finding Madame Hue an avid listener
and that she herself wasn't averse to discussing Elyot
Vance with a third person, Donna told the whole story
of their encounters and of her uncle's reactions from
beginning to end. 'It's always been sort of chance, you see,' she concluded.
Madame Hue snorted. 'Huh! Not always chance, if I know anything about Elyot's eye for a pretty girl.'
'But I'm not pretty, and it was chance—at the airport, and at the Dial House and when Bran couldn't drive me home. Anyway, I only mentioned him because you asked me, and because Uncle made so much difficulty about it.'
'Difficulties for which he sincerely believes he has reason.'
'Oh, I know,' Donna agreed. 'Bran told me, and we already know something about it in London—about Uncle's resentment of the competition of Marquise with Louvet, and his consequent feud with Mr Vance.'
'Which doesn't stem only from Wilmot's jealousy of Marquise; it goes much further back than that. And if you want to know how far, and what it is all about, probably only someone of Wilmot's age or of my own could tell you. I doubt if Brandon knows or would show much sympathy if he did. You young people'— the black button eyes gleamed in reproof—'you resent our generation's ever having loved or been loved. But that is what Wilmot's enmity for Elyot is all about.'
Donna was silent, suspecting she was about to hear the story, and she was right. Madame Hue continued, 'Both Elyot's parents died in the town fire of over twenty years ago.'
'Yes. He told me that,' said Donna.
'But not, one supposes, since he may not know, that almost on the eve of their wedding, his mother had broken her engagement to Wilmot and eloped with Noel Vance. They had just the one child, Elyot, and were very happy, one heard. But Wilmot never forgave Noel for taking her from him, and although Noel lost his own life in the fire, Wilmot never ceased to blame
him for exposing his wife to it. Wilmot's mania ran—If she had married him, they would have been living up here in the country, safe. She would still have been alive. And even I couldn't make him see that it was all chance, and that he was wrong and vindictive to blame Noel, who died too himself '
Donna asked, 'Uncle confided in you at the time, Madame Hue?'
'Only in me, I think. I was for him what you would call "the girl next door." You
understand this term?'
'Yes, I think so. But he married my aunt later, and they had Bran.'
'And so did I marry too. I went away and only came back to Laraye after I was widowed. And what do I learn of my old friend Wilmot? That he is still eating out his bitter heart, not now against poor dead Noel Vance, but against his son for being Noel's son. But still in secret, I believe. To most people, as to your family too perhaps, it is just a business rivalry, with Wilmot always the loser. But I tell you, child. Do you know why? It is because when you are in danger of being a little dazzled by Elyot's empty attentions to you, in your enchantment you may side with him against Wilmot, which would be unkind of you and less than the poor embittered man deserves of his own kin.'
'But I never would! That is, I'm not in that kind of danger. I hardly know Elyot Vance,' Donna protested. 'Besides, as I told you, at our very first meeting, I defended Uncle Wilmot against him, and always would again, especially after what you have told me.'
'Then that is good, and I am sure I can trust you.' Madame Hue rocked perilously to her feet and brushed clinging crab grass from her ample trousered derriere. 'And now that I am back on Laraye with plans for no more trips abroad for some time: I must take Wilmot in
hand myself and arrange a cure for him. A cure being a wife, which all men need.'
'He has had a wife,' Donna pointed out.
'And cherished her as he should, one hears, for all his other discontents. And so we must marry him again. I myself shall put it in train.'
'Must you go, Madame Hue? Won't you wait to see Uncle, though I can't say when he may be home?' Donna asked.
'No, I must go. Tell him I called, and you must come to see me, child.'
`How far away is Mousquetaire? I haven't a car,' said Donna.
'Then Wilmot must bring you, or Brandon, or I will fetch you myself. And call me Irma, my dear. Everyone does; I am a byword in Laraye.'
Donna laughed. 'I'm sure you're not. A byword—whatever for?'
`For minding everyone's business but my own ' With a wicked chuckle Madame Hue turned the vintage monster in its tracks and roared off up the lane, leaving Donna to pray that she would encounter no passing traffic at the top.
Bran's reaction to the news of Madame Hue's call was a laconic, `So she's back again, is she?' and Wilmot's dour 'That woman! Did she say what she wanted of me?' sounded to Donna singularly unwelcoming to his one-time confidante.
`No. Just that she had hoped to see you,' Donna told him.
'Though as if I couldn't guess. She fancies herself as a water-colourist and has some fool idea that if I wrote a tourists' guide to the island's flowers and trees, she could do the illustrations in colour. So no doubt she came to pester me again,' Wilmot grumbled.
The idea seemed a good one to Donna, and she would have thought he would consider it. 'But you aren't interested?' she queried.
'If I ever wrote a book which I could hope any tourist would put his hand in his pocket to buy, I'd have it illustrated by someone who knew better than Irma Hue which was the right end of a paintbrush,' he ruled, dismissing the subject and causing Donna to wonder what he would say if he learned of the lady's plans, not only for a book but for a marriage of convenience for him which she intended to arrange.
How serious could she possibly have been about that? Donna wondered. Probably no more so than in her claim that Elyot Vance wasn't unwilling to allow chance to help him to add Donna's own scalp to his belt. She couldn't have meant either to be taken as fact. Donna couldn't see Wilmot ever arousing himself to marry again, and Elyot hadn't attempted to pretend he was interested ... He had simply done what her chance emergencies had asked of him at the time. Even his peck of a goodnight kiss had been a duty chore, he had implied. And who wanted to be a mere duty to any man?
