Authors: Rosalind Brett
“
Shut up,
”
he said,
“
before you say something you
’
ll wish you hadn
’
t.
”
“
I won
’
t shut up.
”
She was clutching at the collar of the dressing gown with both hands now, and facing him, pale and trembling. Her eyes were dark blue, lit with fire.
“
For my part you could have told Astrid everything and asked her to wait for you. If I were desperately in love with Roger that
’
s what I
’
d do, even though I can
’
t think of that foolish ceremony as a binding one. I know I
’
m really free
...”
“
That
’
s where you
’
re wrong,
”
he broke in, in metallic tones.
“
You won
’
t be free till the marriage is declared void.
”
The muscles of her jaw were set so hard that they ached. On a note of hysteria she cried,
“
I won
’
t accept it, Pete! I wouldn
’
t marry you if
...”
It happened so quickly that her words were literally choked back by the force of his mouth on hers. He gripped her with all the welled-up fury of a strong man driven beyond words into long, ruthless minutes of action. And it wasn
’
t just a raging kiss on the lips. He pushed aside her hair and kissed her neck, moved the collar of her dressing gown and pressed a hard, angry mouth to her shoulder. Useless to struggle against those irons arms, that maniacal will. But her trembling must have got through to him.
He let her go, stood back a little, breathing heavily. Terry had dropped her face into her hands, but if her smallness and look of despair touched
him
he made no sign.
Tightly, eyes glittering and mouth taut, he said,
“
Perhaps that will make you realize that you
are
married to me—and I mean
married.
So you
’
d better be careful, hadn
’
t you? It
’
s not always good policy to defy the enemy. For your sake, I hope I
’
ve convinced you that from now on you
’
ll do as I tell you or take the consequences. Go to bed—and you
’
d better stay there till after Payn has left tomorrow morning.
”
That was all. Terry heard the thud of the door, the roar of a car engine. Somehow she swayed back to her bedroom and sank down across the bed. Nerves were prodding all over her body, her mouth felt bruised, and there was a pain in her heart like the thrusting of a thousand knives. It was much later that it came to Terry, with a dull sense of shock, that she had wanted Pete to kiss her. Not like that, though, she thought shudderingly. Not like
that.
CHAPTER
NINE
FOR the rest of that week Terry was occupied with polishing, dusting and making up the beds in her sister
’
s flat. On Friday came the first communication from Annette and Vic; they expected to reach Penghu on Saturday evening. The question was, would they want to be met by a party or a silent flat?
IT was quite unnecessary for Terry to feign an ailment next morning. She was white-faced with dark smudges under the eyes, and she could hardly bear to lift her aching head from the pillow. In such a steamy climate it was necessary to call a doctor at the first sign of illness, and though the good man who came was puzzled by Terry
’
s lack of a temperature he was also adamant that she should remain in bed till she felt and looked much better.
Roger was inconsolable. He couldn
’
t put off his visit to Singapore because his parents had already booked their passage to England in a week
’
s time. Yet leaving Terry after he had counted so much upon her accompanying him was almost more than he could endure, particularly as he was almost certain the Penghu branch of his company would be closing down completely. He had to go, but he left behind Terry
’
s plane ticket and a plea that she would follow him in a day or two if she felt well enough.
After he had gone the house was quiet. The tablets Terry had swallowed dulled her headache and kept imagination at bay. It was not till the evening that she felt able to sit up and eat a little.
Thankfully aware of the improvement, Vida said,
“
What rotten luck, Terry. This is the first time I
’
ve seen you so wan, and it had to happen on the very day you needed to feel really well. You know,
”
with a smile,
“
a psychiatrist might diagnose in you a hidden reluctance to go with Roger today.
”
In this case, thought Terry woodenly, the psychiatrist would be dead wrong. She could imagine nothing more desirable than to be, at this moment, as far away from Penghu as Singapore.
“
Does Annette know I
’
m still here?
”
“
She probably heard it from Vic when he got in from work this evening. I didn
’
t make a point of letting her know because you really needed quiet. Oh, by the way,
”
casually,
“
Pete Sternham looked in at lunch-time—for no apparent reason. He said he
’
d been exceptionally busy, but things had now slowed down. I told him you weren
’
t well, and he said I must give you his regards. He seemed to be a wee bit stiff.
”
Terry made no comment. She was almost beyond having any kind of opinion about Pete. Where he was concerned she could only feel, and she had the hollow conviction that each day she would feel more. The very contemplation of six or eight weeks in Penghu, risking a meeting with Pete almost every day, made her feel weak and despondent. Surely nothing she had ever done merited this kind of punishment?
