Brittle Bondage (21 page)

For a day or two after Nurse Manning’s departure
,
Blake treated Venetia as if she were still a sick child. He supervised the cooking of her breakfast and brought the tray to her bedroom. All day he stayed close to the house; he went with her for walks in the garden, and sat with her in the lounge, reading aloud the news items from the papers, or even a chapter of her book.

Then came the morning when he suggested a drive into town. Venetia shrank, then acquiesced lethargically. Blake stopped the car only once, to collect his mail, and they were back at the house in less than an hour. He looked at her keenly, insisted that she have a glass of milk and made her lie down.

But that evening two places were laid at dinner.

“You can have the Benger’s at nine instead of seven-thirty,” he said. “After we’ve eaten we’ll have some music. They’ve sent up a dozen new records.”

Venetia ate a little soup and roast duck, drank two cups of coffee, and listened to the music. Then Blake said it was a quarter to nine and she obediently went to her room. When he came in with the steaming beaker she was already lying down, and very sleepy.

He sat on the side of the bed. “You’ve had a heavy day. Have you liked it?”

“Yes,” she said automatically.

“No ill effects from the car ride?”

“No, nothing.”

“That’s good. We’ll take a longer run tomorrow, in the other direction.” A moment’s pause.
“
On Wednesday we’re going to the coast for a holiday.” She gazed at him, and he continued smoothly: “Not to Umsanga or Durban, but to a place you haven’t yet visited—Port Atholl. It’s not very big, but there are several hotels and a fine bathing beach. They’ll have finished with storms on the coast.”

“How long shall we stay there?”

“If you take to the place you can decide that for us.
I’m
handing Bondolo over to Cedric Clarke for an indefinite length of time. At this season he won’t find it too
much of a burden.”

She clasped the beaker rather tensely. “I—I don’t want to go away, Blake.”

“That’s natural. The journey will be tiring and you don
’
t feel up to hotel life. But we’ll start early and travel fast. I’ve booked what they call a family suite at the Regency in Port Atholl, which means that if you prefer to live a sort of service-flat life you can. You’ll enjoy the place. It’s luxurious but bohemian. I was on my way there along the coast when I met you and your father at Umsanga.” He smiled faintly. “I didn’t get as far as Port Atholl that
time.”

“But what about clothes? I really can’t—
”

“You can rest in Thea’s room tomorrow while I pack them. If I don’t make too good a job of it they can go to the hotel laundry for ironing as soon as we get there. In any case, there’s an excellent shopping centre in Port Atholl. Don’t lie there fretting about details—they’re my responsibility. I mentioned it tonight because I want you to look forward to it—the sea and the coastal mountains, the complete laziness.”

She did not demur again. He said good night, switched off the reading-lamp and left her in the darkness, to sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ONE came to Port Atholl by way of the banana and pineapple plantations which stretched down to the southeast coast. The last part of the journey lay alongside a river in an abundantly fertile valley between low, green mountains. Then, where the river widened to flow out to the sea, the road rose, switch-backed across the folds of several hills and at last showed them the broad Indian Ocean, with the town, white and green in the sunshine, nestling comfortably in an arc in luxuriant growth.

The Regency was not one of the string of hotels which backed the white, curving beach. It stood higher and more secluded, and spread magnificently along the western end of the bay.

The suite which Blake had booked was splendidly furnished and spacious. It was entered by a main door which sealed it off from the rest of the hotel. In the tiny entrance-hall were four doors; the one off to the right led into the bathroom, and the centre one to a dining-lounge, on each side of which was a bedroom. Both bedrooms had a french door to the long balcony which overlooked the sea, and one, that intended for parents, was more rich in trappings than the other; the second one also had twin beds but was apparently for use by offspring.

It was this second room that Venetia chose. It had flowered curtains and wine-red bedcovers, a large pale grey carpet with a spray of blossoms in one corner, and
modern
walnut furniture. Beyond the open window the sea murmured, but it did not remind her of Umsanga. Umsanga had receded, dreamlike, into the lower reaches of her mind.

For the first few days they led a secluded existence. They had their meals in the private lounge and sat in the balcony, reading, or desultorily conversing, or merely staring out over the sea. Blake swam and had an occasional game of tennis with another resident, and twice a day he took Venetia for a stroll. At nine o’clock she went
to bed, and Blake went down to the main lounge for an hour or two. She slept so soundly that she never heard him come back.

