by Anne Weale
Alex could not visualize Jonathan in a state of nerves. He had come over from the estate yesterday and was staying at the E. & O. with his best man, a planter from Kedah called Sam Gilchrist, and the Liskards, who had traveled up from Johore for the wedding. She wondered how he was spending the morning.
“Think,” said Pippa. “In twelve hours you’ll be on your honeymoon. I wonder if Jonathan snores? Have you asked him? No, I don’t think he looks the snoring type. But he’s bound to bristle and grouch in the mornings. All men do.”
“We’re not the ultimate in glamor ourselves,” Alex pointed out.
“When I marry I shall have a separate room,” Pippa said. “Think how abysmally disillusioning for a bridegroom to watch his goddess cutting toenails or prodding pimples. At least you know Jonathan hasn’t a mat of hair on his chest. In England one might quite easily marry a gorilla man without suspecting it. I can’t bear hairy men.”
Alex thought of Jonathan’s bronzed muscular torso and the promise in the marriage service—“With this ring thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” A shudder of nervous excitement ran over her. She bent down to fasten her sandals, hiding her face from Pippa’s sharp eyes.
After breakfast both girls drove to Whiteaway’s beauty parlor to have their hair shampooed and, as a special luxury, facial treatments. When they returned the florist’s boxes had arrived, containing, in a bed of damp cotton batting, mimosa to match Pippa’s lemon chiffon dress, a corsage of dark red carnations for Mrs. Lance and a coronet of orchids for the bride. There were also two parcels wrapped in stiff beige paper and sealed with red wax. The smaller one was addressed to Pippa and proved to be the bridegroom’s present to the bridesmaid: a gold snake bracelet with a spine and hood of turquoises and glowing garnet eyes.
“Oh! The darling. It’s gorgeous.” Pippa slipped the bracelet over her wrist and surveyed it delightedly. “What’s in yours, Alex?”
Alex tore the wrappings from the second package, revealing a flat shagreen case similar to the little box for her engagement ring. She snapped the catch. Inside lay a magnificent parure of perfectly matched harlequin opals. Sixteen stones set in silver filigree formed the necklace with a matching bracelet of smaller opals. The earrings were pear-shaped, held by tiny silver screws.
“Alex! How glorious!” Pippa gasped enviously. “Good heavens, what lovely things,” Mrs. Lance said, coming into the hall. “What excellent taste Jonathan has. You are a lucky girl, Alex.”
“Yes, I know,” Alex said in a low voice. For some indefinable reason she found herself very close to tears and was thankful that Mrs. Lance and Pippa were too busy admiring the jewels to notice.
“Well, my dears, we’ll just have a cup of tea to fortify ourselves and then we really must begin dressing,” Laura Lance said. “Everything has gone wonderfully so far, but it’s always as well to be a few minutes ahead of schedule on these occasions in case there is an unexpected hitch.”
Alex dressed slowly and carefully, scarcely hearing Pippa’s chatter. When she was ready, except for the crown of orchids and the mist of tulle veiling, she stood before the mirror and tried to see herself with Jonathan’s eyes. The wedding dress was cut on close-fitting princess lines, hugging her waist and hips and then flaring out over a stiffened silk underskirt. Against the warm golden tones of her skin the lace was frosty white. On impulse she picked the opal necklace from its satin bed and clasped it around her throat, a circlet of rainbow drops.
Mrs. Lance had suggested that she should wear a string of seed pearls, but suddenly she felt impelled to wear the opal parure even if it wasn’t the done thing. Like a native bride adorning myself with gold and henna for my lord, she thought.
“Shall I fix the orchids for you?” Pippa asked.
“Yes, please.” She sat down on a stool and Pippa arranged the veil over her head and set the ring of waxy petals on her hair, securing it with a few discreet pins.
“There! You needn’t be afraid to bend your head. It can’t come adrift.” Pippa arranged the veil and stood back. “You look marvelous, Alex. Not a bit droopy and insipid like most brides. Jonathan won’t know whether he’s coming or going when he sees you.”