Later in the evening Annette, astonished and a little anxious, came into the bedroom. The. last thing she had ever expected, she said several times, was to see Terry floored by the climate. That was what it must be, of course—the climate. Terry nodded, said it was good of Annette to come but she would be perfectly well tomorrow, and thankfully watched her sister depart.
Next day she got up, still slightly pale and dark-eyed, but otherwise normal. In answer to Vida
’
s query, she said,
“
No, I won
’
t follow Roger. I must write an apology to his parents and enclose the ticket. They probably run an account with a travel agent and might get a refund. It seems the only way to handle it.
”
“
Perhaps so. It
’
s fortunate you weren
’
t looking forward to it terribly. You
’
ve hardly spoken about it at all during the past week.
”
For an excellent reason; Terry had felt silence was wiser. It hadn
’
t worked, but that had been sheer bad luck. Had Pete
’
s busyness extended itself by just one day, he couldn
’
t have stopped her. But he had known when Roger was due to leave, and perhaps deep in his mind he hadn
’
t quite trusted her. Fatalistically she thought it fairly certain that
he couldn
’
t have helped but prevent her going. That was... Pete.
For a couple of days everything was quiet. Annette had actually decided to embroider a linen bedspread, and Terry went along to the flat to help get it started. For one who hated needlework and had attempted no embroidery; since the tea-towel she had cross-stitched at school, it was a colossal undertaking. There was a vast flower motif in each corner of a rectangle of good Malayan material and a gargantuan spray in the centre; to Terry it looked like a task to last a lifetime.
Lightly she said,
“
I shall have to stay here if only to get you well on with it; the two of us ought to make some sort of show in a few weeks. You know, I might stay for a couple of months if it weren
’
t a case of sponging on the Winchesters.
”
Annette was eager.
“
They love having you, darling. I was in their house for ages, and Vida likes you better.
”
“
Why on earth should you think that? Neither B
ill
nor Vida ever show preferences.
”
“
They
’
ve often said they
’
re fond of you, and no one could have been more concerned when you were unwell. When I was seedy it was tantrums, but with you it
’
s darned bad luck!
‘
Annette laughed.
“
They
’
re right, of course. I
’
m glad they like you—particularly if it
’
ll
mak
e
you remain in Penghu a while longer.
”
“
Well, I don
’
t know. I couldn
’
t face several weeks of idleness.
”
“
There are one or two welfare societies, I believe. At the moment they
’
re working on flood relief. And you
’
re good with books; they
’
re talking of starting a library in the town. I
’
m not much help at anything of that kind, but you
’
ve always helped Father. By the way, what about coming to dinner with Vic and me tonight? I
’
ll do all the cooking myself.
”
Terry smiled. Shall I bring along a pie, in case of accidents?
”
“
Well, maybe. The results of my efforts are a wee bit unpredictable. As a matter of fact, Vic has been promised a good cook, and for me he can
’
t turn up too soon. I
’
ll I never be a real housewife.
”
“
Then perhaps it
’
s as well that you had to start married life here in Penghu, where servants are available. It could be that your having to come to Malaya was more of a blessing than you thought! I
’
ll come early this evening in case you need me.
”
“
Vic will pick you up at six-thirty.
”
Annette added, with mock
ingenuousness
,
“
And you might bring that pie with you—for the main course; otherwise, I warn you, it
’
ll be tough steak. It
’
s because Vic is getting tired of tough steak that he
’
s found a cook. Not that the pet would admit it. He
’
s loyal to the backbone.
”
Actually, it was quite a good dinner Annette served that evening. She did use the curried meat pie which Terry had brought, but she had taken a good deal of trouble over the chilled soup and mixed fruit trifle, and tonight she opened an imported cheese her father had sent, and Vic served white wine. The frock Annette wore was totally impracticable, but it was typical—a white nylon weave with a turquoise belt. Patently, to Vic she was everything desirable, and Terry mused yearningly upon the kind of love that accepts faults and even selfishness while remaining tender and staunch. It was the sort of love she would have bestowed herself, if she
’
d been given the chance. Instead, there was this wild unhappiness, this dreadful longing that seemed to be bound up with something fat more shattering than
...
than love.
As they drank
coffee
Terry looked about the new little room, and across to the balcony which viewed small houses, thick palms and mangoes, brown dusty streets and people clad in bright cottons and coolie hats. Any place shared by two people became a home. There was Annette
’
s big roll of embroidery on the side table, a couple of her magazines on the floor beside her chair, a tiny bowl of flowers she had cleverly arranged, her date book carelessly open near the reading lamp, a pair of mules tucked out of sight, as she had imagined, under an armchair. And Vic
’
s pipe rested on an ashtray, his pouch beside it, while he himself sprawled comfortably in one of the utility chairs.