“Yes, I’ve recovered.”
“It wouldn’t worry you a great deal if you met her again?”
“The way I feel now,” he said bitterly, “I’d laugh in her face.”
“Then you’re ready to go to England?”
Again Mike’s tongue stole along his lips. “I’d have gone to England with you at any time during the last couple of weeks.”
“And now you’re willing to go without me?”
“You’ve been talking to Dane!”
“No, we haven’t spoken together since yesterday at lunch.”
Mike looked his disbelief, said sourly, “He came here yesterday evening and said he’d arranged for Dr. Demaire’s young assistant to escort me to England. I apologized for what had happened, but he said it wasn’t enough; I had to show my regret in a tangible way—put myself in the hands of an orthopaedic man in Britain. He wasn’t nasty—just icy cold and implacable. I didn’t answer and he walked out.”
“But you’ll go?”
“How can I hold out ... now?” His hand clenched on the squared table. “I’ve never told you this, but you may have guessed it. I was a spender—got my money easily doing what seemed like child’s play, and spent it the same way. After the accident I hadn’t a sou. I told you I’d take you on if Dane let you go, but the truth is I’d have had to pay your salary with money that Dane had paid into my account. For nearly a year now I’ve been living on him. He paid the hospital expenses, let me live here, got everything for me I could possibly need.” He hesitated. “Knowing that, perhaps you can understand why I resented him. It’s a strange truth that you dislike those who are most lavish with assistance. Yet what I’d have done without Dane to back me up and bark at me, I don’t know.”
“So you’re realizing that he merits a little gratitude?”
“Yes, but not for the money it's cost him—but because he brought you here. You got me on my feet, Sally. You made me swim and laugh and make it up with Tony.” His voice went thin. “I wish I’d been more ... considerate.”
She gave him a pale smile. “That’s all right, Mike. I’ve done what I was engaged to do, and you can go on exercising on your own, till you get into competent hands in England. I hope you’ll let me know how you get on. You can write to the farm; I’ll be somewhere near.”
“Won’t you come here and see me again?”
“Better not.” She got up from the chess table. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“You won’t be difficult with Dane?”
“Probably,” with the ghost of a grin, “but I’ll do what he wants, just the same.” He touched his neck. “I’m fed up to here with fighting the man. Reluctantly, I give in.”
“Good.” She went slowly towards the door. “This time next year you’ll be a journalist again and choosing a new car. Make it a sedate one this time; they get you there just the same. Goodbye, Mike.”
“So long, Sally,” he said, rather sadly. “And good luck.” She came out into sunshine that stung her eyes, blinked rapidly for a few seconds and went down to the car.
* * *
It is an incontestable fact that when difficulties and problems begin at last to resolve themselves they often do so with bewildering speed. On her way back to the Mirador that morning Sally felt as if a small weight had been lifted from the load she bore. Lucette was gone, the task of persuading Mike was complete, and she was free to consider the next step. She went up the wide marble steps into the hotel, glanced incuriously into the lounge and saw Dr. Demaire seated in a deep armchair and in close converse with ... the Caid. Involuntarily she hesitated, and in that moment the Caid raised his head and saw her. Swiftly, he stood up and bowed, came to meet her with Dr. Demaire just behind him.
“I have been hoping to see you, mademoiselle, in order to thank you in a proper manner for your little examination of my son.”
“You’ve thanked me already, monsieur. Your gifts left me breathless!”
He smiled, showing strong, yellowish teeth. “So I have heard, from Mr. Ryland. He came out to Nezam very late last night, and we motored back together, arriving here at dawn with my son.”
Sally shelved her troubles, and smiled delightedly. “So that Dr. Demaire could see him? I’m so glad!”
“I, too, mademoiselle. It seems it will be necessary for my son to enter the clinic here, but there is no doubt that it was an undetected injury and not the polio which caused the bad shoulder.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
Sally did not ask about the old doctor of Nezam, or what inducements Dane had used to get the Caid to bring his son to Shiran. She smiled again, murmured more conventional words of delight and allowed herself to be bowed into the lift.
By the time she reached Suite Seven she was wondering if anything else needed clearing up before her departure. She thought of the little boy who would have full use of his arm again, without pain, and was far more uplifted than she had been over Mike’s capitulation. In a way, she told herself, she had been instrumental in the child’s impending recovery. If she had accomplished only that since coming to Shiran, she had a great deal to be happy about.
That afternoon she packed most of her clothes. Two things were still on her mind, the most painful of them the unavoidable interview with Dane. She would have liked to get it over, yet shrank from the inevitable strain of the hours which would follow, while she waited for a seat on the plane. For a phone call had elicited the fact that she could only be sure of leaving in two days’ time; there might, though, be a cancellation which would enable her to leave tomorrow. Sally thought about it, and then rang the agent to confirm that she would definitely be leaving on the plane for which she had made a provisional booking. She had two days in which to settle her disordered mind, live through a short interview with Dane and say her few good-byes.
