A tiny Chinese woman, her ancient face lined and expressionless, dressed in a man’s pyjama jacket and faded blue trousers, silently filled the table with plates of tinned food and what looked to Blair like stale buns. He sipped the whisky and shuddered. It was a completely unreal atmosphere, and both Hogan and Fraser added to the impression by their solemn discussions about Australian affairs, mixed with sudden outbursts of loud laughter at some private joke or other in which the others could not join.
Gillian had changed into a cream skirt and pale-blue blouse, and he noticed that she had discarded her sun-glasses. Her eyes gleamed brightly in the harsh glare of the Tilley pressure lamp, and he found himself watching her very closely and seeing her more clearly than at any time on the ship. No longer hidden by the slacks which she had been wearing since her arrival in Port Vila her legs, he saw, were slim and beautifully shaped, the bare skin golden in the lamplight.
He swallowed hard, and downed the whisky with something like fear. Immediately, Hogan was across the room, the bottle poised in his red fist.
“Ave another, Major.’ He was already looking the worse for wear, and it seemed likely that he had been at the bottle for some time before their arrival. `Drop er good stuff this. The real flamin’ juice!’
Gillian placed a hand across her glass as he peered down at her. `No more just yet, thanks. I’m surprised you’re not giving us some of the local brew. It seems a shame to drink Scotch out here.’ She waved towards the window, and they heard the steady pounding of the surf.
Hogan filled his own glass, his forehead dripping with sweat, although the air was already noticeably cooler.
‘Nah, this is the stuff for you, my love!’ He reached down and patted her knee. ‘Kava is the poison that the boongs fancy. Christ! It takes the bloody life out of yer legs, an’ that’s no good ter me!’
Gillian could feel the hot pressure of his fingers on her knee and wanted to pull herself away. She suddenly remembered when, as a child, she had seen a little boy seized by an ape at a circus. The keeper had pleaded with the child to keep quite still, and she had seen his white, terrified face, frozen with fear, but quite unmoving, as the ape casually pawed at his body. The keeper had crept up behind the animal and laid it low with an iron bar. She forced her body to remain relaxed, and met the trader’s eyes squarely.
`Well, here’s to you, Jim Hogan!’ She held up her glass with a jerk, and she felt his hand reluctantly leave her leg to find his glass.
Blair breathed out slowly. God, this place is beginning to get me down. Every tension and threat was multiplied and distorted here, he thought. He had seen the girl’s eyes, and watched Hogan’s hand. It had not needed much imagination to guess what he was thinking. His eye fell on Tarrou, who had
sat awkwardly on the small chair behind the girl. His face seemed to have gone a shade paler, and his nostrils were flared like a nervous animal’s. A feeling of disgust welled up inside him. It would have been almost worth it, he thought viciously, just to see Hogan give Tarrou a beating. He seemed to imagine that he was the girl’s personal guardian, and perhaps something more. She might be sorry if she kept encouraging the damned Wog.
Fraser slopped some more whisky into his half-pint glass and drank with obvious satisfaction. He grinned . at Myers, who was tipsily peeling a banana.
`What d’you think of the islands, eh? Bit different from the old country?’ Fraser’s grin was lopsided, and his usually steady gaze was bleary and wavering.
Myers grunted. `Rather ‘ave Southend,’ he answered cheerfully.
Fraser slumped alongside Blair, his face suddenly sad. `What about you, Major? Why don’t you forget this goddamned wreck an’ just enjoy yourself?’ He peered into Blair’s face, as if to see the answer to his question.
Blair sighed, and pulled his shirt free from his stomach. He could feel the raw whisky working in his blood like fire, and Fraser’s dark face hung over him like a piece of carved wood. Over Fraser’s shoulder he saw Tarrou whispering to the girl, who had dropped her head to listen, her lips gleaming scarlet against Tarrou’s white shirt. He saw, too, the wild, almost insane light in the half-caste’s eyes as he stared intently at her neck, hair and bare arms.
Blair shook his head and tried to concentrate. `What’s the matter, then? Can’t you find the wreck for me?’ His voice was unnaturally loud, and he saw the girl’s clear grey eyes watching him. In some strange way that seemed to please him, and he repeated his question.
