Gillian jumped lightly down beside him, and he was painfully aware of the hot pressure of her body against his. Fraser’s bulk made the boat sway precariously, and as Wabu pulled on the thick oars Blair saw the gap widen between the two craft, and when they were well clear of the schooner the two sharks fell into line behind them, to follow the dinghy towards the shore.
Blair mopped his streaming face with a sodden handkerchief and fought back against the impatience which always seemed to control him as soon as he was away from the ship.
The boat lurched, and he felt the pressure of the girl’s smooth arm against his own. It was soft and somehow comforting, but he found that he was tense on the edge of his seat, willing her to remain at his side. She twisted in her cramped space, and he saw the tiny droplets of sweat on her upper lip and the hair pressed damply against her forehead. She pointed towards the shore, unconscious of his scrutiny, and of the dark patches which with each effort of movement moulded the thin blouse against her body.
`I can see people!’ she said. `That must be your missionary friend, Vie!’
A tall white figure stood quite still amongst the gesticulating group of natives which had run down the steeply shelving beach from the now hidden mission to line the very edge of the sea.
Fraser snorted. `You’ll be sorry you came. He’s a bloody religious maniac, if you’ll pardon the expression. This sort of place is about all that he’s fit for. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’
Blair noticed the difference between the schooner’s native seamen and those who waded happily to grasp the dinghy’s gunwale. Short, and much darker than he had expected, their faces showed none of the finer lines he had seen on their counterparts in Port Vila, and he had thought them crude enough. Their black bushy hair and short, sometimes bowed, legs gave their bodies the wild appearance of true bushmen, interbred for hundreds of generations, their faces lacking any of the expressions which he could recognize and assess.
Behind the jabbering, pointing men he could see the womenfolk of the settlement. Like the men, they were small, and but for small bark belts decorated with leaves were quite naked. Long, lustreless hair hung from their shoulders, and as they danced up and down to get a better view of the visitors their small breasts jerked in unison with their various necklaces of teeth and polished shells. Blair noted that most of them had a gap in their front teeth, where two had apparently been removed by force. Fraser had already told him that it was the sign of married status. He was immediately aware, too, of their pungent smell, but this he quickly forgot as he studied the tall white man in their midst.
Ivor Spencer was certainly tall, by any standard, but against the small natives he looked like a giant. It was as if all the power in his body had gone into his height and had left the rest hollowed out and unfinished. He had no chest, so that his long narrow head was thrust forward at an unnatural angle, in a constant position of questioning belligerence, an impression completed by the deep-set grey eyes and narrow nose, which hooked over his thin mouth like a beak. The white shirt and trousers which covered him from throat to ankle looked vaguely out of date, and as Blair stepped awkwardly from the boat amongst the suddenly silent natives he saw Spencer sweep off the ancient topee to reveal a tall pointed head, its scalp bald, and strangely unmarked by the sun, encircled by a few tufts of iron-grey hair, like bushes around a weather-worn boulder.
He nodded briefly, but showed no eagerness or pleasure in his restless eyes. `I see you have brought visitors, Captain Fraser?’ He stared coldly at Blair, his voice surprisingly deep and resonant. `What do you want here?’
`My name’s Blair.’ He waved Fraser’s reply into silence. ‘I have come from England to try to find the wreck of a boat called the Sigli. I know that it lies on the reef, and intend to examine it.’ He added firmly: `I wonder if you know anything of this wreck? I don’t wish to interfere with your peace and quiet longer than I can help.’
Spencer smiled without humour. `England, eh? I am afraid that I am not impressed by emissaries from that country of dishonesty and sloth. What is it this time? Pearls or gold? No doubt you are well versed in the ways of Fraser and his like!’
Blair relaxed, like a spring unwinding after a great strain. Here at last was a man he could appreciate. Spencer’s unreality only helped Blair to fit him more easily into the picture where nothing was ordinary or commonplace.
`I am concerned with neither. The Sigli was wrecked during the war, as you may know. My family were aboard at the time. I wish to find out what happened to them.’ He
watched the other man digesting this information, and had the feeling that he already knew the answers.
