Authors: Rosalind Brett
“
Yes, thanks. The wedding did rack me a little.
”
“
Was it true—about your sister having been unwell? Or did she have last-minute jitters?
”
“
She was a little nervy, but not today. The house seems quite dead without her.
”
“
You
’
ve got Roger. You can
’
t have everything.
”
She ignored the sarcasm.
“
I wish it were light, so that I could see where we
’
re going. In the darkness it always seems as if the jungle is brushing the car windows.
”
“
It often is.
”
He nodded to the right.
“
Over there are the padi fields of the Penghu people. They actually run down to a tributary of that river we know rather well. To the left there
’
s a coconut plantation, and farther on a fair-sized orchard. Nothing unusual. Have you been far?
”
“
Into the hills a couple of times, that
’
s all. Is it true that rubber tappers have hard skin on their fingers?
”
“
Quite true.
”
She put a few more questions, looked his way once or twice and saw him smiling tolerantly as he replied. This was far more bearable than she had anticipated. He was in a fair humor, and he was
...
Pete. The man above other men. She quivered at the thought, but felt stronger for acknowledging it.
“
This is where our estate begins,
”
he said presently.
“
I know every pothole on this road and can tell you where each comes in relation to our fence-posts.
”
He turned left at a signpost she could not read.
“
Now we
’
re on the estate, and my house is more or less central. You won
’
t see the lights till we
’
re nearly there. The laborers
’
quarters, the school, and so on are over to the right. You can
’
t see them in the dark.
”
He swung round a bend and there was the house. White walls, a thick low thatch, an oblong of grass in front of it, and that was all one could see. He pulled up between the lawn and his porch, got out and came round to Terry
’
s door.
She went with him into a long living-room furnished in blackwood and blue and yellow linen. There was a lamp with a scarlet shade on a wall table, a case full of books and a couple of highly-colored rugs. In one corner a curtain that was off-white to match the walls hid the dining nook. The room had a cool, open look, detached and very masculine.
If Terry hoped he might ask her opinion of it she was disappointed. He merely took the thin stole from her shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair, pushed up a lounger for her and began mixing drinks.
He said conversationally,
“
I suppose that rash you collected has quite disappeared by now? It was a nasty business.
”
She nodded smilingly, felt her heart thawing.
“
Even the gentian violet has worn off. I hurriedly destroyed the frock you slashed.
”
His strongly-marked dark eyebrows drew together in amusement.
“
You could hardly bear such cold-blooded destruction even though it was necessary, could you?
”
“
I couldn
’
t help thinking that if it had been an expensive creation you
’
d have had as little respect for it.
”
“
Possibly.
”
In momentary pique at his casualness, she said,
“
I believe you always act that way, from a masculine conviction that you know what
’
s best for anyone!
”
“
Don
’
t begrudge me that,
”
he said lazily,
“
or I shall have to remind you of a few things. Shall I tell you something, Teresa? I liked you better on the river than I do here in Penghu.
”
Though what he said hurt, she looked at him frankly.
“
I think I can say the same about you. I wonder why it i
s
?
”
He shrugged.
“
Our backgrounds were missing, and though you were scared, it wasn
’
t the sort of fear you have here. By the way, don
’
t let your fear of me thrust you into the arms of Roger Payn.
”
“
I
’
m not afraid of you, Pete.
”
“
You are.
”
A pause.
“
Did Roger collect his due after the wedding?
”
She made a faint gesture.
“
What do you think? It was just fun.
”
“
Glad you enjoyed it,
”
he said, his tones slightly crisp.
“
Did you give your sister my congratulations
?
”
She nodded and said slowly,
“
Doesn
’
t it seem
...
odd to you that we should have so little in common here in Penghu? It wasn
’
t such an effort to talk to each other on
the river, but now I find myself casting about for some way to keep the conversational ball rolling.
”
“
Well, don
’
t bother,
”
he said coolly.
“
We
’
ve already proved we can share a silence.
”
This was terrible. He stood straight and tall, taking down his drink and looking as if there were banked-down fires under his chilly exterior. With a quick motion she picked up the drink he had poured for her, and spilled it. He pulled the handkerchief from his top pocket and bent close, mopped up the liquid, turned his head and saw distress in her eyes.
She swallowed.
“
I
’
m so sorry,
”
she said, with a brisk casualness that didn
’
t ring true.