Blake began gently to rally her. “You’re turning pink, Venetia. It looks like a perpetual blush—much nicer than the pallor.”

“I’d rather be brown.”

“You’ll soon tan when you begin bathing. How about it? Feel you’d like a dip?”

Her mouth went tight, as if she were frightened. Then she said, “Am I strong enough?”

“I think so. You don’t get puffed when you walk. We’ll go down for ten minutes before lunch, and I’ll watch over you like a father.”

So Venetia began to bathe in the warm, untroubled waters of the lagoon. She swam a little and floated a great deal, and sometimes she simply lay on the rim of the waves and let them wash over her. One of the beach boys formed the habit of setting up a striped umbrella whenever she appeared, so that when her bathe was over she could wrap in her robe and doze under it till Blake had had enough of battling with the mightier seas beyond the reef.

Upon such peaceful pursuits her recovery hinged. It became easier to smile, to offer ready retort. When Blake bantered she responded, and because she knew it pleased him she made one effort after another to be energetic and interested in the idle, expensive life of Port Atholl.

Now they always came down to the dining-room for dinner, and at week-ends they dressed and danced. Venetia met other residents; she became conscious of admiring glances cast as often at Blake as at herself. Other women envied her this big husband with his fine physique and distinguished feather-grey wings at his temples—and men thought Blake incredibly lucky to possess so young and pretty a wife. They didn’t know that she would look anywhere rather than meet his eyes.

Shunning all memory of the past four months, she thought: “We’re just married. This is our honeymoon, and it’s nicer than one of those ravaging holidays that most newly married people spend. This friendship, this pleasant camaraderie, will last for ever. It’s a way of life that suits us both. We’re happy.”

In time she might come to admit that the relationship was a taunt to a full-blooded couple, but at present, with her nerves still half-numbed and her emotions consequently blurred, she was content to be sure of Blake’s fondness for her. His light kiss upon her cheek was no longer a cold mockery; she wanted nothing more passionate.

One afternoon they decided to drive up the coast and have tea at one of the numerous river mouths. On the way past the hotel reception desk Blake was handed some mail, which he slipped into his pocket.

He drove at rather less than his usual speed, because the road wound along well above the shore and the views were vast and breathtaking. Each rocky headland gave way to a deserted but beautiful beach backed by more giant crags.

“No way of getting down to them,” Blake said. “That’s the best of Africa—the majority of it is still untouched.”

Venetia nodded wordlessly. “Stupendous” and “primitive” were two of the words which occurred to her, but adjectives were never necessary with Blake.

They had tea at a table on a lawn which sloped down to a beach where a few children sported. Then they took the ferry across the wide mouth of the river; the strangest ferry Venetia had ever seen, for they sat in the car upon it and were pulled across by ropes which were heaved at by twenty or so nearly-naked and exceptionally noisy natives.

Blake drove up on to the opposite bank, continued for about a mile, and switched off. They were under massive trees with the sea slapping about the rocks, thirty feet away. He spread the car rug.

“Are you going to sleep or read?”

“I’ll have my book please.” Venetia settled herself on one elbow, so that she could watch the waves for a while first.

Blake took the letters from his pocket and looked them through. “Here’s one from Thea,” he said, and ripped it open.

He slid down flat on to his back and began to read it. Presently he gave a long, low whistle.

“What d’you think of this! Natalie Benham and Mervyn Mansfield are going to be married. Natalie’s giving up Vrede Rust.”

For an expanding moment Venetia was very still. Natalie. In all the weeks since her collapse the woman had never once entered Venetia’s thoughts. She came into them now like a grey ghost with horribly shining eyes.

“Neil said she was nearly engaged to him once before.”

“So she was.”

In a level, impersonal voice, he said, “I suppose you also heard the rest of the chitchat—that she broke off with Mervyn because she considered me the better match?”

“Yes, but I thought you couldn’t know about those rumours.”

“I got it all from Mervyn.” He dropped the letter at his side and inserted his hands between the back of his head and the rug. “Before he and I visited the wattle estate together I hardly knew him. I’d come across him at the club in Ellisburg—that was be
f
ore your time, when I hobnobbed with the other bachelors—but we were never friendly. Up there in the wilds, while he was surveying that piece of the new road, he opened up about himself. He actually started in business at Ellisburg because Natalie wouldn’t leave the district, but it took time to get himself established. According to him, when I came home for good, Natalie cooled off, but it’s my belief that he handled her wrongly. His pride was stung and he let her go.”