Irma Hue had not visited again by the time Bran said he had told Margot le Conte that he thought Donna was now practised enough to stand in as a spare guide whenever Margot needed her. Margot, he reported, had said, 'That's fine, the darling. But remind her that I threatened I'd put her through her paces,' and had named a day and time, which Bran had accepted for Donna.
Donna didn't relish the prospect too much. Why need Margot make it sound like the taking of one's original driving test? But on the afternoon in question a car was sent to take her down to the Allamanda, where she supposed she would be picking up Margot in
one of the tourist guide cars.
On the way the Larayan driver was chatty. 'Missus le Conte she go Barbados,' he volunteered.
'Barbados? I suppose she'll be flying down? When?' Donna asked.
He shook his head. 'No. She go today. She fly, yes. But she gone.'
Donna stared. 'Gone?'
'Thas right. Hear tell she have tooth pain bad. Say no good tooth doctor, Laraye. Doctor on Barbados better. So, she go, fly back 'tomorrow.'
'But she had arranged to see me! She must have forgotten that.'
Missus remember. Me, I know so, for I drive her airport, and as she mount car she say to Mister Vance who there, tell you not to come, as she called away. But he say he see you instead. She say no need. But he say yes, and she say---' A shrug of the man's massive shoulders indicated Margot's reply—`and Mister Vance tell me come up for you, missus, after I take Missus le Conte airport. This I do,' he concluded.
'Oh,' said Donna blankly. Stepping into the breach again, was he? She had been right to call a cliche the circumstances which forced her company upon Elyot, for his coming to her aid—quite unnecessarily this time—was indeed becoming a habit. Why,, she wondered a shade irritably, had he apparently overruled Margot about putting her off? He could so easily have telephoned, and saved both the driver and her a fruitless journey.
But that he didn't intend it to be a fruitless journey was made clear when, at the hotel, she found him waiting for her in the passenger seat of one of the guide cars. He got out, and before she could tell him she already knew of Margot's emergency, he said, 'Margot has had to fly down to Barbados to see her dentist, so,
rather than subject you to butterflies in the turn to no purpose, I've offered to play test-examiner myself.'
'You mean you want to take me round on a trial trip, as I think she meant to?' Donna asked.
'On the contrary, you're going to take me round.' He opened the car door for her and waited as, seeing protest was useless, she strapped herself in. As he got in beside her he produced a large-scale map of Laraye and remarked, 'You were having butterflies, I hope, as all worthy examinees should?'
'A bit,' she admitted. 'I think Miss le Conte meant to make it a serious test of what I could do.'
'Let her be "Margot" between ourselves, may we?' he said casually. 'Yes, well—' his forefinger traced a route on the map—'around the town first, I think; points of interest there; then up to the Lighthouse; round the Military Cemetery; over to Government House. All right, I'll brief you again when we've done all that. Off you go.'
Donna moved 'off' rather nervously, over-conscious of both his scrutiny and his unreadable silences between the questions he put to her about anything of interest which they passed, not always spacing them considerately of the main task in hand—her driving of the car. He would bark, 'Look, what's that?' quite suddenly, and when she jumped and said 'What's what? Oh, that's ' and told what 'that' was, he showed no emotion at all, not even interest in her reply. But gradually she found she could interpret his every slight movement of foot or hand or clearing of his throat as some message he was putting over to her.
I'm getting on to his wavelength, she thought. We're on the same beam, and surprised herself at the quiet, almost warm sense of achievement which that gave her.
When he stopped her to suggest their further itinerary ('We haven't time to go full south, but drive as far
as Carriere through the rain forests; on the way back, take in an avocado farm and we'll finish on Marquise') he advised, 'You're going to have to expect questions, some of them pretty fatuous, I daresay. So if you want to
ward them off, you should volunteer more patter than you've offered me. Stop in your own time and hold forth about the views or whatever, and point out things off your own bat as you go.'
She did so, finding herself more at ease, even making a joke or two and repeating for her imaginary passengers' benefit some Larayan proverbs which she had learned from Juno and which amused her. She was enjoying herself; didn't want the tour to end.
At last they came down from the mountains where, on the highest roads, they had been level with the tops of the flamboyant trees and the coconut palms towering from the lower slopes. The red dust road dropped down to a valley which was the vast acreage of Mar. guise, one dark green mass of banana plants, with a group of Elyot's workers' cabins huddled in the middle of the mass.
He stopped Donna, told her to get out and helped her across the wide ditch which was the only barrier between the road and the growing crops. He pointed to a young plant with its pendant purple 'head' which had not yet dropped any of its bracts to reveal the tiny green fingers underneath.
'Now give me a rundown on the whole banana cycle from A to Z,' he ordered.
Donna smiled. 'Doesn't that rather amount to teaching my grandmother to suck eggs?' she quipped.
'In this instance, I'm not your grandmother, thanks be. I'm a tourist straight from the heart of Chicago or Manchester who has hitherto only thought of bananas in terms of comic songs. So let's be hearing what you can tell me,' he said.
When she had finished he nodded. 'Very lucid. And the rest—the harvesting, the washing, the grading, the shipment overseas?'
'I know about it, of course. But I haven't seen it; Louvet hasn't sent out a consignment since I've been here.'
'You should rectify that. As long as you wouldn't expect me to spare you much attention, I could bring you out one banana-boat day to see the whole process through. The loading from the quays is a spectacle your passengers are sure to want to see. One thing you haven't mentioned—why, out here, the banana is known as "fig"?'