The Reluctant Guest (21 page)

There was no longer the torture of trying not to cry. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want anything except oblivion. But sleep had receded, and her brain acted as brains often do in times of stress and emergency—with precision and clarity. She heard the slam of the car door and knew Storr intended to spend the night folded up in the small vehicle. He said he didn’t hate her, but perhaps it was worse to be disliked ... to be kissed with dislike. Hate was a positive emotion.

Why, oh, why, had he brought her here to this shack when he might have left for home and known she was safe in a hotel? Was it some mistaken sense of chivalry which had made him stay till he saw her safely with her parents? Yet he had forseen that they would retire early; he had anticipated it, but he had driven on through torrential rain in a strange little car. What had he expected? Ann couldn’t decide; she only knew he hadn’t got it, because he was colder and more withdrawn than ever before.

She recalled his reference to “a date in Johannesburg.” It was after midnight, which meant that he would be seeing his Chloe today. What was she like—his chosen woman? Curvy, Neville Braithwaite had said; well-dressed and with expensive tastes. Dark, of course; dark and intense, a dashing woman pilot with whom he had many things in common. That would be his reason for choosing a particular woman: compatibility. He would love her because she was his, but he wouldn’t be
in love
with her, because he could never yield himself to anyone. To remain in command of himself and everyone else in any situation, he had to stay clear and unassailable. He shared the arch-cynic’s view that a man could be happy with a woman so long as he did not love her.

Ann lay quite still, defeated. Her every nerve was aware of him out there in the lashing darknes
s
, but she was tired to the point of exhaustion. As dawn brought an end to the rain and a blanket of steam, she gave way to excessive fatigue, and slept
.

Ann awoke to a misty brill
i
ance and the pungent smell of wet vegetation and seaweed. She got up and eased her shoulder, felt her head take a dive and sickeningly ri
ght
itself. If she looked as dreadful as she felt it would be wiser to stay away from a mirror. Her suit was creased and her clothes clung to her body with sweat
.
She hadn’t imagined such heat in the early morning.

Then she looked at her watch and saw it was ten-thirty, looked again to make sure. She hadn’t wound the watch
last night, but it was still going. Ten-thirty! Ann swayed across the small room and looked out of the window, saw the car had gone, and concluded, dully, that Storr had gone with it. She opened the door, felt her eyes shrink and go hot in the hazy glare. Beside the door stood an old enamel can half full of clean water, and across the top of it lay a brand-new towel and tablet of soap. Her case stood there, too, and Ann thought, despairingly, that it was wrong for a man who had no true feelings to be so considerate.

She washed and opened her case, chose a powder-blue cotton frock that was flecked with white and quickly changed. She used make-up, rather more than usual, and tidied the case and closed it. With perfect timing, Storr arrived just as Ann was replacing the cushions in the chairs. He came into the shack, looked shaved and spruce in a clean shirt and the same slacks, his tie a plain navy blue.

“Good morning,” he said, with no expression at all. “I’ve brought you a flask of tea and some egg sandwiches. It was the best they could do for me at the Umbenizi store.”

He opened the package on the table, poured dark sweet tea into a borrowed cup and set out the sandwiches on a borrowed plastic plate. Ann was empty but not hungry. She drank some of the tea and took a sandwich, said offhandedly,

“It’s nearly eleven. I thought perhaps you’d gone back to Durban and left a note for me somewhere.”

“No, you didn’t,” he answered as coolly. “You know me better than that. I went up to the store and bought a few
thin
gs, ordered breakfast and came back here with the water and soap and towel while it was cooking. You were still asleep
...
”

“How did you know? I might not have been.”

“You were, honey. I looked through the window and called your name. You were completely unconsc
i
ous. I could see that you’d sleep for another hour, so I went back and had breakfast alone. In any case, it might not have been good policy to take you to the store where your mother will dea
l
. Looks odd, breakfast with a man so
close to home.” He shrugged. “I told them the tea and sandwiches were for a friend. They weren’t curious.”

“Thank you, anyway.”

He nodded at the bandaged arm. “I’ll take a last look at it. It may be healthy enough to be left uncovered. You’ll find long sleeves too hot
.
”

She indicated a thin white jacket that hung over the back of a chair. “I’ll wear that today, at least. The bandage can stay on till tonight.”

“No, I want to see how it’s going.”

He took a tiny pair of scissors from his pocket and snipped the bandage. In case he should have to use it again he wound it carefully away from her arm and then lifted the lint. The bruising was still highly colored, but the weals had dried cleanly and the swelling was gone.

“You heal well,” he commented, “but I’ll bind the lint back into position as a protection. What about the shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly.

For the first time he looked straight at her; there was a tightness about his mouth. “You loathe having me touch you, don’t you? I sensed it last night
.
”

“Yes, I do,” she said simply, her head averted from the searching closeness of his glance. She knew his eyes were stone grey with cold lights in them. “It was kind of you to bring the tea and sandwiches, but I can’t manage any more. I
...
I’ve a headache.”

“Genuine, or defensive?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but picked up her case and went outside with it. With pale cheeks and a constricted heart, Ann looked about her. She put on the white jacket, gathered her handbag and walked outside into a soft, overpowering heat There was a stretch of wet grass, a slope of rocks and bushes and, not fifty yards away, the sea; pale-blue this morning and entirely benign under a misty blue sky which was clearing in the hot sunshine.

