Over the Blue Mountains

by Mary Burchell

  “Will it be quite light when we come back? It seems such very thick darkness at the moment.”

  “Look behind you,” he said.

  And, turning to gaze out of the back window of the car, Juliet saw that in the east the night sky was paling to a steely gray. Already one could see, etched against it, the growing outlines of towers and minarets, and here and there a solitary palm tree.

  In wordless fascination she stared, unable to believe in the miraculous speed with which the light strengthened and deepened, until the gray became off-white, and then the cold, sharp real white of the few strange minutes when the world is emptied of color just before the first flush of dawn begins to warm the sky.

  “It’s so quick,” she gasped. “Like lights coming up on a stage. It doesn’t seem as though it can be real.”

  “And you see that it’s still night where we’re going,” he told her.

  She turned to look ahead again, and there were still stars in the dark sky in front of them.

  “I’m so glad you brought me!” she cried in wonder and gratitude. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

  “Then I’m very glad, too,” he said with a smile. “We shan’t be very long now. We turn off from the main road here. And as soon as there’s enough light—see!” He pointed suddenly, away to their right. And, incredibly near, incredibly like every picture she had ever seen of it—and yet with the final wonder of reality that must always escape every mere picture—there rose before her awestruck gaze the Great Pyramid of Cheops.

  It was lost to sight again almost immediately. But after a few minutes’ drive, during which everything around them seemed to gather strength and significance in the increasing morning light, they came out into an open sandy space, and there ahead lay the Great Pyramid, the Little Pyramid and the Sphinx, in the breathtaking group that has for thousands of years evoked the wonder of all men.

  The driver stopped the car and indicated that it was impossible to drive farther over the shifting, loose sand. So Juliet and her companion got out and walked the last couple of hundred yards.

  A few dogs rushed out, barking, from the nearby native village. But when they had retreated once more everything was silent again, and Juliet felt as though they were alone in the presence of eternity.

  “I always thought they would be cold and gray, like granite,” she said at last. “But that—that almost pinkish honey color is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s as though they’ve soaked up the sunshine from all those thousands of years.”

  “The pinkish tinge is partly the effect of the sunrise,” Max Ormathon told her. “Look!” And lightly taking her arm, he turned her to look at the east once more.

  As he did so, the edge of the sun rose finally above the horizon, and it seemed to Juliet that the dawn came rushing up the sky in a burst of rose and gold.

  She said nothing. But she actually trembled slightly as she stood there in complete silence for some minutes.

  Then he said, “I’m afraid we ought to be getting back now.”

  “Yes—of course.” She searched her mind for words that would express her wonder and joy, but all she could achieve was, “Thank you. I’ll never forget it.”

  He seemed satisfied, however. And they returned to the car, in silence but in harmony.

  The drive back was uneventful, except that they paused on the bank of the Nile so that Juliet could look at the little native boats and watch the early-morning fishermen. Then they returned to the hotel, and so well had the whole expedition been timed that Juliet was able to go to her room, and emerge ten minutes later as though she had only just got up.

  Breakfast was a hurried and rather silent meal, neither Aunt Katherine nor Verity having apparently slept well. Neither asked how Juliet had slept, so she was spared the necessity of deciding whether or not she should mention her morning’s outing. But she devoted herself exclusively to Aunt Katherine’s comfort and, once their journey was resumed, she was glad to see that her aunt revived considerably in the cooler temperature of the air-conditioned cabin.

  All day, all night and all day again until three o’clock the following afternoon they flew on and on, stopping only twice for refueling. Once at Karachi and again, early on the second morning, at Calcutta. At neither place was there time to leave the airport and, in any case, the heat was so intense and humid that Juliet felt it would have been impossible to walk about much or sightsee.

  On the other hand, as soon as the plane rose into the air once more there was the immediate relief of cool freshness in the cabin, and this made the short, hot interludes more bearable.