`I know nothing of that.’ He waved a thin arm over the heads of the watching natives. `Here we all work for perfection in simple things. These people are my task on earth. I do not wish to have their minds confused and scarred by the filth of the other world. Your world!’
Blair allowed his gaze to wander along the ranks of staring faces and uncomprehending grins. He was aware that the other man was watching him like a hawk. My reaction is terribly important to him, he thought.
`You have set yourself a stiff task,’ he said at length.
Spencer thrust out his long chin, his eyes gleaming. `Whom the Lord loves He chasteneth!’ he shouted triumphantly. `Now go away! Keep your people clear of my community!’
Fraser interrupted harshly: `We have everything we need aboard, the Major here just thought ‘
`I see you have everything! Even to your painted harlot!’ He called out sharply in a strange sobbing dialect, and the natives moved back a few paces, as if Blair and his party were unclean.
He limped forward after them, his face taut with anger. `Who the hell d’you think you’re talking to?’ He was conscious of the girl’s quick intake of breath behind him. ‘D’you have to be so bloody-minded? I merely wanted information.’
Spencer raised his sun-helmet like a silent offering. `And all you gained was the truth! Go now, and remember, if you choose to come in anger,’ he pointed quickly to the small spears and wide-bladed knives which the women were handing to their menfolk, `you shall be met with just retribution!’
Blair faltered. There was a tense air of expectancy hanging over the natives, but they were not watching him, they were looking at Spencer, as if to determine what they might do.
Blair thought of the revolver in Fraser’s pocket and eyed the brown mass of silent figures. He was suddenly furious with himself. Once more he had made a mess of things, and he could imagine the satisfaction in Fraser’s eyes.
In a surprisingly flat voice he said: `I won’t bother to introduce you to the lady, Spencer. As you apparently have neither the wit nor the intelligence to appreciate anything approaching reality it would be a waste of time. I don’t know, what you’re supposed to be teaching these poor natives, but I hope they don’t stumble on the truth one day and pay you back!’
He swung on his heel and limped down the beach. His back tingled, as if expecting a blow, but he could see from Fraser’s expression of angry watchfulness that for the moment all was well. Still under the watching stares he walked over to the girl, and took her hand. All his actions now seemed governed by another force, and he felt a trifle light-headed.
`Here, let me help you into the boat.’ Without giving her time to resist, he piloted her down to the lapping water. She opened her mouth as if to speak, her eyes across his shoulder, to where Spencer stood surrounded by his court, but Blair shook his head. `Not now; I might have to punch that half-wit in the eye!’
Wabu dipped the oars and pulled away from the beach, his eyes on the villagers filled with contempt. He was a Torres islander, and not a simple bushman. He felt the pressure of his diver’s knife against his naked stomach, and bared his teeth in a cruel smile. These bushmen, he thought, they would never be anything.
Blair was aware that his foot was throbbing like a drum, and he bent to massage it. He stopped himself with sudden irritation, but as he straightene
d up in his seat he saw her eyes watching him with an expression he had almost forgotten.
`Major, you’re quite a guy,’ she said softly. `You actually made me feel like a lady. Imagine!’
Blair smiled uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid I made a bit of a mess of that. The whole expedition nearly came to a sudden end then.’ He held her eyes, and she still smiled.
Fraser sighed deeply and, sliding his big hand into his pocket, replaced the safety-catch on his revolver. ‘He’s got worse since I saw him last,’ he said, watching the dwindling figures on the beach. ‘Mad as a coot. I shall tell the D.O. when I see him.’ They did not answer him, and Fraser looked
at thee girl’s wide mouth, which was still smiling. `Told you, didn’t I, Gillian?’ He winked, but she met his gaze easily.
`You’ve got a one-track mind.’
Blair’s smile faded, and he turned deliberately in his seat to study the schooner. Blast them, he thought, the old bitterness welling up inside him, they’ve been having some sort of bet about my reactions. His eyes clouded over, so that the schooner’s shape became distorted, and he was unaware of the sudden pain in the girl’s eyes. He was conscious only of the overwhelming desire to get on and find the wreck. To be finished with this place, and all that it had become to mean to him.