Mrs. Lance, regal in lilac silk, swept in followed by an agitated amah.
“Nearly ready? Pippa, you’ve a thread hanging on your skirt ... there ... to the right. Now, Alex ...” She paused, startled by the girl’s loveliness, a trembling radiance that reminded her of how she had felt on her own wedding day.
“You look lovely, my dear,” she said softly. “The dress is perfect.”
“Thank you. You’ve been so kind to me all these weeks, Mrs. Lance. I—I don’t quite know how to thank you.”
“Nonsense. We’ve loved having you. You must come to stay with us often. Now come along, both of you. Amah, help Alex with her veil, will you?”
Mr. Lance was pacing the drawing room in an immaculate white gabardine suit and buckskin shoes. He squeezed Alex’s arm encouragingly.
“You look very nice, dear, very nice indeed. Jonathan’s a lucky fellow. You both are. I only hope our lass will find herself as good a husband. Now off you go, Laura. The bride and I will follow in ten minutes.” When they were alone he said, “Are you nervous?”
“Yes, a bit.”
He grinned. “I remember I was shaking like a leaf on our wedding day. Then I saw Laura coming up the aisle on her father’s arm and I forgot about myself. She looked like a queen. I tell you what, I think we’ll both have a glass of champagne to give us courage. No sense in being married with butterflies in your tummy.”
He hurried off to the dining room where the buffet tables were set and came back with two glasses of pale gold bubbling champagne. Alex sipped it cautiously.
During the drive to the church Mr. Lance seemed to run out of bolstering small talk. Alex sat up straight, careful not to crush her veil, watching the white ribbons fluttering on the hood of the car. She thought of her father. Had he ever envisaged this marriage?
“Not long now,” Mr. Lance said and, unbidden, the words of the Song of Solomon came to her.
Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.
How often at school, during the dry-as-dust Scripture lessons conducted by the headmistress, she had covertly turned over the pages of the Old Testament and read the matchless paean of love.
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof are as coals of fire which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would be utterly condemned.
Even then, as a child, the vigor and poetry of the words had fired her imagination.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
That was how she should be feeling now; joyous and free, utterly confident of the future. Not hesitant, full of trepidation. It was too late for regrets.
Outside the church a crowd of bystanders had gathered, mostly Chinese matrons in starched blue tunics with baskets on their arms and children clinging to their black sateen trousers. A strip of red carpet had been rolled down. In the porch it was cool and Pippa was waiting to spread her veil, hand her an ivory-backed prayer book and whisper, “Chin up, duckie.”
The organ boomed out “Here comes the bride” and Mr. Lance braced himself, patted her hand and stepped out. Heads turned, the inevitable whisper of admiration ran through the congregation.
Afterward Alex remembered very little of the actual service except her own voice, strangely disembodied, saying aloud, “I, Alexandra, take thee, Jonathan, to be my wedded husband.” There had been some fumbling over the production of the ring and Jonathan’s hands when he slipped it
over her finger had been ice-cold. Walking back down the aisle on her husband’s arm she had noticed with surprise that all the women in the church seemed to have been weeping and were now wiping their eyes with wisps of lawn and lace. Miss Emmeline was wearing a most extraordinary crimson hat with several sinister-looking birds nesting on it.
Jonathan had brought Mat and Rama with him and, back at the house, they were the first people Alex greeted. They were dressed in their best, beaming like Cheshire cats because their gift, an elaborate inkstand, had a place of honor among the display of presents. In a curious dreamlike state of detachment Alex shook hands with a stream of guests, cut the three-tier pagoda cake and listened to Jonathan’s short witty speech of thanks. She was aware of people slapping him on the back, making hackneyed jokes, calling her Mrs. Fraser with jocular formality.
One of the few times when she roused from this passive trance was when Miss Lin came up looking exquisitely beautiful in a cheongsam of silvery gray brocade.
The singer’s present had been a very fine Tang stallion and Alex was at pains to express her pleasure with it.