  Everyone was beginning to know everyone else by now, and there was a good deal of novelty and gaiety about the hour-to-hour life. Meals, served on trays that could be fitted to the seats, were uniformly good and interesting, and—being the fortunate kind of girl who could sleep anywhere and at any time—Juliet found that even a night in the air held no problems for her. She slept soundly in her tipped-back seat.

  It was true that Aunt Katherine became more and more sweetly exacting as the journey went on. But this hardly ruffled even the surface of Juliet’s good nature. After all, she was supposed to be here for the sole purpose of making her aunt’s journey easy. Even if a round-the-clock degree of attention was demanded, it was being handsomely paid for by this amazing and wonderful journey. A journey that, hour by hour, was taking her nearer to Martin.

  Verity, although she showed no excessive friendliness, also showed no more resentment toward her cousin. And from this Juliet could not help deducing that Max Ormathon had not seen fit to mention their expedition to the Pyramids.

  The last thing Juliet wanted was to make anything secret or significant out of the incident, but she had small opportunity to talk to Verity in any case and, by now, even her aunt seemed to prefer reading or dozing to any conversation.

  At one time she had declared herself so anxious to hear all about Juliet and her life up to the present time. But somehow there had never been an opportunity to return to the subject, and Juliet strongly suspected—without rancor and, indeed, with some amusement—that Aunt Katherine now knew all she needed to know about her niece, which was that she was reasonably efficient and very willing.

  The arrival at Singapore was a welcome break in the long flight, the more so as they were to stay the night there, at the famous Raffles Hotel. This, Juliet found to her delight, was just as picturesque and romantic-looking as she had always supposed. But even more important at the moment was the discovery that they were provided with air-conditioned bedrooms.

  “Eastern glamour has its charms,” Max Ormathon remarked, “but an even temperature has even greater ones. It will be cooler in the evening, though. What about a visit to one of the Chinese ‘Worlds’?”

  Aunt Katherine said immediately that she would rather remain in the cool and rest while she could, but Verity said that she would certainly come. She said this, however, with an expression which somehow indicated that she assumed she would be Max’s only companion.

  Juliet, faintly embarrassed, asked—for something to say, “What is a Chinese ‘World’ exactly?”

  “It’s a combination of an immense market and a fair,” Max Ormathon explained. “Quite a sight if you’ve never seen one. There’s everything possible for sale—eatables, drinks, clothes, souvenirs, jewelry and so on—and there is also almost every form of entertainment from wrestling to Chinese opera and from dancing to fortune-telling. Rather different from our Cairo outing, but quite fun,” he assured her with a smile.

  For the space of two seconds there was the strangest little silence. Then Verity said, quite pleasantly, “What was the Cairo outing?”

  Ridiculously Juliet felt her heart begin to beat and, in spite of the fact that she knew there was not the faintest reason for the feeling, she experienced an odd sense of guilt.

  It was Max Ormathon who replied, however, in the most matter-of-fact tone possible.

  “I took Julie
t to see the dawn from the Pyramids,” he said, and even his use of her Christian name seemed casual. “She was disappointed not to be able to join the moonlight party the previous evening.”

  “How very kind of you,” Aunt Katherine declared, as though she were acknowledging a personal favor. “Well, then, I think it’s Verity’s turn for a treat now, and I’m sure Juliet will stay with me and not mind looking after me.”

  There was nothing especially logical about this remark, of course, but Juliet knew it was now impossible for her to accept Max Ormathon’s invitation. Well—she had guessed that almost the moment in which the offer had been made. She only hoped that Verity would be appeased, and that the Cairo incident would now pass off without further comment.

  In even indulging in such a hope, however, she was soon to find that she had been absurdly sanguine. Hardly had she had time to take a shower and change into a fresh linen dress when there was a knock at her door, and almost before she could say “Come in,” Verity was in the room—pale, dark and exquisite in her ivory silk suit, but so obviously angry that Juliet’s heart sank.

