Authors: Kathryn Blair
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR a day or two Lindsey was laid out by a physical malaise such as she had never before experienced. Waking and sleeping, she was haunted by that final embrace which, by its aloof violence, seemed to have erased all that she had ever known about Stuart. When he telephoned her numbed nerves quickened to sensation.
“Are you all right, Lindsey?”
“
Yes. Are you?”
“Your voice sounds shaky. I suppose it’s the distance. Are you going out every day?”
“Mos
tl
y, but the time hangs. Stuart...”
He always broke in before she could get anything said, and when at last the receiver dropped back into position she was left with a sickening emptiness in her chest and the conviction that Fate was secretly determined to use Stuart’s absence as a bludgeon to her natural spirit and intensity.
It did not help that Adrienne was always in the hall when the telephone rang. Lying in one of the silver damask chairs and smoking a cigarette, her head would be
tilted back while she studied Lindsey through half-closed lids, her painted mouth curved in an enigmatic smile.
Though she offered no comment, Lindsey was aware of a triumphant criticism in her attitude. The few stilted words into the plastic mouthpiece and not even a “Good night, darling,” to finish up with. Wildly, she thought of whispering something after saying good night, but Stuart always waited for her to hang up first, and a sudden endearment would undoubtedly alarm him and do her no lasting good.
Living at “Komana,” Lindsey continually had to steel he
r
self. Was it her imagination or had Mrs. Conlowe become a shade less cordial since her last visit to “Elliotdale”? Certainly she allowed Adrienne to act hostess to chance visitors, and once Lindsey had surprised her mother-in-law’s glance fixed unwaveringly on her wedding ring, as though she were weighing its existence in the balance with private knowledge ... at any rate, that was how it appeared to the over-sensitive Lindsey.
She was least unha
p
py in her bedroom, for it had once been Stuart’s and still housed relics of a vital young manhood. The wall was hung with pennants, caps, rifles and sports groups, and the bottom drawer of the dressing table bulged with books and other gear which his mother must have toted across two continents. A wardrobe cupboard held still more of his discarded possessions; blazers, a variety of golf clubs, polo sticks, a couple of wrinkled footballs, and ... a naval uniform.
Lindsey fingered the gold braid and pressed her cheek to the sleeve. In spite of herself, she left a few tears there, and from then on felt a little brighter. She couldn’t stop herself
thinkin
g, but she was strong enough to think less often. Mrs. Conlowe would have reason for suspicion if her daughter-in-law behaved abnormally.
On the very morning that Lindsey braced up, she was called upon to test her defences. She had been down for a bathe and was running along the drive, wrapped in a
bath gown, when Tony Loraine hailed her from a garden seat.
“Good morning, nymph. Is the water wet this morning?”
“Wet and wa
r
m
...
lovely,” she told him. “Does Adrienne know you’re here?”
“She’s gone in to order coffee. Stay and have some with us.”
She dragged off her cap and shook out her imprisoned hair before
sinking
into a heap on the grass. Only her head, her fingertips and pink toenails emerged from the navy robe with yellow spots.
“I envy you,” he sighed. “Time was when I could get joy from a bathe, and lounge on the grass fearless of ants.” As Adrienne appeared, he grinned at her and indicated
the bench at his side. “And here’s another who’s outgrown the simple joys of the young. Isn’t the spectacle of youth heartbreaking, dear cousin?”
Adrienne’s composure tightened. “It’s more often ludicrous,” she submitted. “Move up, Tony. The sun catches my arms, and I don’t care for sunburn. It looks crude.” Which was a dig at Lindsey’s golden tan. Julius brought coffee and went back for a third cup. Adrienne poured; Tony handed a cup down to Lindsey and leaned over to drop in a cube of sugar.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked conversationally. “Or haven’t you been married long enough to enjoy a break from the spouse?”
Lindsey stirred her coffee. “A fortnight soon passes,” she replied guardedly, wishing it were true. “Everyone’s being very kind to me.”
“I don’t blame them,” he said. “If there’s anything I can
do...”
Adrienne said quickly, “That’s right, Tony. You must give Lindsey a night out at the Club.”
With equal-haste, Lindsey answered, “I
think
not, thanks.” While disagreeing with Stuart’s dictum regard
in
g Tony, she nevertheless wished to respect it. “You
see,” she added, unwilling to offend him, “I prefer to be here each evening when Stuart rings up.”
“Isn’t that carrying the dutiful wife rather far?” he queried, injured. “He’d value you the more if you weren’t on tap for once.”
“Oh, we aren’t at that stage yet,” she returned lightly. “We’ve only been married a few weeks.”
Adrienne flickered cool appraisal over the bright head and hunched shoulders. “Just when were you married, Lindsey? Mrs. Conlowe says we shall have to acquaint the relatives both in Kimberley and
England
with the exact date.”
