“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. Demai
r
e’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 and placid donkeys, and in
struggling through
the
souks and
buying mementoes for
the family.
Like
the
people she
a
c
companied, 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 c
an’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?”