Late that afternoon she walked in the medina with a group of tourists. In the little crowd of white people who were mainly English-speaking she felt safe and ordinary, and even though she had seen it all before, there was a sensation of nostalgia in glancing again along those little cobbled alleys with their straight towering walls, their camels andplacid donkeys, and in struggling through the souks and buying mementoes for the family. Like the people she accompanied, she was on holiday now; she wished she could feel as they did.
That evening the guests of the Hotel Mirador were given a surprise. A small concert was held in one of the lounges after dinner, and the main artiste was the celebrated French mezzosoprano, Cécile Vaugard. Sally slipped into an armchair just as the lights dimmed, and she listened to Cécile with an odd sort of detachment. A good voice, she conceded, one that fell only a little short of the highest operatic standards; Cécile was best in the ballads, because they demanded a stereotyped brand of emotion, but the audience gave loudest applause to the popular love songs about Paris, with which the recital finished. She did not come back on to the dais. Instead, Dane appeared, made a short announcement to the effect that Cécile was too tired to sing again and she wished them all au revoir, she had decided to rest for a few days before appearing in Casablanca.
The lights went up, Sally sat on for half an hour and then went up to bed. But as she left the lift in the upper corridor, Dane came from his suite. For a second she thought he wouldn’t do more than incline his head; but he stopped.
“You’ve heard about the Caid’s son?” he asked abruptly,
“Yes, it’s marvellous news.”
“The child is already in the clinic.” A pause. “Not curious as to how I got them here?”
“Yes, of course.”
She couldn’t bear to contemplate the stony half-smile he had assumed, and stood there looking along the carpeted corridor. She was straight and pale, but it wasn’t outwardly apparent that she ached desperately for a love she couldn’t have.
“I used a bit of friendly licence,” he said. “Told the Caid that I’d discovered it was possible the boy’s shoulder might be
infected, that it might gradually kill him. After that he didn’t need much persuasion.”
“You thought it up that day when you discussed it with me?”
He nodded. “It occurred to me ... but other things happened, and I didn’t come round to acting on it till late last night. I might have left it till this morning, but I thought the whole thing might seem more urgent if I tackled the Caid fresh from his bed, in the small hours.”
“Good psychology,” she commented. “The shoulder isn’t infected, of course. Infection doesn’t remain static for months at a time, and you know it.”
“Maybe the Caid didn’t know it—or he allowed himself to forget it, because it created a loophole in his rigid code. After a great deal of thought he’s decided to give his own doctor a trip to Mecca.”
She made a slight movement towards her door. “It seems all set to end well, anyway,” she said.
He glanced at her keenly. “If it hadn’t, the child would have stayed on your mind, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes. Yes, he would.”
“Then you might as well thank me. I did it as much for you as for the boy.” Cynicism entered his tones. “I was there when you saw the child—remember? I can’t stand women who cry, but that night I discovered that even less can I stand women who want to cry and won’t. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Through dry lips she said, “Well... thank you.”
“Nothing more to say?”
“About the boy?”
“About anything.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Not much, just now. I enjoyed Mademoiselle Vaugard’s concert.”
“As much as you enjoyed Lucette’s mortification yesterday?”
She winced, as if from a physical blow, and suddenly her young face was lean and shadowed. The news of Lucette’s marriage must have wounded him deeply, for him to speak like that. She turned away and left him, went into the suite and locked the door behind her. All that now remained to be said to Dane could be put into a brief note. It had been as simple as that.
When she awoke next morning the day stretched in front of her, empty and melancholy. And almost at once she decided what to do with it. She had coffee and a roll in her room, put on one of her prettier frocks—white and turquoise with a flyaway collar—and went downstairs to seek out Monsieur de Chalain. He was in his office, reading the local newspaper, but as usual he jumped to his feet and beamed upon her, offered her a chair and wanted to know if she would like mint tea or something cold.
“Nothing as early as this, thank you, monsieur,” said Sally, as she sat down. “You’re very peaceful in here.”
“The sound-proofing. Dane insisted on it, for my nerves, and I have been grateful many times.” He twinkled. “One can enjoy the newspaper or one’s favorite gramophone record without risk.”
It was easy to talk to Pierre. Sally found herself saying at once, “I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m leaving Shiran the day after tomorrow.”
“But that is calamitous!” He looked as though he meant it, too. “You seem to have been with us such a short time, mademoiselle, yet you have meant a great deal to several of us. You know,” wryly humorous, “I wanted you for a daughter-in-law from the moment we met. It was not to be, but I would still have liked to keep you here, perhaps having some good times with the guests and ... I admit it ... with Tony and myself. You are happy to be leaving us?”
She shook her head but contrived a smile. “I can’t say that, but I’ll do my best to settle down again at the Beckmoor.”