“I hope you will come to stay with us when we’ve settled down.”
Miss Lin smiled. “I would like that very much. I am glad this has happened to Jonathan. He deserves good fortune.”
At last, when it seemed to Alex that she had been on show for hours, Pippa plucked her sleeve and whispered that it was time to change.
“You carried it off wonderfully,” she said, unfastening the row of tiny hooks and eyes down the back of the bridal dress while Alex unpinned the orchids and shook out her hair.
“I feel ready to drop.” Alex transferred her engagement ring back to her left hand.
“Never mind; it’s almost over and then you’ll be able to relax.” Pippa helped her into a shantung traveling dress. “I shall be fearfully lonely without you, duckie.”
“You’ll probably be off on your own honeymoon with Charles before long,” Alex said powdering her nose. “Anyway, I shall come over for a shopping spree quite often and we can have a good gossip.”
Pippa squeezed her arm affectionately. “I hope you have a wonderful time. At least it will be gloriously cool up on Maxwell’s.”
“Miss Alex?” The amah poked her head around the door. “Tuan has come. In study.”
“Which tuan? Tuan Fraser?”
The amah shook her head. “Not Tuan Fraser, miss, Tuan Blake.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alex and Pippa stared at each other in consternation.
Had the amah made a mistake or was Carey Blake really downstairs? Why had he returned to Penang? What did he want? And why, of all times, had he chosen this moment to come?
“I’ll see him for you,” Pippa offered hastily. “I can’t imagine why he’s here, but whatever he wants it can’t be important enough to delay your honeymoon. It’s almost time for you to leave.”
“No, I can’t let you do that, Pippa.” Alex drew a sharp breath. “If it really is Carey I must see him myself. He probably doesn’t know about the wedding and is just paying a social call. Don’t worry. It will be all right.”
But as she went downstairs her heart began to thump, not in excitement but in trepidation. She had a strange premonition that even at this eleventh hour there was still time for something to go wrong, for her newfound security to be snatched away.
It was indeed Carey.
As soon as he saw her he sprang forward, face alight, hands outstretched. Instinctively Alex dodged behind a table.
His smile faded. “You’re angry with me,” he said slowly. “You have every right to be. It wasn’t exactly chivalrous to say goodbye like that with just a letter. But I’ve changed since then, Alex. I thought it was a passing attraction between us. It’s taken these last weeks to show me what a blind fool I was. I love you, Alex, and I want to marry you. All my life I’ve shied away from marriage. I didn’t believe in love. I wanted freedom. But it isn’t freedom now. Take me back, Alex. If you don’t I’ll spend the rest of my life wandering.”
Alex was so dumbfounded by this outburst that she could only stare at him in bewildered horror. Mercifully he did not make another attempt to touch her but stood waiting for her to speak. He had indeed changed. He looked much older than when she had last seen him, almost haggard.
“Carey ... I don’t know what to say.”
“I shouldn’t have come in the middle of a party, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“It’s a wedding.”
“Good Lord, has Pippa married her sailor? I didn’t realize they were on the brink. Alex . He moved toward her.
“No,” she said sharply. “It isn’t Pippa’s wedding.”
He paused. “Then who...?”
All her life she would remember the agonized comprehension gradually dawning in his face. Under the tan he went a terrible gray color. She looked away, unable to bear it, tears rising in her throat.
“No!” he said hoarsely. “No, it can’t be!”
There was a long silence. At last he said, “I see. I knew of course that you had turned to me because something else had gone wrong, but later on I thought that you were beginning...”
“Carey.” Her voice broke. “Carey, I’m so terribly sorry.”
“It’s what I deserve,” he said in a flat voice. “I hope you’ll be very happy. I can only apologize for bursting in like this, spoiling things.”
There was another silence.
“I take it that your ... that it’s your guardian?”
She nodded mutely.
“Well, I hope he knows how lucky he is.” He made a valiant effort to sound lighthearted. “I must go.”
“You will be all right?”