Hogan, who was sitting on a pile of old newspapers, hiccuped, and laughed loudly. ` ‘E couldn’t find a hearse in a bleedin’ thimble!’ He belched again, and continued to stare at the girl’s legs.
Fraser chuckled. `To hell with you, mate.’ Turning again to Blair, he added in a conspiratorial tone: `He’s cheesed because his little lubra’s done a bunk on him.’
He shambled across the room to continue with his argument, and Blair lay back limply in the sagging chair. He saw the little Chinese woman flit past him to fill his glass, and he smiled up at her. `Thank you,’ he said carefully.
Her lined face split into what he supposed was a smile, showing her black lacquered teeth, then she was gone. He peered at his watch.
Hogan seemed to sense that the party was nearing its close, and he staggered to his feet, grabbing vaguely at the various bottles to see their contents. `Plenty of time, folks. Party’s jus’ gettin’ warmed up!’ With frantic haste he cranked on an old gramophone, and as the strains of the `Anniversary Waltz’ floated through the smoke-filled room an expression of childish pleasure crossed his shining face. ‘C’mon, my love,’ he grinned. `Let’s you an’ me ‘ave a little dance!’ He grasped the girl roughly by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. Against his barrel-like body she looked tiny, and with another laugh Hogan began to push her round the littered floor in some semblance of dancing.
Myers had fallen asleep, but at the sound of the music began to sing in a high, unmelodious voice, his eyes slitted with effort.
Blair watched as Fraser staggered to his feet and began to dance -unsteadily after the slowly revolving pair in the middle of the floor, his shaggy head bowed with concentration. Only Tarrou stayed still and tense, his face empty and filled with loss. Blair felt calm and resigned. There was bound to be a fight. This sort of evening always ended like that. He vaguely remembered watching some of his soldiers in Singapore brawling over a little Malayan dancer the night before the Jap invasion. The next day they had all been killed. He watched Hogan. He, too, was acting with the same wild desperation.
Gillian kept her eyes fixed on the thick shoulder opposite her face and tried to concentrate on the strains of the waltz. She was very conscious of Hogan’s body pressed against her, and the touch of his hand moist against the small of her back.
The pressure grew greater, and she could sense the wild excitement in his uneven breath. She had handled drunks before, but this situation was quite different. She had scarcely believed it possible when Fraser, Myers and even Blair had suddenly succumbed to their emotions, and ignored completely the protection which her sex had in the past afforded her. Hogan peered down at her, his lips wet.
`It does me good to see a proper sheila agin, I can tell you,’ he said thickly. `You an’ me are goin’ to get on fine later.’
Her blouse had been pulled from the top of her skirt, and she could feel his hand exploring the skin on her spine. She saw a hand on Hogan’s shoulder, and Blair’s flat voice said calmly, `My turn, I think?’ The music had stopped, and she stood clear from the man’s arm, as Blair eyed her dully. A flush rose to her cheek as she imagined the contempt in his voice, and with a sob she turned blindly towards the white gleam of Tarrou’s shirt. ‘I-I think I’ll go back to the ship.’ With a great effort she steadied her voice. `It’s been quite a party, and I’m just a bit tired now.’
Fraser drowned Hogan’s protests with a great bellow of mirth. `Get me a drink, you randy bushman, an’ take that stupid look off your face!’
Myers ha
d fallen asleep on his arms again, and Blair still stood in the middle of the room, his hands raised uncertainly in the air.
She pulled down her blouse and smiled quickly towards Tarrou. `Perhaps you will escort me back?’
He swallowed with excitement, and nodded. He was robbed of speech.
Blair stepped forward. `I’ll take you.’ He spoke quietly, his eyes cold. `I think it might be better.’
She looked quickly around the room, taking in the sprawled figures, empty bottles and upended furniture. `No thanks, Major. I think I can take care of myself.’ She momentarily regretted what she had said, as Blair stepped back from her. He looked as if he had been struck, but he suddenly shrugged and looked coldly at Tarrou, the old arrogance still clear in his troubled eyes, and she said with sudden gaiety, `Come on, Michel, let’s leave the gentlemen to their celebration!’
Hogan belched angrily. `Told yer, Vic. Like a rat up a pump!’ Then he lay back and closed his eyes.