“To be young is to be resilient,” he said. “I envy you. And now I must get Tony here to say goodbye to you. Dane has forbidden him to come to Shiran before the month is up, but he would not mind his coming for that, I think.”
“Well,” she said uncertainly, “I thought I might go out to the plantation and see him today. I know it’s considered unconventional for a girl to do such things in this country...”
“But you are English, and so to some degree is Tony!” Pierre exclaimed. “Go to the plantation by all means. He will give you lunch and you can speak together about this important matter of the kitchen, no?”
She nodded. “But there’s the question of transport. I don’t want to ask for the hotel car—I might keep it too long, anyway. Would you trust me with your own car, monsieur?”
He said whimsically. “I have already said I would trust you with my son, mademoiselle. You shall certainly have the car. But are you sure you know the way to the plantation?”
“I’ve been there only once, but you can tell me again. I’m very grateful, monsieur.”
He threw out his hands, charmingly. “It is nothing. I am happy for Tony that you will visit him. He is working well, but one should not drive too hard a horse which has been out to grass. You and he, I think, have the sort of companionship for each other which is unusual among the French. You can be natural because you are not in love.”
“You’re so understanding. I’ll be very careful with the car.”
“That car,” said Pierre with a droll inflection, “would defy you to be anything but careful. It is a very old and dignified Anglo-Saxon!”
He found a pocket-sized map and pencilled the route for her, wrote names she would encounter in the margin. And then, because she had been with him half an hour and it was time for his own first refreshment of the morning, he insisted that she drink a glass of tea with him.
It was ten-thirty when Sally eventually left the Hotel Mirador in the ponderous vehicle which, in spite of Moroccan dust, Monsieur de Chalain kept black and gleaming. For several miles she had no need to consult his directions, and after she was accustomed to the heavy gears she drove without strain.
The morning was as brilliant as usual, and even through sun-glasses the glare over the light soil and dusty shrubs was only just tolerable. But Sally was glad of this task of keeping a very good but ancient car going at forty miles an hour, whatever the difficulties. This morning she paid scant attention to the villages and holy tombs, the plantations and chasms. She simply went on driving, till the rows of huge hairy trunks indicated the date region.
It was about fifteen minutes past twelve when she turned down the lane which was signposted in new black letters on a white ground: “L’Esperance. Antoine de Chalain.” L’Esperance! Hope ... the most precious coin in the world. And there was Tony coming from the house, shading his eyes and staring into the familiar car, expecting to see his father. But within a second or so he recognized her, and gave a whoop of joy which she heard as she switched off the engine.
How good to be away from the Mirador and with Tony, who knew nothing whatever of the turmoil and distress of the past days. Sally smiled at him and gave him her hand.
CHAPTER TEN
FOR an hour Sally walked among the date palms, watched lithe, dark-skinned workers climb the trunks and snip the great golden bunches of dates, and listened to technical problems which left her no wiser about date cultivation than she had been before.
“The yield is poor,” Tony said earnestly. “Good dates, but not nearly enough of them. We have to nurse the trees along for a while and plant new stuff where the dead palms have been cut out. Devil of a job to root out a palm, you know. The first one took a whole day, but after that I had to plan a routine. We’re getting along much quicker now.”
“Is it going to be a success, Tony?”
“Sure is. In a year or two I’ll be able to buy the old man a new car.”
She smiled. “He’s so pleased for you. I do like your father, Tony.”
“Hey, now!” But his grin was happy. “I like him, too. Can you stay to lunch?”
“That was the idea. A sandwich will be enough.”
“We can do better than that. My right-hand man is a peasant type who grows vegetables. The servant always cooks too much for me, and in any case, you’re welcome to my share if you can manage it Believe it or not, apart from my father you’re my first visitor.”
“Hasn’t Dane been over?”
“Yes, please.”
He took her into a bare kitchen, where a youth dressed in white shorts, a turban and nothing else was stirring a pot over an old wood stove. Tony gave her some soap and a towel, nodded towards the sink.
“The bathroom isn’t quite ready yet, but it’s coming along. I take my nightly tub in here or out on the veranda. It’s all very makeshift, but I don’t mind it”
She soaped her hands and rinsed them. “Everyone thought you’d find it hard to live in these conditions. I’m glad you don’t.”
“Nothing hard in watching a daily improvement in the house. I wouldn’t mind seeing some life in the evenings, but I’ll stick it out. Finished? Then come into my living room. I sleep there, too, but we keep it tidy.”
The room was large and rather crowded with odd pieces of furniture which must have been spared from the hotel; they included a single bed and a wardrobe, as well as normal lounge furniture. The table had been arranged near the low window, and already the servant was setting another place and pulling up a chair. A few minutes later he brought in large fried chops which Sally suspected were goat’s meat, a mound of onions surrounded by mashed potatoes, and another dish of mixed vegetables which consisted of a base of lima beans, a layer of diced carrot and a topknot of minced cabbage.
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