He smiled, a travesty of his old insouciant grin. “Sure I’ll be all right. You know the saying. Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love. Don’t worry yourself about me, honey. Now run along to your reception and forget I ever came.”
With a hesitant gesture that was utterly unlike the old Carey, he held out his hand to say goodbye. But at the touch of her fingers his resolution snapped and with a smothered groan he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the hopeless love and longing in his heart. The next moment he had vaulted over the windowsill and was running across the lawn like a man pursued.
Blindly Alex fumbled for a handkerchief. She drew a long breath, struggling for composure. They would be waiting for her. It would never do for the bride to be found in tears. She repowdered her nose and squared her shoulders. Then a strangled gasp escaped her.
Standing in the doorway with a set face and eyes like chips of ice was Jonathan. How long had he been there? What had he seen? So her premonition had not been a superstitious fancy. Her eyes fell under his cold gaze. “If you are quite ready,” he said, “the car is waiting.”
It was late afternoon when they landed at Taiping and drove through the town and the outlying Lake Gardens to the foot of the hill range. Here a Land Rover waited to take them up to the rest house of the resort.
Jonathan had hardly spoken since they left Penang, and Alex dared not embark on an explanation of the scene with Carey until they were alone. Her unhappiness at this state of affairs was tinged with anger. Didn’t he trust her? That day in hospital she had told him that she was not and never had been in love with Carey. Could he honestly believe that she would marry him, Jonathan, while secretly yearning for another man?
The road to the rest house was so winding and precipitous that only jeeps and Land Rovers with skilled drivers at the wheel were permitted to attempt it. Since there was room for only one vehicle to travel at a time, drivers had to sound their horns constantly to warn oncoming but invisible traffic.
On either side of this narrow route giant trees, some bare and branchless, others festooned with ropelike liana vines, rose to immense heights. The undergrowth was dense and Alex could not help wondering if, somewhere in that impenetrable labyrinth of leaf and fern and creeper, an ambush waited
for them.
The revving of the engine and the repeated toot-toot of the horn echoed eerily in the silence of the jungle.
Halfway up they stopped at a checkpoint and some Tamil children ran out to look at them, grinning shyly, thumbs in mouths.
Presently they passed a waterfall cascading out of a tangle of nipah palms and pouring into the steep green depths on the other side of the road.
At last, after forty minutes of twisting and turning around blind bends, they emerged onto the crest of a ridge and Alex saw the rest house just above them. A moment later they swung around the last corner and, in strange contrast to its wild environs, the neat rock garden of Speedy’s Bungalow welcomed them.
With the sweat of the plain still moist on their flesh, it was a peculiar sensation to climb out of the Land Rover into the cool, dry, almost English temperature of the hill station. Far below, Taiping spread like a toy town, the pink roof of the jail and the white strip of Main Road seeming Lilliputian from this great height. Beyond the town the countryside stretched out to the mangrove swamps and the sea fourteen miles away. Alex had never seen such a superb view.
Tea was already laid out on the veranda, and while Jonathan chatted to the Chinese proprietor Alex followed the porter into a bedroom leading directly off a spacious English-style lounge. The bedroom was also reminiscent of an English country house. Dark floorboards gleamed with polish, crisp chintz curtains billowed at the windows and an embroidered dresser set adorned the old-fashioned mahogany dressing table.
The bed had no mosquito net and was made up with several blankets and a thick eiderdown. Adjoining the bedroom, down a flight of wooden stairs, was a stone-tiled bathroom.
Already feeling pleasantly chilly, Alex unpacked her case and put on a cashmere sweater. She was just about to unpack Jonathan’s gear when there was a tap at the door.
“Come in.”
The room attendant pattered in, picked up Jonathan’s case and went out.
It was some seconds before she digested the significance of this, and when she did she was so angry that for an instant she seriously contemplated walking out. But their Land Rover was already on its way down the hill and the driver had told her during the ascent that the service stopped at dusk. She clenched her fists. How dare Jonathan behave like this! It was the kind of thing that outraged husbands did in cheap melodramas when they had caught their wives in compromising circumstances.