“Well
...
what else could he have done?”

“I haven’t considered it, but I can’t see any normal man putting a bunch of wild buck in the place where his wife should be. That’s more or less what he did.” Without much expression, he added: “I suspect that she grew impatient of his plodding methods, and he, being the quiet, introspective sort, took her withdrawal fatalistically and retired from the matrimonial market. That would have
annoyed Natalie even more; possibly that’s why she took pains to disparage him.”

Venetia was silent surveying the white spray sent up around the rocks. All her inclination was against this discussion. She wished he would read the rest of his letters, or drowse without talking.

But he had sensed her disquiet, perhaps he had even expected it and determined to pursue the matter to its termination.

“Now is as good a time as any,” he said deliberately, his regard upon the leaves overhead, “to tell me why you detested Natalie. I’ll admit she’s not a woman’s woman, but she has certain admirable qualities.”

Venetia took a long time before answering: “She and I are opposites. We hadn’t a single thing in common.” Then, in spite of a revulsion from the subject, she asked, “Was there every any possibility of you and Natalie marrying?”

Blake didn’t hurry to reply, either, and when he did his tone was careless.

“There was just a slight one. When Thea and I were living at Bondolo, Natalie came often and we went to Vrede Rust about once a week. After Thea had gone to Durban the atmosphere between us changed, and from remarks Natalie let drop I was fairly certain that she had marriage in mind. She seemed to be everything a man needs in a woman, but I wasn’t in love with her. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Partly.”

Lazily, but with a purposeful kind of inflexion, he said, “Tell me the other part.”

The silence this time was painful for Venetia. She felt spent, and the sensation of fright hurt her throat. Considering the fact that he was smiling, Blake’s jaw was unnaturally hard.

Her courage held. “The night of Thea’s party I heard you and Natalie talking together in the dining-room—not what you said, just your tones. You sounded intimate.”

“I see. You resented it and flew to conclusions.” A pause. “That was wrong of you, Venetia, and very unfair. It opens up our own little problem, but you’re not yet ready to go into that.” He twisted his head to give her a sharp smile. “Let me tell you about Mervyn and Natalie. You remember that I had to deliver the invitation to Thea’s party in person? I saw Mervyn before I called at Vrede Rust. At first he refused to come, but after I’d pointed out that there would be many guests besides Natalie he admitted to a hankering for just such a casual meeting with her. He carefully explained that he had declined many invitations in order to avoid her, but it was not good for business, and the sooner he became accustomed to knocking into her all over the place the better.”

“That was sudden, after three or four years.”

“Natalie made the same comment, but she was uncommonly subdued about it. I noticed them together after dinner that evening—they were in the garden for quite half an hour. Some time later I went to the dining-room for something. Natalie followed me in. She was flushed and somewhat put out. Mervyn hadn’t responded to her charms in quite the manner she had anticipated. Apparently they got on to the ever-absorbing topic of marriage, and he informed her that since his cousin had turned out a flop in the business he intended to take a wife, because that was the only way to make all his work worthwhile. Natalie repeated this to me in a manner that was almost cowed. Mervyn had changed, he puzzled her. I tried to laugh her out of it, but she couldn’t forget it. She said she wouldn’t know what to do if he proposed.”

T
o Venetia the whole affair was slowly becoming obvious: Mervyn emerging from his shell because Blake was safely anchored and Natalie still free; his position more secure in every way, the man could afford the cool approach. Possibly he had even weighed up the fact that Natalie might wish for an early marriage to soothe her injured vanity.

“Did you give her any advice?” she asked.

“I told her the issue was clearly defined—either she loved him or she didn’t. I said you couldn’t mistake love once it got into you.”

In flat little syllables she said, “So they’re going to be married.”

Strangely, Natalie’s part in her life had ceased to matter. The woman had grown over-confident in her powers and taken out her furious disappointment in exaggeration to Venetia. She had also made subtle attempts to prove to Blake the senselessness of his marriage.

She lay back, completely exhausted. Blake gave her a swift, sideways glance, and closed his eyes. Insects chirred and leaves whispered, and the breeze stirred over their two bodies like a breath of cautious relief.