He touched her shoulder.
“
Stop it, young Teresa. You don
’
t have to struggle any longer to put distance between us. It
’
s not necessary. We can be just normally friendly. Can
’
t you believe that?
”
“
I
...
I
’
d like to.
”
For the sake of her pride she had to prevaricate.
“
You must forgive me if I
’
m acting foolishly. I
’
ve been keyed up over Annette and naturally got rather tired. I
...
don
’
t want
...”
“
Leave it, little one,
”
he said easily.
“
When you feel you can, you must get back into the mood we shared that last day on the river. We looked scarecrows and had a good time.
”
“
And the end was in sight,
”
she reminded him, in low tones.
“
So it was,
”
he said laconically.
“
Finish that drink and I
’
ll give you another.
”
“
No, thanks. This is enough.
”
The momentary softening didn
’
t really make any difference to the atmosphere in the room. Terry was relieved when a car sounded outside and Pete went to meet Mr. Bretherton.
The lawyer was a small wiry man with an angular red face and startlingly white hair. He had a rasping voice and a cackling laugh, and yet there was something pleasant about him. Perhaps it was his outmoded method of expressing himself that placed him in a dim and dusty office amid legal tomes; even though he wore a light dinner jacket he retained the old-world, slightly crusty air.
“
Ah, my dear Miss
...
er
...”
He bowed over Terry
’
s hand, gave her a piercing stare from small eyes and creased his leathery cheeks in a smile.
“
So you
’
ve come to Penghu!
”
Having delivered this, he accepted a whisky and soda, waited for Terry to seat herself and himself took
a
chair.
Pete looked at his watch.
“
You
’
re on time, as usual. You
’
re the only man in the Far East who perpetually lives by the clock.
”
“
This evening,
”
stated the little man,
“
I did very well. I had to call on your friends the Harmsens, with the sort of contract I feel they should sign if your Company buys. I left them exactly fifteen minutes ago.
”
“
You work for the Company,
”
Pete reminded him with a smile.
“
Don
’
t let Astrid
’
s pretty green eyes beguile you into fighting for more than the plantation is worth.
”
“
She
’
s a charming young woman,
”
the old man nodded.
“
Next time you come for dinner with me you must bring her with you
...
”
He stopped himself suddenly and drank from his glass. To Terry, he turned an apologetic smile.
“
Pete always visits me alone and we play chess. I feel we should make a change.
”
“
We
’
ll see about it,
”
Pete said.
“
Shall we have dinner?
”
The curtain was drawn back, to reveal a tastefully set table above which, on the wall, hung a vase that dripped with green trailing foliage and small blue flowers. They were served with hors d
’
oeuvres, soup, braised game with vegetables, iced fruits and cheese. And while
t
hey ate, it seemed, Mr. Bretherton refused to talk business, or even anything else. Terry had never seen an old man so eager for food and wine.
Pete watched her reaction to the lawyer
’
s absorption, caught her eyes and grinned. There was a shared moment in which her heart skipped a beat it was never to regain. By turning her head a little she could see through the window a night that was smooth and silky after the rain, with a crescent moon fastened to it like a jewel. A cautious happiness beat gently in her veins. It was silly to worry about the future, about other people who might threaten her peace. Nothing could be better than this; Pete in tolerant good humor and willing to be friendly, the old man as a bond between them, the night outside.
A Malay boy clothed in impeccable white brought coffee into the main part of the living-room and closed off the nook. Terry poured, Pete gave the old man the liqueur and cigar he liked and offered Terry a cigarette. They sat and talked desultorily. Apparently there were always rites to be performed when Mr. Bretherton
came
to dinner. Tonight the trend of conversation was also left to
him
, The cigar was less than two inches long when, at last, the old man looked gravely at the two of
th
e
m
and made a business of pushing away his coffee cup and stretching his short legs. He clasped his loose-skinned, bony hands a
c
ross his narrow front, drew whiskery white eyebrows together, and said pontifically,
“
Nothing should ever be permitted to interfere with the enjoyment of a good dinner. In any case, business can be unpleasant, and unpleasant thoughts impair the digestion.
”
“
Your business with us isn
’
t unpleasant,
”
said Pete easily.
“
I
’
ll fetch a candle from the dining table and we can all watch the scrap of paper turn to ash.
”