Myers lay comfortably in the deck-chair on the small poop, an unlighted cigarette hanging from his lips. He could feel the sunlight pressing down on the awning over his head, and although he occasionally fanned his red face with his handkerchief, he could find no relief now that the breeze had gone, and the deck once more felt white-hot beneath his shoes.
`God, it’s ‘ot!’ he complained. When Tarrou did not answer he turned painfully to see what he was doing. He was still leaning against the mainmast, the telescope trained rigidly on the shore. `Like a bloody kid!’ Myers muttered irritably. ‘Standin’ there behavin’ as if ‘e expected a signal from the bleedin’ Admiralty!’ The sudden burst of anger drained the strength from him, and he flopped back in the chair, his eyes closed against the sweat which coursed down on either side of his button nose.
Tarrou stood quite still, his world confined to his racing thoughts and the small circular picture in the telescope. The questions which surged through his aching brain would not wait to be answered, and he stared unwinkingly at the dinghy as it shoved off from the beach and began to crawl towards him. He had felt a real pain when he had seen Blair take the girl’s hand. It had been so easy, so self-assured. He had taken her as if she was one of his possessions, indifferent to the staring islanders and the mad missionary. What had made that happen? Why had she not resisted? He could feel the heat across his back like the breath of a fire, but it did not register as a discomfort. What could he do to show her that he, Michel Tarrou, was ready and willing to give up everything to protect and serve her? He began to tremble again, and bit his lower lip ‘savagely to punish his inability to hold the glass steady.
The small boat drew nearer, and he held the girl’s face framed in the telescope, until in his imagination she seemed to be looking straight at him. As she looked up at the ship he saw her bare throat and the moistness of her lips, and he looked quickly at Blair to see if he was going to touch her again. He hung the glass by the wheel and walked shakily across the deck to steady himself before they came aboard, a puzzled frown on his face. He had seen the anger on Blair’s face and the cold hard look in his eyes. What was happening now? He stared with sudden agitation at the dozing Myers, as if he might have the answer. What was it that Fraser had said? He forced himself to think back. `Surely you don’t think she bothers about a chap like you?’ That was it. He rubbed his hand across his face, like a man awaking from a bad dream. A terrible doubt was growing within him. Just suppose she `was having a game with him? He allowed the thought to settle, and waited for the truth to sweep its ugliness away. Nothing happened. The thought remained. He forced himself , to explore what was rapidly becoming a possibility. Suppose she and Major Blair were enjoying some joke between themselves? They did not know he had been watching them through the telescope, and they were merely acting a part to draw out the full extent of his foolishness. A great pain began to burn behind his eyes, and he shook his head from side to side in his misery. It would mean that Fraser was in it, too. Was that possible? He stared again at Myers. Him, too. All of them were trying to take away his place in their world, and were secretly baiting him like a trapped animal. He staggered against the wheel and gripped the spokes until it looked as if his knuckles were going to burst through the flesh. You’re
wrong. She wouldn’t do that to you. She could never be anything but perfect. He felt a hot tear drop on to the back of his hand.
The dinghy scraped alongside and he could hear Fraser shouting his name and calling for the boys to hoist in the boat. Like a soldier about to face overwhelming odds, Tarrou straightened his back and, with his face impassive once more, stalked towards the rail. Only the redness of his eyes and a slight tic which had developed in his cheek tried to betray the turmoil which had replaced his complete happiness.
The girl swung her legs over the rail, a troubled smile about her mouth, and stood fidgeting with the camera. Blair followed, and walked straight past Tarrou ‘to stand with obvious impatience as Fraser yelled again for the dinghy to be hoisted.
Blair forced himself to study the chart which Fraser had pinned on the flat roof of the companion-way. Why don’t you grow up! Stop acting like a Sandhurst cadet with his first date. He was suddenly aware of her perfume and the warm nearness of her body. He looked up, and saw the disquiet in her wide grey eyes. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but felt the resistance drain out of him like blood.