  “How dare you?” were her first inexcusable words. “How dare you go sneaking behind my back to Max—getting him to take you out on your own, simply because he feels sorry for you and thinks he should be polite to a poor relation of ours.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Juliet said quietly, though, as a matter of fact, for the first time since childhood, she longed quite passionately to slap someone—hard. “Mr. Ormathon made the suggestion without the slightest prompting from me. It was a most harmless piece of routine sightseeing—”

  “In the small hours of the morning?” Verity’s faint sneer did not in the least reduce her beauty, but it gave a most inimical cast to her expression.

  “Verity, where are your dignity and common sense?” Juliet forced herself to turn to the dressing table and busy herself with tidying one or two things there, in order to give some semblance of calm and normality to this preposterous scene. “You must know perfectly well that there’s nothing unusual in any sightseer’s going out to watch the dawn from the Pyramids. The very expression—”

  “How many others went?” Verity interrupted contemptuously.

  “Why, no one else went. It just happened that Mr. Ormathon realized I was disappointed not to have been able to join the evening trip, and obviously the only other possible time to go was when we did go. I can’t tell you how offensive and ridiculous I find it that I should even have to defend and explain a perfectly normal piece of behavior.”

  “And how offensive and ridiculous do you suppose I find it that the man I am going to marry should be spirited off on some tete-a-tete trip with some poor relation who doesn’t know her place?” demanded Verity.

  Juliet curled her fingers into the palms of her hands in order to keep calm.

  “That’s the second time you’ve used an inexcusable expression,” she said curtly. “I am not a poor relation, and I refuse to be referred to as one. If you can’t speak civilly to me, please get out of this room, which is my room.”

  “Only because father’s paid for you to occupy it,” returned Verity scornfully. “If that’s not being a poor relation, I don’t know what is.”

  And rather unexpectedly, with this parting shot, she flounced out of the room.

  When the door had slammed, Juliet sat down on the side of her bed and rather cautiously drew a long breath.

  It was useless, she reminded herself, to indulge in the fury and contempt that were boiling up inside her. It was absurd to give this outburst of Verity’s the dignity of a serious accusation. She must regard it as what it was—an entirely senseless piece of jealousy and spite, which had not the faintest foundation in fact.

  But, when one had assured oneself of all that, there still remained the indescribably disagreeable effect that it must inevitably have on any future dealings with her Australian relations.

  Certainly it was only bad taste and bad feeling which had made Verity actually use the offensive term “poor relation.” But it was difficult to escape the impression that, in Aunt Katherine’s attitude to her, that there was more than a hint of the same idea. Not offensively expressed, of course—but implied in every word and smile of sweet condescension.

  Now, I’m not going to let myself get silly and touchy over this, Juliet told herself firmly. It’s perfectly true that I’ve accepted a great deal, in the shape of my fare to Australia—and it may be that I’ve been a fool to put myself in that position. But if, in doing so, I’ve given them the idea that I’m willing to play poor relation in their family, there’s only one way of escape—undertake to pay back my fare, and leave as amicably as possible when we reach Australia.

  This, however, still remained a course of action that would seriously embarrass her financially, and she was determined not to take it unless the situation became unbearable.

  After all, thought Juliet, if Aunt Katherine repudiates this nonsense and remains reasonable—

  But Aunt Katherine showed less reason than usual when Juliet went to her ten minutes later.

  “Darling. I do think it’s very tiresome and naughty of you to have upset Verity like this,” was how she began.

  “Don’t you think, Aunt Katherine, that it’s rather tiresome and naughty of Verity to be upset, in the circumstances?” returned Juliet dryly. “To insist on turning a perfectly ordinary and harmless—”

  “Oh, but my dear, you were so deceitful about it!” Aunt Katherine protested, with such conviction that, for a horrid moment, Juliet almost thought she must have been. “Why not have told us all about it, if you hadn’t your own—I’m afraid rather sly—reasons for wishing us not to know that you’d persuaded Max to take you out on your own?”