Blair still stared at the open door, although the girl and Tarrou had vanished. The bitch. The bloody, self-opinionated bitch, he cursed. But as he stood in the now silent room he felt more alone than he could ever remember.
The moon cast an unbroken silver carpet along the pale beach, and where it met the fringe of palms at the edge of the clearing, painted the huts in broad stripes and distorted their hunched shapes with its cool light. A breeze ruffled the fronds in the darkness, and the whole jungle seemed to be filled with rustlings and movement. Occasionally there would be a crazy, uninhibited shriek from some distant animal, to be followed at once by a chorus of grunts, screams and howls from the others around it. Then the bedlam would die away as suddenly as it had started, and the rustlings would predominate once more.
Gillian shivered, and looked back towards the lighted door and window of the trade store. On the veranda she could see the red glow of a cigarette, where the Chinese servant watched and waited. Beneath her feet the sand was damp, and she could feel its coolness inside her sandals. Her breathing was still uneven, and she was aware of the fresh uneasiness in her mind. She gave a little cry as two small shapes scurried past her and immediately vanished into the sand.
Tarrou laughed nervously. `Crabs,’ he explained. `They are very busy at night, to avoid the pelicans.’
She nodded. Everything was hunting something or somebody, and even the beauty of the island in the moonlight was like a disguise to something savage, without pity.
She could see the small huts of the village, with their unsafe-looking walls and thatched roofs, and here and there were a few flickering fires and dark, squatting shapes in the low
doorways. Without thinking, she turned her back to the sea and stretched out her arms, as if to embrace the whole island, She felt strangely disturbed and elated, and was conscious of the cool breeze caressing her body. She felt, too, as if she was not really part of what she saw, and she laughed as if to cover her feeling of unreality. She had forgotten Tarrou, who reached out , to touch her arm.
`What is it?’ His voice was husky.
She shook her head. `I don’t know. It’s all this, I suppose, Don’t you sometimes feel that you’re living on the edge of life here?’
He licked his lios and stared at her dumbly. She could see his dark eyes gleaming like twin fires, and realized that the hand on her arm was moist. Poor Michel, she thought, he is the only one amongst them who should be happy and contented here, and yet he was the only one who seemed to lack any sense of direction, unless it was patterned on something or somebody beyond his reach. She kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes in the soft sand. `Wouldn’t you like to be something different, Michel?’
He could not understand this kind of conversation, and in any case, his heart was too full to care. Just the sound of her voice, and the gleam of her figure against the blackness of the sea was enough. Or was it? Was it that she was trying to tell him? Because she was so perfect and pure, was she trying to show him that she needed him, as he wanted her? A pulse throbbed painfully in his temple, and he could feel the mounting emotion pounding mercilessly at his defences. She was facing him, her eyes large in her pale face. He stooped to pick up her shoes, conscious of their warmth in his hand. He could not, must not, spoil it all with his clumsiness now.
`Let us walk back to the ship,’ he said at last, afraid lest she should notice the tremble in his voice. `It is a bad place to be at night.’
She walked slowly at his side towards the pier. At the far. end she could see the gently swinging lantern over the poop, where Old Buka or one of the others kept watch.
Tarrou was full of surprises, it seemed. One minute he had so much to ask her, so much that he desperately wanted to find out, without the others hearing; yet once on his own he was as tongue-tied as a child. She frowned inwardly. Why in God’s name do we keep thinking of these people as children? Yet they made it so difficult.
Tlie ship was silent, and but for the dark shape of the watch on deck there was no one to be seen. She paused at the taffrail, suddenly tired.
`Hell, I’m about done in! Either it’s the climate or too much drink!’
‘I am sorry you had to suffer the indignity of all that drink, Gillian.’
She stared at him, but under the lamp his face was solemn.
`They do not understand how to treat a lady!’
She squeezed his arm, and smiled. `Sure, I can imagine. Still, men are mostly the same everywhere, I guess.’ She realized that he was still unsmiling, and added: `Except you, of course. You at least don’t make an exhibition of yourself.’
He followed her down the companion ladder, his eyes mesmerized by her very movements.
`Well, thanks for the escort, Michel. It’s been fun.’
He stared past her at the neat bunk and the folded pyjamas. A newly trimmed lamp swung from the deckhead, its golden light making the cabin look pleased with itself. She was still smiling at him, and he felt suddenly huge and powerful, the blood pounding in his veins like tribal drums.