`Listen, Major.’ Her voice was soft but insistent. `I don’t know for sure what happened out there, but thanks for looking after me.’
He pulled the gold cigarette-case from his breast pocket and shakily flipped it open. She twisted over his arm to stare at the inscription: To Rupert, with love. Marcia. Above the finely engraved words and the date was a regimental crest. A prancing stag and crossed lances.
`Your wife will be glad to see you back, I guess.’ Her voice sounded subdued.
Blair nodded vaguely, and stared through the case into the past, when Marcia had slipped it casually into his pocket. It had been when he had been given a company, and the regiment was preparing for embarkation to the South-East-Asia campaign. She had looked beautiful and remote as they stood in the dockyard loading shed, with the thin drizzle falling over the trudging lines of khaki as the troops filed up the steep gangways. He had wanted to hold her, and not let go. To bury his face in her neck, and shut out the sounds of steel-shod feet on the good English waterfront. But she had patted his sleeve and reproached him like a small boy. `Steady, Rupert. Lady Gould is looking at us. We don’t want to give the wrong impression!’ Lady Gould was the Colonel’s wife, and as Blair stared fixedly into the past he saw another picture. That of the Colonel sitting in a rain-filled dugout, his horsy features puckered with the effort of reading a soggy letter from home. `I say, Rupert, my old girl’s taken up knitting for sailors! What d’you think of that! Never done a hand’s turn before but now she’s making balaclavas for the boys in blue. Bloody fantastic!’ Blair had smiled dutifully, and returned to Marcia’s latest letter. He re-read it a dozen times, trying to find a warmth, a comfort to ease the misery of Burma, but the letter was merely a window into a world of terrible shortages and irritating discomforts of wartime England. She had ended that letter by remarking, `Imagine, all the decent champagne has gone on the black market, it really is too trying!’ The battalion had stood to, and the letter had been stuffed into his pocket beside the cigarette-case. As the machine-guns had started to rattle through the jungle he had suddenly laughed, and a subaltern had torn his frightened eyes from the darkness to look enquiringly at his Major. Blair had patted his arm reassuringly. `Imagine, John,’ he said, `all the champagne has gone on the black market!’
He shook himself
, and offered her the case.
She helped herself, and squinted through the glare at his face. `You were miles away. What happened?’
He fumbled for his lighter. `Voices from the past. It’s over now.’
`I wonder. Does your wife know you’ve got a “painted harlot” with you on this trip?’
He stared at her, his eyes searching. He watched her lips quiver and break into a smile, and then he, too, began to shake with almost insane laughter. `By God, no!’ He gripped her wrist desperately, as the laughter melted away. `I’m sorry
I’m such a damned stuffed shirt, Miss Bligh. I really am sorry. But I’m extremely grateful for your being here now.’ He breathed out heavily. It had been quite a confession.
`Thank you. And I don’t know what you thought we were talking about in the dinghy, but I guess you were wrong about that, too!’ She slipped her forefinger under the button of his shirt and pulled gently. The touch of her finger against his stomach made him feel a little weak. She grinned impishly. `You can start by unstuffing this shirt! Gillian’s the name. Okay?’
The clatter of the anchor cable pulled Blair back to his senses. The old capstan clanked painfully as link by link the chain jerked back through the fairlead. Fraser stood stifflegged by the wheel, and smiled his lazy smile. Well, well, he thought. Wonders will never cease.
Only Tarrou missed the sight of the green headland gliding astern, and the long sweep of the bay opening up before the schooner’s bows. He crouched beside the thundering engine, his hands welded to a beam, his steady monotonous curses drowned by the roar of the giant flywheel and the distant pounding of the propeller. Major Blair had put some spell on her. That was why he had taken her ashore with him. His eyes were pressed shut, and he rocked his body back and forth in the gloom of the tiny engine-room. I shall break the spell. I shall show her that I am the one who can treat her as she deserves !
The Hostile Shore Page 7