She got into the car, and the trembling in her was like the throbbing of the sea. But she held up her shining tawny head, and waited for him to close up the shack and start the car. They moved away into the thick mud of the lane, and Storr put on speed. Soon they had climbed a coastal
road which Ann hardly believed to be the churning track they had travelled last night. And there, high above the sea and overlooking it from the upper windows, stood the thatched house, steaming in the sun. The strange
thing
was that though she told herself she was only yards from her parents, Ann felt nothing. She was even able to put on a bright smile as she went with Storr into the porch.

A houseboy answered his tattoo on the plain yellow door. Storr waved her in as if he owned the place and told the servant to call Mrs. Calvert and then bring in the luggage. Ann stood in the bright square hall, her whole being detached from this moment; perhaps she withdrew from it because it was unbearable: Storr meeting her mother for the first and last time
...

Mrs. Calvert came through from another room, stood spellbound for a long moment before a delighted
smite
lit up her features and blue eyes. She wore grey, a mid
-
grey tailored skirt and an embroidered blouse of a lighter tone. Her hair, a fading honey-blonde, was as neatly dressed as ever, and her hands with their tapering fingers fluttered as if they were useless—which they weren’t. She was an excellent needlewoman and cook, and had turned out what her husband called “itsy-bitsy” water-colors which were pleasing if not world-shaking.

“Ann, dear!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t believe my eyes!”

They kissed. Ann said, with surprising calmness, “I became rather anxious about you, and Mr. Peterson said he could bring me here in his plane, so I came.”

“Plane! But, heavens
...
” She turned to Storr. “You’re terribly kind, Mr. Peterson!”

Knowing how he reacted to gratitude, Ann said hurriedly, “Yes, I was grateful. Are you alone here, Mother?”

“Just your father and me, dear.”

“How i
s
he?”

“A little impatient, but very well.
I’
ve just told him he must rest—he
will
pop out of bed. Do sit down, Mr. Peterson. I’m sure you’d like something to drink. You must have started out very early this morning.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Calvert was vague about distances, places and times. Storr inclined his head towards her
suavely. He had changed his mood to suit this woman who liked things to be ordered and serene. He was even smiling at her with calculated charm.

“It was no trouble,” he said. “I’m happy to have been of service.”

“What will you drink?”

“I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I have to get back to Durban.”

“So soon?” The older woman looked dismayed. “Can’t you at least stay to lunch?”

With forced cheerfulness, Ann said, “Mr. Peterson has to refuel the plane and go to Johannesburg. He’s a busy man.”

“Yes, you must be.” She turned to Ann. “We only had one letter from you, and you didn’t mention Mr. Peterson. What a pity you couldn’t bring Theo.”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” said Storr. “We hadn’t time.”

Again, Ann put in quickly, “Theo’s gone back to flying
—
I must tell you about it. How are you—yourself? It must have been a great strain for you, and such a worry.”

“Well, yes, it was. But you know, dear, though I wouldn’t have had your father hurt for the world if I could have avoided it, I’ve almost enjoyed nursing him! The morning of the operation was a little wearing, but I’ve been so lucky in these friends who lent us the house.” She stopped suddenly. “How did you know we were here?”

“From the hotel. We’ll talk about it later.” Ann flickered a glance at Storr, who had moved towards the door. With an ache like tears in her throat, she said, “You do have to leave now, I suppose?”

“Yes. There may be a hitch at the airport.” He opened the door, held out a hand. “Goodbye, Mrs. Calvert.”

“Perhaps we’ll see you again some time?”

“
Could be.”

“Go down to the car with Mr. Peterson, Ann. It’s still damp and I’m wearing slippers.”

Ann hesitated, passed Storr in the doorway and went down the steps. Mrs. Calvert remained in the doorway, still looking as if she did not quite believe her daughter were here.

Storr stood with his hand on the car door; his tones were
edged and cynical. “Well, it’s so long, Pretty Ann. Have a nice rest.”

She stood facing him, straight and very pale. “Thank you for everything.”

“Everything?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do, but it’s a little late to do any dissecting. I’ll be seeing Theo. Any message?”

“I haven’t read his letter yet. I’ll write to him.”

He said crisply, “I suppose you’ll be writing to me, too
—
a correct little note of thanks for the trip. Address it to P.O. Belati West.”

“Are you going to ... to stay there, at Groenkop?”

“For a while. Well, I’ll be going.”

Now that the time had come she wanted to cling to each second with all she had. “I hope you’ll have a good journey.”

“Thanks.”

“And
that ...
that you’ll get what you want in life.”

“Thanks again.”

She couldn’t soften him. She stepped back and put on the smile her mother expected, a polite, conventional expression of farewell, as she said, “Well, goodbye. And good luck.”

“Keep cosy and away from danger,” he said coolly. And he drove away.

Ann watched the car vanish; then she turned and draggingly made her way back into the house.

CHAPTER
TEN

MRS. CALVERT’S resolution and calmness in the face of catastrophe not only surprised Ann, but it also astonished and pleased her husband. When they had arrived to spend five days in Durban before continuing their shipboard journey, Mr. Calvert had been loath to mention the pain and stiffness in a knee which should have recovered days ago. He had slipped away and consulted a doctor in the town, but when surgery had been prescribed he had had no choice but to take his wife into his confidence. At first
he had wanted to get in touch with Ann, but Mrs. Calvert wouldn’t hear of it
. T
his was Ann’s first holiday for eighteen months and it was not to be interrupted. Besides, she herself was feeling fine and, after all, he was the one who had to suffer the operation, not she.