He saw his own hands dark on her slim shoulders, and wondered dazedly what he could do next. `We are happy together, Gillian?’
She felt the power of his hands pressing on her shoulders, and noticed the change which had come over him. Even his eyes looked different, their dark depths mysterious and rather wild.
`We do that, Michel.’ She yawned elaborately, suddenly aware of the silence in the ship. She wished that Fraser would appear noisily on deck, anything to break the spell. .‘Well, I’m for bed. See you in the morning, Michel!’
He had started to tremble, and his eyes smarted with tears of remorse at his own clumsiness. She was backing away from him, and already the strip of lamplight was narrowing as she began to close the door. Like a blinding light it dawned on him, and he felt his insides turn over. Of course, a lady like Gillian could not allow herself to be bandied around like a cheap lubra. He had seen how she had rebuffed a man like Blair, who was powerful and rich, and how she had been disgusted by Hogan. She was his, but she wanted to wait for his signal, and his moment. When he was ready he would take her, and all the others would be as nothing. He forced himself to bow, so that the wildness on his face should be hidden. `Our time will come, Gillian,’ he pronounced gravely. `All will be well.’
She closed the door and leaned against it, suddenly weary. These crazy natives took a bit of following, she pondered. She saw her face in the mirror, and wrinkled her nose with disgust. `You!’ she spoke aloud. `Don’t forget you’re Gillian Bligh, the defender of the weak!’
With a sigh she kicked off her clothes, and leaned forward to study herself again in the mirror. A supple, well-shaped body, she decided. And what use was it? She massaged her smooth stomach angrily and sat on the bunk. Suppose Blair walked in? What would he say? She smiled, but was unable to make the idea into a joke as she had intended. She cocked her head on one side, as she had seen him do, and said softly, `I say, old girl, you’re improperly dressed, what?’ She fell back on to the bunk and kicke
d her legs into the air. If I dislike him so much, why in hell’s name do I keep thinking about him? She reached for the light, still angry with herself. A thud sounded on deck, and she heard Myers singing ‘Nellie Dean’, his voice pitched too high and filled with self-pity.
These men, she swore. Can’t have a drink without behaving like bloody animals. As her head touched the pillow she was asleep.
In his cabin Tarrou trembled excitedly beneath the sheets, his head hidden so that he need not speak to Myers, who was staggering around the small space with one leg caught in his trousers and the other hopping and stamping as he cannoned into everything and tried to hold his balance. He muttered and swore with thick monotony, but Tarrou ignored him.
Soon. Soon, he told himself. He would be able to take her to some quiet place, where they would be alone. He would watch and wait, and it would be their own special secret.
Myers gave an extra loud grunt and fell down on his face. His pink legs kicked once and then he began to snore.
Blair limped down the veranda steps and stood for a moment to adjust his eyes, to the dark, and allow the whisky to accustom itself to the fall in temperature. He had left Fraser and Hogan sprawled on the floor, and found that he was neither tired nor drunk. He felt quite clear-headed and rather at a loss. He lit a cigarette and peered towards the crouching jungle. To him it represented a challenge and he smiled bitterly at the nodding palms. In there I would probably be some use, he thought. The campaign in Burma had taught him a few tricks of the trade, and it somehow cheered him to remember that he had only been trapped by his injury. He kicked out with his deformed foot, the old hatred welling up inside him. No wonder they treat me the way they do, he reflected moodily. Out here I’m not the one who is envied and pestered by every bloody little upstart; I’m just the man with too much money, who is putting everyone else to a lot of inconvenience. He threw the cigarette away with disgust, and walked faster along the beach, the sea reaching up to hiss at his feet as he passed. And when I go back, how will it be then? He smiled as he thought of his partner’s lined face. `I hope the trip was satisfactory, Rupert? I have done my best to hold the fort while you’ve been away.’ The last part would be filled with reproach. Poor old Henry. Worked hard all his life, and could never see anything with his tired eyes but bridges, bridges and more bridges. And Marcia. She would be able to tear away his delusion of peace within an hour of his return. She would soon see that the trip had been merely an escape to a past which she could never
The Hostile Shore Page 5