  Once more Juliet tried to explain that there had been no “persuading” on her part, that the whole arrangement had been impulsive, spontaneous and harmless. But, although Aunt Katherine showed none of the violence and temper which Verity had displayed, her obstinate belief in Juliet’s duplicity remained quite as maddening.

  Finally she said, “My dear, I’m sure you don’t want to upset me by further argument—”

  “Of course not, Aunt Katherine!”

  “And I’m tired and exhausted enough already,” continued her aunt restlessly. “But this has been a most unfortunate business altogether. And I cannot help beginning to wonder if we should be altogether happy in our suggested arrangement. Of your joining our household, I mean, when we get home.”

  “Quite frankly, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Juliet replied, hoping she had made that sound dignified, rather than tart, but she was aware that her temper was wearing thin. Not least because of Aunt Katherine’s choice of the word “household” instead of “family,” and the tone in which the word was spoken, implying as it did, that she was considering the doubtful wisdom of engaging an upper domestic.

  “Well, my dear, we’ll have to discuss it later. I’m too tired now,” Aunt Katherine insisted. “Of course, we’ve laid out a great deal of money on you...” She sighed, and Juliet felt her cheeks burn.

  “Naturally I should expect to return that,” she said rather coldly, “if we decided to—part company in Australia.”

  “We won’t do anything in a hurry,” her aunt replied, but not very promisingly. And then she lay back and closed her eyes, in a weary gesture of dismissal that Juliet found quite extraordinarily exasperating.

  Back in her own room, Juliet experienced acute depression and, for the first time, something very like fear.

  Unless the situation improved out of all knowledge, she was going to find herself in a most unenviable position. Twelve thousand miles from almost everyone she knew, out of a job and forced, for very pride and decency, to repay a very large sum of money which had been expended for the sole purpose of bringing her into this position.

  But at least I’ll be near Martin, she told herself eagerly. And at the thought of Martin she very nearly cried with relief. I’ll get
some sort of job, and I’m sure Uncle Edmund won’t insist on my paying back all the money at once. I needn’t lea ve myself entirely without capital.

  All this, however, was so far from the golden expectations of a few days ago that Juliet could not cheer herself very much, and she spent a restless and troubled night.

  Once more there was a very early morning start. And, as they flew on all that day, Juliet gradually gathered the impression that Verity was simply not on speaking terms with her, and that Aunt Katherine—though courteous and sweet in manner—was regarding her very much in the light of a prisoner on remand. It would have been amusing in its absurdity if the situation had not been so serious, too. But, try as she would, Juliet could not smile over it—even scornfully.

  Max Ormathon was, she rather thought, completely unaware of having precipitated a family crisis. He noticed none of the undercurrents. He addressed Juliet neither more nor less than usual, and certainly he displayed no hint of self-consciousness.

  It was not a happy day, however. And not until late at night when they started to descend at Port Darwin did Juliet’s spirits suddenly rise in an uprush of excitement.

  This was the first remote point of Australia! Still hundreds of miles away from Martin, but actually on the same continent as he. No longer did an ocean lie between them. She was in the same country as Martin at last, having come halfway across the world.

  Juliet could not be anything but moved and excited by the thought, and her heart leaped with hope and relief when she heard Max say, “Nearly home now. We’ll be in Sydney tomorrow morning.”

  “I hope Edmund is there to meet us,” Aunt Katherine remarked a little fretfully. “I sent him a cable.”

  And Juliet thought, I hope he’s there, too. I don’t want to have to go on to Melbourne before I discuss my position with him.

  They had supper in the informal airport hotel at Port Darwin. It was not, Juliet found, much unlike all other airport hotels, except that all the buildings were of the bungalow type, and the trees and plants were of a subtropical variety and looked beautifully and unnaturally green in the artificial light. What was entirely unexpected and charming was that a baby kangaroo was hopping about in a large grass enclosure, as though to advertise by its very presence that at last one had arrived in Australia.