Lindsey took a breathing space to stiffen against onslaught. “I’ll talk to her about it.”
“Y
o
u haven’t forgotten the date, have you?”
She gripped her cup. “As though one could!”
Tony chipped in. “You’re being unfair, Adrienne. I’m sorry now that I repeated the nonsense.”
All color and expression had drained from Lindsey’s face. “What nonsense?” she said quietly. ‘Tell me about it.”
“Just rubbish,” he shrugged.
“ Adrienne gestured. “Let Lindsey decide that for us. Tony has a new customer, Lindsey, a woman from Cape Town. Her husband is an official of the Steamship Company, and he told her there was a marriage aboard the
Perthshire Abbey
last voyage out.”
“I see,” said Lindsey, “and you concluded that
...”
“
Of course we didn’t,” inserted Tony uncomfortably.
Adrienne ignored him. “I remembered the ring you were wearing in the snapshot — Stuart’s ring. We were interested.”
“Naturally,” said Lindsey bravely. “Well ... we hadn’t time to be married in England. Stuart knew the ship’s captain and there happened to be a bishop on board, so we were married at sea.”
“But how roma
n
tic!” exclaimed Adrienne. “Why haven’t you told us before?”
“Stuart wasn’t sure how his mother would take it.
And please, Adrienne
—
” how she hated having to
beseech — “don’t say anything about it to Mrs. Conlowe before he comes back from Johannesburg.”
“
I won’t,” she promised. “No business of mine, anyway.”
But she looked animated and gladdened by the news. Her nostrils had dilated and her shoe tapped noiselessly into the grass.
Lindsey grasped the garden bench and pulled herself up.
“I’ll go in and change,” she said.
“Are you going out?” enquired Adrienne.
“Only to ‘Elliotdale.’ There may be letters in the mail box.”
Adrienne turned to her cousin. “You’re free aren’t you, Tony. Can you drive Lindsey to ‘Elliotdale’?”
“Please don’t bother,” from Lindsey.
Tony got up and bent his usual theatrical bow from the waist. “Sweet Lin, I’ll drive you to the moon.”
“That isn’t my destination.” She gave
him
a strained little smile and went inside.
When she slipped into the car beside
him half
an hour later Lindsey sensed a new element in Tony’s regard, a troubled curiosity, perhaps, which accentuated his interest in her. She thought she recognized the symptoms. Adrienne had been talking to him, but had failed to convince him completely. Convince him of what?
Tony swung into the Beechwood road.
Presently, he said, “What you may have heard about me is only reputation, you know. I’m not such a bad chap as
I
have to appear, so nothing but good fun would happen if you’d consent to an evening out. Don’t say it,” he finished despondently. “Really nice
thing
s
never come my way.”
“I’d make a poor companion, Tony.”
“Won’t you let me be the judge, just once?”
She shook her head.
“Afraid?” he asked, and there was more to his tone than friendly banter.
“Of what?”
“Letting yourself go. You always seem so wound up to me, and
on
edge. Forgive me, Lin, but I don’t
think
Stuart understands you.”
It was a gambit which seldom failed with a certain type, but the fact that it did not work with Lindsey did not amaze Tony. Bother Adrienne and her urgent de
man
ds. He wanted friendship with the girl for her own sake, not to soften the way for some crazy plan of his cousin’s.
“Forget it,” he said swiftly. “I guess I’m just annoyed at the way marriage ties up the best sort of woman.”
“What a charming compliment,” she commented, and thereafter gave her attention exclusively to the
p
assing
houses.
At “Elliotdale” she cleared the mail box and carried the letters into the lounge. All were for Stuart except one, which bore Mrs. MacLellan’s writing.
“Excuse me?” she asked, and when Tony had assented, she ripped the envelope.
Mrs. MacLellan imparted some news:
“...
Having decided to change my hairdresser, I went to the beauty shop which used to be your aunt’s massage salon, and what do you think I learned? As soon as your Aunt Kitty knew that you were awaiting a passage to South Africa she made a will in your favor, which means that you will have about eight hundred pounds to come when formalities are through. Mrs. Barnett, your aunt’s friend, said that the solicitors are anxious to contact you, so I told her that anything sent to you at my home w
o
uld be re-addressed. I was not sure whether you’d wish them to write to you in Port Acland. What a pity you didn’t know this on the boat. Your letters are uninformative, but I don’t have to be clairvoyant to gather that you are living in an emotional tension that cannot be good for you
...
”
Lindsey folded the letter and pushed it into her handbag. Stuart’s mail she packeted ready for posting to Johannesburg. Eight hundred pounds, she thought, unmoved. Six weeks ago it would have saved her. Now it would hardly cover the amount Stuart had spent on her clothes and trinkets. Comparisons were hopeless, and if she dwelled on this one she would soon fed wretched.
Tony was drinking brandy and water. His posture, leg slung over one arm of the chair, his head on one side as he surveyed her, fostered an atmosphere of intimacy and harmony that she had to ignore.
“Will you take me back to town, Tony?”
“Any hurry?”
“There is, rather. If Stuart’s letters are posted before lunch he’ll get them tomorrow.”
So she told Daniel that she would be up again in a day or two and they went back to town. At her own request, Tony left her at the post office to make her way back to “Komana” alone.
Mrs. Conlowe had friends to lunch, and afterwards she rested in the tremendous front bedroom past which Lindsey always felt an urge to tiptoe. As usual, the house resumed activity at teatime, an institution which Lindsey was learning to dread. Today, a sticky wind prevented use of the sun lounge. The glass doors in the white and beige drawing room were shut
tight
and, waited on by a white-clad, ebony skinned boy, the three women sat within, creating a tableau of wealth and leisure.
But Lindsey’s private torture went on. However she tried, she could not subdue the foreboding and melancholy which settled heaviest on her at this time of the day. With a gentle smile, Adrienne had taken charge of the tea table. When she exerted her charm it was easy to understand her influence over Mrs. Conlowe.
She never forgot the footstool and extra cushion, and her hand passing cups was slim and gracious. Her deference to the older woman held appeal rather than flattery. And Lindsey had to admit that when Mrs. Conlowe’s eyes roved with any affection over herself, Adrienne displayed not the least sign of jealousy. She was either a splendid actress or superlatively sure of herself.
Mrs. Conlowe alluded to the performance of a famous play, to be presented in the City Hal
l.
“We have eight cinemas in this town and not a single theatre,” she lamented. “I’m so
glad
you could get the tickets for this evening, Adrienne, and it’s very generous of you to forgo the treat. All English people love the theatre, so I’m sure Lindsey will enjoy it
.
”
“Am I going tonight?” Lindsey questioned.
Mrs. Conlowe nodded. “It was Adrienne’s suggestion—very kind of her.”
“B
u
t I ought to be here for Stuart’s call?’ The distance between them was never wider than when they exchanged conventionalities over hundreds of
miles
of wire, but at the sound of his voice her knees went weak and a lump gathered just below her throat as if she had swallowed a whole peach in one gulp. A harrowing experience but one she couldn’t bear to miss.
“Adrienne is staying in for that very purpose,” said Mrs. Conlowe comfortably. “She will tell Stuart where we are. You and I will go together, Lindsey, and you shall give me your opinion of the South African National Theatre.”
No use protesting. There was Mrs. Conlowe, pleased at the prospect of the outing. And Adrienne, a
faint,
gratified smile tugging at the thin red mouth, was opening the jade cigarette box and pushing it across the low table.
“You look cross, Lindsey,” she said suavely. “I got the tickets entirely on your account. Before Stuart left he particularly begged me to see that you went out a
good deal, and I believed this to be a grand opportunity. The National Theatre will only be here a week.”
“She’s glad really,” Mrs. Conlowe murmured. “Aren’t you, Lindsey?”
“Of course,” she said at once, adding a slightly bitter afterthought: “Stuart won’t mind.”
Lindsey minded enough for two, or even more. Dinner was hurried, and she had
this
excuse for eating very little. Adrienne came out to see them into the car, and in Lindsey’s ears her voice rang with insolence.
“Any message for Stuart, or do I simply tell
him
that his wife is well and happy?”
Lindsey shivered. “Yes. That’s all.”
“Give him our love,” said Mrs. Conlowe as they moved away.
The City Hall was hot, but Lindsey was cold. The play might have been good; she didn’t listen. Between nine and ten she went through a tempest of longing that was intolerably painful yet infinitely tender. She was foolishly certain that had she spoken to Stuart this evening something momentous would have passed between them.
When they got home Adrienne was in bed. “Unusual for her to retire so early,” remarked Mrs. Conlowe, “but no doubt she was bored with being alone so long. I shall go, too. Good night, my dear. It’s been a lovely evening.”
Lindsey’s room adjoined Adrienne’s. A pencil of light showed below the other door, and Lindsey paused, willing courage into herself. After all, she had a right to know what Stuart had said and how he had taken her absence. She trembled; she seemed to have been trembling all evening. How could she hope to capture a fraction of him through the medium of Adrienne? She raised her hand, holding
the
back of it against burning eyes, and stumbled into her bedroom.
The morning’s hot sunlight and the breeze gossiping through the palms brought a fragile peace. Lindsey joined Adrienne on the terrace for breakfast rolls and coffee.